We walked around Alexander Lake at Panola Mountain in a light rain, celebrating the cold front. Temperatures were in the 60s, almost chilly — hard for a transplanted Texan to fathom. Mist was rising off the lake, and 32 Canada geese paddled across, making noise. Do geese honk for joy?
In places where the foresters had burned the underbrush, yellow crownbeard, Verbesina occidentalis, was 7 feet high. In places where the fire had failed to clear the underbrush, we saw a vigorous vine, Calystegia sepium,covering the shrubs. I usually hear it called bindweed but have heard binderweed. The flowers look like big white trumpets poking out of the undergrowth.
The little lavender flowers of Carolina reuellia, Ruellia carolniensis, were covered in raindrops.
Because I’ve been reading Roy Bedichek’s The Sense of Smell, I stopped when I saw a sycamore and plucked a leaf. Bedichek contended that the smell of a damp sycamore is unforgettable but hard to describe. He was right that the smell always brings back memories. Mine were from Texas, and the Wise Woman’s were from Virginia.
• Source: Roy Bedichek, The Sense of Smell; London: Michael Joseph, 1960. His remarks on sycamores are on pp. 16-17. For an early note on Bedichek, see “Stumped by sycamores,” June 4, 2027. It’s here:
https://hebertaylor.blogspot.com/2026/06/stumped-by-sycamores.html
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