Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond’rous tale,
And nightly to the list’ning earth
Repeats the story of her birth;
Whilst all the stars that ’round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
Joseph Addison, 1672-1719
I’ve finished the next installment of my desert stallion series, titled “Dawn. Since my experiment with a watercolor wash turned out so well on the last painting “Mid-Day,” I decided to try the same thing again with a slight variation. This time, I used blue, orange, yellow and red watercolor pencils to block in large areas of color. Then I used a wet brush to blend the strokes of color on the paper. My original intention was to have the red area be the sand that the horse would be standing on. Unfortunately, I forgot and drew the horse standing on the blue area instead. Whoops! But I decided to make the best of a bad situation and instead look upon it as a challenge: creating a warm sand over blue and a cool morning sky over red and yellow.
Here I’ve begun really working on the sky. I decided that a purely blue sky simply wouldn’t work. Teal and aqua look better over yellow and deep ultramarines and purples work better with red than straight blue would. To my surprise, the warm colors underneath added instead of detracted from the scene. The sky began to look colorful and alive.
The blue turned out to work well as the base for the sand, much more so than I thought. I used more browns and creams and the sand looked cool, unheated by the light of day, just as it should in the early morning.
Now I had my basic ideas in place. Time to touch up. All through this I had been working periodically on the stallion, first using soft pastels in creams, peaches and browns. Now I took my hard pastel pencils and began adding layers of color and shadow. I even used some aqua to tie the foreground elements with the sky.
And here’s the finished product. For something that looked like it was going to be a disaster, it turned out well.
Here are close ups of the stallion. Arabians technically are not palominos, but I can dream, can’t I? :-) Palomino is my favorite horse color.
Today is Abigail Jane’s 6th birthday.
This year, the thing was to go to the water park and get completely soaked since it’s already hot here in Texas.
Kimmy was thrilled with the idea.
The big present was a beautiful Elsie Dinsmore doll that Abby had wanted for some time.
There’s just something about a little girl with her doll.
Abby’s cake was a real made-from-scratch butter cake with whipped cream icing. Yum!
Click here to see Abby blow out the candles.
Happy birthday, Abigail!
A dripping June keeps all in tune, or so the old motto says. June is certainly the rainiest of the summer months here in Texas. Perhaps that’s why it’s my favorite. We have color-splashed thunderheads in the early morning…
And grim, lowering ones in the hot afternoon.
And in between are peaceful skies of azure.
Almost everyday, I find myself checking the weather, hoping that there will be some summer drama forecasted. It’s a little disappointing to have the radar flash up like this and realize that all the storms in the vicinity are several hours away and moving in the wrong direction.
Bother. No excitement today. So it’s outside to go photograph a couple of birds. It was only when I looked up that I realized how wrong I was. Those storms may have been across the Red River (about four hours away) but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t see them.
I climbed a tree for a better look. The first thing I noticed was the distinctive anvil shape, which usually indicates a very powerful storm.
You may ask yourself why I could see these storms if they were so far away. That’s easily explained. There are a lot of factors involved, but basically as a storm develops, it is often pushed upright by powerful updrafts of warm air seeking to move past the cooler air near the surface of the earth. Eventually, the updraft reaches warmer air that refuses to allow it to rise any higher. This “cap” is usually the top of the tropopause, the lowest layer of the earth’s atmosphere. The air is forced to spread out, forming the characteristic anvil shape. Occasionally a powerful thunderstorm (such as a supercell) will “overshoot” into the stratosphere, but this doesn’t happen with regular storms. Anyway, when you consider that these storms reach heights greater than Mt. Everest, the idea of seeing them when they are several hundred miles away isn’t so impossible.
Here is the rear of the anvil. One of the most beautiful sights in the whole world is to see a storm like this at night as it moves majestically over the plains, pulsing with lightning and shaking the ground with thunder. Especially when the last few rays of sunlight turn the top of the anvil to gold, pink and red. But, the daylight is fine too when these storms look like mountains towering over the plains.
That’s what I love about Texas weather. There’s always something happening and usually when you least expect it. For example, a few days ago when I was taking out the garbage, I looked up and was greatly startled to see a rainbow streaking the early morning skies. Of course, it reminded me of only one thing…
Genesis 9:13-16 I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth. And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be seen in the cloud: And I will remember my covenant, which is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall no more become a flood to destroy all flesh. And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.
Even during the most mundane of days, there’s always something wonderful going on. You just need to look out your window.
I never considered myself to be much of a “flower” person growing up. That was for other girls. It hit me recently that I loved flowers as a young girl just as much as my friends, only it was the beautiful Texas wildflowers that captured my attention. This is one of my favorites, horsemint (and that’s not because it has the word “horse” in it!).
The milkweed flowers have faded and instead grown their long seed pods. In a few weeks, these pods will brown and open, revealing a treasury of silky white fluff.
Here’s the last of the cow vetch.
The vetch is being replaced by the tall purple Texas thistles.
This is a field of Queen Anne’s Lace or, as it is less commonly known, Wild Carrot.
Hardly a morning walk goes by when we don’t say hello to the neighbors’ horses.
This beautiful filly was born here in 2005.
Often during my morning exercise, I pause to watch airplanes as they fly overhead. We live just fifteen minutes south of an airport and sometimes the big jets come in so close we can see their shadows racing over the ground.
This month Kimmy learned how to ride a bike without training wheels. Now she can keep up with everyone else when we go biking.
Our blackberries have ripened into deep purple fruits.
Little girls just love to pick blackberries.
And big girls just love to bake blackberry pie!
Long before the summer solstice, temperatures soar in Texas. Some might find the high temperature and humid air uncomfortable, but I really enjoy it. What I like about it are the effects high temperature and humidity causes. Especially when a cool front sweeps down from the north.
Mornings in early June are usually hung over with low, wind-driven clouds that burn up by midday. It sure makes for some spectacular sunrises.
My morning walks are all the better for such scenes. If no one minds, I think I’ll put a few more cloud pictures in here and of what each scene reminded me of.
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet birds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under;
And then again I dissolve it in rain
And laugh as I pass in thunder…
…I am the daughter of earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain, when never a stain,
The pavilion of heaven is bare
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams,
Build up the blue dome of air –
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost form the tomb,
I arise and upbuild it again.
Shelley
Job 38:37-38 Who can number the clouds in wisdom? or who can stay the bottles of heaven, When the dust groweth into hardness, and the clods cleave fast together?
Psalm 104:1-3 …O LORD my God, thou art very great; thou art clothed with honour and majesty. Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment: who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain: Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters: who maketh the clouds his chariot: who walketh upon the wings of the wind…
“…very far away, I could see what might either be a great bank of cloud or a range of mountains. Sometimes, I could make out in it steep forests, far-withdrawing valleys, and even mountain cities perched on inaccessible summits. At other times it became indistinct. The height was so enormous that my waking sight could not have taken in such an object at all. Light brooded on the top of it: slanting down thence it made long shadows behind every tree on the plain…. The promise - or threat - of sunrise rested immovably up there.” The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, Chapter 3.
Here a bee makes its way to a Chaste tree blossom. This beautiful tree was planted a few days after our sheltie, Bonnee, died, so we have referred to it ever since as “Bonnee’s Tree.”
Here is a close up of the flowers on Bonnee’s tree. They smell wonderful. Incidentally, we get the herb Vitex from this tree, though I’m not sure which part.
There are numerous summer flowers for bees to work. Here a pair are drawn to the pungent scent of a ten inch magnolia blossom.
My morning walks are livened by not just the splendors of the sky, but by the more simple beauties found at my feet. Here is the yellow variety of Mexican hat. It’s also called the Long-headed Coneflower or the Thimbleflower.
For a long time, I didn’t know what kind of flower this was. Recently, a friend mentioned that she thought these were Black-eyed Susans, which started me on a hunt to find out once and for all what in the world this flower is named. Turns out, it is a Black-eyed Susan, and the flower that I thought was a Black-eyed Susan is actually the common sunflower! Oops!
This year, I seem to have developed a new passion for birds that rivals my old obsession with horses. I just can’t get enough of watching them during my morning walks. And photographing them - they tend to be among my favorite of subjects. Just recently, I took my first picture of Mrs. Cardinal, though believe me, it was not a first attempt!
And here’s a new variety of bird that I identified not long ago. These are Purple Finches, male and female.
I definitely spend more time gazing at the surrounding landscape than I do concentrating on exercising. Guess I’d better admit it; exercise is just a nice excuse to get out doors and enjoy nature. I can contemplate for ages over the slightest thing. Take this forest scene for example. I spent several minutes just looking at it before I even took the picture because it reminded me of something I read in a book…
“The entrance to the wood is dark. But we quickly pass through into light. The long, pure rays of that conquering light are interwoven with the tall stems of the trees, even as warp and woof, threads bright and dark, are interwoven in the web of our lives. But it is the bright threads that we shall see most clearly when we look upon the finished web. We are called to light, not to darkness.” Gold by Moonlight by Amy Carmichael, Chapter 2
But of all the treasures of summer, there is one I value above all others, a unique aspect of the Texas prairie. That would be the summer thunderstorm.
This storm was born on the opposing ends of a brief cool front that swept down a few days ago.
Before it struck, the air was hot and heavy. In the distance, the visible edge of the gust front swelled ominously in the humid air while all the birds fluttered nervously from place to place. It’s amazing how all the animals know when the weather is about to change.
Here you can actually see the gust front as it feeds off the humidity. Sometimes a strong gust front will actually sprout miniature funnels that feed off the moist air. These rarely touch the ground and when they do, they usually don’t cause any damage. Their presence doesn’t always indicate that the storm approaching is a severe one.
In the center of this picture, you can see the rain behind the gust front. This gust front had a lot of activity. I spotted numerous rotations as it swept overhead.
This is the part of the storm that I love most. Since the gust front is low and heavy, the light always dims. When you add the cool air and the sweet scent of rain - not to mention the deep rumble of thunder and bright flash of lightening - suddenly the atmosphere is fraught with a delicious sense of anticipation.
To see a video of this storm, click here.
The Lord Jehovah built the skies,
And reared this stately frame;
The wide creation testifies
The greatness of His name.
The liquid element below
Was gathered by His hand;
The rolling seas together flow,
And leave the solid land.
To Him, the Maker, does pertain
What in the ocean is;
The finny people of the main,
And monsters there, are His.
The dusky shades of hell that lie,
Wrapped up in webs of night.
May well elude the solar eye,
But not th’Almighty’s sight.
Death and destruction do in vain,
Their sable covering spread,
And in their secret vaults enchain,
Or fast lock up the dead.
The eye of the Almighty does
Their spoils entire survey;
And no distinction ever knows
Between the night and day.
He, o’er the airy empty place,
In pomp displays on high
The wide expanse, and ample space,
Of all the northern sky.
The ponderous earth, at His command,
Hangs in the ambient air;
No pillars bear the fabric grand,
But just His will and care.
He bids the clouds with water pent,
Imprisoned tempests chain;
Then their big floating wombs, unrent,
Suspend the birth of rain.
Again He bids their bosom ope,
And down the blessing pours,
To feed the lab’ring farmer’s hope
With warm prolific show’rs.
Lest His high throne, so dazzling bright,
By naked eyes unseen,
With too much glory oppress our sight,
He spreads His clouds between.
He raises rocky fences round
The spacious swelling deep,
Which do the raging billows bound,
Mad waves in prison keep.
That while the rule of day and night,
The sun and moon maintain,
The rolling seas may have no might
To drown the earth again.
High hills that pillars seem and props
Of heaven’s expanded roof,
Do quake, and bow their towering tops
Aghast at His reproof.
He cleaves the main, bids billows rise,
Then curbs the swelling tide;
How soon they cope with clouds and skies,
So soon He lays their pride.
The trembling waves at His command,
Creep softly to the shore;
Storms over-awed do silent stand,
Do quickly cease to roar.
Thus lawless seas He does control,
Diversifies the deep;
He makes the sleeping billows roll,
The rolling billows sleep.
He spreads the heavens, their azure face
He garnished by His might;
And did them most profusely grace
With constellations bright.
His hand the crooked serpent made;
But who can speak his art?
Of whom all’s nothing that is said,
We know so small a part.
Who can the utmost force explore
Of His almighty hands?
For even the thunder of His pow’r
What mortal understands?
Ralph Erskine
Growing up, I’ve loved to hear stories about my parents’ childhood pets… my father’s pet raccoon Skippy, or my mother’s family dog Smelly that her brothers accidentally shot while hunting one day. I’ve also enjoyed hearing about my grandparents pets or favorite animals, such as the horse that Grandma learned to ride on, or the parakeets my other late grandmother owned. Some of my favorite stories are about my parents birds which they had just before I was born.
This is my mother’s parakeet Grafton (dressed in blue) and his mate Lady.
This is my father’s hand-raised Quaker Parrot, Rudy. I hear a lot of mixed things about Rudy. Dad got her while house sitting for their pastor at the time. Their pastor and his wife had a lot of animals, many of which were birds. In fact, they had an entire aviary. Rudy’s clutch had been attacked by ants and one bird had already been killed when Dad found them and rescued them. He finished hand-feeding them in the house. Thus he acquired Rudy. Rudy loved Dad. She hated my mom.
But that’s not all the birds they had. Meet Ravel, my mother’s cockatiel.
Ravel came from the same aviary as Rudy, and Mom and Dad brought him home before he was even finished weaning. Consequently, he was very, very sweet, but he also had lots of personality!
He could talk and whistle. Mom tells me that he was quite proficient with “Pop Goes the Weasel” and would even improvise on the spot. Figures. My dad can do the same thing at the piano.
Mom and Dad also took care of another cockatiel, Beau, but we unfortunately don’t have any pictures of her.
Not surprisingly, Kathy and I have perpetuated the keeping of birds in the Spangler household even down to the same species of birds. We have Pixie…
…and Percy. (These pictures of Percy were taken after we had given him a bath with a spray bottle)
But there is just one thing missing. We have the parakeet. We have the Quaker parrot. Where are the cockatiels?
Kathy and I have been working together for some time to solve that dilemma, and as of last Friday, we have! Here are the new members to our flock.
Meet Tango, short for Tangelo, Kathy’s bird. He (though I suspect this bird is actually a she) is roughly between five and six weeks old.
This bird has absolutely the sweetest temperament I’ve ever seen in a bird. Already he has very much bonded to his owner.
Here he is with his coconut cup. This is the perch of choice, probably because it also provides food. Most of the time, I find him standing up to his drumsticks cracking seed.
Tango is a cinnamon pearl pied. The cinnamon part means that instead of being a charcoal grey, he’s more of a grey-brown (compare with Ravel’s coloring). The pearl part of it means that he has light scalloped marking on his wings. And being so heavily pied means that he’s almost white. Except for his wings, there isn’t a dark feather on his body.
This is Maestro Johann (though I just call him Johann), named after my favorite composer, J.S. Bach. He is seven weeks old.
Johann is a normal grey pearl pied, and he is far less heavily pied than Tango. In this picture, you can see the pale yellow pearl markings on his wings.
From the front, he looks like he’s wearing a three piece suit!
Johann is a bit more reserved than Tango, but he warms up quickly. Today he didn’t want me to put him back in his cage, which is a big step forward. His favorite game with me so far is when I whistle “Love Is A Song That Never Ends” by Frank Churchill. Hopefully, he’ll be whistling that himself before long.
Here you can see the difference in Johann’s and Tango’s coloring, especially the normal gray vs. the cinnamon. Both are incredibly beautiful, exotic looking birds.
We’ve waited a long time to get these birds and we are thoroughly enjoying them…
… you know… I think I’ve just fallen in love…
A friend e-mailed me this week and gave me the names of three wildflowers I have been unable to identify for some time. Here they are with their proper names!
This is a Moth Mullein.
This is a Fleabane Daisy (I got the daisy part right!).
And the last is a Texas dandelion (rather appropriate name).
Thanks, Mrs Wenneker, for sending me the information!
It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
It’s a neighborly day in this beauty-wood,
A neighborly day for a beauty.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you;
I’ve always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you,
So let’s make the most of this beautiful day,
Since we’re together, we might as well say;
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won’t you be my neighbor?
Fred Rogers
I live in a very beautiful neighborhood, though perhaps rather different than what most people would envision. My neighborhood is one of tiny country houses, big farms, horses, goats, cattle, and acres of wheat, alfalfa, or corn. Throughout this neighborhood is a network of tiny country roads that we as a family have been driving through for years. Our favorite family outing consists of a drive (usually after dinner at Jason’s or desert at Braum’s) through these little roads, out past Lake Lavon, and on towards home the back way.
These little roads are full of potholes (which are fun for anyone sitting in the back seat of a 15 passenger van), flanked by deep gullies, and usually shaded by huge oak or elm trees. Sometimes it’s like driving through a vibrant green tunnel.
The gullies by the road are usually filled with honeysuckle, among other things. When the honeysuckle is in bloom, it’s generally a good idea to drive with the windows open because it smells so heavenly.
Country roads aren’t like regular roads; they twist and turn. Because they’re often lined with trees, it’s sometimes difficult to see what’s beyond the next bend, and that lends to a sense of anticipation. After driving for a few minutes in the forest, the road will take a turn and suddenly, you’re out in pastureland dotted with cattle or horses. Or hay bales shaped like enormous marshmallows strewn across the field.
For an equine-obsessed little girl, the sight of horses was always a treat. Even today it still is.
In May, the open fields are dotted with evening primrose. By mid-June, they will be filled with black-eyed Susans and purple thistles.
Nearby the lake, you’ll come across old catfish heads hung on barbwire fences by the old fishermen who caught them. It’s a sort of contest to see who has the biggest fish head. Some of them have hung there for years and are now black with age.
About fifteen minutes from my place is Neil Sperry’s house (he wrote the book Neil Sperry’s Complete Guide To Texas Gardening). There’s always something blooming in his yard.
This is one of the old cemeteries near my house. Some of the tombstones date back over one hundred years!
I can’t remember how many times we’ve driven past this little goat farm. They’ve had goats as long as I can remember.
The flock guardian watches warily for danger.
Look who is tucked underneath.
Why is the grass always greener on the other side of the fence?
About two and a half miles from my house, there is a tiny farm off a crook in the road. It’s one of the most beautiful sights in my neighborhood. Several of Misty’s kittens (my childhood cat) ended up at this farm.
A quarter of a mile south from this farm is a little copse. This was christened long ago by my family as “The Hundred Acre Wood.” After a stop at Braum’s we would drive all the way out over Lake Lavon and back and usually come by this wood near the end of our drive. Dad would stop the car and roll down the windows so we could hear the the sounds of the forests, the nighttime insects, and the gurgling of a nearby stream. We always insisted we could hear Tigger bouncing through the woods.
“The Hundred Acre Wood” is actually part of a farm. As one drives southward, the trees open up into a lovely glade…
…and finally into open pasture land.
Even in open pasture land a few trees grow, usually cedars. Occasionally, one comes across a grand bur oak, or a pecan tree, as shown here.
Generally in these country drives, one comes across two types of fields: pastureland, which consists of native plants and imported rye grass…
…and wheat fields. Wheat fields are beautiful.
When I was little my father took me for drives down these little roads. When I was older, I biked them myself, like this person here is doing.
And though I’ve come to love these roads and the sights they bring very dearly, there is one place I love more. My home. It’s been a wonderful place to grow up.
It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
