Midland Draw Master Naturalist Field Trip

July 11, 2009

Photo Essay by Charlotte Burke

At 7:30 a.m. the temperature was already 75 degrees and going up like coffee in a percolator. Not even the lint of a cloud broke the blue of the morning sky. I was on the highway from Odessa to Midland’s Sibley Nature Center to join other Master Naturalists for a trip led by Burr Williams down in to the Midland Draw. From the floorboard came nonstop scratching from a cardboard box holding two ornate box turtles. Stepping out to get the newspaper earlier, I had opened the door to find one, legs tucked in, sitting patiently on my welcome mat. I had placed her in the sink and gone out to find live June bugs for her breakfast, which she eagerly ate. I have fed box turtles up to 30 June bugs at a sitting; these little copper colored beetles are one of their favorite foods. This week I had also stopped traffic to chase down another turtle crossing the road in front of my house. They can really make time clawing vigorously across pavement. Not keen on being captured, she had let loose a stream of urine to discourage my picking her up.

The photo shows droppings left by the box turtle. Turtles are slow to catch prey, hovering above them at just the perfect angle before diving in for the kill, but they will run down crawling insects. She would not eat the black dung beetles I offered her, shown nearby. Her amber colored irises indicated female gender. At Sibley, Burr and I walked out to the field

to release them near a large rodent den where they could find shelter. He pointed to the ridges flowing out like petticoats from the edges of their shells. Each one represents a year of life, and like a tree ring, can indicate a year of abundant food or scarcity thereof. But the ridges can also ‘condense’ as the turtle ages. Walking back, we saw a turret spider hole, and an ant trail 60 feet long crossing the path to meander through the undergrowth, a sunrise endeavor putting Mayflower movers to shame. We, too, needed to get rolling. Minutes later Burr spun out of the parking lot in his GMC leading our small convey, pedal to the metal to the Draw a few miles SE of town and accessed through

private ranchland for which Burr had obtained prior permission.

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This strip of the draw was a narrow ribbon of greenery buttressed by tall trees, evidence of rare moisture snaking through the surrounding flat land. The Midland Draw joins with the Monahans Draw from Odessa, then goes into the Johnson Draw to the Mustang Draw, eventually meeting up with an area generating the headwaters of the Colorado River itself. Burr related that there was enough rainfall to cause the draws in 1986 to be connected this entire length with running water. It is difficult to imagine the topography of a region which appears so flat and devoid of other landforms. By checking satellite view maps and zooming out enough to see an area encompassing Odessa, Midland, and Spraberry, it is readily apparent that some true crevices mar this surface like cracks in drying plaster; this is the area of draws that interconnects over many miles and which serves to drain the Llano Estacado of water from its infrequent rainfall. Go to www.maps.google.com/?sll=31.90889,-101.76722&spn=0.05,0.05 (to see a satellite view of the immediate region and its drainage draws). Also, go to www.encarta.msn.com/map_701510607/Colorado_(river_Texas).html (to see the entire length of the Colorado River in Texas, with its source just south of Lubbock near Lamesa, and its course through the Llano Estacado southeast to the Gulf of Mexico).

The first thing we noticed was a large flock of sixteen juvenile vultures circling overhead, gathering momentum for their foray into the county that day. The vultures use the tall windmill at the site as a resting place. The rest of the area’s animals use the draw as a major route of travel; one could possibly come across raccoon, possum, grey fox, or white-tailed deer among the trees, perhaps a porcupine napping on a branch, or javelinas grunting noisily through. It would be possible to see great horned owls, barn owls, ladderback woodpeckers, rain crows, painted buntings, blue grosbeaks. I eyed the pocket forest in the distance. This was going to be like a trip to the zoo!

Cardinals and brown thrushes utilize the trees as well, though the vultures turned out to be about the only birds we saw on this trip. The exception was a western kingbird who accompanied Burr’s introduction with much lusty singing. Hear his song at: http://identify.whatbird.com/obj/349/overview/Western_Kingbird.aspx Two of our guys strapped on rattlesnake-proof leggings while the rest of us silently and glumly considered our own calves dismally clothed in thin fabric. Then we were off and walking down the dry roadbed already heating up with the day….

3 Aptly named, a lazy daisy slumbered on like a teenager. The buds don’t open until around 11:00 in the morning!

To the right is what Burr calls “Comanche Prickly Pear”. Its nopalitos are larger than other area opuntias.

Common prickly pear is seen to the left. Note the baby tumbleweed barely noticeable nearby. The blue-green pliant growth of these infant plants belies the stickery, dry behemoths they will morph into by maturity.

Once supporting flowering petals, vase-like cups are all that remain from spring blossoms (at right).

To the left, decaying nopalitos still sport spines and countless stickers on a bizarre background.

Gaillardia (Gaillardia pulchella) bloomed brightly. This late summer flower has many aliases: Indian blanket, firewheel, Indian blanketflower, Sundance, to name a few.

Wasps were busy visiting the flowering tips of Lambsquarters (Chenopodium album). There are at least three species of lambsquarters in this region. Like its name, it is soft to the touch.

4 Rayless Greenthread or Thelesperma megapotamicum is also known as Cota or Indian Tea. Yucca, at right. Berlandiera lyrata, or little Soft Green Eyes, at left, is one of my favorite flowers. I love the contrasting bold colors of its blossom and the beauty it possesses at every stage of flowering.

Once the petals have fallen away, an unusual green ‘eye’ remains, resembling a flower itself of tender velvet green. This center petaless part dries to become a lovely taupe colored disc, as seen above right. I always assumed this brown rosette was the origin of its nickname ’chocolate daisy’, but I recently read that the plant exudes a chocolate aroma. I must make a new attempt at sampling this! I did not notice the speckled fruit fly on the yellow petal until I examined my photos later. This is a true fruit fly, not to be confused with the little gnats that gather on aging bananas in the kitchen.

Gaura lindheimeriana (at left) and lizardtail gaura (at right). Gauras are also called bee blossom, or my favorite nickname, ‘kisses’. Sand sage at left, and three-awn grasses to the right. Tugging apart the tip of the grass, one will discover three separate parts, thin as hair.

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Texas bindweed (Convolvulus equitans), white with its reddish purple ‘throat’, is shown below. Barnock listed this as Convolvulus hermannioides. The plant also flowers with a pure white version ‘beautiful enough for a wedding’, as one of our group exclaimed. This is in direct contradiction to the plant’s propensity for choking out the very life of other greenery it entwines. I came across two enchanting legends about morning glories, of which bindweed is a member. Elizabeth Silverthorne’s book Legends and Lore of Texas Wildflowers references Nancy Ranson’s story of how the plant came to be a vine. Once a ground dweller, the morning glory heard the charming peeping of baby birds in a nearby bush. This was a curious morning glory, and she wanted to find out what the cause of the noise was. With much effort she managed to creep along the ground to the bush, and then little by little up into the shrub. She was finally able to send a tendril over the edge of the nest and with much delight discover fledgling birds on the brink of flight. The legend holds that from this time forward morning glories have been able to spread and climb. Another legend from the same source charms with a tale of fairy children in Earth’s youth who loved to frolic in the fields in dresses made by fairies of the rainbow. They were forever getting their dainty dresses soiled and had promised their mama to keep them clean. Enticed by a burbling brook, they played in the running water and completely drenched their frocks. Not wanting to further displease their mama, they draped the skirts on vines to dry near the stream, but could not pull them off later despite how hard they tugged. These fairy dresses remain today as the blooms of the morning glories.

Mexican hat., (Ratibida columnaris) at the end of its season on the Llano. With some imagination, I can see why this one is included in the sunflower family though its seed head is raised and bizarrely elongated. White man’s foot-steps, in seed stage, at right. And yep, it was growing right in the roadway where we were walking…. There weren’t many sand burs, as shown to the left. They probably thrive much better in our lawns.

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Minutes later we ducked with relief into the small forest itself to get out of the sun. Hackberry trees dominated with their delicious green shade. Well into winter animals like wild turkey and quail will hop up to feed upon these last crucially obtainable berries. Just what exactly does a the ‘berry’ look like? Voila! There was also a nest in nearby branches. Doves need to have their construction licenses revoked! They are reknowned for their shoddy nest construction which surely results in many baby birds being tossed out during stormy weather. Three species of butterfly lay their eggs on hackberry.

The wooded area was dense and not easy to navigate, with much necessary ducking under and scrambling over low growth as branches and runners snagged our clothing, shoes, and hats.

Bristle-grass (Setaria leucopila) shown above, and Catclaw-mimosa (Mimosa biuncifera) at right, captured glimpses of sunlight through the canopy of trees. Below, a type of barley grass with seeds evident. Far right below: Palafoxia sphacelata, a pinkish-lavender flowering plant of sandy soils.

7 Doodlebugs galore! Their sandy death traps were everywhere in soil so devoid of moisture it was practically powder. It is a fascinating read to discover the larvae’s method of creating this pit. They back into soft sand with their abdomen, and place grains of uprooted sand on their heads, then flick it beyond the construction site. Spirally thusly down, the pit is enlarged to reach what is called “the angle of repose”, which means the sides are at the exact angle possible where any movement will cause their collapse. The larvae snuggles down into the bottom of the pit, covered up to his jaws. Along comes a hapless insect, who slides into the pit and is either captured by the larva directly or is slowed in his escape attempt by the larva actually tossing sand against the walls to further the small avalanche!. The remains of the meal are then flung up and out of the pit, which is then prepared again for a new meal. Hollywood, someone! What a great idea for the next Pixar movie!

Nathan scooped up a handful of sand and rummaged rapidly through it, seeking to find the antlion within, to no avail. They are called doodlebugs due to the ’doodle’ of a trail they drag in the sand as they travel. Their adult form resembles a damselfly with closed wings, but with knobs on the tips of their antennae. So intent was I focusing in on the ‘craters’ that I would likely have missed the rodent den just beyond if someone had not pointed it out, nestled under a fallen log (to the right below). Below, left: In comparison, a badger den discovered soon after had the typical semi-circular entrance. Amusingly, the tire will help size the den’s entry for the reader, even as it casts a rundown, backwoods effect on the badger’s choice of home. The messy pile of sticks further along atop the badger den was also home for a funnel web spider. One of the group zoomed in for a photo, and then excitedly cried, “He’s in there! I can see him!” We all rushed over for a rare view of a badger snoozing in its den, but she had meant the spider.

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Seeds were ensnared in another web formed in woody ground debris, and the shape of a gauzy butterfly drew my attention to yet another web high in the bushes. A real fixer-upper web in a broken tree limb near the badger den sunk neighborhood property values even further….

The doodlebugs had been located on a ridged area along the draw in a tangle of growth also hosting a large Tasajillo bush using a large mesquite for backup. Impossibly, a sharp-eye Master Nat noticed a caterpillar at the tip of one young thornless branch. Photos of both sides revealed the perfect color match, as well as excrement and a clear drop of moisture exuded by the caterpillar.

We crested the forested ridge and alternately planting our feet sideways in the dry embankment, dropped down into the draw itself, a strip perhaps a hundred feet wide and, from the ridge’s top about the depth of a standing man. If I had closed my eyes at that moment, I could have gone back 40 years in time to summers in Kansas, one hundred fifteen degrees out with 95% humidity, the sound of grasshoppers sawing away with their legs at their mantra for July, . The weeds were too thick to avoid; we just had to wade through the knee-high masses gone crusty orange with age. I cannot say it was a pleasant hike. But with all this dense expanse of sneezeweed and sudden change of terrain, interesting finds were surely just a step away.

9 The plants seemed to be taking a beating from other wildlife. Galls covered nightshade so thickly it was almost unrecognizable (left). Black tiger beetles gnawed up ragweed leaves (below to the right).

A lone bovine vertebrae lay in the ditch with no other bones visible nearby.

Overturning a rusted out metal barrel, a spider was exposed, and later I found her mate had also been captured in the photo.

Bloodweed, in both photos directly below, is also known as giant ragweed. Burr broke off a branch when queried about the name. His hand was instantly stained with red fluid, though regrettably my photo of it is blurry.

Cocklebur, at bottom right. I thought the leaves of this plant looked very squash or gourd like in appearance, so I was surprised when Burr identified it. I’d only known it as a dried wintertime stalk with burs.

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Sneezeweed grew across the entire width of the draw like a Times Square crowd on New Year’s Eve. You can see its vast expanse in the photo below as well. The cicada exoskeleton shown still clinging to the grass stalk above right is full-sized in growth, much smaller than the ones found in Odessa.

A perfect vulture wing feather was found in the draw. Now check the photo to the right of two vultures in flight, and note how the skirt of feathers on the wings becomes more pale in color as the feathers decrease in width by almost half towards the tips.

I’m always amused when I find portulaca and purslane out in the wild. It grows, well, like a weed here! I find myself thinking it must have escaped into the wild, but no. I imagine some enterprising nurseryman noticed its perfect adaptation for our climate and started potting it up for sale. A member of the buckwheat family is shown at the right. Polygonum lapathifolium, or nodding smartweed, pre-fers drainage areas with their moist soil. This could be the paler version of pink smartweed.

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At long last we came upon not water in the lowest part of the draw, but evidence of recent rain. The ground was exceedingly damp and had captured creature imprints like kids stepping in wet cement!

It appears an animal had run quickly across the mud, in the photo at left. At right, the paw print could be from a coyote. The seed head of windmill grass gives an idea as to its size.

A traffic jam to the left, above. At right, the deep imprint of a heavy animal is impressive, but look closer for the tiny scratchings from birds or mud gathering insects to the left of it.

Turkey talk at left. I may as well toss in the javelina scat while we’re dealing with critters here...

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Following the sound of splashing water, Burr led us to an artificial pond created by the windmill pumping a gushing flow out of a 3” pipe. “Cattails and charro,” he ex-claimed, naming the tall reeds and thick algae in the pond. Ragweed and a lily like plant thrived on the perimeter of the water, and sedges grew in the mud. A dragonfly in perfect coloration played cat and mouse in the tangle of grasses. From this time on, nobody will be able to convince me that Monet was a

French artist. Surely this little falsehood has been foisted on the art world long enough. Now we can reveal to the world that it was at this tiny pond in West Texas that he painted his masterpieces.

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Wasps and bees were having no trouble whatsoever landing on the cushion of algae.

Around the skirts of the pond, buffalo gourd and another species of ragweed flourished.

Mesquite displayed its propensity for being in just about every stage of seed development at all times:

Spectaclepod, to the left below. These thin green seed pods look just like opera glasses from the 18th century. And we cannot leave the windmill pond without a glimpse of windmill grass.

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Striped ‘gourds’ like miniature round watermelons smaller than marbles were suspended from a pliant blue green vine hung sparingly with leaves. Burr said it was balsam apple. I looked it up later, and guess what the description said? ‘Usually draped over another plant or shrub.’ That’s exactly where this vine had grown. I photographed another a few weeks later at Sibley, the first seen there. And where was it? Hung over yucca. I wonder if there is a symbiotic relationship of some sort between the two. The plant also goes by Texas globeberry or ‘Hierba de vibora’ (viper plant). The middle photo shows a larger specimen encountered later in the forest, and its leaves at right.

Cissus incisus, or false grape, was also growing in the draw’s forest and one can compare its leaves to those of the balsam apple, as they are remarkably similar. Looking away from the pond, the adjacent field looked as if it were covered with white flowers (below). However, closer inspection revealed this to be hundreds of downy vulture feathers stuck in the grasses. Ants had picked clean an area that surrounded their home. Verbena is shown at right below.

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We plunged into the forest on the other side of the draw, and found:

Stunning beauty in a broken limb. Ochre colored seeds in last year’s fallen leaves.

A cicada so perfectly hidden on bark as to be virtually indistinguishable, displaying unusual transparency allowing inner organs to be transfixingly visible.

A burrow partially dug. A parasitic wasp which flexed its wings like the doors on a golden DeLorean. Calls from some of the group who had gone out of the forest and up onto higher terrain led us out to a shinoak forest, on a hill bizarrely barren with stunted plants. Burr commented that the difference in rainfall can create such contradiction in growth.

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Malcolm and Burr examined new grasses on the stark hill. A pink pearly gall was noted on the shinoak. “Do you know how stickleaf gets its name?” Nathan asked. He pulled one off the branch and smacked it against his shirt. It stuck. Dried pod seen at left. The ever so tiny blossom of a dalea can be seen in Nathan’s fingers.

He plucked a tick off his neck, commenting that it was not the first he had encountered on our walks. None of the rest of us had been bothered by this insect. Nathan is our youngest member. We teased him that from then on, we would get him to ‘walk point’ and flush out the ticks.

There are fewer blue flowers in the world than any other color. The lovely Small-bracted Dayflower, or Hierba del Pollo, (Commelina erecta) is a member of the spiderwort family. There is a most enchanting story that accompanies it, a tale of three Dutchmen of the Commelin family. Of course I cannot recall the exact story Burr entertained us with, so I will embellish my own. The two upper blue petals represent two of the men who were the prosperous and successful ones in the family. The tiny, pale, and almost inconspicuous third petal hanging downward is symbolic of the third brother, a ne’er-do-well, who never amounted to

anything! Nieland cites Carolus Linnaeus, who developed the binomial system of naming plants, as the person who named the flower after botanists in the Netherlands, in Lone Star Wildflowers. I was unable to find any information on the origin of the nickname ‘herb of the chicken’.

17 And so it was that our small troop made its way out of the thick little forest, across the draw and through the field to retake the road back, and in doing so came across a tragedy of tiny proportions. A baby horned toad lay in the rutted road, overrun with red ants, and our first instinct was an attempt to rescue him. He was already gone, however, so a penny was placed near him for reference and we naturalists recorded the event for posterity. With words of regret and sadness, we wished him well on his way Home. Nature takes its course; nothing is wasted, every creature has its time, its place and duty. The sky, still cloudless, was clear and bright as only a Texas sky can be. No birds circled overhead. The pump jack and tank battery reminded us just where we were. Our trucks and cities and busy hours awaited us. But near the end of the road a sand dunes sunflower, blossom yet unopened but knowing the role it is to play, stood with unrelenting faith and anticipation, already facing the east and the rising sun. **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** Dedicated to Burr Williams, who has captured the magic of our Llano Estacado and who shares it with us, with endless dedication, patience, and kindness, and who brings us together to explore and revel in our surroundings now seen with new eyes and loved with bigger hearts. What would we do without him?