Mullein: Yellow Lights
Cruising along Route 81 in Virginia, and I just had to pull over to take a look at these yellow stalks. I have never seen such gorgeous mullein plants. Common mullein is an odd wildflower, like a fencepost sticking straight up out of the ground. Little yellow flowers bloom up and down the stalk, each individual flower opening for only one day. At least at home in upstate New York the flowers are little, but here in the sunny south they’re the size of roses. They’re not a native plant, but not generally invasive. They love dry open ground where nothing else is growing, and can’t...
Read MoreMorning Glory: Pick Your Own
A pick-your-own berry farm in West Virginia. The strawberries were too ripe, and the raspberries weren’t ripe enough, but the blueberries were just right. I got there early, before it got too hot—at least that was the plan, but the West Virginia sun was fierce by 9am. Woven in and out among the blueberry bushes was a glorious tangle of morning glory vines. All the flowers were open wide, delicate pink blossoms that open like parasols and then twist themselves closed not long past noon. The flowers are so delicate they seem to be made out of tissue paper–but this dainty little plant...
Read MoreMagic Cicada
Driving south on the Thruway, and I slowly become aware there’s a strange buzzing noise going on. Oh, god, no—must be something with the engine. It’s a penetrating, grating sound, clearly mechanical. I slow down—it gets louder. I roll down the window—it rises to an eerie shriek. I stop at the first rest area, and turn the car off. The noise keeps going. My ears actually hurt with the most annoying sound ever devised by nature: the love song of ten million cicadas. The fence at the edge of the rest area is draped with bittersweet and poison ivy vines, and the metal chain links are practically...
Read MoreYellow Wood Sorrel: Inspecting a Lemon
It’s that time of year again–time to get the old car inspected. While I was nervously awaiting the verdict of the inspectors (lots of mileage on that baby) I prowled around Jiffy-Lube’s surprisingly well-tended garden, looking for something to photograph. The landscape was mowed and manicured within an inch of its life, and at first I couldn’t find a single weed. But there’s always one, if you look closely enough. Yellow wood-sorrel. In my childhood, I would taste anything—it’s a wonder I’m still alive, really—I sampled clover and grass blades and pine needles. Most of the stuff tasted...
Read MoreMagnificent Clouds
Five minutes before this picture: sun and blue skies. Five minutes after this picture: hailstones banging on the roof.
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