That's My World Tuesday--Orange Dog Days of Summer in Florida

Now that the dog days of summer in the northern hemisphere are almost over, I thought it only fitting that the orange dog caterpillar, Papilio cresphontes, should get some face time on the blog. It might not be pretty now, looking like something a bird had for breakfast, but that ugly visage will change soon enough. A giant swallowtail butterfly will emerge from a chrysalis that the caterpillar forms for itself. It seems like magic every time it happens, and I don't mind a bit that the orange dog is feasting on my pink grapefruit tree. It must be the mother in me that keeps saying "Eat, eat, and have some more!"

For more That's My World Tuesday stories this week, please visit the official site and check out what other bloggers have posted.

NN/SOTS: Observe What Happens When Country Girls (and Guy) Go to the City and Let Go

Yesterday, before the forecasted rain fell (?!), Daughter suggested that we take a walk in the neighborhood. She sighed just a little when she observed me heading outdoors with the camera in hand. It tends to make our walks last a little longer than originally planned. So what? I take a casual approach to walking, among other things. Our home is "in the country," at the edge of a growing community that I'll bet doesn't qualify as a city for all intents and purposes. We don't even have a real post office, just a counter tucked away in a discount grocery store! There are very few zoning restrictions here. Some of our neighbors take a more casual approach to landscaping--once planted, let it go and grow...

Whilst others work for hours to sculpt their properties into showplaces bursting with magnolia and azalea opulence.

My approach falls somewhere in between the two extremes. I don't care much for perfect lawns, and I'm perfectly happy to let wild verbena grow in this soil that grows things in fits and starts. If verbena was good enough at one time to be considered holy and carried by priests--really! it's in my dictionary--it's welcome to bloom religiously and take over my lawn if it wants to. I'm not absolutely sure, but I think it might be Verbena tenuisecta that greets my feet when I walk around my yard.

Most of the blueberry bushes that SAM and I planted last year have survived a sweltering Florida summer and are now blooming to beat the band--something we hear practicing again, by the way, on the high school football field nearby. A soil sample I took to MG class last week for analysis showed a pH of 6.54, a bit high when the recommended range is 4.0 to 5.5. I was hoping for some gentle rain to soak in some more acidizing fertilizer with sulfate to the row of shrubs. Somehow I miscalculated the amount of fertilizer necessary to bring these bushes up to speed when I applied it just a few weeks ago.

Oh well; they're blooming and leafing out just fine for now. Besides, the soil they're growing in has been amended with mushroom compost, and our Fearless Leader (Extension Agent and Teacher) assured me that the compost itself may be what is skewing the pH level. Not to worry, though. A little acidizer will balance things. Now if only that rain would have come as promised...

The pink grapefruit trees that I thought were goners for sure are showing signs of life now. We put some corrugated, perforated plastic pipe around the trunks to keep the cat and the weed trimmer from wounding the tender bark, and I guess it saved the trees from freezing to death. I actually did something right for a change. Will wonders never cease?

Wait a minute, though. Just as you begin to think that this walking family has all of its ducks in a row, it goes to Tallahassee--two weeks ago--and makes a spectacle of itself. We visited Florida's Historic Capitol building on a Sunday afternoon when another threat of rain dampened our plans for a hike. As you can plainly see, we country people tend to let go when we visit the city. Can you guess who the three fools are behind the cutouts? They change positions, so observe carefully.

The devil is in the details, as they say.

Careful observers may foretell the hour

(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower:

While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er

Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more...

(from Jonathan Swift's "A Description of a City Shower," 1710)

From now on, maybe I should pay more attention to tell-"tail" signs like the cat's level of activity than the official weather forecast. We made that trip to the old capitol building on a day when the showers were few and scattered, and today the rain made a very brief appearance. A high pressure system has now taken over the weather pattern, and the sun is shining brightly again. The cat took a brief nap inside when it clouded over, but now she's out and about looking for a natural scratching post or something to chase. Well, at least SAM and I should have some good hiking/kayaking weather this weekend in Tallahassee.

A View of the Ceiling at Florida's Historic Capitol in Tallahassee

Please visit Ramblingwoods.com for this week's Nature Notes/Signs of the Seasons post and links to posts by other bloggers who write about their latest encounters with nature.

Mutability: A Tin Can Tourist's Trip to Downtown Tallahassee

When the mercury dropped to record lows over the weekend, Secret Aging Man and I--temporarily known as Tin Can Tourists--had few options for entertainment, but that fact didn't spoil our fun. We awoke on Saturday morning to realize that we had not left the water dripping from the faucets as my mom had wisely suggested in her phone call the night before. Fortunately, the pipes in the camper were not damaged, but an ice plug in a hose leading from the outside faucet to the camper was obstructing the flow of water. A neighbor camper--much more experienced at this sort of thing--said she had filled up her water tank on Friday evening and disconnected the outside hose. I learned something else that morning: the shower house at the campground is clean, warm, and seldom used by anyone else, which is just what I like. With showers out of the way, now what do we do? The usual outdoor activities we have begun to enjoy around Tallahassee like hiking and garden walking were out of the question. A quick online search revealed a new-to-us treasure--the Museum of Florida History. Our treasure map took us by this fountain in the Kleman Plaza. Ice in a fountain in Florida's capital is not something you see every day.

I'm sure this plaza is filled with people on warmer days. We didn't see too many of them on Saturday, which is another something that I like. I get to take pictures without feeling like I'm invading someone else's privacy or getting stared/glared at.

I wonder what kinds of voices Florida women have that make them special? Is it just the drawl that sets them apart, or do those voices find expression in unexpected ways? I didn't get to find out on this visit. The ice plugged water line and late start in the day had prevented us from taking our time, and so did a supper invitation from one of SAM's new colleagues. I'm sure I will be back to get my answer before this display leaves the building sometime in April.

Florida's strange history would not be complete without a giant mastodon to consider. These giants disappeared along with the ice sheets that used to cover much of the earth during the last great ice age. No one has been able to figure out exactly why this happened. Were the furry beasts not able to cope with the blazing heat that soon became the norm, or did too many Fred Flintstones and Barney Rubbles find those ribs irresistible?

Here is another display that caught my eye. "Boots, Bustles, & Bitters" sounds like it would make a great song title. I'll have to get Daughter to come up with a good tune while I think of some lyrics. It will be something to keep our minds occupied on these long, cold winter nights and sure beats watching the idiot box.

It's too bad this idea didn't catch on back then. We could have avoided all kinds of trouble and countless debates over climate change.

Florida would not be the state it is today without the influence of these itinerants. I've become an expert in short order at this sort of thing.

I'm happy to report that our world on wheels is a little fancier than this model. It's perfect for one person most of the time and just about right for two people some of the time, especially when it's not so cold outside.

It's a little hard to believe that Florida's citrus history stretches this far back in time. That thing that looks like a crack in the wall represents a huge rift in the history. It was caused by another Great Freeze in Florida that occurred in the 1890s.

By the time I got home yesterday, the damage to the pink grapefruit trees had already been done. All of that lovely growth I was crowing about not long ago has retreated and left behind nothing but these brown-paper memories of former glory. The trees might still be okay if we don't have any more severe cold snaps this winter. There is a chance that new leaves will appear in the spring.

I finally coaxed Peanut out of the house and into the sunshine this afternoon. She will never get used to living in Alaska at this rate.

I filled up the cart three times today with trimmings from the frost-bitten garden. It was necessary to keep the yard looking presentable to potential homebuyers, and it's one of those chores I don't mind doing when the mercury makes its ascent into the range of normal again.

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From low to high doth dissolution climb,

And sink from high to low, along a scale

Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;

A musical but melancholy chime,

Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,

Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.

Truth fails not, but her outward forms that bear

The longest date do melt like frosty rime,

That in the morning whitened hill and plain

And is no more; drop like the tower sublime

Of yesterday, which royally did wear

His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain

Some casual shout that broke the silent air,

Or the unimaginable touch of Time.

--"Mutability" by William Wordsworth, 1822--

NN/SOTS: 'Expatiate Free O'er All This Scene of Man'

Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things
To low ambition, and the pride of kings...
Let us (since life can little more supply
Than just to look about us and to die)
--from Alexander Pope's An Essay on Man, 1733--

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By the time a New Year is upon us, cooler weather has usually lulled our Florida garden into a slower, more manageable growth rate. The past two months, though, have given us a run for our money with a greater-than-normal amount of rainfall. My pink carpet roses have begun to bloom again, and the lantana sneaks through the screened lanai. If I don't soon nip it in the bud, it will send even more shoots poking through the screen and wrap itself around our feet as we sun ourselves on the patio. I could imagine it dragging us by the ankles to the pool, over the edge of the concrete, and into the chilly water--if I were inclined toward something approaching nihilistic thinking. The recent climate-change conference in Copenhagen revealed a whole host of people inclined in that direction. Apparently, some of those people haven't a clue or don't care what sort of message that kind of thinking and behavior sends to children. Are we headed toward swift and sure annihilation, pushed over the edge of a climate-change cliff by a cloud of greenhouse gases? Who's to say? A bunch of scientists and politicians can't see the future, unless they have some supernatural ability I'm not aware of. Is it right to take sensible steps as stewards of the earth to protect it and its inhabitants? Of course--all of the inhabitants, including the human kind, deserve care and respect.

Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man;
A mighty maze! but not without a plan;

A wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot,
Or garden, tempting with forbidden fruit.

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Our pink grapefruit trees have put on a shamefully prodigious growth spurt in the past couple of months. Now that the one fruit has been picked and eaten, they are free to use their energy for branching out and putting on new leaves.

Daughter and Mr. T have also decided to branch out a bit. Why do you suppose he's on one knee? Look carefully at Daughter's left hand.



Together let us beat this ample field,
Try what the open, what the covert yield;
The latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore
Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar;
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I don't remember much sign language because I haven't practiced it very much. Daughter and I took a signing class a few years ago. She had a massage client at that time who was deaf, and she wanted to be able to communicate more effectively with him and other hearing-impaired people. I went along to the class for moral support and because I thought we could practice together and not lose what we learned. Somehow, we managed to forget about practicing and have forgotten most of what little we did learn. I do remember some of the alphabet, though, and it seems to me that Micah is signing the letter "F" in this picture. Ever since he was a tiny baby, he has been very expressive with his hands. I've read that babies seem to have ways of communicating quite well before they even begin to speak, if we are careful enough to take note. Micah is already talking up a storm and putting coherent sentences together, but I think he still likes to use his hands. We were being told to smile for the camera, and he couldn't talk at this point. Or maybe he wanted to say something abstract like "I love my family" and didn't have the right words in mind just yet.

Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies,
And catch the manners living as they rise;
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Yesterday I took a walk with Mr. T while Daughter was at work. He's here for a few more days before he has to return to Texas, and a walk seemed like a good opportunity to talk about stuff. I took the camera along because I had seen something along the road not far from where that falling-down house stands. Whatever this thing is, it's been in this spot for about a month now, standing up through repeated rains and high winds. To me, it looks like a version of Father Time, lifting up his arms. Is it in supplication or in warning, I wonder? I thought about pushing the weeds aside to discover what it's made of--plastic, paper?--but then I decided to leave it in place for other walkers to see and wonder about.

Laugh where we must, be candid where we can;
But vindicate the ways of God to man.
--from Pope's essay as above--

Guess what's on our New Year's Day menu? Beans, of course, and some of this beautiful stuff from the garden.
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Please visit Ramblingwoods.com and see what's been keeping other lively imaginations busy this week in their Nature Notes/Signs of the Season posts. (I hope Michelle doesn't mind too much that I've shortened the reference to her meme to NN/SOTS!)

Nature Notes--A Winter's Tale About Moe and Joe

What? Have I twice said well? When was 't before?
I prithee, tell me. Cram 's with praise and make 's
As fat as tame things. One good deed dying
Tongueless
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.
Our praises are our wages...
--from William Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale, Act I, Scene 2--


Before I begin my story about Moe and Joe, I'll treat you with a sursum-corda look at my pink Gerbera daisies and one of our two baby pink grapefruit trees. They do tend to brighten up an otherwise fading-into-winter landscape here in Northwest Florida. Secret Aging Man picked our one grapefruit since this picture was taken a few days before the last full moon, and let me tell you, it was juicy but lip-puckering tart. If I were the kind of person who always says "I told you so," I would have reminded him that we had a discussion about the optimal time for picking the fruit. I'm learning to bite my tongue, though, about certain things. Most situations in life just aren't worth picking a fight, even if it does boost the old ego or enhance the mojo to take someone else down a notch or two. Secret Aging Man has endured enough ego deflation or mojo meltdown being unemployed this past year to last him a lifetime. It's still true, for better or worse, that a man's notion of self-worth is married to his ability to provide for his family. Thankfully, SAM's persistent, yearlong job search has paid off, and he's "moving forward"--have we had enough of that term yet?--with his career. Now I can tell Moe and Joe's story...

Every time I see a turtle now I think about a guy in Kentucky named Joe Sly--not his real surname--and his anniversary gift to his wife Moe. When I was favored with a glimpse of this box turtle, Terrapene carolina--not sure of the subspecies--several weeks ago as it crossed our back yard, my mind slipped back in time to old Joe and his odd turtle story. Secret Aging Man crossed paths with Joe when they both worked for an environmental consulting company in Paducah. SAM the geologist and Joe Sly the GeoProbe Guy worked as a team looking for subsurface contamination coming from leaking underground storage tanks. Back when state and federal funds for this kind of work just about grew on trees, in the mid 1990s, SAM had no trouble landing a job in Kentucky after selling his own environmental service company. Times were good for most Americans then as the nation's prosperity was kicked into high gear. Even Joe brought home a sizable paycheck for his labor with the GeoProbe, but his east Kentucky frugality never left him. One day while working on an out-of-town project near a lake, Joe spotted a huge snapping turtle in the water. Somehow he managed to wrestle the thing onto dry land without getting bitten and put it into a wide bucket. He took it back to his hotel room that evening and kept it alive in the bathtub for a few days until he could get it home to his wife. As the story goes, when he separated the animal from its shell, he found a gold ring stuck tightly around the proximal end of its tail. Since Joe's wedding anniversary was coming up, he considered himself doubly blessed. He was finally able to give Moe the real gold ring she'd never had as well as able to present her with some of the finest turtle meat ever to grace a table. We never got to meet Moe and hear her side of the story, so this might just be one of those Tall Tales that men at work tell each other to lighten the load.

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For more posts this week about nature and the change of seasons, please visit Ramblingwoods.com.