Change and evolution
Thursday, 18 June 2020
Pro-tomato, anti-squirrel cage technology.
I still see this and have to translate from Bureau of Land Management to…#BLM.
Hosta bloom portrait. Moderately successful.
Musings
Motley jumble
Wednesday, 17 June 2020
I walked along a street I rarely visit and found this oversized thistle. Stunning.
This resembles a travertine flow at Yellowstone, yet it’s a cascade of fungi.
Large TV in a small apartment. A basement apartment. Pure spectator anthropology. [Full disclosure: I saw no people; I did not hang around; I stopped and took a photo, then moved on.]
Mid-month
Monday, 15 June 2020
I know this as butterfly weed. But I didn’t trust my recollection, so I searched the database of digital knowledge. Turns out: yup. And it’s in the milkweed genus…more evidence of my boundless ignorance.
Best part: the butterfly sunglasses.
Slow-day Sunday
Sunday, 14 June 2020
Good vibes morning sky.
Don’t recognize this tree (shrub?).
Just a bit of mystery to this fence-shadow.
Rain cells came through afternoon and evening, so it’s a good thing I got a nice morning sky photo—evening would have been…drizzle.
Newveau, oldveau
Saturday, 13 June 2020
And…2020 is almost half over. Still 2020, however.
Not new.
Not new at all.
For grins: today’s botanical photo is of rounded decorative leaves. No blooms, blossoms, or flowers.
Still learning
Thursday, 11 June 2020
Rain overnight. Plants need the precip. I needed the change in weather. Cooler! I heard that last year at this time, ATL had had 20 days at 90°F and above—this year, zero. I walked in high 70°s…and was very happy.
I worry about “Vehicles towed…” signs that do not also say WHERE!…or at least give a [functioning] phone number. Gorgeous two-story columns do not balance my worries.
Delicate mushroom. Had to include a plant kingdom photo. Ooops. No longer plant kingdom—fungi kingdom. ([cranky voice] What! Oh. Fungi kingdom was proposed in 1969. I learned the kingdoms back when fungi were plants. [So there.] 😜 )
Invasive mugginess
Wednesday, 10 June 2020
I left early, as in I’ll walk for an hour and a bit, and be home by eight—another overcast morning (whew), yet humid humid humid. That’s a prescription for early outdoor exercising, if at all possible. Rumor is overnight the weather will change. I won’t be ready for the hot-sunny real thing.
So there I was one foot in front of the other, no coffee yet, trudging at a good pace (is that still trudging?), when I realized that pink and white feathery plant bits were smashed into the blacktop beneath my feet. I looked up: mimosa-in-bloom.
Later, nose down once again, I spotted stump transformation underway. Go fungi!
Two stories today
Tuesday, 9 June 2020
I headed out on my walk thinking my body was adjusting to early-mid Deep South summer after being in mid-spring northern Midwest, and I was darned lucky that it was overcast. Humid, but no bright sun.
A man’s voice penetrated my distraction. He told me about a lost dog, a small golden retriever. Phone number on collar. I said I’d call if I saw her. I rounded the next corner and saw a woman carrying a…yup, small golden. Which was not tiny; I’d say smallish medium-sized. I said, “you found her!” “Yes,” she said, “she was sitting at the end of a driveway.” All’s well.
Not so happy second story. Voting is a real mess in this state, or at least in this city.
We were lucky that we received our absentee ballots. They were long. About half judges, at all governmental levels. Took us both quite a bit of study to work through all the options.
Then we set off with our properly (I sure hope) packaged ballots to drop them in a ballot box toward downtown. While we were there long enough for me to drop ours off, we saw six other parties dropping off ballots. That’s a steady flow, considering it took me less than a minute to walk across three lanes, a wide sidewalk, and up a gentle half-flight of steps, push them through the door, then return. That’s a big pile of absentee ballots, and there were at least a half-dozen other absentee drop-off stations in this county.
For grins (as the saying goes), we returned home by two polls…. Both had long snaking lines, at least a half-mile, I estimated. Social distancing had collapsed somewhat…huge numbers of people. Lots of reasons for the problems, beginning with long ballots, brand new machines, and inexperienced poll workers. Afternoon showers I’m sure did not help things. I will not speculate on the role of incompetence, or the potential for malevolence masquerading as incompetence in the poll problems.
Photo themes: color graduation (small changes…you get it); parting of the plant (separations in wholes); and the sign for an Atlanta institution, the Sweet Auburn Curb Market (local name for the market; WikiPee details that the Municipal Market sign is a replica.
Details are everything
Monday, 8 June 2020
Some important aspects of the landscape are invisible to most of us. This farm is not terribly far from a major border between catchment basins. Behind me is the Tennessee River Valley—that water flows into the Mississippi River, while the south side, this side, flows into the Coosa and then the Alabama. Both end up in the Gulf, albeit via different routes. Not readily apparent while touring the countryside.
At home, we found the wee basil plants—”regular” Genovese and Thai—are doing well. They need water, but some are already going to seed. Gotta snip those when I water!
Perhaps the biggest news: we do not have to wait in line to vote in person tomorrow; our absentee ballots did indeed arrive while we were gone (they should have come before we left; love bureaucracy 😉 ).
Time in the style of this century
Sunday, 7 June 2020
Ah, well, if the dandelions are going to seed, it must be time to hit the road.
Time to leave behind this first phase of the Cow Parsnip Eradication Program. I have no doubt I’ll be scouting for survivors on my next visit.
I admit that I find the regularities and irregularities of patterns in nature soothing.
Now that I’m soothed, it’s time to look at the headlines and read a few paragraphs of news stories…see what’s happened while we’ve been ticking away the miles.