Exotic animals A to Z

I had a chance today to take Amber to see the exotic animals at Briley Farm in Oakland today.  We parked at Oakland Nature Preserve,which abuts the farm's property and from there it was just a short walk to the farm's border where we could look through a tall field fence to see the animals.  We really hit the jackpot because all sorts of critters were out in the field grazing today.  We literally saw animals from A (antelope) to Z (zebra)

A mother Blackbuck Antelope feeds her calf

A pair of wildebeest graze in the field

An ostrich pecks the ground for food alongside a smaller emu

A pair of Ankole-Watusi cattle graze alongside a calf

A field filled with antelope and long-horned cattle graze beside spreading oaks

We saw peacocks

and  zebras too!

Briley Farm is a private farm and is not open to the public but anyone interested in viewing the animals from afar can see them from Oakland Nature Preserve.  Below is a list of all the domestic and exotic animals at the farm. If you go to the farm's webpage and click on each animal in the list it will take you to a picture of that animal.

Six ways to celebrate Earth Day

With Earth Day just two days away, I’ve been thinking about how to celebrate. While planting a tree is a traditional and excellent way to commemorate the holiday, not everyone is in a position to add plants to the landscape. Therefore, I offer six suggestions — six no-cost, easy ways anyone can participate in the celebration.

Start the day by going outside to watch the sunrise. On Wednesday, April 22, the sun rises in Central Florida at 6:54 a.m. It’s the time of day when most of us are either still snug in our beds or busy getting ready for work, making breakfast or preparing the kids for school. On Earth Day, however, take a break from that hectic routine. Brush the sleep from your eyes, and treat yourself to a morning sky show. Welcome the day with a silent salute to the sun — the giant star that gives our planet life.

Before going back inside, pause for a minute to listen to birdsongs.

There are 510 birds on the Florida state checklist, and many will lend their voice to the morning serenade. Listen for the uplifting lilt of cardinals, Carolina wrens, bluebirds, chickadees and mockingbirds as well as the less melodious calls of bluejays, redwing blackbirds and crows. 

Savor the sound of the birds around us. In addition to being beautiful to look at and lovely to listen to, birds are an important part of the ecosystem. They disperse seeds, act as pollinators and help to keep insect populations under control. Take a few moments out of your day to appreciate one of earth’s most exquisite gifts. Spare a few moments for the birds.

As the day progresses, many of us will find ourselves inside buildings. We’ll be on our computers, at work, school or our homes. We’ll be doing tasks that let us forget there’s a day out there with wind and rain and sun and shadows. On Earth Day — at least for a little while — turn off the air conditioner and open the windows. Listen to the breeze whisper as you go about your business. Let the movement of air act as a reminder that life is not always the perfect temperature. In a world so well insulated from the wild, it’s important to occasionally be grounded — to feel the heat or cold or wind or wetness. To be reminded that we are a part of the rest of nature’s creatures.

It’s likely that sometime during Earth Day, most of us will be getting in or out of our cars. Unfortunately, wherever it is we’re going, there’s bound to be litter. Take a moment on this special day to pick up some trash. It doesn’t have to be more than just one or two items — a plastic bag blowing through the parking lot, dropped paper, an empty bottle or can. Whatever it is, instead of walking by with eyes conditioned to ignore other peoples’ messes, make an effort to see what’s there and clean it up. Do it for Mother Nature. Consider it a gesture of kindness to the earth.

Before it gets dark, pick up a pair of scissors or a garden clipper if you have one and pick a bouquet of flowers. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have a garden. In the middle of April, there are flowers everywhere. You might have to walk a little farther but the extra steps will be worth the effort. Clip off a magnolia bloom and bring it inside to let its perfume fill the room. Even weeds can be beautiful when put on display. Snip off wildflowers growing by the wayside or the blooms of lilies, irises and daisies. Gather a posy of roses, and bring the outdoors inside.

One final way to celebrate Earth Day starts much as the day began — with the sun. It sets at 7:55 p.m. Go outside again, and watch the sky. Marvel at the transition of colors, patterns and shades of light and dark. Look up and notice stars beginning to twinkle. From sunrise to sunset, absorb the enormity of the entire day.

Earth Day is celebrated once a year, yet the existence of every day is cause for celebration. We only have one earth. Each person only has one life. At the very least, take a moment to appreciate the gift of living on this amazing planet.

What is this flycatcher trying to say?

In this short (0:52) video, taken on a windy morning at our Central Florida home, a great crested flycatcher sends out high-pitched calls while perched on an uppermost branch of our white mulberry tree.

Is the bird telling other birds about a new food source it found?  Or maybe warning other birds away?  Whenever I hear vocalizations like this I can't help but wonder what message the bird is trying to convey and who exactly he/she is trying to reach.

Ready to ride

I have a new bike — new to me, anyway. It’s actually old, but then so am I. The way I figure it, we’re a perfect match.

Although I’ve always enjoyed riding a bicycle, I haven’t been biking for 23 years. I gave up on pedaling after we moved from Kissimmee to Groveland. As wonderful as it is to live in a secluded rural setting far away from city streets, the bumpy, unpaved roads are not conducive to two-wheeled romps around the neighborhood.

Like most kids of my era, I spent countless hours on my trusty one-speed. During my elementary years, my bailiwick was limited to one road: Orchard Way. Our family lived at the bottom of that dead-end street, and I was allowed to bike to the top of the road and coast to the bottom. Although generally an obedient child, when it came to bicycles, I found their promise of freedom impossible to ignore. I often ventured beyond permitted boundaries.

I can’t recall what kind of bike I had in high school, but it was probably a three-speed because I remember long rides through the countryside. I believe my passion for exploring back roads began on the seat of a bicycle as I rode farther and farther away from my home.

Much changed after my 19th birthday. I was in college, living away from my parents, discovering new areas and meeting new people, including my future husband Ralph. One of our first purchases together was a pair of his-and-her Peugeot multi-speeds, fancy wheels that would take us on long rides around Long Island, N.Y., until I finished college, then on to Cape Cod where we settled and built our first home. We put many miles on those road bikes both before and after we started a family.

Our Cape Cod property abutted an extensive bike trail and was a short ride away from a state park. After our first two children were born, I carted them behind my Peugeot in one of the first models of bike buggies to hit the market. That bike buggy was a lifesaver. Taking the kids for a ride was a surefire way to get them asleep, thereby guaranteeing me at least an hour of much-needed alone time.

Two toddlers, one baby and a stuffed animal fast asleep in the bike buggy
(Circa 1983)

When our family relocated to Florida in 1987, we settled in a quiet residential community in Kissimmee with paved roads and minimal traffic. Around that time I also became the owner of a girl’s banana bike. It had one speed, small wheels, tall handlebars and a seat — its best feature — that was long, soft and comfortable. My 5-foot 3-inch frame fit comfortably on the bike, which probably was meant for a child. It was the perfect vehicle for pedaling out to get the mail, to cruise over to visit a neighbor or to hop on at night for a leisurely ride around the block. I might have looked silly, but I sure did love riding that rusty red bike.

Like that long-ago relic, my new-to-me bicycle is also comfortable, fun to ride and lacking in bells and whistles. Ralph and I each purchased simple, inexpensive, wheels to use at the beach to ride on hard sand and pedal around a seaside town we enjoy visiting.

Looking forward to biking at the beach

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve loved riding a bicycle and for the past 23 years, it’s something I’ve missed. They say absence make the heart grow fonder — it will be nice to get back on a bike again.

Feathers fly as three cranes fight

A display of dominance? A territorial dispute? Are two males fighting over the single female? It's hard to tell what's going on as three sandhilll cranes engage in a feathery confrontation at our Central Florida property. Watch the 2:08 minute video and tell me what you think is happening...

Where will the cranes nest?

I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I told my husband Ralph as I grabbed the camera. “I’m going to row out to see if one of the cranes is sitting on the nest in the reeds.”

The pair of sandhill cranes that has been raising young on our lake for several years is once again in reproductive mode. For the past few weeks, I’ve watched the couple — sandhill cranes are monogamous and mate for life — scout out potential nesting sites.

Checking out a potential nesting site on a misty morning

The Florida sandhill crane, Grus pratensis, is a non-migratory breeding resident of the Sunshine State. It’s a subspecies of the migratory greater sandhill crane, Grus canadensis, which arrives in large flocks each winter before returning north to breed in late spring and summer.

Flocks of greater sandhill cranes gather in a field.  Unlike Florida sandhill cranes, the northern migratory birds feed and roost in large groups.

All sandhill crane species return to the same nesting locations year after year. Their preferred spots are tufts of dry land surrounded by shallow water where they can raise young with reduced threat from land predators such as coyotes and bobcats. However, thanks to a rainy winter, most of the small islands in our lake are now submerged. With previous years’ nesting sites underwater, the cranes must either find another spot around our lake or move to a new lake.

This tiny island on which the cranes nested in 2013 is now underwater

Because I’ve grown attached to “my” birds and hope they’ll stay, I pay close attention to their search for alternative locations. I’ve watched as the long-legged, red-capped cranes have explored several soggy spots along the lake perimeter. In one of those places, they did more than just explore. They actually built a nest by stacking wetland vegetation in a mound surrounded by mucky puddles of water. I discovered their construction one day when I was out rowing. The location, hidden by tall weeds, is visible only from the water.

I felt optimistic as I pushed my rowboat off shore that afternoon that maybe the cranes had finally settled on a place to nest and would be staying on our lake. But my confidence waned as I stroked closer to the spot where I’d noticed the nest. The mound was still there, but no bird was upon it. Saddened, I continued on, rowing further around the lake instead of returning home as I’d planned.

Built but abandoned, a nest well hidden by the tall marsh grasses

It was a beautiful afternoon. Despite my disappointment at not seeing the cranes nesting, I enjoyed the ride. There’s something special about being on water. The soothing croon of oar strokes cutting through water combined with the warm sun on bare skin eased away my concerns and worries. Songbirds serenaded me from the treetops interspersed with the raucous cawing of crows. The farther I rowed, the more relaxed I felt.

A soothing row in the lake

By the time I entered the final lap around the lake’s circumference, I’d almost forgotten about the sandhill cranes’ plight. Instead of fretting over where they might raise their young, I simply delighted in the pleasure of being outside on the water on a warm and sunny afternoon.

It was then that I spotted the two cranes partially hidden in yet another section of reedy wetlands. Fearing that I’d scare them away if I approached too close, I kept my distance. From where my boat lulled in the water, I couldn’t tell if the birds had built another nest. All I knew was that they had not given up on our lake yet. They were still trying to find a place to settle down and raise young.

More than an hour passed before I returned home.

“You were out a long time,” Ralph said when I came inside. “Did you find the nest?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, “But the cranes are still here. They might be nesting on that spit of land that extends off the south end of the lake. I saw them there but didn’t want to get too close.”

In a few more days I should be able to tell. If the cranes have decided to nest, only one will be poking around the ground in search of seeds and bugs while the other stays behind to incubate eggs. I’ll also be watching from the water — a safe distance away — but eagerly watching nonetheless.

Coyote sighting

I was about to turn off the country lane onto busy State Road 19 when a coyote ran across the road in front of me.

Instead of continuing on my way, I pulled over and looked in the direction where the animal had gone until I spotted him in the brambly woods. The tawny-furred predator was standing still — watching me watch him. The coyote blended in so well with his surroundings that I missed seeing him move when he decided to leave, even though I was looking directly at him.

I couldn’t stop looking at the spot after the coyote left. I sat in the car and scanned the woods to see if I could find any other coyotes in the area. Although Canis latrans, which means “barking dog,” doesn’t run in packs like wolves do, the fleet-footed canine occasionally does travel in small family groups.

If there were other coyotes in the area, I didn’t see them. After a couple more minutes of intensified looking, I decided to turn south on S.R. 19 and continue on my way.

Coyotes are closely related to domesticated dogs, but they’re a far cry from “man’s best friend.” Pet owners fear the omnivorous predators will eat their beloved dog or cat. Ranchers dislike them because they sometimes kill livestock, and farmers don’t want them to eat their crops.

Many people detest coyotes but I’m not one of them. I harbor no ill will toward these mammals that have managed to survive — even thrive — in our less-than-hospitable, human-directed world. Instead of feeling frightened, alarmed or angered by a coyote’s presence, I consider any encounter I have with a large wild animal to be a gift.

Coyotes are smart. They’re extraordinarily adaptable and clever. They form strong family groups and protect their young. Although coyotes act and look like dogs — they’re usually grayish-brown, between 20 and 30 pounds with pointy ears, a narrow muzzle and a bushy tail — they receive none of the respect we lavish so willingly on their domesticated cousins. It’s odd how one animal is abhorred while the other is universally adored.

This was not the first time I’ve seen a coyote in the rural area I consider my neighborhood, and I doubt if it will be the last. Late winter is a coyote’s reproductive season with new pups born in spring. I don’t know where the coyote I saw was going or what it was after, but there’s a good possibility it was looking for food to take back to its mate or young offspring.

With Florida’s open hunting season for coyotes and the ever-present risk of being killed by a vehicle, the chance of survival for any individual animal is small. Yet, despite all the odds against it and an abysmal lack of public support, coyotes still manage to secure a place in our human-centric society. While other wild mammals fail to thrive, the much-maligned coyote doggedly endures.

Another subdivision being developed....What do the sandhill cranes think?

Driving past yet another soon-to-be subdivision, I spotted a pair of sandhill cranes walking over the denuded land.

A pair of cranes wander across a denuded landscape

The subdivision, across from Grassy Lakes Elementary School in Minneola, is still in the beginning stages.  No homes have been built yet, but the trees have all been cut down, the ground re-contoured and cleared of anything green. Loads of red clay have been trucked in and piled in tall mounds.  Equipment is parked on brown ground where cattle once grazed upon lush wildflower-dotted fields.

On Jan.1, 2015 when I took the image on the right, land-clearing had just begun.  Today, almost three months later, not only has the land been further reshaped, but all the trees - including the one pictured - have been cut down.

It is across this now barren landscape that the sandhill cranes wandered.  As I pulled over to watch, one of the large insect-and-grain-eating birds walked by front end loaders and naked soil. I couldn't help wonder what it was thinking?

What does a sandhill crane think as it walks by the machinery?  Does it wonder where the grass went?  Does it ask itself why it can no longer find any grubs to eat in ground where they used to be plentiful?  Does it search for the trees that used to provide shade?

To the landowner, developer, construction workers and home builders, this development is a positive thing.  It will provide jobs and money and places to live for more and more people.

But it's not a good thing for the animals and birds who lived on the land or for the trees, wildflowers and plants that grew in that acreage.  For them this development means more loss of habitat, less greenery and more pollution.  It means less space for wildlife and more garbage and traffic by man.

A desolate and incongruous landscape...

South Lake County, the section of the county where I live, is in the midst of a construction boom.  New residential and commercial developments are popping up all over the place.  As I watch more and more green spaces - fields where cattle once grazed, orange groves, forested areas and beautiful hillsides - give way to pavement, I feel the loss of what drew so many of us to this area in the first place.

While the sandhill cranes may wonder what happened to their foraging field, I wonder what it will take to make people will realize the true value of what they're destroying.  

What's the matter with this sandhill crane?

This sandhill crane behaved oddly after eating birdseed that had fallen on the ground.  It looked like he/she is trying to cough up something that might be stuck in his/her throat.  But nothing comes up.  I've watched sandhill cranes for several years and have never seen one behave like this before.  Eventually it stopped coughing and seemed fine.  I just really wish I knew what happened.  Any ideas?

A peacock struts his stuff

A male peacock in full feathery finery struts his stuff in front of a female peacock who pays him no heed.  A beautiful - if not successful - display of colorful plumage.  Taken on the outskirts of Briley Farm in Oakland, FL.

Back roads yield surprises

You never know what you'll find when you take back roads

When I drive to my daughter Amber’s house in Winter Garden, I do my best to avoid busy roads. Instead of taking Florida’s Turnpike to State Road 429 to save 10 minutes, I take my time meandering along twisty two-lane roads up and down hills, through tree-lined hamlets and along sections of untamed woods that — at least for the moment — have eluded a developer’s eye.

It’s a pretty ride filled with peacefulness and possibilities. Before ending at Amber’s house, my 30-minute trip takes me through the outskirts of four towns — Clermont, Minneola, Montverde and Oakland.

My drive through Clermont is on unpaved roads through a rural area at the north end of town. The clay roads are bumpy and give my car a perpetually dirty face, but they force me to slow down and in this too-much-to-do-and-not-enough-time world, that’s an important reminder.

Sharing clay roads with horseback riders 

On the back roads of Minneola, I pass a peach orchard where I’ve gotten in the habit of monitoring the progression of the trees from bare branch to blossom to young fruit to harvest.

 

Peaches just beginning to ripen

From there, it’s a short trip to scrub jay territory, where I often pause in my travels to photograph Florida’s only endemic bird.

A Florida scrub jay with nesting material in its beak

My trip through Montverde is brief, paralleling the highway, but it leads me to Oakland where I travel beneath an impressive tunnel of ancient oaks and pass by an encouraging mix of older wood-frame homes. 

A tunnel of oaks welcomes drivers entering the aptly named town of Oakland, FL

On this stretch of road — in refreshing contrast to many new subdivisions — no two houses are alike. Steeped in character and rich in history, each home reflects the personality of its owner. While driving through Oakland, it’s easy to forget it’s the 21st century. It sends me back in time to the mid-1900s.

A yellow tabebuia tree stands alongside one of the beautiful old wooden home in Oakland

Oakland gives way to Winter Garden overflowing with downtown charm. Although I usually go directly to my daughter’s house, on the trip back home, I often do more meandering, taking even smaller, less traveled side roads along the way.

I have a strong belief in the importance of taking time, slowing down and observing my surroundings. Recently, that belief was reinforced when I decided to turn onto some previously unexplored side roads in Oakland. As I rambled along the narrow dirt roads on the north side of town, I came upon an unusually tall field fence encircling many acres of well-trimmed lawn scattered with trees.

In the distance, I saw large, black-and-white striped animals grazing. I pulled over for a better look. Could they possibly be what I thought they were? Zebras? In a field next to a dirt road in the little town of Oakland? I reached for my camera to zoom in for a closer look.

A zebra?  In Oakland?  Yes!

Sure enough, a herd of zebras was grazing in the field. I’d stumbled upon Briley Farm, a privately owned exotic animal ranch where zebras, miniature donkeys, peacocks, wildebeest and a majestic-horned, ancient breed of African Watusi cattle are among the many animals roaming the manicured acreage between Lake Apopka and the Oakland Nature Preserve.

Although the only other critter I saw besides the zebras was a brightly feathered male peacock strutting his stuff behind a ‘Peacock Crossing’ sign, I had no reason to complain. Seeing the zebras — zebras! — was more than enough to make my day.

A peacock perched in a tree behind a 'Peacock Crossing' sign on a back road in Oakland

There are times when the need to get somewhere in a hurry is paramount. There are times when it’s important to stay on schedule. But there are also times when throwing the timetable away makes the most sense of all. My no-hurry route home yielded an extraordinary discovery — proof that you never know what treasures await around the next bend.

The sound of a woodpecker drilling bamboo

Every morning for the past week I've listened to a downy woodpecker pecking away at one of the older canes in the middle of a large clump of Giant Timber Bamboo (Bambusa oldhamii). The sound is so loud, I can hear it even when I'm inside the house with the doors and windows closed. This morning I decided to take a video to share the sound with you. If you enjoy it, I'd love it if you shared it with others.

What would you do if you saw someone littering?

Although there’s so much litter in Lake County, I never actually see anyone throwing trash out a car window. I’m on the roads a fair amount. I know the trash is there because I see it all the time. What I don’t see is anyone making the mess.

Until yesterday.

I was taking my usual back roads home from town when I noticed a spiffed-up yellow sports car stopped in the middle of Fosgate Road alongside Grassy Lake Elementary School in Clermont. I had just turned off Turkey Farm Road onto Fosgate so the car was right in front of me. It was a quiet afternoon with no one else around, and since I wasn’t in a rush, I slowed down to see what was going on.

Upon my approach, two lanky, well-groomed teenage boys got out of the car and spoke to the driver before the car sped away leaving in its wake a large bag of trash. The kids, each one holding a soda in his hand, sauntered toward the sports fields behind the school with that ‘I-know-everything-there-is-to-know-about-everything’ air assumed by so many 14- and 15-year-old males. The paper sack, which obviously contained heavy objects like empty bottles and junk food detritus, stood out on the road like a looming brown wart.

I knew the bag of trash came from the car. After years of fretting over litter, picking up other peoples’ trash and writing repeatedly about my frustration with this seemingly insurmountable problem, I finally caught someone actually littering.

An opportunity had arrived to take action. But what should I do?

Several options sprung to mind: A) I could ignore the situation entirely and continue on my way. B) I could pull over to the side, get out of my car and pick up the trash to take home and throw out with my own garbage. C) I could confront the boys about their behavior.

I chose the third option. I know it can be dangerous to confront strangers who are breaking the law but the boys I saw didn’t look frightening. They reminded me of my own sons when they were that age, a bit cocky and maybe full of themselves, but not intimidating or threatening.

“Excuse me,” I called as I leaned across the seat, “is that your bag of trash in the middle of the road?”

The boys looked at each other incredulously before one of them managed to utter the single word, “No.”

“It came from that car though, didn’t it?”

Another look passed between the lads before the same boy who spoke before muttered, “Yes.”

“Well, pick it up,” I demanded, in my strongest ‘mom’ voice.

I told them to put the trash in a receptacle and tried to make them understand the irresponsibility of their actions and the effect littering has on the environment.

The boys did as I said. I’d be lying if I said they did it with any great enthusiasm or understanding but, nonetheless, they removed the bag from the road and hopefully deposited it in a nearby receptacle.

I’ve repeatedly wondered what kind of person litters. How can anybody be so thoughtless and unconcerned about the consequences of his behavior?

Even though I had just encountered a couple of teenagers littering, the problem is far too widespread to blame on any single group of people. However, in order to solve any problem, you have to start somewhere. Choosing to confront the two kids may not have been the smartest option to take in these dangerous times, but at least I acted. I spoke up and took a chance to make a difference.

The causes of littering include apathy, ignorance and a disconnection with the environment. Rolling down the window and speaking out is one way to say, ‘Enough!’ For me, it felt like the right decision, but it may not be the right choice for others. What would you have done?

Fresh grown veggies taste best

Anyone who has ever gardened knows how much tastier homegrown veggies are than their store-bought relatives.

That's especially true of broccoli, a highly nutritious member of the Brassica family, which — despite its reputation as a "super food" — ranks low in likability by the public. For most people, potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce and corn are more welcome at mealtime than a serving of broccoli florets.

While recognized as a super food because of its nutritional value, broccoli is not considered one of the more popular vegetables

I can understand why so many people are not crazy about this cruciferous vegetable. Until I met my husband, I wasn't crazy about it either.

When I was a kid, we rarely ate broccoli, but when we did, it didn't come from the garden or even from the produce market. Like most mid-twentieth century suburban families, the broccoli we ate came in a box from the frozen food section of the grocery store.

When it was time for dinner, my mother took the box out of our freezer, cut it open with a pair of kitchen shears and plopped the solid mass into a pot of boiling water. After cooking in too much water for way too long, everyone in the family received a dollop of the dark green mushy mass, which would then ooze its way into everything else on the plate.

To my young mind, broccoli wasn't so much a food as a contaminant. I put more effort into thwarting its seepage into my mom's lamb chops than shoveling it into my mouth.

That changed when I met my husband. Although I had no gardening experience in childhood, I married a man who did. Had it not been for Ralph's green thumb, I might never have known the difference between overcooked frozen vegetables and fresh-picked edibles from the garden. Thanks to him, our family has dined on homegrown food for over four decades. Our children grew up eating fresh-from-the-garden fare, and it makes me happy to know our grandchildren are doing the same. Apparently, the gardening gene is inheritable. Ralph got it from his parents and passed it down to our children.

Our granddaughter is excited about the broccoli she helped her Papa pick in his garden

Ralph's garden currently includes 164 broccoli plants in various stages of maturity. He began planting in August, sowing new seeds of about a dozen different varieties every other month to ensure a continuous crop. 

A small portion of one of Ralph's two raised containers garden where he grows much of the vegetables we eat

Like most gardeners, my husband experiments by growing numerous varieties to find the one that will grow well in our climate, resist disease and pest problems and produce plenty of flavorful florets. His top performer so far is Piracicaba, a broccoli from Fedco Seeds that doesn't produce a big single head.

People who don't garden may not realize that not all broccoli comes in large heads like those found in the produce bin at the store. Once the main head is harvested, some broccoli varieties respond by sending up numerous side-shoots of smaller florets. Those side-shoots have thinner stems and, while more time-consuming to pick, their tenderness and mild flavor more than compensates for any extra work involved.

Instead of producing a large head, Piracicaba bypasses that step entirely. Named after the Brazilian city where it was developed, this warm-weather-tolerant species focuses all its attention on the production of multiple tender, tasty side-shoots.

Instead of producing one large head of broccoli, a multitude of mini florets grow on Piracicaba broccoli plants 

As much as Ralph and I enjoy eating all the different kinds of broccoli he grows, we both prefer the flavor and texture of small florets. Not only is Piracicaba our favorite for taste, it has not fallen victim to fungus attacks during rainy spells as have several other varieties. Neither has it been bothered by diseases or insect infestations.

Needless to say, we eat plenty of broccoli, sharing extras with family and friends. I once was a broccoli pusher — pushing the mass of overcooked goo around and around on my plate. Now I push others to give broccoli a try. The best-tasting foods are the ones you grow yourself.

If you're interested in reading more about our broccoli-growing experiences, check out these posts:

Broccoli is the beneficial harvest of March

Son demonstrates frair for growing, surprises

When house meets tree

I'm always on the lookout for interesting trees and old buildings.  Today I found both in one location.

The house - more shack or shanty than anything else - is located on a back road in Yalaha.  Broken down and falling apart, the wooden structure sits beneath an ancient oak.

The tree's branches add to the intrinsic beauty of the tattered house. Not only is the tin roof shaded by large limbs, some overhanging branches actually rest upon the leaf-covered metal.

The abandoned house and live oak are growing together.  Ferns and vines have already begun to root on the roof. When people relinquish control, nature takes hold.

As I sat in my car snapping off pictures I couldn't help but wonder about the structure I'd found.  In the past, this house sheltered people.  Now its only inhabitants are probably small animals and plants.

I suppose that's how it should be.  We humans think we're so clever. We cut down trees and erect buildings assuming they will last. But nature knows better. It has all the time in the world to reclaim its treasures.

The 'trumpeting' sound of sandhill cranes

Of all the sounds birds make, there's nothing quite as loud, distinctive and eerie in an I-feel-like-I'm-in-prehistoric-times sort of way than the trumpeting song of sandhill cranes.  That's especially true when you're standing - as I was - only 20 feet or so away from a pair of bellowing birds.

By the way, the bamboo the cranes are next to is Yin-Yang Timber Bamboo.

For birds and people: Some decisions are hard to make

On Valentine's Day, my husband Ralph installed the remaining five of seven bluebird boxes that Doug Spencer of Astatula built for us.

Less than a week later, a pair of beautiful bluebirds was already checking out the houses!

First, the male and female sat on top of one box. Then each bird took turns looking inside before flying to another box.

At the second box, the male flew down to the entry hole while the female waited on top. 

The male stuck his head inside for a good look around. I guess the female got tired of waiting because she flew down to the entry hole shortly after, while the male was still in the process of squeezing inside the box.

A few minutes later, the pair flew out and over to the first box again, repeating the process: Sit on top. Look in the opening. Squeeze inside. Fly back out.

As Ralph and I watched, we couldn't help but wonder what the birds were thinking. The conversation we imagined them having went something like this:

Male: How about this box? It looks nice.

Female: It's too soon to tell. Let's go look at the other ones.

Male: They're all the same. What's wrong with this one?

Female: It's a little rustic. I was hoping for something maybe a little more modern.

Male: It's just a nest, dear. What difference does it make how it looks?

Female: Are you kidding? It makes all the difference in the world. I'm the one going to sit here day in and day out while you're off doing whatever it is you do. It has to be comfortable. End of discussion.                  

Male: You're right. You're right. I'm sorry. I know you're right.

Although I didn’t see the birds in the afternoon, they were back the next morning repeating the same pattern.

“I guess they’re having trouble deciding,” I said to my husband as we sat at the kitchen table. Ralph was eating breakfast, but I was too preoccupied with the bluebirds to pay much attention to food.

“At least they came back,” I muttered, more to reassure myself than expecting a response.

Surprisingly, a response was forthcoming.

“I can relate to their indecision,” Ralph said as he put down his spoon and turned toward me. “They’re probably trying to decide if it’s just too much work to fix up another place. Maybe they don’t know where to begin. Maybe they’re thinking they should just stay where they are.”

I looked at him, smiled and said, “It is birds we’re talking about, right? Not something else…?”

Ralph and I have recently been struggling over an upcoming building project. It’s such a multifaceted undertaking, we’ve been unable to decide which aspect to tackle first. Like the bluebirds, we’ve been wavering, going back and forth from one possibility to another.

“You know,” I said, “maybe I should stop watching the birds for a while. They’ll settle when they’re ready — if they decide to settle at all. Maybe we should do the same.”

For two days, we did just that. Oddly enough, the bluebirds seemed to be taking a break from house hunting as well. By the time they returned, we all seemed ready to move forward.

“The bluebirds are back,” I once again exclaimed at breakfast. “I don’t see them carrying any nest-making materials yet, but I have a feeling they’ve chosen a box.”

My husband gazed out the window with envy. Empathizing with his look of longing, I let him know we weren’t far behind.

“I’ve decided too. Let’s start upstairs and work our way down. There’s no need to rush. We can just take our time.”

When it comes to homebuilding projects — by birds or by people — sometimes making the initial decision can be the hardest part of all. Once decided, everything else falls into place.

Can't get enough bluebirds? Me neither! More stories and photos here:
Calling all bluebirds

Bluebirds make me happy

Bluebirds of happiness

Elusive bluebird joins property's wildlife