Broken record

I almost hate to mention it again--hate to repeatedly complain about how miserably hot it is. I've never been patient with those that continually complain about its being cold in the wintertime--after all, isn't it supposed to be that way?
How is this any different?
Certainly, there must be something more newsworthy than the weather?
I feel like a broken record.

But in actuality, the weather in SW Ohio (and many other locations) is news. In fact, for the last two days, the summary of August's weather statistics has been front page news.
The hottest August on record, ever, combined with the 12 inches below average rainfall for the year, has caused what is now considered an "extreme drought".
It's not supposed to be this way.
My complaints are not the only "broken record."




The pond which was so lovely to look at in early May,


is now low enough to reveal the remnants of the previous dam. The glossy surface, replaced by the thick green growth of late summer. And the edges no longer covered in water have filled in with tall grasses. I see many deer tracks in the exposed mud of the old dam, and hope they don't get mired attempting to reach some water they must thirst for. Their grazing fields are dry and brown, bushes dropping their leaves early.

The grapes we'd eagerly watched and hoped for have suffered, too. First the Japanese beetles, then the drought, now caterpillars. Not a grape remains--hopefully the vines will pull through.
We use our land for enjoyment and plantings for amusement. I can only imagine how helpless the neighboring farmers must feel--their livelihoods hanging by a thin thread.

International Rock Flipping Day

September 2, 2007 found me at Lake Cumberland, Kentucky. An Army Corps of Engineers project from the 1950s, Lake Cumberland has 55,000 surface acres of water and over 1200 miles of shoreline. What a place to flip a rock!



Because of much needed repairs to the dam, the water level this year has been drastically dropped (about 40 feet) revealing beautiful rocky ledges and colorful expanses hidden beneath the lake for years.

For me, though, red, rocky ledges can also mean unfamiliar hidden reptiles--I was a little out of my comfort zone on these more southern Kentucky slopes. So, I decided to play it safe and seek my rocks by canoe, along the edges.

The layering is beautiful,
from fragile shale that disintegrates into flakes like jigsaw pieces,

to chunky limestone blocks.

And, if you look very closely, some large, round, crystal-lined balls are within the layers--

geodes!

I was able to glide right up to this one at the water's edge.

And many are still buried within the layers--
looking like little cannonballs embedded in the walls of the canyon.

Can you see this one? (Look 18" beneath the weathered stump)

So, technically, I didn't look under a rock, more actually, between rocks.
Does that count?

To see what others have found on IRFD, take a look:
Windywillow (Ireland)
Heraclitean Fire (London, England)
Sheep Days (Illinois, USA)
Earth, Wind & Water (somewhere in the Caribbean)
Pocahontas County Fare (West Virginia, USA)
chatoyance (Austin, Texas)
Fragments from Floyd (Virginia, USA) - GRAND PRIZE WINNER
Watermark (Montana, USA)
pohanginapete (Aotearoa/New Zealand)
Fate, Felicity, or Fluke (Oregon, USA)
Thomasburg Walks (Ontario, Canada)
Idle Thoughts of an Idle Woman (Queensland, Australia)
The Transplantable Rose (Austin, Texas)
Nature Woman (New York state, USA)
Marja-Leena Rathje (British Columbia, Canada)
A Blog Around the Clock (North Carolina, USA)
Busy Dingbat’s Sphere (West Virginia, USA)
Hoarded Ordinaries (New Hampshire, USA)
Congo Days (Kinshasa, Congo)
this too (London, England)
Roundrock Journal (Missouri, USA)
Wanderin’ Weeta (British Columbia, Canada)
Blaugustine (London, England)
A Honey of an Anklet (Virginia, USA)
Looking Up (Ohio, USA)
Ontario Wanderer (Ontario, Canada)
Bug Safari (California, USA)
Riverside Rambles (Missouri, USA)
Pure Florida (Florida, USA)
Burning Silo (Ontario, Canada)
Musings from Myopia (Texas, USA)
Cicero Sings (British Columbia, Canada)
Joan (Missouri, USA)

My IRFD escort, a Green Heron who stayed just ahead of the canoe, waiting for a juicy tidbit to crawl out from under a rock.

Gumption

Blame it on the heat...
I've been burned out.

Discouraged by the lack of anything beautiful to study.
Disappointed that, even when I steal a few minutes to enjoy the out of doors, it doesn't refresh me.
Concerned that I'm finding it hard to appreciate what I love the most--being out in nature.
And so desperately waiting for this awful dry spell to pass.

The chicory beside the path was open wide, greeting the morning sun. Standing tall, adding splashes of periwinkle to the brown field grasses around it. And I walked on, around the loop, hoping for something more beautiful. No birds, no butterflies--just crickets scurrying ahead of my steps through the short grass on the trails.
And as I was almost back to the house, I found what I was looking for. An ever-so-short chicory in the middle of the grass path. Poor thing--it's purpose in life never realized, literally cut short by a mower blade every time it put forth growth. Never growing tall like its neighbors to the side.
But, even as discouraged as that little plant must have been by the repeated mowings, it was in full bloom. Covered with more flowers than you'd think its small 2-inch size could support--giving everything it could muster to its purpose in life, before it is too late.
Simply a little weed...but the sight of it was beautiful.

Frost says it best

"When I was young, we dwelt in a vale
By a misty fen that rang all night,


And thus it was the maidens pale
I knew so well, whose garments trail
Across the reeds to a window light.


The fen had every kind of bloom,
And for every kind there was a face,
And a voice that has sounded in my room
Across the sill from the outer gloom.


Each came singly unto her place,
But all came every night with the mist;
And often they brought so much to say
Of things of moment to which, they wist,
One so lonely was fain to list,



That the stars were almost faded away
Before the last went, heavy with dew,
Back to the place from which she came--


Where the bird was before it flew,
Where the flower was before it grew,
Where bird and flower were one and the same.


And thus it is I know so well
Why the flower has odor, the bird has song.
You have only to ask me, and I can tell.
No, not vainly there did I dwell,
Nor vainly listen all the night long."
~Robert Frost

Paint Creek Lake

This morning we took the canoe to Paint Creek Lake. A nice breeze on the water and bright sunshine were the perfect remedy for my claustrophobia from this week's miserable temperatures and suffocating humidity.
The Paint Creek region is the very edge of the Appalachian Plateau--the hill country of southeastern Ohio frames most views from the water.

Limestone cliffs border some areas, sand beaches others. And, because the water level is down more than a foot, large sand bars are exposed.


We stopped here for a while, killdeer scurrying all over this bar of small pebbles. The weathered log had an interesting pattern on the root surfaces.


At the water's edge--birds!!


Gulls and Caspian Terns?


That's the most birding excitement I've had in a very long time!

Cool creature

This evening our local weatherman gave this August's statistics. Five days above 100 degrees, and an average monthly temperature 10 degrees above normal, 94. Yes, it's been hot.
And with the heat, my activities have been restricted to whatever can be accomplished indoors, and with minimal heat generation and energy expenditure. After another sandwich dinner tonight, and with blinds drawn, we commented on how the extreme heat has reminded us of the other extreme, a blizzard. Schools were even closed today, as conditions become unsafe.


But, carrying on, unaffected by the discomfort the rest of the natural world seems to be displaying, the ant lions have taken up residence in their "usual" spot on the ramp to the barn.
Apparently, they prefer to be protected like this, with the eaves shielding the dirt from rain and harsh sun. It remains dry and loose year-round--the perfect building material for their pits. Each depressed ridge in the concrete ramp holds just enough dirt for them to doodle around. Many conical pits, with an ant lion buried at the center of each, are excavated in each ridge.
Each year, I know this is where I'll find them, fierce-looking mandibles ready for unwary dinner to tumble in.
Sometimes, I feed them a treat--and watch their dirt-throwing behavior as they attempt to snare their prey.
And sometimes I unearth one, just to meet the creature that builds with such skill, such a deadly trap for an ant.



Now, isn't he cool??

Have you seen...

A small, fuzzy caterpillar hanging from his silver thread..


climbing...








climbing...








climbing...







"Have you seen...." is an effort to discover the unusual beauty in things not usually appreciated for their beauty.