the uninvited guest

Another day passes with me doing next to nothing. I’m extremely good at that and, in fact, that’s how I wanted to spend my retirement. Doing nothing, with my wife and the dogs. Instead, I do nothing with her dog, who’s even better at doing nothing than I am.

I do have this grandiose plan to semi-master the DSLR camera this winter, taking pictures of snow (“this is the snow on the roof, this is the snow on the patio, this is the snow on the garden, this is the snow that fell yesterday and this is the snow that’s falling now…..”), but meanwhile, when I can drag myself out of the house, I carry the Coolpix and, this afternoon, took these pictures for no reason at all.

Here’s Yucca rupicola from south-central Texas. Some genius at making up common names decided to call it the twisted-leaf yucca. The green color of the leaves adds a garish touch to a dry garden, though this yucca does like a little more water than most yuccas (it doesn’t get it). And, yes, there’s a posterior in the picture; a steel javelina.

Yucca rupicola

And its relative, Yucca pallida from east-central Texas. Also likes more water than it gets here. Both these yuccas tolerate snow lying on them for months. (Some species will tolerate cold but can’t tolerate a huge pile of snow on them; the leaf cuticle breaks down, and the plants rot.) I’m also growing the near relative, Y. reverchonii, also a Texan, but don’t know about its snow tolerance. Don’t really want to know, either.

Yucca pallida

I was sitting at the laptop, staring at the yucca pictures, when a loud, repeated bird call came from the back yard. One I’d never heard before. Walked out to where I thought the sound was coming from, with the Coolpix in hand, and there was a Cooper’s hawk in the apple tree. The alarm call is here at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

I tried to get a picture of the hawk, but it was hopping from branch to branch, and I came face to face with the object of its alarm. This is becoming a regular feature of the garden. The owl didn’t want to stand still for its picture and was bobbing its head up and down, looking at the hawk. Tried to get closer but it flew off, with the much smaller hawk in pursuit.

The Cooper’s hawk is up in the apple tree, just out of the picture at top right.

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waiting for the summer rain

Some people in this neighborhood who have allowed their lawns to go brown, tan, or even white this summer have expressed their belief that the lawns will “come back”. I’ve been pondering this belief for a couple of days.

I really don’t care about lawns one way or the other, but this belief in the resurrection of grass is interesting. Autumn and winter are the dry seasons in Denver, and if people are not watering now, are there plans to water later in the year, or a belief in some miracle that will bring enough rain so that the lawns do come back?

Some of the lawns are ryegrass and fescue, and the belief that these will come back under any circumstances is probably unfounded.

It’s been raining here every day. Like this:

My daily allotment of rain.

To continue the lawn theme, I took a few pictures with the Coolpix of my lawns in all their glory.

In the front yard. Should I call six square feet of grass a lawn? It’s mostly a bunny wallow. The cage protects a young Mexican blue oak, Quercus oblongifolia.

The blue grama and alkali sacaton. left unmowed to conserve water. The soil here is compacted clay subsoil that cuts like frozen ice cream when dug in.

 

Looking in the other direction to show off the blue grama’s seed heads, which are attractive even in winter.

 

The “way back” lawn, left for the rabbits, who have eaten part of the lawn right to the ground. This is on deep creek bottom loam.

 

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