Kids ask the most probing things: The dangers of nature shows

Tonight, as a family we were watching an episode of Crocodile Hunter (yes, from the '90s) where Steve and Terri were on a beach where green turtles were mating in the shallow waters. The hosts talked about how during the hours-long mating the females are responsible for bringing both turtles to the surface to breathe because the males are too focused on what they're doing.

Without missing a beat, our son asked (with complete sincerity) "Is that what Daddy was like after you guys got married?"

After several minutes of uncontrollable laughter, we could only say: "Not exactly." 

A tree grows in Long Beach

Tree A (left): practically barren.
Tree B (right): in full bloom.









So?


There're right next to each other, presumably getting the same amount of sunlight and water:














Yet they are so different. (cue dramatic music)
Nature isn't fair, but sometimes it's pretty.



I like this shot better, even though you can't see the trees as well:

Autumn's survivor

Back to Durham, NC, for today's pictures. On the right is a tight shot of a leaf on the tree right outside my mother's house, showing its autumn colors.














And on the left, here's the whole tree. Can you find our friend from the picture above?

Signs of nature in L.A.

In recent weeks the wildflowers have been blooming, and living in the metropolitan area crafted out of the desert that is Southern California, one would think that one would have to travel well away from the strip malls and condo complexes to see them. However, on my daily ride on the train I have found evidence of the natural blooms amid the manicured terrain. (The photos were taken out the window while the train was moving quickly, but you should get the idea.)
Yellow blooms in an empty triangular-shaped lot in northern Long Beach, just north of the 405 (the bridge in the background is the transition ramp to the 710 north), along the Los Angeles River (yes, the concrete-lined area over which said bridge passes).

Farther up the Blue Line tracks, just past where they cross underneath the 91 freeway and on the north side of Crystal Park Casino (in what is technically Compton), this vacant field is also awash in yellow. (Yes, admire the power line towers in the background.)

In mere weeks, these blooms will wither and the green will start to turn brown, and the ride to work will offer nothing colorful except the graffiti on the backs of warehouses in Lynwood.

I said, "Old man, don't bother me... poppies... poppies..."

Last Sunday my girlfriend and I headed all the way out to the high desert community of Lancaster in search of the state flower of California, the Golden Poppy. The Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve is just outside of town, and typically at this time of year the fields are supposed to be a sea of vibrant orange blooms, but this is what we saw when we got there:





Pretty in a way, but not poppies.

However, if one looked closely, they could be found:

The wind was, as promised, wicked strong. Poppies have the good sense to close up their petals in such weather. We humans... not so much.

[Bonus points if you can identify from where the line I used as the title comes.]

If they make tin whistles out of tin, why is there no ice in iceplant?

Rain-kissed flower amidst the spreading iceplant.