Our yard has lots of anoles.  Sometimes they’re green; sometimes they’re brown.  I can tell the males from the females because they have the red throats that protrude when they’re trying to attract a mate.  Since I have just pretty much imparted the sum total of my knowledge I have attempted to edify myself with a bit of research.  Anoles have adhesive lamellae on their foot-pads for crawling along walls, much like geckos.  Though they are often referred to as the American chameleon, they are unrelated.  Their color change is a result of body temperature, stress, and activity rather than just blending in.  Oh, and the flap of skin that hangs below their neck is called a dewlap.  Not only used for attracting females, it can be flared for territorial displays as well.  Anoles are native to the southeastern United States and the Caribbean.  I had forgotten they also have tails which drop off their body when grabbed, allowing them to escape.  They will grow new ones in time although they are usually shorter.  Anoles feed on cockroaches, spiders, moths and grubs, so they’re beneficial to have around.  I think they’re cute critters and I enjoy seeing them sunning around our yard.  American author Elizabeth McCracken said:

“It’s an amazing thing to watch a lizard fold a moth into its mouth, like a sword swallower who specializes in umbrellas.”

Leaping lizards!

I love the use of animals in vernacular — provided they are not insulting to the animals.  “Like a moth to a flame” I simply cannot resist.  I have “parroted” other phrases and have used animal idioms like “as drunk as a skunk”, “ants in your pants”, and “hold your horses”.  British writer Jay Griffiths said:

“Human language is lit with animal life:  we play cats-cradle or have hare-brained ideas; we speak of badgering, or outfoxing someone; to squirrel something away and to ferret it out.”

I have seen a “kangaroo court”, an “elephant in the room”, a “sacred cow”, a “black sheep”, “a fly in the ointment”, “crocodile tears”, and I have learned “a leopard does not change its spots”.  I have tried not to “count my chickens before they hatch”; I have been as “busy as a bee”, a “night owl”, “the early bird [who] catches the worm”, a “fish out of water”, on a “wild goose chase”, “as happy as a clam”, and, once or twice, “top dog”.  Before any more of this animal talk has you going “batty”, I shall end this and employ my favorite phrase, reminding my family not to “wolf down” their dinner.  Afterward I shall curl up in bed “as snug as a bug in a rug”.  😉

Growing up I was surrounded by the wonderful, pervasive scent of wild honeysuckle.  It was everywhere and I adored its constant sweet perfume.  Now I only see it growing unchecked along the creek banks; no one seems to value it, either for its scent or for the bees.  “It takes over” is all I ever hear.  When we first got married we had a housewarming party and had not yet done any landscaping.  But the one thing we did have — covering the entire length of our fence all the way down to the alley — was this beautiful blanket of green ivy.  Oh I was so proud of it!  I thought to myself, at least we have that.  During the party one of my new aunts by marriage came up to me and pulled me discreetly outside.  Looking in either direction she trained her gorgeous blue eyes on me and said, with her subtle Arkansas accent, “Sweetie, I hate to tell you, but THIS is poison IVY!”  I just stood there embarrassed and dumbfounded that the one thing growing so prolifically at our house turned out to be poisonous.  As I looked on in slack-jawed stupor she turned to put a consoling hand on my arm and said, “Well, it’s the FINEST poison ivy I’ve ever seen!”  And then I knew she was not only stunningly beautiful but gracious as well.  Kindness, and forthrightness, I’ve learned is a rarity.  Needless to say we had some man come out a few days later and pull it all up by the roots.  But I digress.  When I got my tax return the next spring I asked my husband if he would mind me spending it on some landscaping for the other side of our house.  It faces a creek and has wrought iron bars.  My sweet husband not only said yes, he gave me his tax return money to put with it.  I told the landscape guy I cared first and foremost about smell.  Color without smell in a garden is meaningless to me, and frankly quite sad.  So he suggested Star Jasmine, saying it was right for our soil, climate, and would not guzzle water since I am always concerned about the environment.  In India jasmine is known as the “Queen of the Night”.  I cannot tell you the immense amount of joy those plants have given me.  We have six vines that have wound their way between our metal fence posts, growing and spreading up and over onto our stone pillars.  Delicately bathing the entire side of our house with a subtle scent, it rises ripe with promise … even more so when the wind blows.  The Irish poet Thomas Moore wrote:

“Plants that wake while others sleep, from timid jasmine buds that keep, their fragrance to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away, let the delicious secret out, to every breeze that roams about.”

I love our jasmine during the day … but at night she has stars that bloom.

I had the best childhood in the world:  I grew up across from an enormous open field of wildflowers.  They were glorious!  Left to grow as tall as I, they would bend and sway with the wind.  There were Queen Anne’s Lace, Buttercups, Black Eyed Susans, Indian Blankets, Dandelions, Texas Thistles, Sunflowers, and so many more which sadly I cannot name.  I used to run out and pick fresh flowers for the dinner table each night after all Mama’s hard work.  She cooked everything from scratch six days a week and her food was excellent.  Mama knew all the flowers’ names (both scientific and colloquial) and she would tell me of her childhood and the flowers she loved and picked for her mother.  Maris is incredibly lucky that she is growing up with some fields of wildflowers still left, even if those spaces are smaller and more sporadic.  Of course that is provided the city of Dallas doesn’t label them weeds and mow them all down, as they frequently are want to do, in our increasingly sterilized society.  But I seek the wild like a flower lifts its petals to the sun.  Now my little one wants to pick flowers for me for our table, but I have explained that we need to leave them because they are no longer as plentiful.  It is imperative we also leave some open land in order for wildflowers to grow.  It is sustenance for the butterflies and bees, protection for all the other wildlife, and nourishment for our souls.  If you cannot see any flowers, plant them yourself — wherever you may be.  I just cherish this picture.  My husband took it exactly four years ago today; the day before my first Mother’s Day.  Maris was about six months old.  This is right by our house and we were just driving home.  I remarked, as I always do, upon how beautiful the wildflowers were.  Spontaneously, we all got out of the car and he took this photo of us.  It evokes so many memories of my childhood and creates new ones with the precious family of my own I am blessed to have now.  May, mothers, and memories of wildflowers; the cycle continues.  French artist Henri Matisse said, “There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”  Literally and figuratively — I hope you find a field of flowers.