So Why SaveThe Rags?

I'm not talking about the plastic crate on the bathroom floor with old towels and other rags fit only for nasty cleaning jobs, wiping oil off the dip-stick, or slops when painting. Nobody needs to justify keeping and using those, especially when the alternative usually is paper which continuously eats into global resources. (OK, guilty of that too. Not scolding, just trying to conserve when I can.)

What I'm talking about here are the rags I continue to wear, in private and mostly at night. Mostly I hate "official" items designated for sleepwear. Nightgowns don't follow me when I move, so they tug in uncomfortable places, and after several movements could wind up leaving me feeling captive. Did I say "could"?  Try "Do!" Ever been awakened by feelings of being trapped? Anybody try to tell you it must have been something you ate? I can promise you I don't chew on my night clothes!

Any sleepwear with long sleeves and/or legs winds up bunching up next to my torso, another form of imprisonment and discomfort. Few if any of the above choices actually are made in comfortable fabrics. If you think the alternative is wearing nothing, then all the sweat and miscellaneous dirt winds up on the sheets much faster, and those are usually more strain to peel off the bed, wash and dry without tangling in everything else, impeding both dirt removal and proper drying. Afterwards there's lifting all four corners of a heavy mattress to tuck fitted corners back under. A queen bed adds the experience of guessing which corner of the sheet goes on which corner of the bed. I used to take a black marker and point arrows on the corners so wherever one pointed was the long way of the bed, i.e.,  head or foot. The latest batch of markers aren't so permanent. All in all, the less need for laundering, the better.

Thus we're back to needing something to cover as much of my torso as possible,  suitable for the temperatures, and still comfortable. What's the most comfortable? Well-worn total cotton clothing, no to short sleeves, stretched out everywhere including now wide necks, patterns likely faded and full of holes. You know, stuff I'd never be caught dead wearing out of doors.  Or maybe only caught dead. You know: cotton rags now. But soft ones.

My arms and legs are already tucked under whatever bedding house temperatures require, something between not even a sheet on top to a sheet/blanket/quilt combo. Their very size tends to keep them where they belong, as the unconscious me seems perfectly capable of arm movements moving them to suit temperature regulation. OK, full disclosure, I can wander all over the bed in my sleep, another reason to avoid nightgowns.

When rags are totally suitable for another year or two, why go out and buy an expensive experiment? You don't know how it feels on your body, how much it will entangle you over the course of hours. Those rags must have had enough comfort in them for you to wear long enough to turn them into a rag. Your body already knows how soft they feel. If they aren't, then the crate on the floor beckons. Those scratchy bits can still scrub.

There is one caveat however. Sometimes those seams pick up tiny somethings, or have a non-cotton thread, and become an irritation. Most times they're still just fine worn inside-out, seams on the outside. My only exception to that is a series of summer shirts I bought a dozen years ago, with printed decorations all over the front and bits of fine glitter added. There are so many that they still look great for the most part just for their time between rotations of wardrobe. Traces of  glitter still remain, enough that those I still wear as regular shirts have to be removed before an x-ray! I don't notice them any longer, but the X-ray techs sure do. If they do, my body will likely notice if I'm skin-to-glitter all night. Oh well. They're still good regular shirts, and there are a lot of baggy tees in the wardrobe for sleeping in, or something strappier for summer.

Oversize cotton knit shorts with drawstrings are perfect for the same reasons for the rest of me. With all my pants these days, I'm only buying new knits with drawstrings, except for when I need jeans, because elastic never lasts. I do like my pants to stay up on the way to the bathroom! Decades ago I learned the art of pulling a drawstring through after it got pulled out. It involves a large safety pin (or diaper pin) and then knotting the ends together loosely before putting the pants in the laundry to avoid having to repeat the pull-through part, because frankly it's a bitch!  

At least it's a soft, comfortable bitch.

When The Weather And I Disagree

 My ambition has been peaking. So has my need to dig into a job and get it done for the year. 

When I say "digging", I mean it literally. Perhaps half of my iris have been relocated. There's an easy path out to the rest of them, right through the middle of my round raised garden. I made that when I dug out the first batches of iris to move. It was lumpy and totally unsafe for this set of wobbly legs, trying to find flat spots big enough for a foot at a time, avoiding the raised blocks which weren't doing a good job of being stepping stones due to elevation above dirt level, find a spot to start the shovel going down, hoping to stand on the edge of it to force it further in the dirt than arms alone could manage and do all that without losing my balance and falling. In desperation I managed to grab clumps of the tallest of the daylily leaves to keep myself stable.

They didn't seem appreciative. I decided not to mind, counting on their reputation for hardiness, especially this late in the year, nearly all blooming done.

Despite never really getting injured when falling, I have developed an actual deep dread of doing so. It can take me a minute - an actual minute, not just the expression - to work up to lifting one leg and placing the foot in the next desired spot to get close where I need to dig next. It's complicated by the other plants in the way, which I don't want to step on, even though they are daylilies and virtually indestructible even if I manage to sprawl over the totality of them. Those same impediments assist my safe passage so I consider it an even exchange. They haven't tried to argue where I could hear  it. I do apologize mentally to them. Hey, show me an ear and I'll do it out loud... quietly of course so the neighbors don't think I'm completely crazy.

The part of the garden which got dug and trampled and guided me safely to my goal, once the desired plants had been removed and all the broken daylily leaves cut back, is now mostly bare, smooth, and safe. More iris wait at the end of it to get dug, after which new daylilies go in those spaces. I'm itching to get back out there and dig.  Then soak the iris, cut leaves back, and plant them in the area of their new home which had a lovely new layer of top soil spread across it waiting. The next stage should be much easier.

Except...

During those days of the first move it was cool. The air was dry. And I still had salty sweat running down my face. I'd put a folded bandana over my head and knotted it so it would stay put and soak up the sweat. Within two minutes it didn't matter. I pulled some paper towels out of my pocket and wiped my face over and over to clear my vision, keep my eyes from stinging, and myself from being so ungodly uncomfortable. I wanted to keep working, get the job done, pat myself on the back for a mission accomplished after months of planning and shopping and drawing out a layout and researching depth for various species. It was miserable joyous work, and it ended too soon. 

Note I didn't claim it was finished. That's why it ended too soon.

The rest of the job still waits. The new dirt for most of the remainder of the new bed has been spread and broken up from large clods to much smaller ones. I found a way that didn't put too much weight on either shoulder, once my son dug the remaining rhubarb plants out of the bed. I drove one of those to its new home, and he took some fresh topsoil home with him to make his own new rhubarb patch out of the remaining plants. I learned to start planting at one end of the new iris strip, free to walk over the new dirt as I backed over it to make space for the next row, and so forth, never needing to reach across on my knees but bend down from the hips, a much better point of balance for me, until I ran out of dug iris. 

There is an intimidating amount of them left in their original patch, though new space is prepared for them. But the heat and humidity are back, without bringing rain, my energy first thing in the morning when it's pretending to be cool leaves something to be desired, and my hopes still rest with the morning weather report. It's still too warm for me, not too warm for the iris, nor too cool, leaving my dilemma as a weight like concrete shoes keeping me inside the house until it really is too cool in late fall to get them settled in properly.

We just don't want to mention the fear of falling in the garden which still lingers, despite work and logic. Even with some of the the causes removed, there is still that moment when one foot has to be lifted, the other balanced on while the shovel is properly placed for the lifted foot to descend on it with a very decided and well-aimed stomp, then a tilt, a lift, a further stomp to shove more, another tilt to loosen and lift roots... and then the search for that perfect space to lay the shovel down in the garden full of growing plants without damage where it can not only sit while the freed iris are lifted from their clinging dirt, relieved of enough burden from their former rootball that they can be gently tossed outside the bed wall onto the lawn without any further damage until they soak in a pail of water. 

As long as that takes to read is also as long as it takes to do, adding the burden of making sure where the shovel lands is easily reached again to pick it up again for the next dig without losing balance for that either. Remember that where they have dug in for two years is also where the daylilies have surrounded them and grown close and tall, and are meant to give this growing and blooming duty another crack at their job the next year, and the next. There are also new daylilies meant to be planted in some of the spaces now bereft of iris, once the removal is complete, but not until. They are not to be tromped on again, at least not this year. All need some time to get new roots established in roomier soil. 

I bet most of you gardeners out there read all this, think it's not in need of description because for you it's a simple dig-lift-dig-lift-replace kind of job. I also bet you haven't found that fear of falling when another person or two are required to get you up and vertical again without further damage because your own body no longer does it as simply as it used to before replacement parts had to be placed in. Once that uneasiness is installed along with those new parts and several experiences, then that awareness seeps in of just how many chances there are for something wrong to happen. Fear is invasive as weeds, and grows from just as tiny seeds. One finds a reason bigger than the fear to continue, and gradually conquers a bit here and a bit there... or doesn't. The job is more complex in those circumstances.

I can't be sure there is room for all the current iris. I know I bought some spectacular ones when we moved here but they didn't bloom yet. I never marked them when planted, just remember them as if they were a time on the clock face. If north is 12, they were planted between 7 and 10. That whole area waits to be dug. What other kinds are in there? Who can tell? I did manage to make arrangements with a good friend and dedicated gardener to adopt any I couldn't find room for in their new bed. Over half her yard is flowers. I gifted her with a single one last year. It did well, according to the photo she took. They'd be loved there. If I make a mistake and give away the most spectacular of those, I wrote down the name back when I planted them, and they are still on the market. Check out "Grand Canyon Sunset". I can dig out spaces and split where very plain but hardy iris are, or perhaps some just didn't survive being mailed which were new this year. I do wonder about a couple but only time will decide. I know, for example, I have an abundance of plain light blue bearded iris, lovely enough but easily growing into excess where a riot of colors is preferred. I expect more to thrive now without having to compete with daylilies. There are other gardeners in this neighborhood who don't mind free flowers and the care they need.  But all will have adequate new homes in a week or so, or else.  However.......

Tock tock, tick tock, the calendar is running out. Temperatures should be dropping. The task which calls louder daily should be getting easier daily, with cooler dryer air and less sweat in the eyes.  A day here and then a day a week later would almost do it but somehow other needs fill those days. Doctor's appointments and other obligations still fill the calendar. There are mornings where by the time breakfast and getting dressed are accomplished that it's already too muggy and hot for hard work. The sun is still up plenty early, great for the plants but not for the one planting. One night with an inch of rain almost fools you into thinking the drought is over, which you readily conspire in agreeing with, because watering here HAS TO be followed immediately by hose removal and the hose is long enough in itself, not to mention when filled, to take up half an hour by getting itself moved... in the sun. That has to be figured in. Tools went missing for a few weeks, only to be discovered to have been hiding under the blade of the shovel plus a few plastic bags. I now own double sets. Sigh.....

Maybe tomorrow....

Remember The Movie "Pearl Harbor"?

 I'm talking about the one with Ben Afflek and Kate Beckinsale, if it was the love story you watched it for. It's also the movie with Cuba Gooding Jr. for those who watched for for the heroism and war battles. (Both are OK too. Same movie.)

Steve is former Navy, and he watched it at least in part for the naval history. Now, a very true story of exceptional heroism depicted in the movie is being all but obliterated in history, if Trump has his way. If you remember Cuba Gooding Jr's role, he portrayed a very real hero, Doris "Dorie" Miller, a navy cook as well as the ship's boxing champion. And therein lies a story.

Miller was black, and back then that meant he wasn't allowed to fight. He could cook, and did it honorably. He also was respected for his boxing ability (and all the money his shipmates could win betting on his fights). When his ship was bombed in the attack on Pearl Harbor, he was down in the bowels of the ship in the kitchen. He got his fellow sailors and the wounded captain out of harms way first, up to the deck where they could man the guns or jump into the water to escape the fires. 

Did he jump? No, he saw the unmanned .50 caliber machine gun on the deck, and started firing back at the Japanese airplanes attacking them. Remember, he was never allowed to be trained on the ship's weapons. But he quickly figured out how to work it and  fought back. He was the first African American to be awarded the Navy Cross, presented in person by Admiral Chester Nimitz himself. Unfortunately Miller later died in the war when his ship was torpedoed.

So you ask, if he got the Navy Cross, how his heroism is being obliterated? Currently an aircraft carrier is being built, designated to be named after him. Trump thinks it should be named the "Trump". Nevermind Trump's never done anything heroic, never served in the military after his Daddy found a doctor to sign off on alleged bone spurs, and has publicly referred to our military interred in Arlington as "suckers and loosers". Nevermind that Trump currently is mistreating our current military on the USS Abraham Lincoln by overlong deployment and lack of proper food and other supplies. Nevermind that Trump's ego requires stunts which cost lives when he appoints a fawning TV personality to be Secretary of War (now) who has no experience, no training, and no appreciation of our military leading him to understand that their lives matter.

Also nevermind that ships are not named after living people, just like stamps don't bear their likenesses, nor does US currency. Nevermind that Trump's name on anything rapidly devalues it, like he's done and is still doing to the Kennedy Center. And nevermind that Trump's idiocy has been costing this country all its former allies. We stand alone in the world now, not in a good way.

Oh, and let's not forget that Trump is an outspoken racist, which sure can't help anybody persuade him to keep his mitts off the name of a ship honoring a true African American hero!

When Things Go Wrong At Etsy

 I've been using this site for online shopping for years now. I've bought all kinds of things there, starting with craft supplies. I moved around, checking out various vendors, and finally decided my favorite, as well as the one I most wished to support, was Oliverstar, workers in small hand crafted glass beads. I was drawn mostly to their roses, though there are other flowers and other beads there. I made an effort to keep supporting them, since they are in the Ukraine, once Putin invaded. I never had any kind of issue - except a change in my finances - and patiently waited the extra time to receive my packages. They usually popped an extra something in their packages. I only wish I were still in need of their products, though I've gotten more into gardening in our new home.

I haven't visited Etsy much recently, though I do look at my daughter's site there, called SkuldsStitches, for those who love scandinavian needlework, every so often. I'm not a customer because she gifts me directly, and I merely have to look in the right direction to see her work.

Birthdays in the family are coming up again - everybody's a fall baby - and I just placed a couple orders for presents, their nature not to be disclosed in this post. But going back there hit a nerve I'd been trying to forget about.

Weeks ago I'd ordered a pair of daylilies, Earlybird Cardinals, red with a thin white rim on the petals. They were expensive, but unique, and appealed to me. I'm pulling the iris out of the daylily bed to a new location, and there will be vacancies to fill. I checked other sources for the plants and only found that name one other place. The picture on the Etsy site was prettier with more clear white rims. I decided to order through Etsy. 

The reply was prompt, just over a week to get what were supposed to be my two bare root plants. Instead it was a small bag of red asiatic lily bulbs. The receipt with them informed me they cost under $15, a small fraction of what I'd paid the vendor. I immediately contacted them, a semi-polite version of WTF?  I offered to return the bulbs since I had no place for them. My asiatec lily bed is full and making more bulbs as you read this. The only thing the order got right aside from my address was the color red. I just don't want red except in tulips (done!) and daylilies (waiting). I asked what they wanted to do to make it right, and should I send the bulbs back?

I was informed I could keep the bulbs. Well, I found a willing neighbor who would plant them in her yard.  Then they informed me they were working on getting the right plants to me.  In a week or so I got a notice that they'd fixed my issue. Seriously? Nothing was in the mail coming my way - I get a notice from the Post Office with a tracking number, and pay strict attention since living plants need TLC as soon as  they get here. I sent comments correcting their  misinformation. After two of those I got a reply acknowledging I was still owed my two plants, and I should have patience.

Is three weeks enough patience? I looked in at their Etsy website which listed the plant as out of stock. I hoped that meant their last plants had been set aside for me. I tried for patience. No further communication came, and I need to get back to the gardens now that it's cooler and I have the proper hose nozzle to spray our gardens to keep things alive. (120 feet of total hose does the job.) 

Today I was again shopping on Etsy for something else and decided to pop over to see if anything was happening. Most of the previous discussions had been erased. I noted the "tab" to hit to contact Etsy directly, and did so. It warned me I had just a few days left if I wished to make a complaint about this order. Boy did I! I was allowed 300 characters, so practiced being very brief  but to the point. My preferred resolution had been the plants, but after this time I changed it to a full refund. I got a quick note that if it were approved, which could take days, a refund should be issued and could take 5 days to reach  where it was initially paid from. Etsy had those records. I didn't need to go dig them out.

By the time I logged off Etsy and went over to my email, I noticed 4 new communications from Etsy. I'd expected one, an acknowledgment that they had noticed my complaint and were starting to investigate it. I continued reading the successive ones, an acknowledgment that I was wronged, an acknowledgment I would be paid as requested, and confirmation of where they were sending it. It could take up to 5 days to land in that account. In total, it took them about five minutes to send all that information to me!

Anybody aside from me think that Etsy has had issues with these guys before? What they showed me is they do stick behind their shoppers and do it well.

Of course I'd still like those daylilies of that particular variety. I might check for some next spring. Or by then find new colors to please me. Or find something else somewhere. Who can tell by then?

Anyway, thanks, Etsy!

(NOTE: the deposit was here first thing the next morning!!!!)

Another Mystery Sighting

It was a day for odd things, or at least out of the usual. The all happened within a short period of time on a day that was itself rare, but very welcomed. Steve got to go fishing again, down on his favorite river bank on the St. Croix, the sandbar that forms in low water levels around the boat ramp called Franconia Landing. I can drive down, turn and park, unload Steve, his fishing gear, his chair and the platform that goes under it preventing his chair from tipping in the loose sand. It had been over a year since he'd gone fishing, and he was finally feeling well enough to go. 

I had promised to take him, but one of his sons with his wife met him there. They usually pick him up from our place but today was a doctor visit with a doc who always takes a long time with each patient, something I appreciate, but which leaves Steve waiting in the lobby long enough that he can get irritated, especially when fishing awaits. I dropped him off afterwards, and left after taking my mandatory pictures. Like a red wild flower perfectly framed in front of a weirdly shaped hollow in a still living tree on the bank.

Sure, it's tilted, but still stood long after all kinds of rain and ice storms that took out more healthy looking trees in all kinds of nearby locations over the last few years.

Fish were biting well, enough that a second trip had to be taken for live bait later. While I was there however, the fish were already biting. Steve's son was getting ready to toss this one back in.

It's all catch-and-release. Much as the family loves fishing, nobody cares for cleaning. And while I was there, nothing worth eating was caught anyway. Later I heard tales of bigger fish, because of course, and this shot is included  even though the topic is about odd things. These are not odd. Nor are the smallmouth bass and red horse suckers which started biting later. But hey, bragging rights, right? Some days any fish is worth noting.

For the neighborhood, these are not unknown, but I scratch my head at anybody who lets their chickens run wild where cars, dogs, or foxes could eliminate their flock. They did have interesting colors however.

Uphill on the same road coming downhill from the highway, a farmer occasionally has horses out in their field. Previously, if we saw any, there were only two, a white and a brown. Recently we saw either one horse or none at all. Today there were four, close to the road and making a good horse shot impossible. None of these are unidentifiable, or even much worthy of a photo if the day hadn't been so ho-hum so far. I had no idea what was to come.

Meanwhile I headed home to wait for the phone call informing us that Steve's new prescription was ready. I promised to drop back on my way to pick it up, along with some groceries,  and leave the second house key with Steve. While his fishing supplies were in the car before we left for the doc's, the thought he might need to get back in before I did was nowhere in our thoughts.  Eventually the call came, I ran all my errands, and headed home. So of course, because that's how it happens, I was on a busy highway, no opportunity to pull out the camera, when my mystery critters ran across the road.

I slowed a bit when the first ran out from the shoulder. I slowed more when the next one followed, then the next, and I realized I had no idea exactly what they were. I just kept watching, noting details. And while doing that, I did what one does, I suppose: I counted them.

My view had the late afternoon sun on the opposite side, so all I saw was black shapes. My first impression, with their backs arched up in a perfect curve, was they were toys. I've seen toy wooden cars with that shape. I presumed that was wrong, that these were living. I saw no fur spikes, but again, assumed they most likely had some. They weren't fish, nor birds, nor any appearance of any reptile I've ever seen. Think of taking a circle and cutting it in half, with a straight flat cut across for the belly, then adding tiny feet front and back. No bend indicated any knees. There was nothing except direction of travel to indicate head, the curve was so perfect. I made the assumption that they were presumably mammals, were going in the direction their (also presumed) heads were pointed at. Tiny sets of feet, one set on each end perfectly continuing the curve down to the road on both sides, were taking rapid fire steps without spoiling those lines, occasionally enough distance between the feet as to show light between, indicating their speed. They also served to elevate the totally straight horizontal body about two inches above the pavement. The body lines didn't change a bit the whole time, same back arch to the pavement, same flat stomach.They didn't bounce with those rapid steps, just seemed to glide across, maintaining the illusion of toys the entire time.

Right behind the first, possibly two feet back or a bit more, was number two. Everything identical: shape, size, speed. Next came number three, again everything identical, but add noting that the distance between two and three matched that of one and two. Same between three and four, then between four and five, and finally between five and six.  I recalled my initial idea of toys: these could easily have been pull toys with identical - but invisible - strings. By the time number six was running on the highway inside the right shoulder paint strip, number one was just hitting the left shoulder paint strip, then down into the ditch and hiding. Each followed in military precision.The parade took perhaps half a minute, possible a few seconds more. No other cars, in either direction, were close.

One other thing bothered me. Shouldn't they have had tails? I was busy looking at every detail I could note while they crossed, and could not see one tail. Not a stub, not a paddle, nothing pointing away from that smooth curve except tiny running feet. Not up. Not back. Not tucked under. I mused about "what-the-hell?" on the way home, then got busy hauling groceries. That image returned several times, but other things were happening, until it was bedtime.

The image of the parade of six returned in the morning, a clear silhouette. When time allowed, I started hunting online, working out key words to describe what they looked like and how they weren't like other animals.

Eventually I put in North American mammal, back arched when running. I figured wrong answers would point me to better narrowing it down. I was right. It gave me a mouse. I gave it back foot long. It was a start anyway. I couldn't define it more perfectly since I never got that close and only had highway to estimate measurements  by.

This time it came up with muskrat. Hmmm, OK, I know we have those in the area, but usually in the local lakes, a couple miles further west of my location. I had more questions, of course. Do they stray that far from water? Do they move in groups like that? Can they hide their tails that well? I'm going to defer to family members who might have those answers AND read this.

And thanks in advance!

Drought

I love visiting Crex Meadows. If you follow me, by now you know that and have seen enough photos to understand it as a place filled with lakes.  Anyway, it was. Steve and I went there this afternoon. The plan was for him to do much of the driving through the area, so I had hands free to shoot, especially since most of the photo ops seem to happen on the passenger side of the car.

The drought didn't stop me from shooting. But I'll help you "see" what isn't there that used to be and needs to be again.

Our first stop was an area south of Grantsburg that used to be a huge lake with a few scattered shallow places where cattails grew. Hundreds of trumpeter swans, plus assorted other birds would nest there, and the population would temporarily more than double. The lake went from huge body of water to huge pasture... sort of, if lots of muddy berms define a pasture. This photo proves it wasn't completely dry, and in fact had a small handful of geese in addition to this family of swans with two grey cygnets, the most we found in a swan family anywhere. Previous years a family with five young was not rare. Many places still held an adult or two, few had any young.

My apologies for a terrible photo. We hadn't planned a stop in this spot, across the gravel road from the south end of Phantom Lake. I trust you recognize the doe as the subject, and perhaps have had the experience of tall roadside grasses being blown back and forth in front of your lens. BLUR! What you may not recognize is the background behind her of dying water lilies. Some are still green, most not. But it is still edible food and bits of water still go through through it. I don't know if she can still produce milk. The fawn we saw behind her mostly had its head buried in lilypads chomping way. It should soon learn the need to raise its head enough to scout for danger, like Mom was doing. An arm adjustment from inside the car , an attempt to get a shot of more than part of a fawn's rump, was enough to startle mom back into the woods away from the road. The fawn followed promptly, and only as the pair disappeared into the woods and cameras were set down was the fawn's twin finally bolting from where it had been hiding, presumably eating, to follow the others. So far, two still surviving, an amazing sighting. The picture just rubs in the miss of not getting a good picture. It's here to show the quality level of remaining food supply.

The  cormorants on the floating platform tell another story one has to be informed to understand. I had stopped in at the visitor center to discuss wildlife. The same fellow I'd talked with the week before was again at the counter.  I passed on what I'd learned from the earlier visit  so far, and mentioned the platform. This week his comment changed from not being aware of it, to imparting knowledge about one way of managing the grounds (and lakes) was much akin to sinking a ship in the ocean so it can become habitat for what lives there, like the start of a coral reef. Low water levels revealed its presence to passers by. (Hmmm, somebody had done some research since my last visit.) He was going to check in with some staffers who were to arrive next week and ask them if this raft was such a contrivance. I'm sure we'll chat again after he finds out and then we'll both know. This time the cormorant count - not shown well in this photo - had climbed from  6 to 7. Life is getting crowded here in select places as water levels drop. At least some of this lake remains. For now anyway.

This mated pair of trumpeter swans did not raise young this year. The water around them offers one patch of black mud to stand on, as long as they get along. It's next to the old abandoned beaver lodge where they usually nest, then one minds the eggs and young while the other swims around the greater area marking territory and defending it from intruders.  I've followed them for several years now as the beavers built their home next to the road. By now swan feathers should all be snowy white, with a possible exception for their necks, but most years their bodies shine brilliant white and a little yellow is all that's tinting their necks. These guys can't get a proper bath, usually a benefit to them  from taking a completely vertical dive in place to pull weeds up off the bottom. Their food is usually under the surface. Now there's nowhere to get clean while feeding. 

 

 

There was a short spot of more water - or should I call it "hope"? A pair of trumpeters were watching over their  cygnets while they slept. These were still as dirty as the others around this lake, but there was actual water here. Several other birds joined them, ones I've not seen  around before, much less in the company of swans without bothering the parents. Somebody was willing to share, leaving me with a small bit of optimism for some of them getting through migration to a friendlier location. I guess questions  will be answered next year, both from seeing how much water is back where it's needed, and how many were strong enough to complete migration.

 

 

Another lake usually making a great nesting and feeding place of both great egrets and great blue herons is having its problems as well. When a car drives around the corner, the occupants see a large cloud of the combined birds startling up and outta-there! But where to this year? A trickle runs through what used to be a nice sized lake. The birds perch on dead logs and stumps either left or placed for that purpose while in repose. Last week all startled as a unit, the first one alerting all the others, both herons and egrets.
Today the herons seemed to have little energy to do more than move back from the road, land, and stop and watch to see if they absolutely had to move again... or not. No egrets were even here this day, where a week before a couple dozen scattered spectacularly, adding their white to the blues amid the herons and all retreated to the other end of bare lake bed, paralleling the road.

Today as we approached the far end of that lake, this was all that greeted us: mud cracked and a lone dying water lily baking in the sun. I hope the  missing egrets -or swans or everything else usually present have found themselves a haven. The adults have that choice.

I hate to think what will be greeting the usual gathering of up to 17,000 greater sandhill cranes in a couple months if rain doesn't pick up. This is a sanctuary, their staging ground before they migrate down to the southeast US. These 30,000 acres are maintained for that level of wildlife. When they start arriving most of the regional farmers have harvested their crops, and the cranes fly in and clean up loose seeds from the ground, all the insects they can find, even mice and small reptiles  for miles around, before returning to their sanctuary to spend the night, safe from hunters for the night. My guess is this is a bonus year for the local foxes. Those fields are suffering as well. Several are huge fields of sunflowers, heads tracking the sun just two weeks ago. Now they just hang down, leaves yellowed and crinkling. Corn's not looking so great either. If you watch weather radar for the area, rain comes across from the very north of Minnesota and the very south. Promising storms split and go around this area. We'll just have to wait and see what this fall brings... or doesn't. What will our strong El Nino bring this winter?

Fighting With Google

Apparently I ask the impossible. AI almost  helps, last resort, but it's a delusion.

Back up a bit. Yesterday's post had an odd little plant in it, very ordinary looking for a roadside weed, except it was totally white, so white that in the right angle of light seemed to flash silver. I sent a copy of the photo to Crex, letting them know where it is to be found, in case they were interested in seeing it for themselves, asking for identification, as well as letting them know it looked about to bloom, just in case it was invasive and should be pulled.

I actually hope not, or not yet, because I'd love to go back there and shoot the flowers. I want to see them! They have to be very tiny, so there'll be some camera work, but I. Just. Want. To. See. What. They. Look. Like!

I haven't heard back from them yet, but they have their own priorities. I also sent a query off to my sister-in-law, with a degree and profession in those kinds of things, and my usual go-to when I wish to be absolutely correct in an identification. I'm waiting to see what she can come up with as well.

Because Google is a total failure! I type in descriptive terms, the most telling of which ought to be that it is all white. Google seems to "think" I'm shopping, sending me all kinds of pictures of plants I know very well, both from my own plant-keeping as well as having worked in a garden center. The results have white flowers. Yes, I actually do recognize strawberry blossoms! Did you notice the green on the rest of the plant, Google? Or Google picks plants with white spots on their leaves, apparently common in some stores these days as varieties. I know those better as "variegated".  I've grown lots of those, like the '70's favorite fad plant, the spider plant.  Maybe Google can't identify "all" or "completely" when paired with "plant"? But look, if it weren't rare, I wouldn't be online asking what it was, right? I do understand the misdirection of shopping, sources and prices listed with photos, since I have done a fair bit of that online lately, working on variety for my several gardens. GOOGLE DOES REMEMBER YOU, FOLKS!

I finally took off the restriction against letting AI into the hunt. It actually found a couple of WRONG answers for me, though kudos for working on the "all white" part. One is a succulent, and yes, I'm growing one of those and it's not actually white, but more covered with white fuzzy skin. Green underneath though, very plainly.  The other wrong answer was "ghost plant", which actually is white but also more fungus in character than having normal plant structure. It can't do photosynthesis so it gets nutrition from the dirt. Much as I'd get some fun out of shooting one of those, it's not the plant in the photo, repeated here for those who missed yesterday's post and don't want to bother going back for it:

As you can see, typical weedy plant structure, not "shroomy" in nature, and no green anywhere else. I don't do camera editing tricks, as regular followers know, aside from cropping and color changes which affect the entire photo, like adding a bit of red when I had one camera that malfunctioned on it in every single shot. For example the red rocks of the desert southwest were all turned a greyish tan. A quick fix, that I can do. But it's for the entire picture, like brightening or darkening exposure. Can you imaging the hours it would take -if I even knew how - to outline every bit of these plants to perfectly make them white and nothing else?

I can manage to severely crop to show details better. Like the fact that there is no green in this plant, but plenty in the grasses behind it. What is interesting is what now shows up at nearly every leaf 's join to the stem. Seeds? Unopened flowers? I may just have to go back in a couple days to see what changes. So what if it's over 40 miles each way in these gas prices? (Gulp)

Maybe if I could just send a picture to Google and get it to identify what it is. I believe that it takes an actual, well-educated on the topic, human... with a more thorough vocabulary for search terms than I have to tease out the answers.  

Good thing I know one of those. 

And she reads this.