Illegitimate Cabbage and Butterflies
This is my next-to-last evening living in Austin. Nearly everything is packed, most going into storage in East Texas until we buy a house. A few tasks remain tomorrow, such as a trip to Goodwill, and loading up the trailer and the SUV with what will stay with me — clothes, toiletries, the computer, a few books. So I am indulging myself with a few hours on the backyard deck, reading magazines and breathing in the scent of the wax-leaf ligustrums that dominate the foliage off the deck.
The smell of this hardy shrub — those in my neighbor’s yard reach the crest of the roof, providing a natural barrier — reminds me of old-lady perfume, such as our grandmothers once wore. The scent is sweet, at times overpowering. You can’t escape it, so folks who don’t like it end up chopping down the ligustrum. That is a shame. The wax-leaf ligustrum is a magnet for butterflies and bees. Watching these lovely creatures feed on the white blossoms sure beats watching cable television.
I count roughly 30 butterflies feeding on the shrub’s tiny white blooms on the bush off the deck. There are two types feeding on the nectar. One has an orange band followed by a smaller white band on the wings. Another looks more like a simple moth with no colorful markings. Small bees flit about as well. There clearly is plenty of sustenance for all these creatures. No fighting for food here.
A few weeks back I was marveling at the massive carpet of lovely yellow flowers throughout Central Texas, including in the green belt (a fancy name for a drainage ditch) behind my backyard. I even stopped and took a cellphone photo for my wife, since the flower doesn’t seem to bloom in East Texas. Last week, the Austin paper ran an Associated Press story about this plant that I had rhapsodized over.
Bastard cabbage. That is what it is called. My goodness. What a rude name. It turns out that the drought killed off so much grass that this invasive weed, officially known as Rapistrum rugosum, is spreading nearly as rapidly as the wildfires that swept the state last year. It is choking out bluebonnets in some areas since it grows up to 5 feet tall, much taller than most wildflowers. The highway department might even use herbicide in the fall to keep bastard cabbage from propagating, though that risks killing off the preferred wildflowers, such as bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes. A state official says that wildflowers can always be replanted. Hmmm. Seems counter-intuitive, but maybe that is just me.
Meanwhile, the city came out and mowed down the crop of bastard cabbage behind my yard when I wasn’t looking.
I will miss the centuries-old live oaks in this yard, their massive branches twisting across the yard. But I must say I won’t miss cleaning up after those fellows. They are contrarian creatures that lose a crop of leaves in the spring and sprout a fresh set, dropping tons of oak pollen in the process. After the final yard cleanup earlier today, my nostrils required a stout dosage of salt water with the NetiPot before I could breathe properly.
The red-winged hawk has finished building its nest in the neighbor’s live oak tree. I hoped for one last glimpse of the bird before leaving, but guess that isn’t going to happen. I’ll have to settle for watching the butterflies feasting on the white blossoms of the wax-leaf ligustrum, enjoying the steady breeze whispering through the trees, the smell of spring. In just a few days I will again live in East Texas, maybe for good this time around. However, I have learned with the vagaries of the job market and life’s attendant uncertainties to never say never.
But I’m getting rid of the boxes once we buy a house and unpack. I have hauled them around for two years now. That’s long enough.
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