Neighborhood Killdeer

Killdeer are exceedingly common throughout the US, and they're even regularly observed around bodies of water in our arid part of the state. Still, I haven't had the opportunity to observe them up close until a family took up residence around the stream and pond located in our new neighborhood.

I shot the following video this morning. It was unusually cold for this time of year – temps in the upper 30s – and the killdeer chicks were seeking warmth under mama's wings. The only problem is that there were too many of them and too little of her to go around. You'll also see a short clip of the "distraction behavior" killdeer use to draw predators away from their eggs or young.

I apologize for the shaky video, as I am too cheap to buy a camera with image stabilization, too unskilled to hold a zoomed-in shot steady, and too disorganized to remember to grab a tripod.

My Wife is a Squirrel Mule

One of the things I hated to give up in the relocation was the view from my desk onto our back porch and yard, which provided a reliable tableau of bloggable wildlife action. My new setup has the window at my back, and it looks out on the front driveway, a much less attractive setting for observations of nature.

So, I was as surprised as my neighbors to find myself lying on my side in the driveway yesterday around noon, long lens on the camera pointed to the undercarriage of my wife's Santa Fe. The reason was that I had glanced out the window just in time to see one of those wily ground squirrels run under her car. That in itself wouldn't warrant anything more than a couple of additional glances, but the squirrel piqued my curiosity by displaying his own. He stood on his hind legs and peered at the underside of the car, as if inspecting it for defects. He moved down the length of the vehicle, repeating this behavior, and then he climbed inside the rim of the left rear wheel. That's when my own inquisitive nature took over and I grabbed my camera.

I approached as stealthily as I knew how, and eased myself onto the concrete. However, the squirrel was nowhere to be seen. I circled the car and seeing no reaction, I finally slid under it to inspect the wheel well (half expecting to be ambushed from above by a rabies-crazed varmint who'd been plotting this moment for weeks). Nothing. Nada. Zip.

I assumed he'd slipped away, blocked from my view by the car itself, so I returned to the house. As I put my camera back in the bag, I glanced out the window again, just in time to see him unfurl himself from under the car and drop to the driveway, not unlike the creatures in Alien, only hairier and less slimy. So, he'd been hiding somewhere up there all along.

At that point, my walked out the front door to head back to the office, and instead of doing the expected and natural thing – running away – the ground squirrel leaped back onto the frame of the car! I told her what was going on, and we agreed that she'd pull slowly out of the drive, while I waited, camera in hand, for what I was sure would be a dramatic squirrel evacuation (unaccompanied, we hoped, a gooshy squirrel flattening). It never came. That little fella remained hidden somewhere under the SUV as she drove out of sight.

I'm sure that Claydesta has a sufficiently profuse population of ground squirrels that one more won't make a difference, and I hope that the unauthorized passenger had the good sense to vacate the undercarriage upon arrival at my wife's office. The last thing we need is one of those guys playing the role of gremlin under our car, chewing on wiring and what-not. Or worse, hitching a ride into our garage and setting up shop where the potential for damage is even greater.

The upside to the situation is that I apparently didn't lose as much in the move as I feared, from the perspective of getting a view of the natural world outside my window.

Oh, look...

...a baby squirrel prairie dog ground squirrel...

The front page story in today's MRT is about the city's plans to reduce the population of prairie dogs. The treeware version is accompanied by a very good photo of a little critter, looking all cute and cuddly*. Unfortunately, said critter is not a prairie dog, it's a ground squirrel.

It's difficult to tell for sure from the camera angle, but I'm pretty sure said animal is a spotted ground squirrel, which has random white spots on its back (as opposed to the neat rows of spots found on the chipmunk-like Mexican ground squirrel).

Ground squirrels don't rise to the same nuisance level as prairie dogs, although they still aren't welcome by ranchers or gardeners. They're also much more skittish than 'dogs. Our new back yard is now being visited by at least one ground squirrel, and thus far he's proven too wily to be captured on camera. (But I'll get him, sooner or later).

*Don't buy that "cute and cuddly" image. Ground squirrels are mean, vicious, straight-razor-totin' creatures, and they'd as soon bite off your finger as look at you. Trust me on this; I still have the scar on my right hand from a too-close encounter with one when I was a mere youth in Fort Stockton. I was just sure the little guy wanted to be my friend. In reality, he wanted only to drink my blood. I did have the last laugh, however, as the rabies test invariably proves fatal to the subject.

Weird Eclipse Photo

I forgot that I had taken some photos of the lunar eclipse a couple of nights back, until I downloaded them this evening along with some house pictures.

I confess that I haven't a clue as to how to take night sky photos. I have a terrible time finding the right focus (you'd think the "infinity" setting would do it, wouldn't you?), and the optimum shutter speed never seems to materialize. Then there's the matter of light pollution in our backyard, thanks to a billion candlepower streetlight the neighbor petitioned the city to install in our alley.

Despite these inadequacies – or, perhaps, because of them – this photo intrigues me. It's almost as if the moon is making a steep re-entry into the earth's atmosphere. I'm pretty sure if that had been the case, I wouldn't have been the only one to notice.

If you want to see the work of a Midlander who actually knows his way around a camera, check out Bleu Chocolate's photo of the moon.

Oh, look...

Squirrels are people, too

Rob, the globe-trotting proprietor over at 2Dolphins, got up awfully early this morning in order to send me this link: Scientists Prove That Squirrels Are Sneaky.

The only surprising thing about this is that it required a scientific study to make the claim. For years, I've watched squirrels bury – or pretend to bury – pecans in every conceivable spot of our yard, and a few that I couldn't have conceived of until we found saplings sprouting. (Squirrels apparently don't have very good memories, either.)

Here's the money quote from the article:

This sort of devious self-awareness suggests that it won't be many years before we have our first squirrelian presidential candidate. (Don't bother suggesting that it's already happened. Nobody takes Kucinich that seriously, do they?)

Raptor Captors

I'm not sure how I missed this but about a month ago, someone compiled a list the Top 30 Avian Abductions over the past 100 years.

The author had the good sense to wait until after Thanksgiving to post the list, thereby reducing the possibility of turkey-related nightmares.

I find it interesting that all 30 accounts came during the first 50 years of the reporting period. None were documented since then. How might that be explained? (It should be noted that this list wasn't intended to be comprehensive, but it's still odd that such events weren't infrequent up until the late 1940s.) Are the reports suspect? Were the birds somehow more "wild" back then? Was human encroachment into their territory more novel, and had the raptors not yet learned to fear people?

A few of the stories are pretty heartbreaking. Obviously, the victims in these attacks were invariably babies or small children, and some of them didn't survive.

While you're in the neighborhood, stick around and read the author's theories about the existence of "winged snakes."

Falling for Phrynosoma

My wife was going through the photo collection recovered from her crashed hard drive (I haven't shared that story yet, have I?) and she ran across the following pictures which were taken with a cell phone a few months ago during a trip to Fort Stockton.

It's a tiny horned lizard (aka "horned frog" or "horny toad"). It's difficult to get a true sense of scale, but this will help:

These little guys aren't nearly as plentiful today as when I was a kid, and I'm not sure why that is, but it's always fun to see them. Normally, this would be a reminder of balmier summer weather, but it's been so warm lately that just yesterday I saw a lizard (albeit a non-horned one) run across the street in our soon-to-be new neighborhood. Perhaps global warming will bring the horny toad population back to its previous glory.

When you got nothing...

...look to the squirrel.

This guy was relaxing atop our backyard fence. What you can't see (because I wasn't quick enough to frame the photo properly) is Abbye relaxing on the lawn just below the squirrel, who was keeping a cautious eye on her, but not exactly getting stressed out over her presence.

Abbye wasn't too stressed either.

Snow: Dodging a Bullet

Notice anything unusual about the following photo, which was taken from our backyard this morning?

If you're not familiar with West Texas, you might be tempted to state the obvious. "Why, there's snow. It doesn't snow in Midland!" But that would be wrong, because snow is not an uncommon occurrence, even as early as Thanksgiving.

No, what's unusual is to see such heavy snowfall on deciduous trees like the pecan trees shown here. Normally, we'd have a killing freeze that would cause the trees to drop their leaves before the first snowfall.

Fortunately for us, the snow was dry and the temperatures warm enough that most limbs were not overly burdened. I've seen no damage to trees in our neighborhood, and after January's destructive ice storm, we're plenty relieved by that small blessing.

It's easier to enjoy the beauty of nature when you're not worried that it will be accompanied by violence.

In the Backyard: Calm Before the Storm

I see from The Weather Channel's online report that it's snowing in Midland (this was written yesterday – and while none of the usual local blogging suspects have posted any photos from the Tall City, we can always count on Bob to show us what happened a few miles to the east in Stanton), with temperatures hovering around the freezing mark. Just a few days ago, we were enjoying weather in the upper 70s, with the trees – and hibiscus – in full leaf and bloom:

I'm sure the hibiscus is not nearly as perky today. It's a reminder of how quickly things can change. (On the other hand, it's also a reminder that if you have to go out, you might as well go while doing what you do best.)

I also wonder if this gal is still holding watch over the flowerbed next to the back fence:

This is a garden spider, a common non-poisonous spider with a wide-ranging habitat. Those dense threads on the web are called stabilimenta. There's some debate as to their function, as the linked Wikipedia entry explains.

The photo is actually of the spider's underside, as the orientation of the web made it impossible to get a photo from above.

This particular spider chose to build her web in the same vicinity as the hibiscus, and fortunately for her, it's not near our house or she'd be history due to, um, blunt force trauma. I know that spiders like this are harmless (although this one can and will deliver a bite) and that they eat some annoying insects, but they still creep me out.

Seasons may change, but arachnophobia is forever.

Soaring with the Turkeys

Question: It's Thanksgiving Day, and you're a turkey. What do you do?

Answer: Look for sanctuary on a neighbor's roof, counting on the fact that everyone in town is indoors watching the Cowboys game.

There's always one laggard ("wait for me! wait for me!"):

I think they're safe (from hungry humans, anyway).

We're gonna need a bigger rabbit

It appears that our guard bunny is falling down on the job:

This creature was lurking about this evening in the guest bedroom. It's a young bull snake, about 12" long. I managed to wrangle him into a box and carry him outside where we hope he'll grow into a large bull snake and keep the population of mice under control.

Forgive the poor image quality. There's only so much I can do in Photoshop with a picture taken in low light via a 1 megapixel phone camera. Especially when there are snakes involved.

Who needs a guard dog...

...when you have an attack rabbit keeping watch over your new house?

This young jackrabbit greeted us this afternoon when we stopped by, and yesterday we watched through our newly installed bedroom windows a cottontail dining on the neighor's lawn.

It's becoming apparent that the Gazette's "theme animal" will have to become the rabbit, in place of the squirrel, once we relocate our World Publishing Headquarters. But, you know, "oh look! a baby bun rab" has a comfortable ring to it, so I suspect we'll be OK with the transition.

Of course, both are preferable to "aiieeee! a grown-up rattlesnake!", which could also be a contender. (Any rumors you might have heard about the construction worker who was bitten by a rattler in our neighborhood while on the second floor of a new house are, in fact, true.)

Gecko Sighting

I spotted this guy (gal?) lurking on our back porch last night around 10:30, as I was letting Abbye out one last time. It's hard to tell from the odd camera angle, but he's actually hanging on some trim where the wall meets the patio ceiling. I'm amazed the photo turned out, considering I was balancing on a small plastic table, pointing a long lens straight up and wrestling with focusing problems brought on by the low lighting conditions.

In case you're wondering, the lizard is about eight feet long, and deadly poisonous. Many cats have disappeared from our neighborhood...OK...I'm just kidding. This one is about four inches long (which is actually rather large compared to most of the geckos hanging around our house). He's also a lighter color than usual, presumably camouflaging himself to blend in with the background. I've added a bit of contrast to the image using Photoshop in order to see the details better, but in real life he appeared almost translucent to the naked eye.

You can click on the image to see a larger version if you're really into getting up close and personal with geckos (and, really, who isn't?).

Squirrel, Ant; Ant, Squirrel

A curious squirrel sizes up her ant colleague on our back patio:

She later strikes a pose before leaping back into the pecan tree:

Photos shot through window and door glass, no flash, low light, with handheld zoom...hence the less than wonderful quality. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Having a ball with lightning

So, I'm sitting in a recliner in the living room on Tuesday afternoon, around 5:00 p.m. I've just started watching a movie on DVD, and while I'm focused on the TV screen, I'm also monitoring the ominous clouds assembling in the frame of one of our skylights. Isolated thunderstorms had been predicted, but I was still surprised when a few big drops splattered against the skylight.

My eyes moved back to the television, and that's when it appeared, off to my left, up near the ceiling and just below the other skylight, perhaps nine feet above the floor. It was a fist-sized crackling blue-white ball of – something – and it vanished, quick as thought, before I could shift my gaze directly to it. Almost simultaneously, a peal of thunder shook the house.

Oddly, the lights didn't flicker, and none of the electronics reset themselves. The thunder didn't carry that sharp crack! that we associate with a lightning strike that's much too close for comfort. But that odd crackling blue-white ball seemed related, somehow.

I was hesitant to tell my wife about it at dinner, because I wondered if I'd seen it at all. But the visual was too clear, too real, to be imaginary. Later, she googled the phenomenon and found this, an article in Scientific American. According to this article, I may just have been one of the estimated 5% of the world's population who have seen an occurrence of ball lightning.

Has anyone else ever experienced something similar? I'd love to hear your story.

Visual Proof

In response to the massive outcry for proof of the claims in this post, I offer the following photo of a much more cooperative big honkin' hibiscus:

I counted 19 blooms on the plant this morning.

As long as I was out with the camera, I decided to photograph the other hibiscuses, so they didn't have hurt feelings:

My wife refers to the flower in the lower left as a double hibiscus, because it has multiple layers of petals, unlike the others. It doesn't bloom as frequently or profusely as the others, but it makes up for it in beauty.

(It occurs to me that it would be very cool to declare a "Blogosphere in Bloom Day" where everyone would post photos of their flowers on the same day. It may be too late to get it organized for this summer (in the northern hemisphere) but is anyone else down with trying to pull it together next year?)

Update: Here's a closeup of a yellow bloom, showing the beautiful color contrast in the center of the flower:

Bloom Boom

Remember the big honkin' hibiscus post and photo? I wondered what would happen if the plant decided to sport multiple platter-sized blooms.

Well, I just wandered into the backyard and counted fifteen – 15! – of the blooms on the one plant. And it doesn't seem to be suffering any ill effects. Apparently, Somebody sure knows how to do some structural engineering!

Unfortunately, because of the spacing of the flowers and the way some of them are hidden behind the foliage, a photo of said plant just isn't very impressive. Use your imagination instead.

More of the Dove Family

Checking in on the Dove Family

Remember this photo, taken back on June 29, and described in this post?

Well, here's the result:

Judging by the size of the baby birds (dovelets? dovettes?), I wonder if the mom wasn't actually nesting with new hatchlings in the first photo, instead of roosting on eggs. In any event, she continues her unflinching vigil over the young ones. I see another dove occasionally alight on the roof right above her head, although I haven't seen it join her on the nest. I don't know if the male and female share the nesting responsibilities.

Given the horrible nest-building skills of doves, I'd projected that they were also lackadaisical parents. That assessment appears unwarranted, at least in this case.

Flower Power

I'm sure there's a proper name for it, but we just call it the Big Hibiscus. And it's got its first bloom of the season:

The plant is loaded with unopened buds. If they decide to bloom simultaneously, I don't think it can support the weight – but it should be a sight to behold.

Well, we're not far off with our naming of the plant. There's not much difference between Big Hibiscus and Giant Hibiscus. Only an ad executive would quibble.

Innocent as Doves

I've always been of the opinion that doves are among the most stupid of birds. They flock by the score in our neighborhood, and are continually being struck by cars because they insist on squatting in the middle of the street.

They're also inexpert nest builders; if there was a nest equivalent of a shanty, it would be built by a dove. And they often choose the oddest places for a nest. Well, like this one:

I spotted this dove roosting on a nest she'd built on top of a ladder leaning against the wall of our neighbor's house. I assume she's keep guard over an egg or two. Here's a close-up:

As silly as this behavior seems, I have to admire her nurturing instinct and bravery. I was able to get within six feet to take the second photo, and she gave no sign of contemplating flight (and dove are just as skittish as they are dimwitted). The nest might not have been much to look at, but it was hers, by gosh, and she was going to stick with it and its contents no matter what.

I suppose this is some of what Jesus was referring to in his admonition to his disciples to be "shrewd as serpents and gentle as doves." He was sending them into an uncertain and hostile world where the natural tendency would be to flee. But he was also empowering them to overcome that tendency, not through equal force or aggression, but through purity of motive.

This would seem to be a characteristic worth emulating, regardless of whatever else we might think of doves.

Slitheringly Successful Cycling

[I realize that some (many? most?) of you find these posts distasteful, but you must realize that we're experiencing a pretty amazing year, weather-wise, which results in wildlife sightings that are unusual and demand to be documented. Please indulge me.]

We set out on a late afternoon bicycle ride, heading west toward a cloud bank on the horizon that's just now materializing overhead as an impending thunderstorm. The riding weather, however, was quite pleasant, as was the scenery. The pasture along Highway 191 is downright luxurious thanks to rainfall totals that border on record-setting. Those rains seem to have supercharged the whole ecosystem in these parts, as the entire food chain benefits.

This morning, for instance, we drove down an unpaved road south of town where the water has been standing in the bar ditches for days, and we could see the surface of that water apparently boiling. Upon closer scrutiny, we saw that literally hundreds upon hundreds of tadpoles inhabited those temporary ponds. We saw tiny frogs in equally manifold numbers out on the shooting range. And you must understand that where the small amphibians are, there too will eventually appear the larger reptiles.

Reptiles like this one, which we encountered about eight miles west of town on our ride:

If it looks a bit familiar, it's because of the resemblance to this one that we came upon about a week ago. It's a bull snake, about four feet in length. Unlike the last poor guy, I managed to coax this one off the roadbed and back into the relative safety of the pasture.

We remounted the bike and continued our ride, but less than a mile later we came across this one:

This one required a little more caution; it's a rattlesnake, about two feet long, and quite annoyed by my presence. I didn't get quite as close to it – they can strike a distance of about half their body length (or is it twice? note to self: this sort of uncertainty around venomous snakes is ill-advised; brush up on your research), but they're among the fastest strikers in the snake kingdom (ever wonder why "snake charmers" work with cobras? It's because they're sooooo slow. The snakes, not the charmers. Although that, too, is debatable.)

Anyway, once I snapped this photo, I jumped over and crushed his wee little head into a red paste on the ground, laughing maniacally at his death throes and the increasingly feeble warnings of his rattles. Not really. We actually watched him slither back into the pasture from which he had emerged, all of us happy to part company unscathed.

The remainder of the ride was uneventful – well, other than running over the gator. But that's another story for another day.

Update: Bob also had a close encounter of the rattler kind today over at his place in Stanton. And he did dispatch the creature with extreme prejudice. I don't blame him. It's one thing to find them in a pasture, well away from human life. It's quite another when they're in your back yard.

Can't swing a dead cat without hitting a snake

We drove out to look at an open house at Woodland Park this afternoon, and as we turned back onto "A" Street to head home, I spotted this fellow in the middle of the road. I did a quick u-turn, pulled off into the bar ditch, and grabbed my wife's phone to snap some photos.

At first, I thought it was a rattler (the timing was eerie considering the warning we got last week), but I quickly discerned that there was a pointed tail where the rattles would normally be, and the head – while somewhat viper-shaped – didn't really fit the profile. I decided it was a bull snake, which is often mistaken for a rattlesnake, and which is one of the largest snake species in North America. It's not unusual for them to grow to 7' in length. They're not poisonous, and they play an important role in controlling the rodent population.

The reason the photo is so small is that I didn't want to get any closer; the reptile was royally ticked-off, issuing a continuous hissing loud enough to hear inside the car. He (she?) was obviously agitated, coiling and uncoiling – and not a bit intimidated by my presence or that of the car. At one point, it struck at me (immediately following the snapping of the photo on the right; I guess I should have asked permission first). Bull snakes can be aggressive even when not wounded, and they will bite; this one was itching to demonstrate.

Peering closer, I noticed the inside of its mouth was red, and I think I figured out the cause of its agitation. I suspect it had been clipped by a passing car and was injured, perhaps not fatally, but badly enough to strike out at anything in reach. We felt sorry for it, but had no way of herding it off the roadway. I hope it made it to safety before a less observant driver finished it off.

[Oh, Beth – did I mention there are snakes in this post? Oops.]

Snake Season?

[Warning to Beth: As the post title implies, here there be snakes. Proceed with caution.]

With all the rain we've been getting (it's coming down steadily again this morning), it's a wonder that we're not seeing an influx of water moccasins, to go along with our other abundant imported fauna – squirrels, killers bees and, yes, even fire ants.

I've got snakes on my mind thanks to this article in today's local newspaper in which "officials" provide us with some tips for dealing with the emerging snake population (provided that summer does actually arrive this year). [One of the "officials" quoted in the article, Dr. Mark Miller, happens to be Abbye's veterinarian.]

The article contains the usual advice for avoiding rattlesnakes (back away slowly, don't meet their gaze, try not to scream like a little girl, etc.) and for treating snakebite after you inevitably forget or ignore said advice (don't cut or suck on the wound, amputate only above the wound, try not to scream like a little girl, etc.). It's all good advice – as is the idea of getting your dog vaccinated if it's going to be out and about in snake country – although it inexplicably omitted the value of carrying a .45 with snake loads (I confess to having never met anyone who, upon being surprised by a rattlesnake, can actually muster the aiming accuracy to shoot it, snake loads or not; beating it to death with the butt of a shotgun seems to be a more effective defense).

What caught my eye, however, is the local Animal Control director's reference to the poisonous snakes we deal with in this region, like coral snakes, rattlesnakes and Texas night snakes. Say what? "Texas night snakes"?

Everyone knows there are only four species of poisonous snakes in North America: coral snakes (which have to chew on you for a while to inject any venom), rattlers (our rep of choice, locally), the afore-mentioned moccasin (a nastier-tempered snake you'll be hard pressed to find), and the rattler-wannabe, the copperhead (which will jiggle its tail in dry leaves as a manifestation of rattle-envy). So, where does the Texas night snake come in?

According to this article from a UT-sponsored website, Hypsiglena torquata jani is actually classified as non-venomous, but like many herps, it's "mildly venomous" to its prey. In other words, if you're a field mouse or toad, its bite may inject enough poison to render you inert while it carries out its naturally nefarious instincts, but humans are not in any danger from the bite (well, except for gangrene from its dirty mouth, and other such minor irritants).

Interestingly, on the habitat map provided with the article, Ector and Midland counties are two of the few west Texas counties not included in the range of the species. However, snakes are notoriously poor map-readers, so I would take that with a grain of salt.

Technorati tags: Texas Night Snakes | Rattlesnakes | Screaming like a little girl

Easter Hill Country Tour 2007

For the past 20+ years, we've spent Easter weekend in the Fredericksburg/Kerrville area of the Texas Hill Country, participating in the aptly named Easter Hill Country Tour, a bicycling event jointly sponsored by the bike clubs of Fort Worth, Lubbock, San Antonio, and Houston. This year's event was the 34th annual tour, and will go down in history as one of the most interesting, thanks primarily to the wintry weather conditions.

Over the years, as we've, um, matured (read: grown wiser), this event has become less about the bicycling and more about enjoying our time together. In the beginning, we were avid (read: stupid) cyclists and rode a couple of centuries -- or, to the uninitiated, 100 mile rides completed in one day. I'm sure there are more difficult feats that the average non-athlete could attempt, but I'm not interested in confirming it.

Nowadays, if we ride 100 miles in three days we're quite pleased with ourselves, and we've found that we can eat just as much -- the real reason people cycle -- plus there's the added bonus of actually being able and willing to get back on the bike without waiting a month.

However, this year's trip holds the distinction of providing the lowest cycling/driving mileage ratio of any that we've taken: almost 800 miles of driving in order to ride 42.4 miles on a bike. More on that later.

Because I'm such a considerate and thoughtful host (read: OCD), I've organized this report into sections, and you can use the following links to skip to the one(s) you find potentially interesting. (I've not, however, provided a link to the bottom of the post so that you can skip the whole thing. Shame on you for even thinking that.)

Sections: The Riding | The Eating | The Bedding & Breakfasting | The Nature Gazing

The Riding

As with most EHCTs, the schedule for the three day weekend consisted of several routes on Friday leaving from Fredericksburg, several routes on Saturday (including the traditional century) leaving from Kerrville, and a couple of relatively short rides on Sunday morning to wrap things up.

We normally try to arrive on Wednesday afternoon in order to do a self-guided ride on Thursday, but MLB's work schedule didn't allow us to leave until Thursday after lunch. Thus we weren't able to get on the bike until Friday morning around 10:30, when we departed from the Fredericksburg courthouse and headed north out of town. Our route took us up Lower Crabapple Road, then to the west within glimpsing distance of the amazing Enchanted Rock, and finally back south into town on the Old Mason Highway until it met up with Highway 87. We could have stretched the route to almost 60 miles with various optional additions, but since our tandem training mileage this year totaled on 130 miles, and despite our realization that the weather forecast didn't bode well for the rest of the weekend, we decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

The ride was enjoyably challenging, hard enough to feel a sense of accomplishment without ever having to resort to on-bike crying (never a good sign). We rode all the hills (not everyone did, but being 70 years old is always a valid excuse in my book), and had some interesting conversations at the rest stops. Our recumbent tandem usually guarantees that we'll get to visit with a few people who are fascinated by the contraption.

We finished the ride feeling as though we could have gone further, but not regretting stopping when we did, particularly since the clouds were beginning to thicken, a precursor to the front that was about to hammer all of Texas.

Here are a few photos snapped by MLB from the back of the bike during the ride; click to view a full-sized uncropped version. From left to right: a view of Enchanted Rock on the steep downhill section of Welgehausen Road, just west of Hwy 965; bluebonnets along Welgehausen Road; more bluebonnets.

The Eating

"Eat to ride. Ride to Eat." That's the cyclist's mantra, and it works remarkably well, even when moderation is exercised on neither account.

Fredericksburg is home to some excellent restaurants, and even though our stay was shorter than usual, we made sure to patronize two of them. We ate dinner Friday night at the restaurant at the Fredericksburg Herb Farm, a cozy little eatery surrounded by all manner of flora, much of which makes it into the dishes the chef prepares.

We took a chance and walked in without reservations -- we tried to call ahead but our cell phones weren't playing well with the local service -- and waited while the hostess consulted with the chef to make sure we were worthy of the honor. I assume we looked sufficiently solvent, and so we were seated, and at one of the prime tables at that. Never underestimate the value of wearing a Fire Ant Gazette hoodie into the finest dining establishments. (Kidding. Really.)

MLB had a fine talapia cooked en papillote, prepared with "Mexican herbs" and served with green rice. Muy delicioso.

Not to be outdone, I had one of the off-menu specials, something you don't normally find in a sit-down restaurant with white linen tablecloths: cabrito. I'm here to tell you that if you ever have a chance to eat cabrito in that setting, don't pass it up. I didn't catch the waitress's explanation of the herbs used in the preparation, despite asking her to repeat it (there was something about "root beer flavor, but very mild"), but that was the best goat I've ever eaten, falling-off-the-bone tender and juicy in that way that only cabrito can be. Normally, Abbye would have benefited from a few carryout scraps, but she was out of luck that night. (I'd ask you not to tell her, but she sniffed my fingers as soon as we got home, and she knew. She's still not speaking to me.)

The only disappointment of the evening was dessert (and, really, that's major). We split a serving of Lemon Verbena Peach Cobbler (with homemade vanilla bean ice cream), and it wasn't up to the restaurant's usual standards. Of course, the last time we had their peach cobbler, it was in the middle of peach season so the fruit was fresh off the tree. Still, the crust was too doughy, and the lemon verbena was...weird. I don't recommend it (but if they have plain cobbler during the summer, go for it).

Pricing? Ooh, you don't want to know. We were pushing $100 and that was without wine.

Our dining destination Saturday night was our Plan B from Friday, in case we were turned away. Pasta Bella serves some of the best Italian food around, and it's a gem of a find right in the middle of this German community. There's nothing fancy here, just basic pasta dishes, and the usual parmigiana entrées. Again, we arrived without reservations, and we did have a short wait, but it was worth it. Normally on a Saturday night, you'd want to call ahead, but keep in mind that we were out in the middle of an ice storm, and that kept the crowd down a bit.

The food was typically good, tasty and filling, and much more reasonably priced than the night before. We were too full for dessert, and the total check was around $20.

Now, since we stayed in a bed-and-breakfast, you're probably wondering about our morning meals. I can sum them up in one word: awesome. I'll tell you more about the B&B a bit later, but I can tell you that the family that owns this one also owns another one on the other side of F'burg, managed by their son and daughter-in-law, and they both pride themselves on their excellent breakfasts. We've stayed in B&Bs where "breakfast" was a couple of cold muffins left on the kitchen table the night before, and whatever you could find in the mini-fridge.

This place, on the other hand, delivered a full hot breakfast each morning. Day one was an oven pancake, bacon (cleverly folded in a way to resemble flowers) and fresh fruit; day two was baked (!) eggs, sausage, made-from-scratch biscuits and fresh fruit in yogurt dressing; day three was a breakfast casserole (eggs, sausage, cheese, bread and mushrooms) and more fruit. We boxed up half the casserole and had it leftover when we returned to Midland -- the servings were not skimpy.

Earlier, I computed our driving-to-cycling mileage, because I'm a numbers guy, like it or not. However, I refuse to calculate (or even think about) our calories-consumed-to-cycling-mileage.

The Bedding and Breakfasting

Well, I've already covered the Breakfasting, but here's the skinny on the accommodations. The B&B is called Clear Springs Log Cabin, and it's owned and operated by Vernon and Bernice Fluitt (their son and his wife, Nelson and Sharon, manage another excellent B&B called the Country Quiet Guesthouse, which we also recommend highly). Clear Springs is located on a working ranch eight miles north of F'burg on Highway 16, and the main living area of the house was built in the 1850s. It served many years as a barn, but the Fluitts recently made it over into a B&B, adding a bedroom, bathroom, central heat and air, and other modern amenities.

The walls of the log cabin are at least twelve inches thick, highly reminiscent of adobe buildings found throughout west Texas. One section of the original log-and-mortar has been preserved behind glass (see image at right; click for a larger version), but the remainder of the walls have been re-mortared. We found the room to be pretty well insulated, but the HVAC system was also quite effective in dealing with any shortcomings in that area.

The bedroom is equipped with a very comfortable queen-sized bed. However, the room is lacking in storage space, especially for hanging clothes. The large antique wardrobe is more for show than function and will accommodate only three or four hangars.

The bathroom is very spacious, with a large jacuzzi tub (no shower, but the tub has a gooseneck spigot that's a fair compromise) and the only deer antler toilet paper holder I've ever seen. In fact, antlers were used everywhere in place of towel racks.

The kitchen is functional, but not luxurious, although the fridge appears new and works very well. There's no oven, but there is a stove, a microwave, and a countertop toaster/convection oven. We used only the fridge, microwave and coffeemaker. This was, after all, a vacation.

The weather wasn't exactly cooperative -- more about that below -- but the compound has several places that would be wonderful for al fresco coffee and snacks or book reading (a euphemism for napping, of course) in more temperate conditions.

I mentioned that this is a working ranch, and it's thus replete with the typical farm fauna: cattle, chickens, horses, geese -- and, of course, llamas. It's also got a couple of ponds, at least one of which is apparently stocked for fishing, if you care about such things.

It's also very, very quiet. Even though Highway 16 is a very busy road, the B&B is located more than a mile down an unpaved road (and over a couple of hills), and there are no neighbors within sight, other than the hosts' home (which is a couple hundred yards away). The log cabin has its own fenced yard, great for pets (although if you have a dog that doubles as an escape artist, you'll want to keep it leashed), and is imaginatively landscaped.

The Nature Gazing

The same vicious cold front that blasted much of the nation also dropped down into the Hill Country, with the worst weather blowing in early Saturday morning in the form of rain, sleet, and a bit of snow. Sunday morning's view of the woods surrounding the B&B was punctuated with breaking limbs falling under the weight of the ice, although most of what I saw were from the dead trees that polka-dot the landscape thanks to a recent onslaught of oak wilt throughout the Hill Country.

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, we were awakened by total silence combined with complete darkness. Funny how that works, isn't it? We never got an explanation of the power outage, but it lasted only a couple of hours, and it gave us an excuse to snuggle deeper under the blankets.

We discussed the outage with Vernon when he brought breakfast. He said that as soon as the power went off, he called the power company, and he and his wife started worrying about how it might impact us. Bernice was worried about how she'd fix our breakfast; Vernon wasn't worried about that as much as how we flush the toilet (the water system relies on electric pumps). I guess it's a guy thing, but that's also one of the first things that occurred to me at 3:00 a.m. when the power first went out.

Here are a few photos capturing the cold beauty of weather's aftereffects. Click on the thumbnails to view larger uncropped versions. Note the ice on the back of the reclining llama in the third photo. Think those guys aren't protected by their fur?

We had one final weather-related challenge, and that was driving through the ranch and back to the highway for the trip home. With our bike on top of the SUV we need about 12 feet of clearance, and the ice weighted the tree limbs lining the dirt road to the point where I was weaving like a drunken driver, trying to thread my way past the lowest branches while avoiding getting stuck in the bar ditch. Fortunately, I've had plenty of practice at this since That Thing Happened and we made a clean getaway.

Despite not getting in our usual quota of bicycling, this was a weekend to remember -- and almost all of the memories will be good ones. It's hard to ask for more than that.

Weekend Wrapup

We made a quick trip to Fort Stockton this weekend for my brother's birthday, and we seemed to pack a lot into a relatively short period of time.

On Saturday morning, MLB and I rode the longbike down the I-10 service road west of town, out to the Firestone Test Track and back, which is about a 23 mile round trip. We invariably see interesting things on this route, and this day was no exception, as we spotted some dots on either side of the road close to the overpass marking the highway that leads to Alpine in one direction and Coyonosa in the other.

As we drew closer, I determined that the dots were a group of five javelinas foraging on both sides of the service road. My wife pulled out her little Canon digicam and I tried to steer and pedal us as unobtrusively as possible in their midst, recognizing the risks to doing so. After, these animals have been known to overturn pickup trucks to dispose of the occupants, and their razor sharps tusks will peel sheet metal like a paring knife on an apple. OK, just kidding. Javelinas pose little to no threat at all, unless you happen to startle them in high brush or get between a momma and her piglet or come across a big male with a bad attitude or...well, anyway, we were in no danger. They do look mean, though:

As soon as they spotted us, they headed under the fence and disappeared into the adjoining pasture. We didn't see them on the return trip, but we did spot a red fox the size of a coyote running at full speed from the pasture on the north side of the interstate, across all four lanes of the highway, and into the pasture on the south side, without breaking stride but coming that close to a nasty encounter with an 18-wheeler. It was cool to see him from a distance, but at least one Fort Stockton resident has been bitten by a rapid (Ed. OK, he was fast, as well as being rabid!) fox this year already, and my brother shot another one a couple of weeks ago at their place. I'd just as soon keep them at a distance.

Later that afternoon, we gathered up the family arsenal and did some target shooting. We also took turns on my brother's new/old dirt bike, which he acquired for the princely sum of $300. It's a 250cc Yamaha of indeterminate vintage, cobbled together with mismatching parts, but by someone who knew what they were doing because it gets up and goes.

It had been a couple of decades since my wife had ridden a motorcycle, but, as they say, it's just like riding a bike...sort of.

Nothing but pride was harmed in the process, and she was having too much fun for even that to be an issue.

That evening, we witnessed another somewhat unusual occurrence, as a large flock of buzzards arrived to roost in the topmost part of a neighbor's pine tree. They've apparently been doing this each evening for a few days, having arrived from Mexico as a part of their seasonal migration. It's a bit rare to spot a whole group of buzzards nesting like this (and it's a bit eerie to be around them, because they're so quiet...unlike those ridiculous grackles).

Ranchers claim that you'll never see buzzards north of I-10 until after the last freeze of the spring (giving us yet another harbinger of warm weather to go along with scissortail flycatchers and leafy mesquites). We had a discussion this weekend about what the buzzards did before the interstate was built.

It was a good weekend, and a good reminder why we'd really prefer to live nowhere else than west Texas.

Oh, and if you're wondering what happens when a thousand dollar wheelgun meets up with a can of Big Red, here's a clue:

I'll be the first to admit that my scowl needs work.

Ice Surprise

My wife lured me into the backyard this morning with an irresistible "you need to come see this." "This" turned out to be what happens when you combine a hose with a slow drip and frigid overnight temps.

OK, so it's not impressive in a blow-your-socks-off fashion, but it did cause me to wonder just how something like that happens. I've certainly never seen the formation of both a stalactite and a stalagmite in our backyard...or anyone else's, for that matter.

A Morning Walk

Scenes from our walk through the park this morning, just after sunrise, as captured via my cell phone. The rainbow was a serendipitous delight; I can't remember the last time I saw one in the morning.

For the record, Abbye was unimpressed.

Not Everyone's Bothered by Ice Storms

Nothing like a nice treesicle when the weather turns frosty...

Nature is a Harsh Arborist

After years of dodging bullets, thinking we still had some time to prune the live oak in the front yard, Mother Nature came calling overnight to let us know that there's a high price to be paid for procrastination.

This was an especially cruel cut, given that we went to bed last night feeling comfortable that the predicted winter storm had merely grazed us, bringing an inch of welcome rain instead of layers of snow and ice. And, indeed, when I awoke this morning and retrieved the paper from the drive, the drizzle was continuing and the streets and sidewalks were merely wet, not frozen.

The trees, however, were a different story. (Click the thumbnails for uncropped versions, 640x480 in size, more or less.)

At 7:30 a.m. I was out with my trusty bow saw clearing what I could away from the street. I put in a call to the city to alert them that the blind curve was blocked, and parked the Durango around the curve with the flashers going to warn drivers. Fortunately, not many people are out on Saturday mornings, especially in such nasty weather, and I was able to clear the street in about a half hour. If you've never dragged ice-laden limbs, you might be surprised at how heavy they are.

As I was cutting the branches, I heard a loud crack from down the street and looked around in time to see a big limb break and fall from one of the tall pine trees a few houses away.

I never heard from the city -- big surprise, right? -- but I did get a return call from my tree service and they were out by 9:30 to complete the clearing, and to take the weight off the ends of the other limbs that were at risk. Kudos to Midland Tree Service for their quick and professional response. They said that our situation was repeated all over Midland and they had a long weekend ahead of them. In fact, it will be next week before they can return and finish the job, but we're good for now.

We in west Texas don't take our trees for granted; there aren't enough of them for that luxury. I remember working with my dad to plant these live oak saplings in our front yard almost 25 years ago. The thought of losing one -- which is still a possibility -- borders on heart-breaking. On the other hand, it could have been so much worse, and life goes on.

And, as I walked back under the tree after the service folks left, I realized that the branches that broke were not the ones I would have pruned anyway. Mother Nature's got an odd sense of humor, sometimes.

Varmints!

If you've dropped by BeanQuest lately, you know that Brian is dealing with mole problems. No, not the epidermal growths -- I don't know him that well -- but the lawn-ruining nuisance mammals. He's finding that some of the best options for dealing with the problem are out-of-bounds due to pesky things like firearms laws and so on.

We'd probably have the same constraints in west Texas, but there was a time when the dealing with varmints with extreme prejudice was not only desirable, but mandated. The following comes from this week's "90 Years Ago" as published in the Fort Stockton Pioneer:

I applied my usual exhaustive research methodology (two Google searches) and was unable to turn up any details on the "Biggers' Prairie Dog Law" (although I did find a 1903 law enacted in Kansas that pretty much declared was on the varmints). But the fact that Texas has a conservation and management plan to deal with "declining populations" of the black-tailed prairie dog is an indication of how things have changed over the decades.

And, as far as I could tell, nothing in that plan included the application of Juicy Fruit chewing gum as an anti-varmint measure.

...And a Raptor in a Pine Tree.

I happened to glance out the back door just as a hawk landed in one of the leafless pecan trees across the alley. I pulled out my camera, switched out the short zoom for the 80-200 and hurried into the back yard.

The top photo is an image of the bird steadying itself against the gusty wind. After a few moments, it flew to a nearby pine tree (bottom photo) where it remained almost motionless for ten or fifteen minutes.

I was hoping that the hawk was biding its time, intending to pounce on one of the several little yapping dogs who were protesting my presence in the alley as I snapped a series of pictures, but no such luck. (OK...just kidding. Lighten up, wouldja?)

Remind me how this works again...

I just got a warning ticket from the Blogging Police...something about impersonating a blogger. So I guess I'd better get busy and post something, if for no other reason than Jimmy Patterson has a page to fill next Monday. (That's an inside joke -- such as it is -- for the locals.)

So, what's been going on lately? Oh, here's one I never saw coming: the pneumatic Pamela Anderson is splitsville with Kid Rock. If those two can't make it, I'm not sure there's hope for any of us.

On the other hand, there's Will Smith. Now, I've always been a fan of his acting (The Wild Wild West notwithstanding), and he strikes me as a pretty decent guy, to boot, but I'm ready to join a fan club after reading his interview in Reader's Digest (yeah...so what? Wanna make something of it?). Here's Will on marriage:

I guess I'll close with the obligatory Thanksgiving report, sort of. Here's a question: what do you get when you combine a digital camera with a motor drive, a tripod, a long lens, a 2gb SD card, and a bunch of handguns? Well, for one thing, this type of thing...

That last photo is MLB wreaking havoc with our new Springfield pistol. I love the way the photo includes the dirt kicking up behind the targets.

In closing, here's another obligatory photo, this one of turkeys:

These two gobblers were striding down the middle of Rio Street in Fort Stockton on Saturday morning, following Thanksgiving. We saw the whole flock (about 10 birds) during our morning run the day after Thanksgiving but didn't have a camera with us. Anyway, they were obviously breathing easy, having escaped the dining table for another year.

OK, does this get me back on track? Even if I had to resort to quoting Reader's Digest?

Amazing Squirrels

One day last week, while MLB was home during the day, we decided to practice some of our dance steps in anticipation of last Saturday's President's Ball. We usually practice in our game room, which is the only area of the house with enough open space. During the day, we leave our door open so that we can have a view of the backyard through the glass storm door.

So, we were gliding (a euphemism for "stumbling") about, practicing some swing steps (which we are really not very good with), when we happened to glance out the back door, whereupon we both immediately burst into laughter at what we saw:

This squirrel was standing a couple of feet from the door, peering through the glass at us. He had apparently been walking by when he happened to look in and -- well, obviously, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. In fact, he stood like that for more than a minute (long enough for me to grab my camera and snap a couple of shots), trying to comprehend the sight. I have no idea what was going through his tiny little brain, but his body language speaks volumes.

It's humbling to know that our dancing is a source of amusement to varmints.

By the way, do you remember my mention of a photo processing program called Photomatix Pro? You can refresh your memory here, as desired. This program is used to combine photos taken with different exposures, yielding a High Dynamic Range (HDR) image that can be quite spectacular. But I've found another use for the program and that is to rescue a poor shot. In this case, as you can tell, the squirrel was standing in the shade, but right in front of a brightly sunlit section of the patio. Because there was a glass door between us, I couldn't use a fill flash, nor did I have time to set up a tripod for a shutter speed slow enough to brighten the squirrel. The image I did capture is shown at right.

I could have done some tedious processing in Photoshop to lighten the squirrel without blowing out the background, but instead I used the Levels command in Photoshop to create a new image with a lightened squirrel AND a totally blown-out background. I then used Photomatix to combine the original photo and the new one, with the result being the one you see at the top of the page.

You may not run into a lot of situations where you need something like this, but it really came in handy this time.

Flattened Squirrel Redux

Remember the flattened squirrel? Well, he's back...

Wish he'd chill out every now and then, you know?

Meet the real stars of "Snakes On A Plane"

[Warning: Serpent Alert]

Snakes On a Plane opens tomorrow, and we plan to see it at the earliest convenient time. Make of that what you will; it sounds like a fun movie*.

Anyway, if you want to get up close and personal with the serpent stars, take a look at this National Geographic interview with the snake wrangler who worked the film, and the related photo gallery.

If it makes you feel any better, according to the article About two-thirds of the film's serpents are either animatronic or computer generated.

Still, that leaves a slithering one-third.

*Anyone dare me to let loose a slinky from the top of the movie theater during the movie?

My gecko can beat up your gecko

Geico's not the only one with a gecko:

This is the little fellow (or girl...I'm not that nosy) that lives in our game room. The spider-eating lizard is only about two inches in length. He blends in pretty well with the brick that covers two walls of the room; I'm not sure if they're able to change colors to match their environment, but I'd swear this one turns a lighter color when he's on our tile floor.

I'm pretty sure this one doesn't have a Cockney accent, though. It's more of a drawl...kind of squeaky, but still a drawl.

Cool Rabbit

Apparently, squirrels aren't the only creatures around here who are getting tired of the heat:

Photo by Justin O'Neill

This photo was taken by one of the volunteers at Midland's Sibley Nature Center. It shows a lanky jackrabbit stretched out in the shade, trying to stay cool in the afternoon heat. You'd almost mistake him for roadkill, but those ears give him away.

Random Thursday

You thought I wasn't going to get one posted today, didn't you? Ha! No such luck...

• Well, to be honest, my heart's not in this. I think the heat -- and lack of rain -- is finally getting to me. They're forecasting a slight chance of thunderstorms on Saturday, so we'll have to hang onto that.


• Even the animals around here are having a hard time coping with the heat. I'll occasionally catch sight of a mockingbird perched on our backyard fence, opening and rotating his wings forward as if to cool his armpits (wingpits?). Have you ever seen a bird pant?


• Then there's this:

• This serendipitous photo op occurred not fifteen minutes ago as I was attempting to get a picture of the aforementioned mockingbird. I noticed a squirrel rummaging in the grass for old pecans. I glanced away for a second and when I looked back, he had splayed himself out on our walkway, apparently cooling his belly on the shaded bricks. He stayed in that position for several minutes.


• My Black Beta Blogathon t-shirt came in yesterday and I'm fairly impressed with the way it turned out. If you have nothing better on which to spend $18.99 (plus S&H), feel free to order one at cost. Or, you can wait until after Blogathon and get a non-event black shirt...but there'll be a huge mark-up, in keeping with the Gazette's strict merchandising policy.


• Did you catch today's stage in the Tour de France? American Floyd Landis put on one of the most amazing displays of cycling determination I've ever seen, as he dropped the entire field, won the stage, and made up all but 30 seconds of the 8+ minutes he lost in yesterday's disaster. He's in third place but has to be considered a real contender for the overall win. Tomorrow's stage is flat and should be inconsequential, and Saturday's long individual time trial will give him an opportunity to reclaim the yellow jersey, as he's a better time trialer than the two guys ahead of him. If nothing else, this year's race has been an opera of uncertainty. [Whatever that means. It sounds European. Sort of.]

We're heading south en la mañana, and hope to return with a bagful of Pecos cantaloupe. Yes, feel free to be envious.

Two Thousand Words

Bougainvillea in our front yard. Both colors of blossoms originate from the same branch. They start out pink and eventually turn white.

Mexican Bird of Paradise Flower of unknown species growing in Fort Stockton. Referred to as "orange bell," but can't confirm the accuracy of that name. Click for larger image.

Scenes from a bike ride

Shutter: 1/1000 sec; F-stop 9.0; Aperture: 6.3;
ISO Equiv. 400; Focal length: 55mm; uncropped image: 8mpxl;
Camera: Canon Digital Rebel XT

Here are some lessons I learned from this morning's ride:

• Never assume that a camera on a bicycle is wasted dead weight;


• Don't underestimate the patience of a pair of burrowing owls perched on telephone lines;


• Likewise, the importance of a good lens and a bunch of megapixels cannot be overstated;

And last but not least...

• Skill counts for a lot in photography, but so does blind luck.

New Blog: FireRANT

I'm not a fire ant expert, but I play one in the blogosphere.

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Anyway, the Gazette gets a lot of hits from folks searching for information about fire ants. I'm sure they're disappointed when they land here, expecting to get information about how to kill the little demons and instead get photos glorifying them. Or posts about folding fitted sheets.

I feel awful about the misrepresentation. OK, not awful. In fact, I couldn't care less. But, still, I have included at least one link in the blogroll to a legitimate fire ant resource, the Texas Imported Fire Ant Project, hosted by Texas A&M (Motto: "Cows and More"). And, as of fifteen minutes ago, I've doubled the available fire ant resources by adding FireRANT to the roll.

FireRANT appears to be a commercial blog, sponsored by GardenTech, the company that makes Over'n Out Fire Ant Killer, among other things. The blog gives generous promotion to that product, as you would expect, but it also provides a wealth of general information about fire ants, and presents it in a very readable format. I was especially impressed with the post about the apparent impact of Hurricane Katrina on the fire ant population in and around NOLA.

I have no idea whether Over'n Out works as advertised, having never tried it. At this particular moment, our personal homestead seems to be fire ant free. That's almost guaranteed to change, however, and when it does, I think I'll look for that product and give it a field test. Watch this space for a review. And if you're dealing with fire ant infestations (of the non-blog kind), you might want to check out FireRANT.

Night Storm

Wallace has been displaying some great photos of thunderheads over the past couple of weeks, but his have all been taken during daylight. Tonight, we're being treated to a natural fireworks show off to the east, and I managed to assemble my camera and tripod and grab one halfway decent photo.

I used a shutter speed of 10 seconds for my Digital Rebel XT, with a digital film speed of ISO 100 and an aperture value of 5.0. The photo was taken about 90 minutes after sunset, but the top of the thunderhead was tall enough to still catch the tiniest bit of illumination. You can see the lightning near the bottom of the photo.

The remote control comes in very handy for these long exposures. I haven't done enough night photography to know what I'm doing, however; most of the series wasn't focused very well (autofocus is useless in this kind of setting). And, yes, I did do a little touch-up in Photoshop, in case you're wondering. But the result looks very much the way the storm looked in real life.

Now, if only we'd get some of these storms over us instead of out on the horizon...

Holy Intruder, Batman!

We were sitting in church this morning listening to a sermon about Enoch, one of at least two people in the Bible who didn't die (can you name one other?). A sudden movement caught my eye, in front, above and to the left of our pew. At first, I thought a small bird had somehow found its way into the room, but as it flew closer I (and the other 250 other people near enough to the action) recognized it as a bat.

Using its unerring sonar, it flew about fifteen feet into the congregation and then made a swift-but-graceful right turn and landed on a man's neck, where it hung briefly on his shirt collar. There was an audible gasp from the congregation, causing the preacher to stumble momentarily as he attempted to process what was going on out there (remember, he's being taped for TV). Helpful congregants quickly brushed the creature from the man's neck and one brave soul grabbed the bat by the scruff of its neck (bats do have neck scruffs, don't they?) and carried it out of the room.

As luck would have it (if I may be so bold as to use that term in conjunction with a worship service), although the man whose neck provided an inexplicably attractive target for the bat turned out to be a visitor to our church -- he was also a former long-time member who was back in town temporarily and thus we didn't have to worry about the impression we made on visitors who show up to check us out only to be attacked by wild and possibly rabid creatures of the night.

The funniest thing happened after the service, however, as I was walking down the hall to Sunday School and struck up a mobile conversation with a woman in our department who had also witnessed the episode. We'll call her Vicki, since that's her name.

"Vicki, what'd you think of excitement in church?" I asked.

She shook her head and smiled. "Those barn swallows just get into everything, don't they?"

I did a kind of double-take and looked to see if she was kidding. She wasn't. "You do know that was a bat and not a barn swallow, don't you?"

"No. It was a barn swallow." (This is the point at which some of you are now channeling Monty Python. Don't deny it.) She added emphasis with a vigorous shake of the head.

"Vicki, you don't honestly think that a barn swallow would land on someone's neck, and then be so easily captured, do you?"

"It. Was. A. Barn. Swallow." I could hear her teeth clench.

A light went on in my feeble mind, and I understood what she was saying. "Ooooh, yeah...I know...I was just kidding. Those silly barn swallows."

If she needs to believe that we've got something other than bats in our belfry in order to re-enter our worship center, that's a game I'm perfectly willing to play along with.

I never did learn the ultimate fate of the poor little bat. If I find out, and it's not too gross, I'll let you know. It's just too bad that the sermon wasn't on the dietary code spelled out in Leviticus 11.

Quick trip...

Note to Beth: Snakes are mentioned in this post.

Just got back from a quick trip to Fort Stockton for Mother's Day. The weather today wasn't too bad, but yesterday the temperature hit 105° (41° C); fortunately, due to the low humidity, it felt like only 103. ;-)

We learned this morning that the church where I was baptized and my wife and I were married will observe its 100th anniversary in November. My family has been associated with it for exactly half that time, which is neat to contemplate.

Not a lot of news to report from FS. My brother said that he's already killed five rattlesnakes at their place ten miles outside of town, which is a lot for this time of year. Even more unusual, three of them had no rattles, which is never a good situation.

While we didn't see any snakes, we did see the following critters lounging in the next door neighbor's yard when we pulled up to my parents' house.

This is part of a rafter of wild turkeys that has invaded town, perhaps as a result of the drought. There have been as many as 12-15 of them in the group, but their numbers have been dwindling for reasons one can only imagine.

Hope you had a good Mother's Day, and that it wasn't overly filled with turkeys!

Cruel Nature

In an uncharacteristic burst of Saturday afternoon industry, I decided to amputate some of the lower hanging branches from the oak tree in our front yard. I grabbed the pole-mounted pruner and got after it.

I eventually worked my way over to a particularly dense grouping of limbs, and as I thrust the pruner up into the midst of the branches I was startled by the sight of a bird plumeting to the ground, where it began to flap pitifully. I immediately recognized the ploy; it was a dove -- presumably female -- and it was doing a rather over-the-top version of the oh-dear-me-I'm-lame-and-helpless-so-come-and-get-me act that a number of species of birds employ to draw predators away from their nests. Sure enough, ignoring the wallowing dove, which by now was flapping its way across the street and into the neighbor's yard, I peered into the mass of limbs and spotted the ragged nest (doves are not particularly adept at construction work). I laughed to myself at the earnest histrionics of the hen (again, an assumption) even as I marveled at the maternal instinct at work.

However, I was caught completely off guard by what happened next.

As I resumed my pruning work, another bird burst from the same vicinity. This one had blue plumage and it was not pitiful...it was flying with a purpose. It was a blue jay, and as it flew past me, I could see that it was carrying a piece of felt or a tuft of fuzz in its beak. It flew around the corner of the house, and I figured it was taking the cloth to supplement its own nest. But I noticed that instead of continuing to fly, it landed in the lawn, whereupon it started stabbing at the cloth with its beak. Very odd.

I decided to investigate so I walked toward the jay, which fled the scene, leaving behind whatever it had been stabbing. As I got closer, I got this sinking feeling that I wasn't going to like what I found, and that was confirmed as I came upon a tiny baby dove, as yet unfeathered but covered in the fur-like coat that precedes feathers. Its body was still twitching but it was obvious that it was mortally wounded, and indeed it died a couple of minutes later.

In a cruel irony, the mother bird's efforts to draw me away from the nest actually resulted in the death of one of her progeny, as it left the nest unprotected, and the opportunistic jay swooped in and grabbed the baby bird. I've always thought of jays as the thugs of the bird world, but, frankly, I hadn't realized that they are omnivorous; some quick googling confirms that the behavior I witnessed is not out of the ordinary.

Doves are among the least intelligent creatures you'll ever encounter, but you can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy after such a scene. It's a tough world out there.

Swimming with Sharks

The death of Jaws author Peter Benchley turned my mind to sharks, which I suspect isn't an uncommon occurence at the mention of Benchley's name. However, unlike the rather scary associations that sprang from the movie, my shark thoughts were much more pleasant.

In 1989, MLB and I traveled to the tiny Caribbean island of Saba. Saba is one of Windward Islands in the Dutch Caribbean and is little more than a thickly forested mountain jutting out of the sea. It's also a coveted destination for scuba divers, which is why we and a traveling companion named Flo found ourselves on the island during the first week of July.

We did encounter some remarkable diving during the week, but it was on the fourth of July that the truly memorable dive took place. I hauled out my travel journal; here's the description I recorded later in the evening.

Contrary to the picture painted in movies like Jaws, sharks are a welcome addition to almost any Caribbean dive experience, and sightings are actually pretty infrequent. I've never yet met a diver who wasn't exhilarated by a shark sighting, and they're much less threatening when you're down there with them than when you're floating on the surface, letting your imagination run wild.

Saba is also where I found myself in the middle of a Sunday evening street dance wearing nothing but flip-flops and a Speedo...and the only white skin (other than that of my companions) in sight. Sorry to leave you with that mental image; another time, perhaps.

Impending Storm Naming Crisis

With Hurricane Rita about to move into the Gulf of Mexico and more than two months left in the Atlantic hurricane season, there seems to be an overwhelming chance that the list of 21 official tropical storm names for 2005 will be depleted. The last four names on the list are Stan, Tammy, Vince and Wilma.

I can't find any documentation about how such a situation is handled. Apparently, the annual names list has never been fully used since it was instituted. I don't know if the UN's World Meteorological Organization, which has the responsibility for coming up with and administering the list of names will declare an emergency draft of the last three letters of the alphabet (my votes go to Xavier, Yvonne and Zorp -- as far as I know, there's no rule against using a Betelgeusian name, as long as it's the proper gender), or if they'll start recycling the alphabet. I'm sure the answer is somewhere on the WMO's website, but it will take a better person than me to navigate that monstrosity. (This sounds like just the kind of challenge that my pal Mr. Freen excels at conquering.)

Technorati tag: Storm Names

Creature Faceoff

I suppose I have a thing for mantids. In my defense, they're the T-Rexes of the insect world, only greener. How can you not be fascinated by them? Plus, they're quite photogenic.

Late yesterday afternoon, I spied a praying mantis resting on a plastic stool on the patio. As I turned to go back inside, I caught a glance of something else and realized photos must be taken.

The really interesting thing is that two hours later, the live mantis was still staring down his much larger but no more stoic rival. At some point, I guess I need to remove the fake insect so the other one can get on with his life.

Unless...and this is a vaguely disturbing thought...there's some more basic, um, attraction at work.

Learning from Katrina

The rescue and recovery efforts are still being mobilized in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, but it's not too early to consider how this disaster should shape future decisions about preparing for the next round. WorldChanging has a provocative post with the premise that foresight means more than imagining the worst