Bad Woman, "Mala Mujer"

She’s the daughter of the devil himself and she’s an angel in white—if I may paraphrase a famous song.  It all depends, of course, on how you treat her and perhaps more importantly who you are.  If you are a butterfly or a bee then mala mujer’s brilliant white flowers offers enticing nectar.  If you are a morning dove or a Rio Grande turkey the seeds make for a tasty treat.  But woe to the careless human who might happen by and make contact with its spiny hairs for there will be instant pain that lasts for days.

Known scientifically as Cnidoscolus texanus, Mala Mujer (also called Bull Nettle or Texas Bull Nettle) is a member of the Euphorbiaceae family better known as the “spurges.”  It’s a large family consisting of 2,008 species worldwide occurring mostly in tropical and subtropical regions but also in temperate climates.  The well-known Tung Oil comes from a member of this family.  Most Euphorbias have large tubers.  Mala mujer’s tuber is about the size of a grapefruit and usually found from 10-12 inches subsurface and if all you do is clip the plant at ground level you can expect to have the plant reemerge within a few days.

A friend told me that his brother ventured into the ranch country for a visit.  More acclimated to the city he showed up wearing Bermuda style shorts.  Now this will be worthy of a forthcoming post on what to wear in this land of cactus, thorny shrubs and mala mujer, but anyway my friend’s brother brushed up against a mala mujer.  The old boy had an almost instant and violent reaction and ended up in the emergency room of a nearby hospital.  Yes, it can get that bad.  When I was a boy visiting my dad’s ranch (El Cuervo, The Crow) in southern Tamaulipas, Mexico I accidently touched a mala mujer.  It felt like I’d been bitten by dozens of red ants.  The pain was intense and there were small welts at every point that the hairs had pierced my skin.  It took about a month before the stinging finally subsided.

A healthy rain last February brought out the wildflowers and mala mujer has bloomed in abundance.  But it doesn’t seem to bother my dogs.  In fact the males, Dingo and Oy, have to mark every bush they pass.  I wince every time I see them lift their hind legs over a mala mujer. 

A recently published book on the native plants of South Texas claims that mala mujer occurs only in sandy regions.  That’s not entirely accurate.  El Cuervo, my dad’s ranch in Mexico, was a land of limestone hills and gravely ridges with no sand in sight.  And before the brush was cleared off most of Starr and Zapata Counties in deep South Texas mala mujer was found amidst the limestone sediments and gravely ridges and atop the small hills that dot parts of those two counties.

The trail we take has scores of mala mujer.  Note the large green shrubs with ultra-white flowers above.  I’d hate to walk that path at night.  But traveling this land on foot requires extra vigilance.  Aside from mala mujer there is another bad guy that has arrived in abundance this year.  Yesterday, one of my dogs almost got “stung” by this monster.  I refrain from taking action when I encounter these creepy crawlers but in this case my dog was within inches of getting bit.

The Titmouse and the Dog Brush

Plants, birds, mammals, reptiles, amphibians  and fish too: We all know people that can’t identify more than about a half-dozen birds, wouldn’t know the difference between a reptile and an amphibian if their life depended on it, are stopped cold when they have to extend their nomenclature beyond a deer, donkey, cow and elk, and when it comes to knowing plants….well, forget about it.  But for those of you with the artistic and scientific bent, those who see things in life and are filled with curiosity; those who revel at the sight of a hawk or stand in wonder when seeing a giant tree or perhaps “get all caught up” when walking the silent woods listening to the sounds of nature then here’s something for you.

Birds are building their nests this time of  year and around here we do everything we can to provide good nesting habitat.  We keep the surrounding foliage thick and green; we provide watering sources; we’ve built a few bird houses; and we set out little things to ensure that the birds have an easy time acquiring their nesting material.  Now my blue heelers are currently shedding.  They actually have two layers of fur that help keep them both warm in winter and cool in summer.  But during this time of the year their shedding is at full throttle.  So we’re constantly brushing the dogs in order to help them (they love it!) rid themselves of their winter coats.

As I’ve related in other posts, we live in a birder’s paradise.  Deep South Texas is probably the number one birding spot in the USA.  Three flyways converge on the area.  And Neotropical birds extend their northern range to this region while shore birds are in abundance and desert species abound.  So all we have to do is step onto either our front porch or back porch and sit with binoculars and in the course of a lazy afternoon we might see as many as fifty different species of birds.  So anyway, a few minutes ago we were brushing our six heelers and we set the brushes on a table on the front porch.  We happened to look out and there, not more than a few feet from the window were eight titmice (the black-crested titmouse) busy plucking dog hair from the brushes.  In a matter of minutes the brushes were cleaned thoroughly so we brushed the dogs again and left the brushes on the table.  As I write this the titmice are busy cleaning every bit of fur from those brushes.  They’ll use the ultra-soft dog fur to line their nests.  And in a few weeks we’ll see the young at the feeders and watering stations.  And just to think, an hour and ten minutes to the south and the traffic is horrific, the noise horrendous, the congestion stifling and not many titmice in sight.

Two of my blue heelers:

Pita in the background and Oy in front

Link to photo of Black-crested Titmouse.

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Black-crested_Titmouse/id/ac  

Selection in Action

Photo was taken with an iPhone 4

Look carefully at the photo above.  Do you see the moth clinging to the petal of the Indian blanket flower?  When I noticed the moth the first thing that popped into my mind was, “selection in action.”  Perfectly camouflaged, the moth will remain unseen by most predators that might come close.  Imagine if the moth had been white or black or green.  It would be spotted and eaten.  But because this moth blends so precisely with the flower it will survive and thus, in the grand scheme of life, will be “selected for.”  In other words, this moth will live to reproduce.  This brings to mind the famous study of the moth species in England that came in two colors, white and black.  White had been the predominant moth color but a small number of black moths had remained in the general population.  Because soot from nearby coal burning turned the previously whitish tree bark in the surrounding forest a nearly black color, the white moths that had been prevalent (because they remained unseen on the bark) were easily spotted by predators.  They were therefore consumed.  But because the black moths were now hard to spot they began to proliferate in numbers.  And thus the black moths were now “selected for” over the white moths.  The same principal applies to the moth in the photo.  Yes, selection in action!  I see it every day—whether watching cows grazing a field and eating certain plants while leaving others to multiply (selecting for the plants not consumed) or as the photo of the moth and the Indian blanket flower so clearly denotes.

iPhone 4 photo

More Than A Thorn Forest

The South Texas Brushlands is sometimes called “the thorn forest” because, as the name implies, many of the plants have thorns.  But when I was a boy we referred to it simply as “the woods.”  And those woods were my home.  I roamed and hunted and camped and found no particular reason to do anything else.  I guess I was lucky in that I knew where my interests lay early on in life.  But there was another word I often heard used when referring to the Brushlands and that was El Monte.  For the people of the region el monte had historical roots leading back through generations of Native Americans who have dwelled on the land for perhaps 10,000 years.  Most of the people who live in South Texas are of Native American descent and I grew up among them and learned much about the woods from them.  Their “collective unconscious,” if I can borrow a Jungian term, embodies the memories of those for whom the brush was the source of all things.  From the brush the native people constructed their dwellings, found and hunted their food, obtained medicines, and within that forest they developed their world views and created their myths.

It’s strange how places acquire their names.  One man sees only thorns but another sees a sanctuary—a wonderland of both flora and fauna.  Years ago I attended a hearing to protest the drilling for natural gas in a Texas state park.  Whether politicians were paid off (would anyone be surprised?) or bureaucrats had neither the power or will to fight off the assault will remain a mystery, but the drilling occurred and the park was never quite the same.  During the hearings a man testified: “Why would anyone want to save the brush anyway?”  After all, he said it was nothing but a billion thorns.  And so I experienced firsthand the way different people see nature.  For him, as with many others, it is nothing but a thing to be exploited and even destroyed so that they can profit from its ruin.  For others, I included, it is a place to be revered and cherished and preserved.

Yes, there are thorns as the above photo clearly shows, but look again and note that within those boughs lies much more.  I prefer calling it The Brushlands, or El Monte.  I’m not too fond of the term “the thorn forest.”  Perhaps that’s because I see so much more than merely a collection of thorns.

The Late Afternoon Walk

We take walks in the late afternoon, my five blue heelers and I. Well, sometimes it’s only three of my heelers since two of them are 16 years old and don’t always feel like walking long distances. It’s a quiet time, a time for contemplation and solitude.  In fact, woods roaming is perhaps the one activity I look forward to all day long. A day without being in the woods is more than merely a day lost: It is a day without meaning. For the late afternoon walk allows me time to do a hundred different things all at once, as if every second compresses every feature of who I am into a single reality. Yes, two to four miles of walking at least five times a week is good exercise. And yes, it gives me a chance to occasionally use some of my bushcraft skills. But that’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m not going out to impress myself with my abilities to make bow-drills or feather sticks or fashion a primitive campsite. Instead, I am walking in order to be.  Yes, it’s that simple. I am who I am when I am in the woods.  A man of modest pleasures perhaps, but in my life the sight of a great-horned owl sitting atop a mesquite near sunset, or listening to the silence while watching clouds following their own trails across the skies is enough to bring happiness.  I do not seek the approval of others by living my life through their eyes. For me it is only the woods. And when I am gone perhaps someone will say about my life, “He loved the woods.” That will suffice. For in those four words the facts of my life, whether good or bad, will have been distilled into one simple fact.

“He loved the woods.”

South Texas Wildflowers

Spring is officially several weeks away.  But in South Texas things don’t often follow the rules.  Here, the spring wildflowers have emerged and the days are warming fast.  Over the next few weeks the color combinations will change and predominantly yellow and white landscapes will turn blue, red, orange, lavender and other assorted shades.  Meadows and clearings will take on a kaleidoscope of evolving hues.  And, for a few weeks at least, the temperature will be tolerable, perhaps even pleasant.

Last summer I resolved not to spend anymore summers in the region.  With rising temperatures seen yearly for the last decade, (over twenty years, in fact) and with predictions of increasing droughts, blazing summers, chaotic winters and all the other ills associated with what every reputable scientist around the world has said are indicators of growing climatic pandemonium, I’ve decided to spend my summers in cooler climes.

Last year there were few wildflowers.  A seemingly interminable drought reduced the foliage to nothing more than withered stems.  Monstrous fires, some stretching across tens of thousands of acres, ravaged the landscape and turned the skies a murky brown.  In some areas you could drive for miles and never leave the smell of smoke.  Only the mesquite, brasil, granjeno, chaparro prieto, lotebush, junco, huisache, anacua and another couple dozen hardwoods seemed to survive.  In fact, those hardwoods (some growing no more than a few meters high while others grow tall enough to provide a meaningful and critical shade) have been the great salvation for the region.  Ironically, some people have indulged in all out attempts to eradicate the brushlands.  Their folly has been brutal for both wildlife and the land itself.  It seems that greed and narcissism play continually bigger hands in a country that embraces a predatory economic system.  In the end not only humans suffer but the land itself.

But for now in this isolated world where I live, the flowers survive as well.  Yes, there are those who would destroy even the flowers if given the chance.  Their minds are as far from mine as Earth from Pluto. 

For those of you who take pleasure in bushcraft or woodcraft, I hope you always keep in mind that without nature your enjoyment is impossible.  Every real woodcrafter is at heart…..Let me see, what is that phrase?  Oh yes, a “tree hugger.”  And damn proud of it too!

Enjoy the flowers, my friends.

Rawhide that Tomahawk

Some people complain about tomahawk heads working loose. So here’s a quick tip on securing a tomahawk head onto the handle. Wrap a piece of wet rawhide around the base of the tomahawk head and then allow it to dry. Make sure you wrap it tightly. I secure the wrap by looping each subsequent wrap under the loop that preceded it and then using my Swiss Army Knife screwdriver to push the remaining strand under the wrap. I usually get my rawhide from dog chews purchased at the grocery store and then cut the chew into strands from 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick. You’d best cut it to the quarter inch mark for the wrap that should be at least 30 inches long. Once the rawhide has thoroughly dried it will be hard and will have shrunk considerably thus creating a strong hold that should keep the tomahawk head in place. Of course, the main thing is to make sure your tomahawk handle is properly contoured to form a proper fit. I've seen tomahawk handles that were much too loose and that is frustrating because the heads keep sliding down. So give the rawhide wrap a try. You can keep a small roll of rawhide in your possibles bag and use it for other things as well like wrapping your crooked knife blade to a handle. And one more note: Keep a tube of bees wax lip balm in your bag. Besides using it to keep your lips from becoming chapped, you can also use it to coat the rawhide to keep it waterproof. You can use it to coat the ends of a bow stave to prevent checking. The list goes on and on.