Fragments is Dead. Long Live Fragments

It is the beginning of the end, the beginning of the beginning.

As to make me sure I know without a doubt that I should leave blogger, it wouldn't let me post all day yesterday. Nanny nanny booboo. I'm leaving you.

Over the weekend, all life support will be removed on our little blog. Heck, he's five and a half years old now. We're betting he'll be able to hold his breath for a couple of days and resurface in a new skin called Word Press.

He won't look the same. He'll be plain and pale, possibly rather hideous at first (be sure and don't stare at him or snikker) and awkward and disoriented and anemic for a week or two.

But the name will be the same, and the voice, and in time, the look and feel. And life will go on. You come back and check up on the old blog and blogger, you fickle flitting blog-butterflies.

Meanwhile, I'll likely post over the weekend to the sadly neglected Nameless Creek, Slow Road Home Book Site, or Field Notes.

Next week (BlogGods willing) there should be lots of grand daughter Abby and Grandest Dog Tsuga pictures and stories. I hope our newly metamorphosed Word Press Photo-Blah-Blah-Blog is up to the task! Come back and find out!

Many thanks to Sean Pecor (past) and Doug Thompson (past and future) for hosting and helping. I'd be down for the count without their help and encouragement.

Western Salsify

It looks a bit like a gigantic dandelion, with the "poofball" as my kids called it up to three inches across. Also called Western Goat's Beard, Wild Oysterplant, Yellow Salsify, Yellow Goat's Beard, Meadow Goat's Beard, Goat's Beard, Goatsbeard, Common Salsify, or Salsify, its European kin, Tragopogon porrifolius, makes an edible root eaten for its mild oyster-like taste.

This plant was new to me in the late 70s, an invasive from Europe, first spreading in the western states, and this past weekend, found everywhere along the Blue Ridge Parkway.

My kids loved this plant--one we really had to look for back then. If you take a single "parachute" from the head and remove the long stalk and seed at the bottom of it, the top pappus bristle "sail" is so buoyant it will hang in the air like a strange sea creature suspended in a clear ocean, even on a windless afternoon. They would chase it across the pasture until it vanished into the inverted depths of the ocean of mountain air.

Larger image of Tragopogon dubius is here.

The Beautiful Insects of Summer

UPDATE: You can listen to Fred's radio essay audio of this piece by clicking here.

I have an odd confession to make to you: I actually look forward to the insects of summer.

If this seems hard to imagine, do this: well after dusk on a warm and moonless June or July evening, take a lawn chair to the darkest part of your yard anywhere in Southwest Virginia and witness what few adults-or children-take the time to see: the bioluminescent dance of the fireflies. If there is magic in the insect world, it is here.

Pulsing, calling in a code of cold light, legions of lightning bugs lift from the bracken fern in our meadow, fall strobing from the crowns of the maples that shelter the yard. Close to leaf or trunk or ground, their lightning-fast flash casts a quick brightening over that surface, a miniature of their meteorological namesake. Each summer I watch their Morse code loves song reverberate between indigo hillsides at midnight, and the hair on my arms stands up: far more is spoken in the soundless words of this ancient ritual than we can ever comprehend.

Now I would be willing to bet that even those people who consider themselves squeamish when it comes to "bugs" would put butterflies on their very short list of "beautiful insects". These wispy six-leggers don't sting, stink or eat our garden vegetables. Their silent flight flaunts an abundance of form, color and pattern in garden and meadow.

But if I want to see butterflies up close and in large numbers, I find them gathered in an activity that's called "puddling" along the road or in the yard. Different kinds of butterfly prefer different places for where they aggregate, and it is not each other's company they seek but the common quest for salt that brings them wing to wing at the watering hole.

There is nothing more cheerful and welcoming than to round a curve on our Floyd County gravel road home and flush from a shaded seep two dozen tiger and spicebush swallowtails. They swirl and rise in a shaft of sunlight. But be warned: this time of year, my Subaru should have a bumper sticker that reads "This car brakes for butterflies."

And finally, the group called the Odonata belongs in my top three favorites of summer's flying arthropods. This insect order contains both the dainty Damselflies and the more robust and familiar Dragonflies. Because we have plenty of water for their young, a battalion of these insectivorous insects works for us, patrolling the airspace over the valley where they were born.

Of all the insects, these seem to me the most agile and the most intelligent. Their huge compound eyes give them a 360-degree view on the world that is exceptionally effective at detecting the motion of tiny insects on the wing.

I often watch them lying on my back on the walkway outside the back door late in the afternoon. A half dozen X-winged cruisers zip back and forth along their personal territories just above the roof of the house, thankfully, feeding on those insects that don't seem so beautiful or desirable: the midges, gnats and mosquitoes that also need water for birthing their young.

They all play their roles in our living economy-the voracious insect-feeding dragonflies-AND the bats that take their insect meals a little higher above the house, and the swifts and nighthawks far higher still that patrol the outer sphere of this summer globe of life on Goose Creek.

NEWS FLASH: See Marie Freeman's incredible dragonfly on-the-wing photos!

This appeared in the Floyd Press, July 5, 2007, in my column, The Road Less Traveled. -- Fred

Hyperlocal Floyd

We'll not make it this year to Floyd Fest, where from the Dreaming Creek Stage, World Music will come--more musical notes than the number of ants on a Tennessee anthill--from Nashville and the rest of the planet. Here's what was said (Miami Herald) about the Floyd music scene, that includes this past weekend's Wine Down the Music Trail event (Roanoke Times article) held at the same venue as FloydFest on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Larger image here.

Blogger Book Review: Many thanks to David St. Lawrence for offering a kind and perceptive review of Slow Road Home both on his blog (Ripples) and especially for adding it to the Amazon.com reviews of the book--where readers of Slow Road are told they might also like Barbara Kingsolver's new book--a comparison I'm happy about but BK probably had best not learn of it.

Blog to Book: Slow Road Home was the topic of conversation at Blooking Central where Cheryl Hagedorn focuses her attention to the relationship between blogging and book publishing, gathering examples of all the variety of paths that can take. Cheryl included a bit also of an email reply to her about my experience in the blog-to-book endeavor.

By It's Cover: I exchanged several emails with a young man in Israel who had found one of my images posted at Fragments back in 2004 that he thought would make a good cover for his forthcoming book. It was interesting there for a while, and I spent a good bit of time trying to make the image work, but in the end, when I told him I didn't work for free, he decided instead to draw his own cover with a crayon. Just kidding.

Update--8:30 7/11/07! See Gary Boyd's (North Carolina Mountain Dreams blog) wonderful red jeep and flowers--his contribution for the America's Roadside Bloomery project started here a few days ago--now featured on Autoblog. Thanks for picking that up, Alex!

Black Velvet Or Backlight

This tall wraithe of a forest wildflower is Black Cohosh. Like so many other wildflowers that are many times taller than wide, it's a hard one to show off in the best light. Unless, of course, you seek and find the best light.

And that is not all that hard to do along the Blue Ridge Parkway in the morning hours before 10 or afternoon after 3 in the summertime. Shafts of light slanting through the forest selectively illuminate your subject against the black velvet backdrop of unlit shadow, eliminating the busy, distracting blobs of shape and color that leave the eye searching for the picture.

You may have heard of Black Cohosh, if not as a wildflower, as a medication recently in use to treat menopausal symptoms. See this Mayo Clinic report on Black Cohosh. I suppose the drug companies accept wild-collected stock, but haven't heard of people collecting it for cash like they do Galax, Running Cedar, Ginseng and such. I'll have to explore that issue. There's sure plenty of it in the rich woods along the ridges here'bouts.

The larger image does a better job of showing this plant off at its best.

But Poison Ivy, Lawd'll Make You Itch

So it's not just my imagination that everywhere I look this summer where there had never been any before, poison ivy rises from the ground growth around the house and barn.

But then again, this observation is probably NOT related yet to the anticipated rise in both abundance and toxicity of this ubiquitous town-and-country vine as CO2 levels continue to rise. Ours were probably just spread by birds eating and dropping seeds EVERYWHERE around here of late.

But the future promises more and better poison ivy. So, parents: I know you agree with me that children need to play outside more and inside less. Right? And you don't want them to resist getting out of the house because they're afraid of something they could be taught to recognize and avoid. Google images of PI.

So I'd recommend this at age 5 or 6: make a supervised game of "look don't touch" and train your child to spot PI as many places as you can in ten or fifteen minutes around your house, in the park or woods where they play. Teach them "Leaflets three, let it be." But then, not all three-parted viney plants are itchy. Help them learn the difference and avoid sitting down in it to watch the butterflies.

And roadside photographers seeking those Unplanted Gardens we talked about: fencerows--around here at least--are PI hatcheries, and if you wear sandals without socks, find yourself a coathanger to keep near your computer chair, 'cause your going to need a long-handled scratcher for a couple of weeks.

Light and Air

Rude awakening. I sat down at the computer at the usual 4:00 ready to blog my little heart out--so much to show and tell, and just as I was stretching my fingers like a concert pianist before a big recital, an alarm popped up reminding me I have an 8:00 meeting in Floyd this morning. And another, that I have three uncompleted patient evaluations from work to complete before I leave for my meeting. I shoulda stood in bed.

I'd like to ramble in my usual effusive way about this shot taken yesterday within easy ear shot of the Wine Down The Music Trail event just off the Blue Ridge Parkway. But I don't have the luxury of that much time.

Suffice it to say, I risked poison ivy and had the parkway ranger stop and investigate the strange man hunkered down at the edge of the woods, just where the afternoon sunlight gave way to the afternoon shadow.

Take a look at the larger image (different specimen/composition) hand-held (Nikon D200 with 18-200 VR lens) with the wind blowing. It's a wonder you can see any detail at all.

The plant: perhaps more about that tomorrow.

NOTE: Unplanted Gardens Gallery is up, but rather empty. Anyone?

Bloomery Part TWO

Well I can't complain about not getting the word out. Thanks again to Glenn for the Insta-lanche of more than 2500 visits yesterday in response to his post about the Unplanted Gardens idea. From those visitors, not so many pix, and maybe that's a good thing.

Were there dozens, I'd be up to my elbows in alligators keeping track of who sent what where and from where. Per somebody's suggestion, it would be better to have an external site to which folks could upload and provide their own links, comments, and locality data. Don't know exactly where that would be that would allow some moderation of images, as inappropriate stuff (nice pix, just not on target) would be sure to crop up. Ideas?

The tiny gallery to date is here.

Thanks to Sissy Willis for her initial suggestions for getting the word out. She links a blog post to her Unplanted Garden image.

Paul Morris sent a gallery-full, and I chose just one, location unknown but very nice.

Good to meet photographer Don Giannatti, who posted the bloomery link on his blog and also steered me (and all us photogs) to his Lighting Essentials--looks like a great site for photographers who want to "learn how to light like a pro."

America's Roadside Bloomery

I had a thought after I posted this image of Black Eyed Susans (and other flowers) taken yesterday on a Floyd County roadside. Here it is:

It would be neat for contributors from all over the country to offer their images to an aggregate gallery called Unplanted Gardens: America's Roadside Bloomery.

All images would include in their composition a road of some kind, just to place it, and then the wildflowers that grow there unplanted. Hiway department wildflower beds don't count.

Each image should be 72 dpi, max size of 800 pixels on the largest side. Information should minimally include the location, if possible some ID on the flowers, and any other pertinent or interesting information.

If you would like to accept this assignment, send them to me at -- fred1st over at gmail -- with Unplanted Garden in the subject line. I will upload them to a public gallery on Smugmug. I'll collect these through October (there are lots of fall asters, Joe Pye Weed, Iron Weed, etc.) If at least thirty are received, we'll go farther.

We'll vote and there will be a first, second and third prize--some combination of the book (Slow Road Home), the two sets of photo note cards, and screen saver images for your computer.

Please forward this pleasant "assignment" to your photog friends. The more, the better. I will set up the gallery with this image soon, and it will be ready for your submission.

Here's the 800 pixel version of the image above.

Now. Get out there while the flowers bloom. And stay out of traffic!

UPDATE: And speaking of traffice. "AMERICA'S ROADSIDE BLOOMERY, a call to action for photographers. Cool" -- kindly posted by Glenn Reynolds at Instapundit Saturday morning. Now you peepers send in those pix! Deadline: 15th of October for submitting, voting completed October 31 and prizes awarded.

June Moon

It was all the more impressive because we had not expected it, and saw it all at once just as it was half-way up over the horizon. As you've heard me say, a far horizon is not one of our ameneties tucked down in the valley as we are.

We had been out for a rare night on the town and dropped by to visits friends for coffee. And from their place perched wonderfully on a hill with a commanding view during the day came their equally awesome night view.

I pulled out the camera. There was no time for the tripod. Have you ever watched the moon relative to the horizon or trees or buildings and seen how FAST it moves under magnification! So while this is the absolute best shot in the world, it serves as reminder of the moment, and I don't think it's terribly bad for a handheld shot (at 200mm with the repaired lens!)

But why did it seem so huge (not to mention ORANGE)? We're not sure. But NASA has some ideas. This info might come in handy when your children put you on the spot to explain why the moon is swollen.

Morning Meadow

She scolds me when I don't stay in lock step on our ramble around the walking loop. But how could I leave such glorious light to bloom unseen? I had to stay behind. This was one of those times when light makes the image, the image in a sense is of the light and certain objects--a half dozen Black-eyed Susans that didn't fall in the pasture mowing--just happen to fall in those misty shafts. Larger image here.

I'll have more images from this same morning of light. But before I forget...

This weekend: busy busy busy! July 7 and 8, Saturday and Sunday, marks two nearby events. The first, the Wine Down the Music Trail festival at the Floyd Fest grounds. We're going on Saturday afternoon.

And nearby, just off the Parkway beyond Mabry Mill is the Crafts in the Meadow Festival at Mountain Meadow Farm and Craft Market, where the motto is "Uniting Southwestern Virginia's Artisans and Craftsmen With Local Heritage Farmers to Preserve the Traditions of Days Gone By."

And on Sunday, along with a half-dozen other authors, I'll be sitting in a lawn chair behind a stack of signed books, fanning myself under the book tent in the heat of the day--there to serve the literature-hungry throngs clamboring for something to read. They'll especially be looking for locally-written slice-of-life memoirish works from Floyd County. Right?

Evolving

I have never been able to figure out this chicken-and-egg relationship between an insect with mouthparts, behaviors and life cycles that are exquisitely adapted to a specific plant species and the plant's perfect accommodation to and absolute dependence on those same insect adaptations for its survival. This relationship is often given as the textbook example of co-evolution.

The insect: the Yucca Moth. The plant, what we call Spanish Bayonet, Yucca filamentosa. You can read more about the biology of this relationship here (note the my Natural History page!). The plant from which this photo was taken is just beyond our front porch. We think the species name is based on the word YUK because they are taking over a half acre of pasture down where Goose and Nameless Creeks meet.

And more evolution: I think I have come upon the narrative thread, purpose and theme of a future book that will be a full color nature-related work. I can't tell you too much about it just yet (for both reasons of it's present state of immaturity and because I need a certain degree of nondisclosure to protect the concept). But it seems like one of those AHA! coming-together moments. It will likely take two years to carry to print. But at least I have the sense just now that even though there is not much forward motion in this long journey, the destination is known.

And if this project reaches the conclusion I hope, it will represent the co-evolutionary end point that brings together my long-standing love of light seen through the lens of a camera, my equally enduring compulsion to connect the sense and senses of field-trippers in nature, and my relatively new passion for writing about the images from such personal field trips just out our door.

Orange on Orange

Well, the day lilies are in full and glorious bloom, so that means that the road crews will be along with their mowers to cut them down at their peak of blossom as usual. Maybe this year they'll take my suggestion and put this road on their list for a couple of weeks later in July so the lilies could know their glory days and not be brought low while in their prime.

But honestly, our 4 mile gravel road, like others in the county, show signs of budget cuts for roadway maintenance. Branches hang so low over our road that when they're wet, they drag along the top of the car when we pass by. The place is kinda looking neglected.

There's one spot on the high side where a tree fell across the road a month ago. Somebody cut just enough of the branches out of the top so folks can get past, but just barely. In times past, VDOT would have been on that in a day or so. We haven't seen them out this way in the month since the tree fell.

So. Today the orange day lilies that have escaped from cultivation from the more numerous homesteads that once inhabited this valley add color to every blind curve and hillside along Goose Creek. Occasionally, they come adorned with color-coordinated accessories like this Fritillary.

Click here for larger image.