Life and July 2010

The nice thing about returning to a place of memories is that it fosters a sense of continuity. Refugio, Texas, is like that for me.
Though I see something new every time I return here, I also am grounded in the familiarity of the smells and sounds of Creation that abound in this part of the world. Last year was bone-dry drought; this week is lush, soggy greeness.
Oak trees here... giant sentinals of time... are part of that continuity, that innate sense of primal endurance that welcome me back like an old great-uncle, when I once again encounter them in the pasture or prominent station near the roadway. And it is with similar sadness when I see some of these centurions brown with death, a contrast to the life around them, especially the giant post oaks of Kelley Road. Some say the drought took its toll; others- an oomycete that selects against Q.stellata. The live oaks do not share the same vulnerability and continue to push out green shade amongst these scattered deceased giants. It's almost like there was a generation of post oaks planted a hundred years ago, and all have become nesting sites and termite fodder today.
Nevertheless, life goes on.
It says so in the performance-art of relatives visiting a local cemetary, or citizens taking photos of some relic left over from the age of windmills and cattle drives; what was is not as it was, yet is for those who look a reminder of what was and might possibly be.
Life goes on; God, I thank you for that reminder.
I love you, Lord.
Thanks for putting up with me.

Little birdies

Some would consider me a bit of an outdoorsman. My favorite weapon is the bow and arrow. I've slain wild beasts with my bare hands and a knife. I cannot only kill 'em, I can clean 'em and cook 'em. I'm no stranger to hard work, especially if I'm helping someone else and it involves construction. And I like birdies.
Since I was a small child, I have been fascinated with wild creatures, from ants to dragonflies to whatever keeps digging in my trash. When I started studies at A&M, I learned there was a taxonomy for non-game birds beyond "some kinda cheechee bird".
Though I have SO much to learn about God's creation, I find birding a rewarding recreation. Perhaps it is because they are vocal, and I am attention deficit.
Perhaps it is because I know the common locals, so I feel some form of competence.
Or perhaps I'm just an over-grown kid who still gets lit up by some new bird call or some new species eating mulberries in my backyard.
So next hunting season, don't be surprised if my arrows never leave the quiver, and my field guide shows wear and tear.
That's how I roll.

Plant sperm

How weird is it that we talk about allergy season, about pollen, but we never make the connection: pollen is plant sperm.
Not that there's a huge awakening to be anticipated in this botanical epiphany; just a sober confession that it's not always about us.
The flash flood brings much needed sediments to the vegetation of the flood plane.
The hurricane and tornado trims back old growth and resets the seral timeline.
The plague serves the ambiant carrying capacity for all things K-strategic.
Even war (read your Old Testament) has a balancing role in Creation.
Unfortunately we continue to build cities in deserts, neighborhoods on new flood planes (the concrete/freeway/parkinglot-induced runoff has to flow somewhere), landscape our communities with specimens better served in jungles, and bulldoze our forests for ethanol or even... shrimp?
Once upon a time there was God, and He created a Garden.
And God created adam to tenderly work the Garden.
And adam sneezed, and it was good.

Texas Springtime?

As I look outside at the blaring sunlight this February morning, it strikes me that Spring has sprung. Perhaps it is the flowers that are erupting; perhaps the temperature already in the 70's. Perhaps it's the singing of the mockingbird and the white-winged dove, not the casual winter ditty, but a heart-felt serenade; or maybe the 3 species of butterfly that just fluttered by my window. And even though the scarlet oak has clung to some of its plumage to this point, there is the tender pale green growth of my shrub's apical meristem.
It's the upper Texas Gulf Coast, where the saying goes, "If you don't like the weather, wait a minute." Even now clouds are shrouding what once was a clear morning. As my hot tea grows cold, I can see once again the Metaphors of God outside my window pane. Things change; people dye and die and are born and borne up. There is so much going on, most of which is simple distraction and mindlessness, that we miss the yodel of the blue jay, proclaiming his recent victory over the the recent plague which erased every jay in my neighborhood, killed by mosquitoes tracing their bloodline to a traveling Yankee. Crazy.
So things change in the midst of being the same.
The sun is shining again.
God, grant me the serenity to not miss it.