Category Archives: Rurality Photos

Where the world begins

There is a place where the sunrise shines despite storm clouds.

The sun rising behind a growing storm with Interstate 20 running headlong beneath it toward East Texas (20080809_10444)

There is a place where Spanish moss drips from the trees.

Spanish moss (Tillandsia usneoides) growing from a tree limb over the bayou (20080809_10497)

There is a place where barbed wire restrains nothing more dangerous than bales of hay.

Barbed wire running in front of a pasture containing nothing but hay bales (20080809_10530)

There is a place where water lilies contain the hope of every morning.

A water lily bloom and pads (Nymphaea sp.) floating in weak morning light (20080809_10483)

There is a place where hummingbirds throughout the day join an endless procession of their brethren in a waltz that blankets the sky.

A hummingbird (unidentified) perched atop a wire (20080809_10683)

There is a place where arachnids lie in wait to ambush innumerable interlopers.

A green lynx spider (Peucetia viridans) waiting on a leaf to ambush prey (20080809_10704)

There is a place where deer prance through the pastures as though they haven’t a care in the world.

A female white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus) trotting through the trees of a pasture at the family farm (20080809_10803)

There is a place where passion flowers bloom wild and offer their fruit to all who are interested in partaking of the bounty.

A purple passion flower (a.k.a. Maypop; Passiflora incarnata) in full bloom at the family farm (20080809_10613)

There is a place where alligators, beavers and otters bring life to tranquil waters.

There is a place where great horned owls, bald eagles and great blue herons join vultures in ruling the sky both day and night.

There is a place where gargantuan moths, beetles and spiders reign amongst endless foliage that stretches verdantly in all directions.

There is a place where the highway ends and the world begins.

There is a place where I want to live that becomes wonder regardless of how the word is defined.

This will be my home.

[all photos taken yesterday during my trip to the family farm in the Piney Woods of East Texas]

Farm life – Part I

Hidden away in the Piney Woods of East Texas, the family farm can be exhausting at its worst and magical at its best.  Plenty of hard work awaits those who tend its chores and care for its animals, yet the surroundings provide ample nature in which to wallow, not to mention the resident population of family critters who offer up joys beyond compare.

Ruby-throated hummingbirds (Archilochus colubris) around a feeder at the family farm (139_3998)

Ruby-throated hummingbirds (Archilochus colubris) are ubiquitous around Big Cypress Bayou in all but the cold months.  Mom keeps several feeders available for them, each carefully and diligently supplied with sugar water, and so the hummingbirds come year after year, their antics providing hours of entertainment.

In fact, Mom often stands outside holding one of the feeders right next to her face.  As soon as the birds realize she’s not a threat, they begin visiting, buzzing around her head and brushing her cheeks with their wings.  It’s more than fantastic, more than beautiful; it’s divine to see.

Adult and juvenile cows roaming through one of the pastures at the family farm (194_9494)

Even the cows enjoy roaming from pasture to pasture, some fields cloaked by dense woodlands drawing a barrier around them and others set within those very same woodlands.  A serenity befalls the place no matter where one looks.

When calves are about, fun spills over the grass like so much rich honey.  Large enough to hurt you if they ran you down, these little guys spring and leap in ways that puppies and kittens would envy, and it doesn’t hurt that the mothers always have a fresh drink of milk with them at all times.  It can get pretty hot in Texas, so a bit of play is always followed by a rapid search for and happy reunion with mom—then a tasty bit of nourishment and energy for more play.

A Gulf fritillary (Agraulis vanillae) resting on the ground in the main yard of the family farm (214_1441)

Gulf fritillaries (Agraulis vanillae) dance in the main yard, flitting about with abandon as though they had not a care in the world.  They appreciate this place.  At times the yard reminds me of a field of waltzing flames as a dozen or more of these butterflies converge.

The farm boasts a magnificent insect population that ranges from giant moths to giant beetles, from katydids and grasshoppers to spiders and wasps.  The air is often filled with dragonflies and butterflies, and with leaping grasshoppers and katydids, not to mention the chorus of a thousand species.  Only in winter do these sights and sounds disappear, a lonely echo creating a void they once filled and will fill again.

Purple bindweed (a.k.a. cotton morning glories; Ipomoea trichocarpa) growing alongside one of the pastures at the family farm (214_1442)

Purple bindweed (a.k.a. cotton morning glories; Ipomoea trichocarpa) offers up perfume and lavender beauty, flowers fully open in acceptance of morning sunshine.  Like so many other wildflowers, this stunning plant, considered a weed by so many, grows readily along paths and trails running throughout the farm.  There can never be too much life here.

Wild berries grow on the hillside in a pool of varied briers, grasses and flowers.  Dense woodlands stretch across rolling hills with pine, hickory, oak, ash, dogwood and magnolia trees defining the landscape, each skirted with an assortment of brush sometimes too thick for the average walk.  Cypress grows along the bayou and its tributaries.  Just north of the only natural lake in all of Texas, the area gives rise to springs and marshes that dot the landscape like a patchwork of wonders.  In fact, no one has been able to count the number of springs on the farm because they are so numerous.

A cow sticking its tongue out hoping my mother will give just one more treat (216_1650)

Then there are the treats, the special goodies that deserve kisses—even if from a cow.  Always listening for Mom’s voice, these domestic giants lavish themselves in the affection and care they receive.  In fact, they call out to her—rather loudly, I might add—if they believe she’s late to visit.

But Mom is not the only one who enjoys such special attention.  Dad happens to be the person who gives them maple, a sweet, delectable goody for which they mob him like children begging for candy.  He’s forced to push and shove his way through a herd of drooling mouths and suppliant scroungers desperate to smell the scent and taste the flavor of nutritious yet obviously addictive syrup applied generously to hay.

A cow sticking its head through the fence with a wanting, begging look on its face (216_1660)

And the looks of wanting mixed with cuteness as bovines beg and plead for just one more taste of heaven leaves us simple humans laughing with pure delight.  They know a good thing and waste no time putting on the Oliver act: “Please, may I have some more?”

An eastern bluebird (Sialia sialis) arriving at the nest with food for its young (20080414_03434)

Joining the various farm animals is a contingent of wildlife.  Nesting in an old can wired to the utility shed because their house had been invaded by wasps, eastern bluebirds (Sialia sialis) rear their young with a diligence all of us at the farm notice.  Both mother and father spend their days bringing food to always hungry, always talkative young hiding away until it’s their time to fledge.  One need only walk out the side door to see this spectacle across the main yard.

Male brown-headed cowbirds (Molothrus ater) perched atop a pine tree (20080414_03445)

Meanwhile, male brown-headed cowbirds (Molothrus ater) gather atop a pine tree to plan their day.  Looking for mates and planning nest invasions undoubtedly requires a group effort.  Along with these avians can be found a litany of birdwatching gifts, from egrets to cardinals to flycatchers to hawks to owls to a plethora of winged beasts both great and small.  It’s not uncommon to see vultures flying low overhead as a hawk circles in the clouds.  The fact that Mom provides food for many bird species helps draw them in like clockwork, various groups and individuals visiting the feeders throughout the day as though scheduled in shifts to arrive and depart at preset times.

Those who don’t indulge in such handouts still surround the farm as they live out their lives in a vast wilderness that reaches through four states.  One need only stop, look and listen to enjoy a dynamic show of feathers.  And if the local population isn’t enough, my parents have a close friend who happens to lead the local bird banding efforts.  What might only be an unidentified shadow seen peripherally at other times suddenly rears up as large as life when a beautiful morning is spent identifying, cataloging, banding and enjoying the always surprising abundance of these creatures.

[To be continued…]

Brief encounters and new friends

An endless blue sky stretched above me as bright sunshine fell in a heavy downpour of heat.  I stood at the family farm the morning of April 14 waiting for that uncomfortable moment when my parents and I would head to the hospital for yet more doctor visits, more discussion of the tumors growing in my father’s head, more talk of the endlessly impending surgery that ultimately had to be done.

With camera in hand, I restlessly meandered about the main yard looking for something—anything—to photograph, to divert my attention.

Then I found it.

Moving along silently through grass and over dirt was a behemoth, a large beetle so black as to be like ink, so massive as to challenge anything smaller than my own fist.

A water scavenger beetle (probably Hydrophilus ovatus, but could be Hydrophilus triangularis) crawling across the ground (20080414_03463)

I knew it immediately to be either a predacious diving beetle or a water scavenger beetle[1], both of which grow to giant proportions and exhibit the same carapace made of shadow’s deepest hues.

A water scavenger beetle (probably Hydrophilus ovatus, but could be Hydrophilus triangularis) crawling across the ground (20080414_03464)

I knelt and tried photographing it as it marched along.  Much of its time was spent navigating a forest of grass, usually beneath it where capturing respectable images was all but impossible.  But from time to time it crawled into the light upon a bit of earth or a tuft of plant too low to provide shelter.

A water scavenger beetle (probably Hydrophilus ovatus, but could be Hydrophilus triangularis) crawling across the ground (20080414_03466)

Even with eyes intently focused on the creature before me, I realized all too quickly that another approached, one much larger than the first, one interested in discovering just what I had found.

Speckles, a chicken at the family farm, marching through the grass (20080414_03472)

Speckles, one of the chickens at the farm, had busied herself with hunting insects until she set eyes upon me.  Her curious nature and unrelenting interest in the food she’s come to expect from us made her divert course and head unswervingly for my location.

With eyes locked on the ground before me and occasionally glancing at me directly, she approached with steadfast resolution.

It was too late for me to protect the beetle.  The fowl marched right to me, looked me in the eye from within a breath of my face, then turned to look at the ground where my interest had been so focused.

She saw the large beast walking near the place where my knee rested.  She moved in for the kill.

It took but three strikes to dispatch and consume the beetle: the first stunned it into stillness, the second tore away both halves of its wing-covering shell, and the third saw it disappear into a beak on its way to oblivion.

“Hey, that was totally uncool!”  Somehow I felt scolding the hen at least made me feel better.

She cocked her head and looked at me, nothing more in her eyes than pleasant thanks for a sizable meal.

I stood and walked away.

She followed.

Then began a newfound friendship with Speckles.  She remained tight on my heels for quite some time, following me no matter where I went.  Each time I stopped she immediately inspected the ground beneath us, scanning tirelessly for the next goodie I might have discovered and delivered.

Sometimes she would look at me with a questioning face.  “Where is it?” I could hear in the silence between us.  “What did you find?  Point it out so it doesn’t get away.”

I couldn’t help but laugh constantly as I stumbled over her, gently pushed her out of the way with my foot when she refused to accept an empty offering, watched her shadow me ad nauseam while inspecting every inch of ground when I paused, and even tested her intent by zigging and zagging through the yard in random patterns.  She never left my side.

My father was tickled profusely by this scene, by this strange new relationship.

— — — — — — — — — —

[1] Only later while examining the images was I able to identify the insect as a water scavenger beetle (probably Hydrophilus ovatus, but could be Hydrophilus triangularis).  The species look too much alike to be properly identified without being keyed.  The reason I say it’s probably Hydrophilus ovatus is because that species is more common here in the south than is its close cousin, Hydrophilus triangularis.

Babies in da house

The family farm has enjoyed a veritable explosion of births recently.  There are more calves than I can shake a stick at.

And what devilishly, marvelously enchanting creatures they are, so full of verve and vigor, so young and cute.  They dash about the pastures in leaps and bounds, often ignoring their mothers’ attempts to assert control.

Here’s a small sampling of the babies I photographed almost two weeks ago.

Calves at the family farm (20080414_03486)
Calves at the family farm (20080414_03482)
Calves at the family farm (20080414_03503)
Calves at the family farm (20080414_03491)
Calves at the family farm (20080414_03494)

[edited to correct the typo xocobra so politely drew my attention to in the comments]