Flowers at dawn

[altivo]

Dawn on the last day of March proved true to the adage "In like a lion, out like a lamb" this year. I went to the kitchen to make coffee, and looking out the window I saw the sun hit the first daffodil of the spring. (Click for larger view if you wish.) It seems a bit overexposed, but I selected this one over another snap that was more yellow, because I liked the brilliance where the sunlight hits it.

We have hundreds of daffodils planted, scattered all around the southern end of our land. This is partly just because we like them, but also a result of having seen them blooming in early spring down in southern Illinois and Indiana, when we went on hiking trips there. In many places in the state and national forests where there were once homesteads that are now long gone, you still find the daffodils that have divided and multiplied to form dense mats. These naturalized beds (sometimes 50 feet or more across) still outline buildings and even walkways that are otherwise completely invisible to the eye. Gary was quite taken by this ghostly shadow of things that once were, and has planted more and more daffodils nearly every year since we bought our place.

The weather is springlike too. Slightly hazy, but warm, rising into the 70F region today. As I look out my window at work, I see that the oaks in the park outside have taken on a slightly greenish tinge and look "fuzzy" compared with last week. I'm sure the leaf buds are swelling and greening up, even though oaks are usually the last trees to leaf out in this area.

We've had crocus blooming for almost two weeks now. As usual, the yellow and solid purple varieties opened first, followed only in the last couple of days by the blue and white striped and pure white blossoms. They are all the same species, and it has puzzled me why certain colors would blossom earlier than others, but the pattern is consistent. Here we see a pair of snow white blossoms with intensely yellow centers, the last color to appear.

As I mentioned yesterday, the birds have been busy and noisy. Mid-morning today we were puzzled by what sounded like water dripping. Listening carefully, we tracked it to the bathroom, yet nothing was dripping in there. It was a loud, rhythmic plopping noise, just like large drips falling into a barrel that amplified the sound. Gary even opened up the crawlspace under the house to see if he could hear it down there. When I slid the shower doors aside, it stopped, but only to start up again as soon as we gave up on it and left the room. Finally I opened a window and determined that it was definitely coming from outside. The sound was almost certainly a bird unknown to me, but had hints of a small animal in distress, like a chipmunk calling for its mother or something. Very rhythmic, mostly like water plopping but sometimes with a little breathy squeak on the end. Later I heard it in the garage and would have sworn that the noise maker was inside there, but I don't think it was. A puzzle yet unsolved...

Comments

[hrrunka]

Only just beginning to see a few daffodils here, but the crocuses have been out for two or three weeks. March is going out with a roar over here this year...

[flamekist.livejournal.com]

Our daffodils are almost ending their blooming cycle. Every year I tell myself to plant some in my yard since they seem to grow wild down here and are everywhere.

[moonhare]

I used to find abandoned farm houses, and cellar holes, out in our Big River Reservoir lands after the State condemned hundreds of acres for its failed project. Some of these were quite literally in the middle of nowhere, their once well-traveled roads now washed out or choked with shrubbery and trees. I was quite impressed by the wild beds of untended daffodils and iris that remained years beyond the last occupants vacated these places.

I associate daffodils with Wordsworth.

[...usual edit done. I'd blame the iTouch but it's just me.]

[(Anonymous)]

Hey 'Tivo,

Sorry I haven't commented in your new spot before now. I've read through a chunk, though, and I'm glad that for the most part things seem to be going well for you. I've been having some rough times of late and have done some supremely dumb things but have some hope that I will find my way out of them. (I posted about this in my LJ, but warning: Emo Coyote is Emo, and vague as well.)

Anyway, I hope things continue to go well and that your camera brings you even more joy. I love taking pictures too, so it's good to see your pleasure :)

Light and laughter,
SongCoyote

[altivo]

Yes, I gather that from all the comments coming across the pond. Here we hit above 80F today, which is extremely warm for so early in the year. And it has been dry for so long already that we have warnings of wildfire risk.

[altivo]

You really should plant some. They require little or no care and bloom every year. The clump that I photographed yesterday had two blooms open. Today, with this surge of heat, it has about 25 flowers and more to come. The larger patches out near the road are opening to the tune of 100 or more blossoms in each. Photos tomorrow maybe.

[altivo]

These lands were not taken by eminent domain, happily. Or perhaps unhappily. They were abandoned back around the time of the Great Depression, either as a result of the economy or the Dust Bowl. Most were not very good farmland to begin with. The Shawnee National Forest in Illinois is rocky, precipitous, and has sticky yellow clay soil. The Yellowwood Forest in Indiana has better soil but is prone to flooding and washouts. Both would have been real poverty makers if you were trying to actually farm for a living. One of the former homestead sites we have visited repeatedly appears to have had a sod house dug into a hillside, a shallow well, and miserable clay soil. Disease was rampant too, either mosquito born or perhaps tuberculosis, as the "cemetery" on the hill above it has a dozen graves bearing the last name "Greathouse" and most were children under ten years old. The markers are sandstone or shale, with names scratched in them by a knife or awl. Amazingly, they are still readable with a little effort, even 90 years after the burial dates.

[altivo]

Welcome. It's good to hear from you.

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