I went in for a swim and kept seeing these dark Thangs on the bottom that had little depressions in the sand around them like clams, but didn’t look like clams. Took me a while to figure out they WERE clams, but so festooned with zebra mussels so they no longer had exposed clam shell. I suppose that the clams can become overburdened with the invasive mussels to the point that they can’t move and can’t eat. It made me sad to see the many poor clams all dark and rough and weighed down.
The illusion in the photo is that the grass is rooted between the old bark and the wood; however, the stems are growing up almost two feet behind the bark to emerge into sunlight at stump-top. This does not make me sad. Having the white pine cut down did, though, and immensely.
Is a grapevine tendril.
Was a peony blossom.
Call it cinquefoil or call it potentilla, it’s a pretty, modest flowering shrub that’s hardy enough to survive in northern climes.
When the Manistique River is high this time of the year, the lake it flows from must be high, too? Roight? And it is. And it has been. For years. We go from drought years to this in, what?, just a few years…and this high-water has been with us for, what?, a decade?
The lake it flows from is a shallow lake, big and shallow, and the speed boaters always had to take that into account…like anchor their boats well off-shore (takes some depth for those big motors) and take a dingy in, and the like. Well, those folks like the high levels. The rest of us watch our property wash into the water and disappear. Not happy-making.
In short, Lake Michigan is high. The feeder rivers that flow into it are high, and everything upstream is water-filled. Welcome to climate change, this local version right at present.
Today’s official palate-cleanser flower….
I have only a wee-teeny meteorological knowledge of clouds, and that weensy database includes no name for this pattern. I hereby name it a radial cloud pattern.
I have to say that I tend to enjoy drippy rain. White-noise drippy rain. Today’s lasted, off and on, until about 5:30 pm, when the sun came out and the temp began to elevate. I hear even more bird calls now. And, as you can see, the rain barrel is full…plenty to last us a few days until the meteorological report predicts sprinkles, as I only have to water the basil…and mint! Peppermint! This summer’s science experiment (thank you, Sweet, Kind Neighbor, who induced my snippings to send out roots after I had failed to do so).
I see a stand of goldenrod (Solidago spp.) has pushed well above the grass head near the garage. Only they’re not yet golden. Time, magic time, will change this.
Title refers to a common phrase around here that goes something like…if you don’t like the weather…da da da.
Knowing the heat was coming, I got out right after coffee for a bit of pruning, then we went to town for a few groc necessities. I suspect this is an Asian honeysuckle that escaped from the great-grandmother garden, and not a native species. This branch survived the pruning.
Late in the afternoon, we walked across the road to visit with the neighbors at a social distance (plus), and to pick some of their lettuce—lovely and tasty.
Between these two, I just soaked in the heat, from a seated and decidedly un-lively position. [I call that afflicted by the heat/humidity combo.]
I still don’t know what this sapsucker was up to with the wing held sideways. S/he eventually stuck the beak under the wing in a normal manner when preening, then flew off, but s/he held the wing-out position for maybe two minutes without paying attention to it. Not hurt; a yoga stretch, perhaps?
I called these harebells the other day, but I think they’re garden bluebells gone wild.
First photo: not a woodpecker; second photo: not a harebell. I’m living and learning. 🤨
Both photos qualify as snapshots and no more. The first was through the screen/window, and the second just would not expose better.
Green as in: well before harvest time. Green apples.
Okay. And a fine view of the blue sky, white pouf-clouds, and the grey-turquoise lake. With red chairs.
We are lucky living in this colorful place.
Fancy a human-made landscape? Here’s a transformation of tundra-swamp into open water…albeit shallow. When it was built in the 1930s, none of this vegetation in the water existed. Now, MaNachur is turning it back into swamp via mats of reeds and lilies and the like.
For now, trumpeter swans gracefully feeding. Shallow, no?