When the late spring green deepens, the landscape turns from thin and twiggy to lush and bold, and the coming summer skies begin to dance.

It is a certain refrain of the season during an uncertain time. And while the confident scene of the larger landscape comforts, it blends many of nature’s treasures into a neutral background.

So I went walking to see, hunting for flowers, gifts that present themselves when you look closer.

I’ve posted past stories about “seeing” in nature. You can read or re-read two of them by clicking these titles, As a Child and Spring, See it with the Heart.

It fascinates me to observe the minute — the tiniest beauties that are there for the discovery.

John Burroughs (1837-1921) was a writer and keen observer of nature who wrote an essay titled, “The Art of Seeing Things.” It sums much of my hope about seeing in nature. 

Here is an excerpt from the essay:

“The science of anything may be taught or acquired by study; the art of it comes by practice or inspiration. The art of seeing things is not something that may be conveyed in rules and precepts; it is a matter vital in the eye and ear, yea, in the mind and soul of which these are the organs. I have as little hope of being able to tell the reader how to see things as I would have in trying to tell him how to fall in love or to enjoy his dinner. Either he does or he does not, and that is about all there is of it. Some people seem born with eyes in their heads, and others with buttons or painted marbles, and no amount of science can make the one equal to the other in the art of seeing things. The great mass of mankind are, in this respect, like the rank and file of an army: they fire vaguely in the direction of the enemy, and if they hit, it is more a matter of chance than of accurate aim. But here and there is the keen-eyed observer; he is the sharpshooter; his eye selects and discriminates, his purpose goes to the mark. Even the successful angler seems born, and not made; he appears to know instinctively the ways of the trout. The secret is, no doubt, love of the sport. Love sharpens the eye, the ear, the touch; it quickens the feet, it steadies the hand, it arms against the wet and the cold. What we love to do, that we do well. To know is not all; it is only half. To love is the other half.”

So, I’ve been target practicing with my eye and camera, aiming at the awe of nature — love it. 

Over the next seven days, I’ll share a bit of John Burrough’s writing while gifting you flowers I’ve found on my recent walks. In a time of disquiet, maybe moments of receiving flowers will bring a little fun, learning, and joy.

I hope this “bouquet” of flowers finds you well. 

DAY 1

“Nature we have always with us, an inexhaustible storehouse of that which moves the heart, appeals to the mind, and fires the imagination — health to the body, a stimulus to the intellect, and joy to the soul.” John Burroughs.

Day one is blue day.

Yes, blue is my favorite color.

And the blues I discover at the ranch bring joy to my soul.

Skies are the showstoppers — clear blue backdrops for budding plants and trees,

deepening blues that glow beyond the silhouettes against the setting sun,

soft layers of blues reflecting the horizon of the Texas Hill Country,

and blue skies with wispy trails of clouds where thoughts are lost.

A trail through the woods brightens with the blue of a fallen feather — lovely from an eye cast down and exquisite when magnified.

And it’s hard to decide which is more joyous — gawking at electric blue damselflies settled still on blades of grass

or glimpsing the Caribbean sea in the eyes of a dragonfly darting by.

And always, the blue appearance of flowers — ranging from soft celestial to vivid violet — catches my eye and lightens the scene. 

Among the most subtle on the landscape are the Blue-eyed Grass, Sisyrinchium ensigerum.

Each flower sits atop a slender stem and with grasslike leaves.

Sometimes I see a single flower, but more common is a clump or colony that reads like a constellation of blue stars among the green. To make the point of how delicate they are in the landscape, would you believe there are over 25 blue-eyed grass flowers in this picture below?

Each night, the six petals close up, hiding away their yellow centers.

But the next morning, little blue eyes are “seeing” all over the ranch.

A more striking violet blue flower is Blue Gilia, Gilia rigidula.

This is another small flower easily lost in the landscape, growing on rocky stretches of limestone.

The ones I find at the Lost Madrone Ranch are almost always solitary and growing through the hard caliche.

The thin branched stems almost disappear if not for the pop of brilliant purple.

When you look up close, the yellow and white centers appear hand-painted, the buds of cream and green stripes look like candy,

and the flowers yet to unfurl remind me of a closed umbrella.

So much detail, so much fun.

A larger purple flower found around the ranch and all over the hill country is the common Prairie Verbena, Verbena bipinnatifida.

These are easy to spot, looking like purple balls of flowers clustered in a cheerful spot or spread across fields.

Sometimes the common is disregarded, but look up close and appreciate the intricacy.

Another member of the verbena family is Gray Vervain, Verbena canescens.

I see it growing in fields and on hilltops, and also along stretches of rocky exposed limestone.

It’s a sturdy little plant with small lavender flowers that open along hairy stiff spikes. 

Back in the lost-in-the-landscape category, Drummond’s Skullcap, Scutellaria drummondii, is blooming all across the ranch.

You won’t find this flower if you look across a field to the horizon, but if you search it out while walking and looking down, you will see it everywhere. It grows only to about a foot high, but many times it is half that height.

The leaves are small and roundish with tints of burgundy and they look to me like stairsteps of hairy saucers.

Frilly flowers have a white lip covered with purple polka dots.

The artist at work again.

Finally, at the Lost Madrone Ranch, the largest growing flowering plant in the blue category is Mealy Blue Sage, Salvia farinacea.

This plant grows to three feet tall with sprawling flowering spikes.

Some plants grow unruly, while others stand stiff and orderly.

No two flower spikes are the same, each opening in their own order, with their own curvy or straight habit, and their own variation in color. 

Who would guess fantastically deep blue flowers would emerge from this?

Mealy Blue Sage may send spikes above the surrounding grasses, unlike most little blue flowers at the ranch, but set against the horizon it remains a solemn cast of comfort.

Blue.

Tomorrow is Day 2… Yellows!

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