It’s not that easy being’ green

Having to spend each day  

The color of the leaves  

When I think it could be nicer  

Bein’ red or yellow or gold  

Or something much more colorful like that  

Froggy’s song, The Muppets, It’s Not Easy Bein’ Green

Long, low, and loud, like an alarm, the sound stretched from our front yard pond to my ears resting soft on my bed pillow. The herald was not for me to awake but to announce spring.

Our pond is home to frogs and toads who croak a deep and mournful love call and mark the sonic environment of the season. 

When the froggy chorus sings, our surrounding neighbors call to celebrate our shared invitation to spring.

This soundscape typically booms with the blooming flowers, but this year nature fell out of sync.  

Due to record cold in February, the ear-piercing trill of toads is dissected from the intoxicating, sweet smell of jasmine. 

I miss the company of these sounds and smells together and their affirmation of nature’s refrains.

This Texas spring, it’s not easy being green.

Nature’s fury struck the landscape hard. 

Dead plant material fills my view out the window, and I am learning to live with ugly while I work and wait. 

After clearing out the clearly dead — mushy agave, rotting cacti, brown palm fronds, and woody twigs that snap — I’m replanting in some areas and practicing patience in others, hoping for regrowth from the root. 

Nature’s patience and purpose assures me that the landscape will recover, even if it takes years for my home garden to return to its mature, lush, tropical green.

This week, extreme hot temperatures and continued drought conditions are not helping the renewal progress.

It’s not easy bein’ green

It seems you blend in 

With so many other ordinary things 

And people tend to pass you over 

Cause you’re not standing out

Like flashy sparkles in the water 

Or stars in the sky 

Froggy, The Muppets, It’s Not Easy Bein’ Green

Does the heat have anyone else thinking… how surreal was the recent freeze that turned our evergreen San Antonio into a winter scene? 

During the storm, I shared snow pictures with my sister who lives in the Colorado mountains and she responded, “looks like a normal day here.”

Snow on the pond and Jim skiing down our street is not a normal day here! 

Sadly, the event was a challenge and in cases tragic for many in Texas. The hardship of it cast a hesitancy over celebrating the beauty of it. 

Today, in the coming hours, they expect the temperature in San Antonio to near 100. So, I’m posting to share my favorite icy scenes and to offer my local friends a virtual cool down. 

For the first days of the February cold snap, I took delight in my snow-covered yard. 

Jimmy was at the ranch imploring me to risk driving to Comfort, arguing, “mom, you will regret it if you don’t come see.”

While I was harried driving the one open lane on I-10, and apprehensive but thrilled gunning my car up the steep, snow-covered road to the ranch, at the top of the hill when I drove through the gate I was awestruck.

I’ve shared in earlier posts how I feel transported through the wardrobe when I enter the ranch, but this arrival was truly to Narnia!  (click here to read Arrive at The Lost Madrone Ranch)

Freezing rain a few days prior turned our hilltop into a land encased in ice. 

It was breathtaking… 

and mesmerizing.

Every expanse was ice encased.

As I got closer to the ranch house, the most familiar settings were dressed in an unrecognizable fashion.

Over the years, I’ve shared many stories and photos of my favorite sitting spot — my egg chair swing. (click here to read about my swing in the post, Mom, It Is Well With Your Soul)

I never imagined seeing it surrounded by ice.

Or that the views from my chair would be so magical.

Near my swing is the grassy road that loops around the house hilltop.

Again, unrecognizable.

We call the road “The Wine Walk” and it’s designated with an appropriate trail marker.

In the evenings we stroll the loop with a beverage of choice and take in the hill country views.

Along the way we sight the smaller details — flowers blooming, grasses growing, and sun glistening through the seed heads — but we’ve never expected ice.

On a larger scale, the trees were magnificent.

Each one with its own story to tell.

The “Greeting Tree” that sits off our front porch welcomed like never before. (read about this tree in Spring, See it with the Heart)

This little tree below is highlighted in many posts as it grows on the prominent edge of the wine walk against the western horizon, and no matter the weather condition it seems to revel in its place.

The spooky Halloween tree looks less spooky wearing ice. (click to see in Have a Spooky Halloween)

Photos can’t capture the intricacies seen with the eye, but imagine fascinating layers of ice formed on every surface of each branch and twig like the artistry and uniqueness of a snowflake.

On live oak leaves the ice formed thick heavy blobs, some branches weighted down to the ground for support.

For many trees the weight was too much.

I love the peaceful hush of a morning blanketed in white when a newly fallen snow absorbs the sound waves and quiets the world. 

Now imagine this quiet interrupted by distant cracking, the acoustics sounding like ammunition reverberating through a canyon.

There was sadness in the snapping sound, knowing damage was taking place without a way to stop it.

Some of my most photographed trees have a new silhouette.

But green’s the color of spring

And green can be cool and friendly like

And green can be big like a mountain

Or important like a river or tall like a tree

Froggy, The Muppets, It’s Not Easy Bein’ Green

Closer to the ground, green prickly pear encased in ice was mesmerizing chaos.

The condition was not disturbing, but the multiplicity of disorder was fascinating.

Along with green, other colors popped through the ice.

Agarita bushes displayed some of the most bewitching ice patterns.

And as the ice melted they showed off vibrant colors.

Take Comfort readers know my favorite pop of color in nature is orange, and my favorite tree, the Texas Madrone (Arbutus xalapensis), did not disappoint wearing ice.

Clusters of madrone leaves were exquisite.

As were ice-covered oak leaves,

bark,

and lichens.

Like the lichen above, the winter white enhanced details that were already alluring.

Or made alluring, subjects I might otherwise overlook.

Some agaves did not survive — a week later turning to mush — but their last portraits in the snow were beautiful.

The longhorns have their portraits taken frequently; however, never like this!

When green is all there is to be

It could make you wonder why

But, why wonder? (why wonder?)

I’m green and it’ll do fine

It’s beautiful. 

And I think it’s what I want to be.

Froggy, The Muppets, It’s Not Easy Bein’ Green

Froggy’s gentle song inspires different reflections for each listener.

What I like is that he took a walk with his thoughts — he observed, wished, discovered the good and found happy.

The ice has melted.

The heat is on.

And it’s beautiful.