Not So Wordless Wednesday ~ Nature Walk

Take a nature stroll with me on the wild canyon lands of the Texas Panhandle.


Bright sun, cool breeze


My life doesn't seem so stressful when I consider what this little yellow wildflower has to deal with. Rock can't be too easy to grow in, even crumbly rock.

Prickly Pear Cactus


Mourning Dove nest and eggs


Feeling all bent out of shape? Mesquite stump and cholla cactus


Busy Red Ants


A yellow coneflower, see how the wind is ruffling their skirts


Horned Frog or as most folks call them, horny toads--I used to catch these as a girl. Love 'em still. On the endangered list, but their numbers are increasing. This is a fat, handsome fella. He was sitting near an ant trail and feasting on passers-by.


Shade is so hard to come by on the prairie. Bull snake


Seek beauty and sweetness in life. Bumble bee in a hollyhock bloom.

Dandelion Days

Can we all just agree that the humble dandelion is a wildflower, not a weed?

Driving on 'the ring' in Brussels one spring morning I could see the glow of yellow in a median ahead. As I came along side it, I was delighted to find it filled with the biggest, most golden dandelions I'd ever seen.

Wildflowers, like a piece of the sun had fallen to earth.

And yes, a week later the median bed was filled with light, fluffy, white seeds. More wildflowers to come.

Gardening would be easier on everyone if we took delight in dandelions instead of despair.

"Grandpa, are they ready? Now?
Grandfather pinched his chin. "Five hundred, a thousand, two thousand easy. Yes, yes, a good supply. Pick 'em easy, pick 'em all. A dime for every sack delivered to the press!"
"Hey!'
The boys bent, smiling. They picked the golden flowers. The flowers that flooded the world, dripped off lawn onto brick streets, tapped softly at crystal cellar windows and agitated themselves so that on all sides lay the dazzle and glitter of molten sun.
"Every year," said Grandfather. "They run amuck; I let them. Pride of lions in the yard. Stare, and they burn a hole in your retina. A common flower, a weed that no one sees, yes. But for us, a noble thing, the dandelion."
So, plucked carefully, in sacks, the dandelions were carried below. The cellar dark glowed with their arrival. The wine press stood open, cold. A rush of flowers warmed it. The press, replaced, its screw rotated, twirled by Grandfather, squeezed gently on the crop.
"There...so..." The golden tide, the essence of this fine fair month ran, then gushed from the spout below, tho be crocked, skimmed of ferment, and bottled in clean ketchup shakers, then ranked in sparkling rows in the cellar gloom.
Dandelion wine.
The words were summer on the tongue. The wine was summer caught and stoppered.

From 'Dandelion Wine' by Ray Bradbury.

If your creative work this month could be distilled into a fine food or beverage, what would it taste like? What elements would roll around the tongue? What flavors linger?

Would you find your main ingredient to be something others throw away?