Archive for October 2013
Toothed spurge
I think the plant making its debut here today is toothed spurge, Euphorbia dentata, a rather inconspicuous native species. I’ve occasionally found it in my back yard, but I photographed this one half a mile away, in Great Hills Park, on October 2. If you sense a vague resemblance to poinsettia—though with white rather than red, and a Texan rather than a Mexican origin—that’s because the two are in the same (and very large) genus. So are the Texas natives fire-on-the-mountain, snow-on-the-mountain, and snow-on-the-prairie.
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
More yellow
Click for greater clarity and considerably larger size.
From the same October 6th outing that brought you a picture of a goldenrod colony comes the autumnal yellow of a colony of Maximilian sunflowers, Helianthus maximiliani, at the intersection of Grand Avenue Parkway and Black Locust Dr. in Pflugerville.
I couldn’t decide how I wanted to crop the picture. First I went for the panoramic approach above, which emphasized the arc of the leaning sunflower stalk, and then I chose an almost square format that played parallel and perpendicular rows of yellow off against more of the rich blue sky. If you have a preference for one of the two versions, you’re welcome to chime in.
Click for greater clarity.
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
Why is velvetleaf mallow called velvetleaf mallow?
Why is Allowissadula holosericea called velvetleaf mallow? Because it’s a mallow whose leaves really do feel like velvet. Here’s a closeup of a square inch or so of a leaf’s underside. It’s all those little hairs that create the feeling of softness when touched.
The made-up species name holosericea means ‘all silky,’ but I wouldn’t describe the feel of one of these leaves as silky (even if velvet can be made from silk). Maybe whoever coined the term couldn’t find a Greek or Latin word for ‘velvety.’
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
A velvetleaf mallow flower fully open
In yesterday’s photograph from the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center on October 3rd you couldn’t make out the details of a velvetleaf mallow flower, Allowissadula holosericea, in the background behind an opening bud. Now you can. Don’t you like the shadows that all those stamens cast onto one petal?
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
A velvetleaf mallow bud opening
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At the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center on October 3rd I photographed this opening bud of velvetleaf mallow, Allowissadula holosericea. Beyond it you can make out the color and outline—but no details—of an already open velvetleaf mallow flower. If you’re wondering whether this plant is sticky to touch, the way you saw that Hooker’s palafoxia is, the answer is yes.
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
One alive and flowering and colorful, the other dead and dry
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One of the treats of autumn is goldenrod (genus Solidago), a flowering cohort of which you see here. The tall, dried-out stalks are from the previous year’s colony of giant ragweed, Ambrosia trifida.
I took this sunny photograph on October 6th near Naruna Way in northeast Austin. In the three weeks since then, much of the goldenrod in Austin has been fading, but individual plants here and there remain vibrant.
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
When is a rain-lily black? — Take 2
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Another way a rain-lily can be black—and you might say a more legitimate one than as a shadow—is through its seeds. Here you see a couple of rain-lily seeds that hadn’t yet fallen out of their little compartment, even though the two adjacent compartments in the capsule had already shed their cargo. What the tiny white flecks on the dark seeds were, I don’t know, maybe just dust. Also notice the faint spider silk in several places.
The location is once again the triangle of land where Perry Lane runs into Mopac, but this picture dates from November 14th of 2011. (I had a version of this post ready to appear shortly afterwards, but somehow I kept bumping it. Now seemed like the right time to let it go out into the world.)
With this photograph you’ve seen the last stage in the life of a rain-lily. Other views in these pages have included:
A rain-lily flower beginning to open;
A pink tip of a rain-lily tepal;
A rain-lily turned red by the setting sun;
A dense colony of rain-lilies;
The outside of a rain-lily seed capsule.
If you were to say that I like rain-lilies, you wouldn’t be wrong.
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
When is a rain-lily black?
When is a rain-lily black? When it’s a shadow.
I took this picture of Cooperia drummondii casting its shadow on the pad of a prickly pear cactus along Ridge Oak Dr. at Perry Ln. on September 25th.
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
On a fringe of a rain-lily colony
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On September 25th I made a second visit to the prominent colony of rain-lilies, Cooperia drummondii, on the triangle of land where Perry Ln. runs into Mopac. At one edge of the colony I encountered a lone flower head of greenthread, Thelesperma filifolium, which plays the starring role in today’s portrait. Beyond it, indistinctly, you can make out not only rain-lilies that were still white and fresh, but also older ones that had turned reddish as they shriveled and bent over into arcs.
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
A rain-lily in a colony
And here’s a close-up of the stylized star we call a rain-lily, Cooperia drummondii. Other members of the colony show up as white or reddish daubs in the background; the whole colony was in sunlight, but the photograph’s main rain-lily, by virtue of being so close to the camera, outshone everything farther away (fans of physics may be reminded of the good old inverse-square law). I don’t know about you, but the center of this flower looks to me like a little snail, minus any shell, of course.
The date was September 23rd, and the place was the triangle of land where Perry Ln. runs into Mopac.
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
Portraits of Wildflowers 