Three Frogs, Green Frogs, Tree Frogs - Friday Frogs Galore

A heavy rain in May means frogs in the Sandhills. 

And Friday it meant green frogs. 

Green tree frogs. 

Three green tree frogs to be precise. 

First,  a true green treefrog, Hyla cinerea, near the western edge of its range in North Carolina; green, of course, with a glittering golden eye and a bold yellowish-white stripe down each side of its long and slender frame. 

Nearby, another bold green guy, also near the western edge of its range here in the Sandhills. 

This is the barking treefrog, Hyla gratiosa. It too, has glittering golden eyes, with a white upper lip and bold white and black mottling along its flanks. 

Stouter and bearing a "rougher," more granular-textured skin than its smooth-skinned cousin the green treefrog, Hyla gratiosa is the largest of our native tree frogs.

And the final member of Friday's green tree frog trio, the increasingly scarce pine barrens treefrog, Hyla andersonii (recently designated North Carolina's state frog). 

Named for the pine barrens region of New Jersey, where its numbers have also declined due to loss of habitat, this is the smallest of our three featured frogs. 

Its distinctive purplish side stripes, which appear to pass through the center of its eyes, and the bright orange speckling on the underside of the legs distinguish it from the other two.

Green treefrog, like its two companions, has come down from the trees to heed the calls of potential mates. It and the barking treefrog are quite common, if not abundant, in these parts during the warm rains of May.

 While pine barrens treefrog is more scarce, Hoot Owl Karma has been fortunate to encounter a member of this verdant climbing clan for two consecutive Mays, after going a number of years with no such luck. 

Eager to take full advantage of this stroke of good fortune, we find ourselves a bit too close to our subject. 

Fortunately, Cousin Layne alertly and expertly captures the moment with her lens. 

Thanks for sharing this fabulous shot with the blog, Layne! 

Leaping back into the limbs, our third (and favorite) green tree frog, the pine barrens treefrog, makes its way higher, beyond the reach of prying eyes, 

giving us one last glimpse of its orange-speckled flanks

before finding refuge high on the back side of young American holly tree near the sandy banks of the stream. 

And so ends Friday's froggy extravaganza of green tree frogs galore; 

here's hoping it rains again soon!

Special thanks to Layne Randolph for her fabulous photos and frog tracking skills, without which this blog post might never have come to fruition.

(Wet) Skink with a Brick Red Head

Today, it rained. 

Inches upon hours of rain. 

Rivulets, then rivers of rain.

It rained and rained, and it's raining still.

Everything in the out of doors is wet;

all creatures, great and small.

Amphibians like the rain. 

But reptiles? 

Not so much, 

says the skink with the brick red head. 

Iris, Joy of Spring

Iris, like Lily, helps sound the clarion call of Spring from both the garden and the wood.

This dwarf crested iris, Iris cristata, highlights a spring wildflower walk through Umstead Park in Wake County, NC.

Closer to home, this tall bearded iris, Iris germanica greets the May morning with a flourish. 

A cultivated iris transplanted from the yard of a generous friend, this elegant beauty brings a smile to our faces as soon as we round the curve and approach the mailbox.

And over in the Sandhills of Harnett County, the diminutive dwarf iris, Iris verna, sans the "crest" of its cousin from Wake, brings the bold colors of royalty to the land of the long leaf pine, albeit a bare four inches above the sand.

Meanwhile, back in the garden, stately tall bearded iris with varieties such as "Jurassic Park", "Boysenberry Buttercup" and "Can Can Dancer" speak of the wonders of horticulture, and the tremendous variety of cultivated flowers available to bring joy and beauty to your garden and mantel;

while Iris cristata, Iris verna, and their cousin Sisyrinchium angustifolium, or blue-eyed grass, (all members of the Iris family), quietly remind us from the woodland margins just where all those highfalutin garden dwellers have their roots.

Old Friend, Lily

On a recent walk along the Endor Trail and Greenway in Sanford, Julie and I encountered some friends we hadn't seen in a while. They joined us as we completed our hike, and shared our delight when we ran into another old friend, the wild Easter lily or rain lily.

High on the wooded hillside above the creekside trail, scattered faces of white gazed forth from the shadows, proclaiming days of warmth and rain and renewal.

After our brief encounter along the greenway, we spied a larger community of these lovely lilies, sometimes called Atamasco lilies in reference to their scientific name, Zephyranthes atamasca, along the same rural byway where we met last April.

The hot afternoon and an approaching front conspired to obscure the sun, but she peeked around and peered through the frisky clouds as best she could, constantly altering the lighting along the muddy creek bank where our friends convened.

In the few moments we shared, it was obvious the atamascos are thriving in their current locale; 

and although their numbers are much diminished from the days when botanists and settlers marvelled as thousands upon thousands of blossoms transformed the damp Carolina meadows with an undulating layer of mid-spring snowfall, 

these individuals seemed to have no interest in the past, reveling in the warmth and light of their very own spring day in the here and the now.

The atamasco was early categorized as a lily, but it actually has more in common with the amaryllis, which is also sometimes called a lily.

Atamasco is unique enough, however, that it has been assigned its own genus, Zephyranthes, after Zephyr, the Greek god of the west wind who each year brings the gentle rains of spring.

Greetings, friend lily. It wouldn't be Spring without you!

Grizzled Gray Ghost

This afternoon around 5:30, both the inside cats moved cautiously to the front door and pressed their faces to the glass.

Between gulps of high quality Purina One from the outside cat food bowl, this handsome creature peered back.

Urocyon cinereoargenteus, the gray fox. 

The gray fox is sometimes confused with the red fox because of the prominent rusty patches around its neck and flanks, but it is a much different animal; in fact, despite their superficial similarities, the gray and red fox are not classified in the same genus. 

The gray fox is thought to be one of the most ancient of canid species, and among all the canids, it is one of only two which are skillful tree climbers. According to some sources, the gray fox can climb vertically for 30 feet or more without the aid of (tree) limbs, in much the same manner as felines. 

The gray fox often dens in hollow trees several meters above the ground, and is typically active at night or in the twilight hours. This individual, however, boldly made the rounds of our yard well before dusk today,

pausing just long enough to wolf down a discarded apple before vanishing into the woods out back like a grizzled gray ghost.

Brown Bird, Brown Bird, What's Your Name?

Carolina wren, captured in the briefest moment of repose, tail characteristically erect, distinctive downward-curved bill and white "eyebrow" very much in evidence.

Rare is a Relative Term

Cinco de Mayo 2014 found Hoot Owl Karma just a few miles from home, kneeling in the sand and straw beneath a mature stand of loblolly pines, camera shutter clicking eagerly in the face of a small colony of showy native orchids -
pink lady's slippers or moccasin flowers.

The field guide characterizes these native beauties as secure in North Carolina, not significantly rare; 

yet this tiny colony of pink lady slippers is the only one we've encountered in the wild.

Rare is a relative term, so perhaps we'd be excused for saying these lovely creatures are relatively rare in our neck of the woods.

Sometimes singly, sometimes in small groups, inconspicuous amidst the sticks and straw in spite of their striking beauty, the orchid blossoms sway gently in the breeze to the music of lawnmowers and barking dogs from the nearby development.

And as the orchids sway, a man kneels before them in a stand of pines growing from a hill of sand and ponders the wilderness past.

Pines came along relatively early in the history of vascular plants, appearing in the fossil record more than 150 million years ago.
Orchids arrived somewhat later, perhaps a little more than 50 million years ago;
and the ancient dunes which became our Sandhills were deposited here by the sea some 20 million years ago.

The man imagines a scene much like today's playing out here among the pines over millions of springs, with one caveat.

Man has only been a witness for the past 15,000 years or so...

As for the future - next year, or the next - who can say?

This tract of pines was thinned last year, and is currently for sale. 

How long will this magical wood remain a wood? 

How long can any wood remain a wood in the civilized world? 

Only as long as its owners allow;
such is the way of civilization.

And as the trees go, so go the orchids; that's ecology.

Rare is a relative term, and time is too.

 Both speak of loss and of opportunity;

while there are yet magical woods and native orchids,

and while there is yet time,

Carpe Diem!