Winter Wheat

 

2009

Yesterday I received an e-mail from a nice lady who stumbled upon my meager blog.  Googling "Winter Wheat" she'd found The Giraffe Head Tree.

 2009

 She was putting together a program for her church and wanted to use one of the images.  Why, of course, I said. 

2009

Please send me one for my portfolio, I asked, and she thought that funny.  It is funny, really. 

2010

This exchange whetted my appetite for those images again so I looked high and low, finally finding them on my stand-alone hard drive.  Neatly archived away.  Out of sight.  Out of mind.  Until this nice lady's e-mail. 

2010

Why do I do that?  Hide my images away?  Visiting these images brought back some fabulous memories.  More than that I really, really like them.  This is the same wheat field, two years in a row. 

2010

May 2009 I shot them in bright afternoon daylight, a coming storm looming on the horizon.  Bright blue skies being gobbled up by bright white and grey clouds; golden wheat swaying in the wind.  May 2010 I rose before dawn and drove to the field awaiting the sunrise.  A gentle fog and rosy light made these my favorite images of all.  What do you do with your favorite nature images, and what is your preferred method for a portfolio for your work?  I'm really curious as clearly I'm horrid at both.

Fields of Wheat

The road between the city and the lake winds through lush countryside. This time of the year both sides of the asphalt stretch for miles and miles with fields of green. Crops rotate year to year with the usual plantings of soybeans, corn and cotton which are nice enough crops, but my favorite of all is the winter wheat.

Winter wheat gives Ireland a run for its money when it comes to the color green. Winter wheat peaks above the ground in the late winter, bright slashes of green rows amid the lingering browns and grays of the cold season. By mid-spring the brighter green has mellowed into a deep blue green, the fine leaves waving in the spring storms like waves on the ocean. "Sky of blue, sea of green..."

Late spring into early summer, like now, the winter wheat is beginning to ripen. Fields of green are turning golden.

This, my last day at the lake before heading for the city, I rose at 5am in order to be at the wheat field by dawn.

Farmers have terraced their land to help control erosion. Not being a farmer I'm thinking there are many reasons to terrace land but that seems to be the case. In the above photo there is a strip of green cutting through the turning wheat where a lowland lies. Here, various duck species come to swim about, surrounded by wheat. I've seen the usual mallards and wood ducks here.

"And he gave it for his opinion, that whoever could make two ears of corn, or two blades of grass, to grow upon a spot of ground where only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind, and do more essential service to his country, than the whole race of politicians put together."

Jonathan Swift
Gulliver's Travels

Purple vetch climb along the outer edges of wheat along the roadside.

The sun rises golden and warm, illuminating the wheat much like light through a stained glass window. Next post I'll show you more of the winter wheat and surrounding farmland and its creatures.

The Other Side of the Road

The lake is beautiful, amazing, peaceful, wild, wonderful, but the other side of the road serves beauty of a different flavor. Miles of farm fields separate us from civilization. Farmers here rotate their crops - corn, soybeans and winter wheat are the usual crops. This year is my favorite - the winter wheat.

Winter wheat sprouts deep emerald green, fading to a luscious golden tan when harvest time comes. The fields become an organic lake, waving in the breezes, rippling much like the waves on Wheeler Lake. Throw in some amazing storm clouds and even Van Gogh would have a field day painting such a scene.

An old abandoned homestead is gradually being overtaken by foliage. Rusted metal tops of the barn and silo offer interest among the wheat.

Where did this family go? Kayla and I walked through the tiny house. There was a tiny, filthy refrigerator, an old wringer washer, a couch and a chair. A rusted iron headboard was propped against one wall where boxes tacked on the wall houses bird nests. An odd back room had a million tiny red dots meticulously spaced on all the walls and even the ceiling. A jumble of old Ball jars littered the floors. We left deep in thought.

Outside the wheat welcomed us back, waving in the Southern breeze. A storm was coming from the west.

The farmers always use Roundup in their fields before planting, which makes them glow golden for a bit. Still, the weeds persist. This dandelion doesn't know he's not supposed to be there.

The vetch surrounds the wheat fields, draping the edges like holiday garland on a Christmas tree.

Bold thistles announce their presence deep in the middle of the fields. Thistle is a farmer's bane, but the birds love the seeds and I think they're quite beautiful. The purple thistle and vetch are quite fetching with the golden tan wheat.

The storms are moving closer and it's time to head home. Before leaving I spy a low place in the wheat field where water has gathered. Through the zoom lens I notice ducks floating there and take several shots. Looking closely at these images after arriving home I was fascinated to see not only mallards but wood ducks, and a mother mallard and her babies. Flitting about among the ducks were red winged blackbirds and meadowlark. The storms came roaring through as I looked at the photos, and it was good.