Tugging Seeds
There is a wilderness of grasses and trees and anoles and large birds all living in the palm hammock at the edge of my campus, a dredge heap of invertebrate detritus less than four feet above sea level. This coast sandspur (
Cenchrus incertus which means uncertain millet) is a member of this wilderness. This is a remarkable grass whose bite is as stinging as it looks. Its seeds are ensconced in hard fibrous barbed shells that hook clothing and pierce bare skin. You learn to keep an eye as you walk, you learn that this grass hides beside its less agressively built cousin, the crabgrass. You learn to watch where you step. And you still forget. Each barbed shell gets pulled from your clothing, by finger tips with skin pores just large enough for the barbs to sink themselves again, sticking to your fingers. It takes a delicate brushing of hands in the air to slight the barped pod off of you and to the ground, where you let it lie. The genius is the patience. It will wait for rain, a season of growth, the proper fertilization, and another hapless saunterer in search of vegetable game and all its progenitors will take flight again. The sandspur is a common plant along coastal areas impacted with frequent foot traffic. They follow the walker, depend upon him, rely on his careless habits and broad dispersal. Next year, a survey of the new generation of sandspur would track my studies this past Fall, retracing my footsteps of exploration as I sought new species of plant and came to know new groups of communities. The wild has multiple expressions and what amounts to a changed complexion under the steady warmth of the Florida sun.
Journal: 10-23-06 -- A flock of turkey vultures (Cathartes aura) descended on the Palm Hammock today. More than a dozen. Resting, then flapping their awkward unbalanced bodies into the sky. Gliding with an uncertain wobble. Then resting some more. They have a keen sense of smell and find hidden carrion with their noses. Something must have died. They silhouette against the slightly overcast sky, silently carving figure eights through the atmosphere. They perch like hulks of feather and flesh atop the chapel and on the Eucalyptus snags. What are they scouting? What do they expect to find? They were here two weeks ago as well, although not as many, gliding through in a pack, silently seeking the dead. Craving flesh, but wishing no harm, doing no killing. The turkey vulture is a kind soul.
There is a wilderness of grasses and trees and anoles and large birds all living in the palm hammock at the edge of my campus, a dredge heap of invertebrate detritus less than four feet above sea level. This coast sandspur (Cenchrus incertus which means uncertain millet) is a member of this wilderness. This is a remarkable grass whose bite is as stinging as it looks. Its seeds are ensconced in hard fibrous barbed shells that hook clothing and pierce bare skin. You learn to keep an eye as you walk, you learn that this grass hides beside its less agressively built cousin, the crabgrass. You learn to watch where you step. And you still forget. Each barbed shell gets pulled from your clothing, by finger tips with skin pores just large enough for the barbs to sink themselves again, sticking to your fingers. It takes a delicate brushing of hands in the air to slight the barped pod off of you and to the ground, where you let it lie. The genius is the patience. It will wait for rain, a season of growth, the proper fertilization, and another hapless saunterer in search of vegetable game and all its progenitors will take flight again. The sandspur is a common plant along coastal areas impacted with frequent foot traffic. They follow the walker, depend upon him, rely on his careless habits and broad dispersal. Next year, a survey of the new generation of sandspur would track my studies this past Fall, retracing my footsteps of exploration as I sought new species of plant and came to know new groups of communities. The wild has multiple expressions and what amounts to a changed complexion under the steady warmth of the Florida sun.
Journal: 10-23-06 -- A flock of turkey vultures (Cathartes aura) descended on the Palm Hammock today. More than a dozen. Resting, then flapping their awkward unbalanced bodies into the sky. Gliding with an uncertain wobble. Then resting some more. They have a keen sense of smell and find hidden carrion with their noses. Something must have died. They silhouette against the slightly overcast sky, silently carving figure eights through the atmosphere. They perch like hulks of feather and flesh atop the chapel and on the Eucalyptus snags. What are they scouting? What do they expect to find? They were here two weeks ago as well, although not as many, gliding through in a pack, silently seeking the dead. Craving flesh, but wishing no harm, doing no killing. The turkey vulture is a kind soul.
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