Category Archives: Nature Photos

The petite polar pelting of 2007

Despite getting only minute amounts of ice during our recent winter storm, I did want to share a few photographs I captured.  I had to look high and low for some ice and found some neat little hidden treasures amongst the foliage of the Fraser photinia bushes (a.k.a. red-tip photinia, Photinia x fraseri) surrounding my patio.  Lacking at best were the other reservoirs of evidence I found showing the visit by Old Man Winter.  Unlike so many others across the country and even right here in the DFW metroplex, what you see below is the pinnacle of this past weekend’s events.

An icicle hanging from one of the photinia leaves (166_6653)

I do absolutely love the way icicles appear like frozen moments of time.  They offer a sense of control, as though we can briefly peel off our temporal skin and look closely at an event—like a droplet of water falling from a leaf.  There is magic in it no matter how minimal the overall effect.

An icicle hanging from one of the photinia leaves (166_6637)

There exists a world dangling from the end of each leaf, from the bend in each branch… worlds cast in cold and isolated by ice.  They are worlds we can never know truly without destroying them.  They are impenetrable to all of our senses save one: sight.  Only with our eyes can we visit those places, for they remain otherwise forever removed from our existence.

An icicle hanging from a photinia branch (166_6638)

Each one is a pocket of time maintained by the cold hand of winter.  They are subject to the season’s whims, whole worlds created and destroyed with frigid breath and frosty caresses.  As we stand detached from them aging by the incessant ticktock of cosmic time, inhabitants of these worlds rest timeless and ageless, held gently in the furtive grasp of infinity.  They dance to a rhythm too slow for us to observe, one measured still by our senses, yet a kiss from the sun or a touch by warmer temperatures can shatter their cocoon and cast them back into the rushing torrent wherein the rest of us reside.

They are to be envied, these worlds.

[you can see an interesting close-up of that last icicle in this larger version; it truly is a universe frozen in a moment of time and suspended for the world to see]

Lakeside gaggle

Last week when I took a walk at the lake, I found a picnic table near the park services office where I could sit and enjoy the morning.  Located near the shore, it provided me a good view of the surplus of waterfowl and other wildlife.  The moment I sat down, however, I was noticed by a gaggle of both Domestic swan geese (Anser cygnoides) and domestic greylag geese (Anser anser).  I assume they have grown accustomed to receiving food from people because they came right out of the water and headed in my direction.

Domestic swan geese (Anser cygnoides) and domestic greylag geese (Anser anser) approaching me from the shore (164_6433)

[also seen in the background of that picture are American white pelicans (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos), American coots (Fulica americana), a double-crested cormorant (Phalacrocorax auritus), and ring-billed gulls (Larus delawarensis)]

I watched in amazement as they walked right up to and around the picnic table, foraging the whole way.  Their stroll was casual and unconcerned.  They did keep an eye on me, however, with regular and careful evaluations of my movements and position.  Because only a few of them intently watched me, I assume they were the leaders of the pack.  Or at least the most distrustful.

Domestic swan geese (Anser cygnoides) and domestic greylag geese (Anser anser) foraging as they come around the picnic table (164_6436)

They foraged about me as they came ever nearer.  Eventually, they came right up to the table while picking through the winter grass.

Domestic swan geese (Anser cygnoides) and domestic greylag geese (Anser anser) foraging nearby (164_6442)

Once they realized I had no food to offer, they promptly headed back to the water.  I almost felt as though they were disappointed that I sat there with no treats for them to consume.

Domestic swan geese (Anser cygnoides) and domestic greylag geese (Anser anser) heading back to the lake (164_6451)

As they entered the water amongst the coots with pelicans and gulls looking on, somehow I felt bad for not having something to offer.  My empty pockets and hands seemed almost like a betrayal of their need.  But I felt confident they wouldn’t starve despite my apparent lack of social graces.

Domestic swan geese (Anser cygnoides) and domestic greylag geese (Anser anser) entering the lake (164_6454)

I have three videos from the experience and am including them below the fold.

This first video is when they came around the table and approached me.  You can see they foraged the entire way.

This next one shows them when they came right up to the table where I was sitting.  In fact, the one you see nearest the camera was less than an arm’s length away from me.  I suspected it might peck at the camera while it was filming just to see if it was edible.  By the way, that’s a park services truck driving by at the beginning.

Finally, once they realized I had nothing to offer, I captured them as they walked around me and headed back to the water.  I’m sure they were thinking I had been a total waste of their time and energy.

Pondering the difference . . . and ducks

As temperatures fell below freezing with no hope of rising above it until Tuesday (and even then only by a few degrees at best), the threat of treacherous ice accumulations loomed ever nearer.  The situation between now and Monday could be quite interesting.  It also could be yet another example of Texas weather throwing the meteorologists for a loop.

Irrespective of precipitation, however, the temperature is already a done deal.  No one could deny the frigid world outside.  And it’s supposed to get colder before it gets warmer.  As someone who prefers arctic excitement to tropical malaise, this change excites me.

But I’m inside… with heat… and blankets… and food… and cats.  Life couldn’t get better (save winning the lottery, mind you).

In realizing my own contentment on this day, I began remembering a different time.  It was last summer.  The heat carried days to heights well over 100° F (38° C) as we simmered in the Texas sun.  I dressed minimally yet remained miserable.  My air conditioner hummed along in strained attempts to maintain some level of comfort.

During a walk at the lake, I found mallard ducks (Anas platyrhynchos) were not immune to the blistering, torrid days.  Sure, a swim certainly provided a cool diversion, yet it left them under the full weight of the sun.  When finally the time came to rest and escape its cruel and reaching rays, they came ashore.  Like all smart ducks, they immediately sought reprieve from the onslaught.  And where does a smart mallard take leave of an omnipresent star?  In the shade of a tree, of course.

Mallard ducks (Anas platyrhynchos) resting in the shade of a tree (146_4629)
Mallard ducks (Anas platyrhynchos) resting in the shade of a tree (146_4651)
Mallard ducks (Anas platyrhynchos) resting in the shade of a tree (146_4652)

Now that the weather pendulum has sought refuge on the opposite side of the seasonal clock, I ponder how those same ducks cope with the glacial air now settling upon us.  And when (if) the ice starts and creates a frosty floor upon which they must stand and lie, what then?

Having had ducks as pets many years ago, I’m well aware of their ability to cope with the cold.  Yet a difference exists: our ducks had enclosed shelter with plenty of fresh straw where they could escape the elements.  So I wonder…

A walk in the park

This is a visual notebook of my recent walk at the lake.  While some of the photos links to a larger versions, and while I am including a variety of scenes with which I was graced during my excursion, this does not represent the pinnacle of my outing, nor does it demonstrate the totality of what I captured that day.  There are some stories that deserve to be told on their own, and likewise there are some images that need to be shown in a singular context.  Nevertheless, please join me in a casual stroll around White Rock Lake.  Because this is a federal wildlife refuge, please don’t pester the animals or damage the plants—those are federal crimes, you know.  Besides, all this life deserves our respect.  Let your eyes feast while your hands stay in your pockets and your feet remain firmly planted beneath you.

By the way, commentary has been kept to a minimum except to point out the interesting inhabitants of this wonderland.  There is no species identification in this post because that will come later as more photos and videos are posted.  Besides, it’s important to keep the tour moving along at a healthy pace.  Most of the enjoyment of this jaunt is in the viewing, not the hearing (er… reading).

First, we’ll sit at this picnic table near the shore where we can watch the pelicans, gulls, coots, ducks, geese, and other waterfowl as they do their waterfowl things.  Well I’ll be!  That gaggle of geese is coming over for a visit.

A gaggle of domestic swan geese (Anser cygnoides) and domestic greylag geese (Anser anser) (164_6438)

But let’s not disturb the geese, eh?  Instead, let’s mosey over yonder to visit an old friend.

You know, we recently had torrential rains and significant flooding here at the lake.  In fact, you can see a lot of the debris left behind.  Those grackles are pillaging the remnants of those downpours for whatever they can eat.  And do take note of the pelicans, coots, and gulls out in the water.  Aren’t they beautiful?

Grackles, pelicans, gulls, and coots (164_6456)

But let’s move along, shall we?  My friend is right over here.

Would you look at that…  Someone appears to have tossed out a good bit of birdseed.  The squirrels and grackles certainly appear to be enjoying a hardy breakfast.  Isn’t that nice?

Grackles and squirrels eating birdseed (164_6466)

We shouldn’t disturb them.  They look simply ravenous, so we’ll let them eat while we move on.  My friend is right over here.

Oh my goodness!  I’m so embarrassed.  Perhaps we shouldn’t visit my ancient, divinely welcoming friend.  It looks like the dear soul has already undressed for winter.

But I do note there are a few doves and a grackle flying overhead as they visit with an ageless being now asleep for a season that doesn’t seem interested in arriving.  Perhaps in time…

My favorite tree with some birds flying overhead (164_6473)

In fact, I spy a squirrel hidden in its branches.  See it nestled right against the trunk almost in the center of this view?

A squirrel in the bare branches of my favorite tree (164_6482)

I guess we’re being watched in similar fashion to our own watching.  It makes sense if you think about it.  We’re in their world, after all.

Let’s not dawdle.  My friend deserves some privacy.  Since I believe I spied some birds resting on the pier, why don’t we head back in that direction.

Gulls hanging out on the pier (164_6489)

Ha!  I was right.  Look at the gulls hanging out in the morning sun.  Aren’t they a sight?

Why, yes, I do see a coot and even some scaups floating in the water.  In the background, you can also see some cormorants.

I beg your pardon?

Oh, I do see it.  That looks to be a duck nesting in the brush along the shore there on the left.  I don’t think we should approach to find out.  I’d hate to disturb all of them.

If you look here on the other side through this thicket of shoreline brush, you can spy some pelicans, gulls, and coots out in the water.  I know it’s hard to see them clearly with all this dry foliage in our way, but you can just make them out.  And down there in the water nearby looks to be a duck.

Pelicans, gulls, and coots hidden behind a thicket of shoreline brush (164_6498)

Before we cause too much of a ruckus by upsetting all the wildlife, how’s about we take a gander at a quieter spot?  I promise, it’ll be worth your while.

Okay, now that that’s decided, we’ll head on over to the creek.

While we make our way toward one of the main tributaries feeding the lake, do be mindful of the cypress knees here on shore.  I’d hate for someone to stumble over them and fall.  I can only imagine what it feels like to land full-force on top of those knobby, wooden projections.

Cypress knees (165_6516)

And here we are.  Isn’t this a most welcoming spot?  What with the calm water moving stoically toward its joining with the lake, the silent flora sitting like ancient beacons at the water’s edge, and all of it somehow proclaiming its wondrous spirit now held in waiting for a time when once again the green will burst forth, the flowers will blossom, and the smell of new life will fill the air?

Oh, but I do prattle on so, don’t I?  I’m so sorry.  Let’s just look at it for a moment.

The creek (165_6521)

Please do watch your step if you approach the edge.  This creek grows in magnificent surges and floods.  That activity weakens the banks in ways that create unpredictable crumblings of earth.

The creek (165_6527)

Oh my!  It appears we’ve reached the end of the path.  Woodlands lie directly ahead and generally are not welcoming of visitors.  They harbor secrets, those trees, and they protect the life hidden within.  We dare not disturb them when they’re at rest like this.  Especially when they’re at rest.

The forest (165_6529)

Shall we head back?  The park services road is just over yonder and will take us back to the park office where we started our little walk.

Do wait, if you would, for but a moment.

Before we disperse, each on his or her own way, each into a life perhaps so far removed from this place as to be unimaginable…  Take but a moment to think about this time and this place—about this experience.  Let the natural beauty of what you’ve seen go with you.

Let’s all be certain we reflect on this.  I know I will.

The sun reflecting on the creek (165_6540)

I thank you for your time and for your interest in joining me on this excursion.  I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did.

Do have a good day.

June’s close encounter

Last June I sat at the base of my favorite tree, the lake soothing me with casual tongues of water lapping at the shore and a plethora of wildlife jaunting about or lounging in whatever shade they could find so as to escape the broiling Texas sun.  Even as my ancient flora friend graced me with shade from simmering heat, I likewise knew the animals sharing that moment with me looked for whatever cover was available to them.

I had a book with me: The Krone Experiment by Dr. J. Craig Wheeler, the regents professor of astronomy at UT Austin.  Let me say now that Dr. Wheeler is a gracious man, intelligent and witty, and a perfectly fine, truly intellectual gentleman.  We’ve corresponded before.  In fact, he recently sent me a signed copy of The Krone Experiment in hardcover form as it’s no longer available and my paperback version had suffered terribly over the decades since I purchased it.  The novel itself is a suspenseful tale of science gone wrong, of political and international intrigue.  Despite having read it many times before, it’s a faithful companion to me and a good friend to have along on such trips.  (Assuming Dreamdarkers becomes a published novel, I will be sending him a signed copy as thanks for his inspiration, entertainment, and generosity.)

So I sat in the shade of a timeless friend reading a narrative as comfortable as an old sweater.  At some point, I casually glanced over my shoulder for what at the time seemed to be no apparent reason.  Of course, I knew ducks had found some shade trees behind me, and I also knew a gaggle of assorted geese and a dray of squirrels had been wandering about when I first came to sit in that place.

What I spied with a simple glance eventually became my close encounter.  It started with this:

An eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) approaching me from a distance (146_4643)

The eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) galloped casually over green grass burning in the noon sun.  It seemed to be watching me, although my position and the distance between us prohibited me from being certain of that impression.  Yet it did appear headed for the very tree against and under which I sat.

So I laid the book aside and grabbed my camera.  A bit of subtle maneuvering brought me around the tree enough to comfortably watch the little beastie at it marched quite deliberately in my direction.

An eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) approaching me from a distance (146_4645)

Even as I clicked away at the camera controls snapping photos, this “tree rat” (as Libby is so fond of calling them) walked and leaped and trotted in my direction.  I felt certain I had nothing to do with it, but instead the tree sheltering me with lush foliage truly was the intended target of this visitor.  And then it stopped.  But not just stopped; it stood and carefully examined me.

An eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) standing and looking at me (146_4646)

Only then did it slow the closing of whatever distance rested betwixt us.  While I cannot be certain as to how far away it was at that point, I know a casual toss of the camera would have landed it on top of the squirrel.  Yet it didn’t stop.

No, it didn’t stop.  It walked more casually, more carefully, but it kept coming nonetheless.

An eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) approaching me from nearby (146_4647)

I continued snapping pictures.  Daring not to move suddenly lest I frighten the guest, and certainly not so selfish as to believe the tree meant its comforts solely for me, I sat quietly and as still as was possible given my position kept shifting slightly to keep the approaching squirrel in sight and focus.  And still it kept coming until finally it paused, then only an arm’s length from me, and again it focused all its attention on me.  I could even see my own distorted reflection in its eye as its head turned first this way then that.

An eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) taking a very close look at me (146_4648)

When at last I felt I might explode from the excitement of its nearness, it challenged me to hold my place by coming ever closer, ever nearer, until finally it stood next to both the tree and I.  Seeing myself in its eyes held power over me, a controlling dominion of sorts I could never explain, and there we stayed for but a moment.  I sat motionless and watched as I carefully took another picture, and it stood with an intent gaze fixed upon me.  How wondrous.

An eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) standing quite near and watching me (146_4649)

And then it nonchalantly turned and climbed the tree with effortless abandon.  Its quick scurrying carried it up directly above me until finally it came to rest on a limb, tossed its arms on either side of its welcoming bed, and there it napped in the safe embrace of our ancient tree friend.

[you can see the photo of the squirrel napping in this post from last July, and an additional close-up from the squirrel’s approach in this post from last June]