Green hum of cicadas

Summer ruckuses

Today the sun has tired me, but I wanted to mention having driven back roads to a riverside state park. There was a thrum of cicadas, trills of birds, and all rich sounds of a warm riparian place.

Great horned owl I sketched from a paused Youtube video, March or April 2024. Was the video from Lesley the Bird Nerd? Or Thee Owl Queen? Or possibly photographer Matt Shannon? Can’t recall now, but I consult them all. This one isn’t available as a print or other product, but my other work is on Redbubble here. Possibility that I’ll add my work to Etsy too. Let me know in the comments what you’d think if I did, would you?

The weather is returning to its regular patterns after a tropical storm, Alberto, arrived last week in south Texas and northeast Mexico. The storm went inland into Mexico, causing flooding and — sadly — four deaths.

People on the Mexican coast and in southern Texas had hoped to receive more rain and fend off heat domes like the one in May. Here, the tropical storm rain darkened the sky and lowered temperatures for a day or two. I think yesterday’s less intense heat and low humidity were storm effects as well.

Why the trip to the state park? The main goal was to check temperatures outside the city heat islands. And, with a new vehicle to replace one that went to a family member, I was feeling excited about the ability to roll down all seats and make a camping surface AND have sophisticated AC. While I remain in favor of biking, walking, and transit, the warmer months in this subtropical latitude — April through October — have shown me not to take summer lightly.

Arriving at the park gate, I was glad I’d made the journey. Like the farm-to-market roads and the entire Gulf Coast area, the park was lushly green. In front of the ranger building, a trellis provided shade for benches and a butterfly garden. Taking a seat, I watched a large yellow and black spider move slowly at the center of its web, busy with a wrapped sack of prey.

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Black-and-yellow argiope spider, an orb weaver. Cellphone pic from the park today.

The rangers were friendly. One had parked her bike in a bike rack by the cabin, apparently after riding it from a ranger household in the morning. Several trails were closed, they told me, including one to the river overlook. The trails were still muddy and littered with tree branches that fell during May storms.

But moving through the riparian shade of the park was lovely. Groups of screened camp shelters had a monastic look, bringing to mind pictures I’d seen of 20th century church cottages in the Mid-Atlantic states.

I considered sleeping in one of the park shelters, imagining that the night would thrum with cicadas, frogs and all that lived in the forest. It could be an excellent chance to experience sleeping in natural conditions like earlier people. (In summer in East Texas, my grandmother left windows open as well. From visits, I can recall the sounds of crickets, cicadas, chuck-will’s widow — a sound similar to “whip-por-will”— frogs, and rustlings and breathings.

In the end, I decided against camping. Too easy to recall a restless night years ago on July 4th weekend in Central Texas, when it was difficult to sleep and an armadillo ran into my foot earlier in the day. Not sure whether the ‘dillo was frustrated by crowds, overly warm, or just being itself.

Today was pretty nice, maybe because the tropical storm pushed out some humidity and I was outside the urban heat island. Spending a few minutes outside did make me want to cool off in car AC. But I didn’t feel quickly overcome.

Will return to other gleanings when I’m fresher. But thank you to the naturalists, ecologists, and rangers who plan and run state parks. Also policymakers, and any fundraisers who work on the grants and other funds to run the parks. You’re all doing good work.

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