Friday, June 11, 2010
After it passes beneath my feet, the Nonquon flows for a couple of hundred metres along the road. Wild Irises bloom there, pale violet flowers bright against the dark water, and a long bank of Daylilies are raising their flower stalks, in preparation for opening the tender buds, one day at a time.
Redwings sing in the willow marsh, and Yellow Warblers twitter. The wind ripples westward from the centre of the river and tosses the tall grasses on the banks, threading its fingers through dark, hollow-stemmed Scirpus that wave their brown-tasselled tips in little islands just off the bank. A Green Frog calls once, a two-note banjo-twang. Broad-abdomened dragon flies flicker their wings, sparkling in the sunlight as they dip, dip, dip their tail-tips into the surface, laying an egg here, here, here, and here. One comes to rest on a Scirpus stem, still holding its body horizontal, clasping the stem in front of its head.
A large black & yellow Bumble Bee briefly visits one of the irises. Fred groans as he struggles to pull his boots out of the deep muck, tugging on handfulls of grass to wrench himself out. He tells me that the bottom feels like firm clay underfoot, and then punches through the muck. His notes include Helisoma and Stagnicola snail shells, Yellow Waterlily in bloom and Pumpkinseed fish hovering over their nests. He also heard Gray Tree Frogs calling, and perhaps a few Mink Frogs.