Our two dwarf gardenia plants are starting to bloom. Gardenia was my mother’s favorite scent. I suppose it’s probably pretty old-fashioned these days, but the real thing is nice.


The amazing thing is how many buds there are. There are hundreds of unopened blooms.


It looks like there are more buds than leaves.

They won’t all open at the same time, but if they did … that would be a sight.

Roaring falls

We had a little over three inches of rain from Tuesday morning through sometime before dawn on Wednesday, December 2. When I took the dogs for their walk Wednesday morning, runoff was still sheeting across the road at our neighbor’s driveway. As I went further, I could hear the wet-weather stream formed from the ditch on Lavender Trail. A little further and the sound was everywhere. It was so loud as I walked down the mountain that it drowned out the noise of approaching cars. It made me wonder what the Little River Falls over in Alabama looked like. So Wednesday afternoon Leah and I drover the 30 miles over have a look.

Here’s what we saw. Click for a bigger image.


Here’s what it looked like from the bridge just upstream.


The sound is necessary to appreciate the falls. Here’s a video I shot with our little Nikon point and shoot.

If you can’t view that one, try this one.

I have posted images of these falls before, once here and another time here. I thought I had seen the river high, but I was mistaken. This was really high. If I’m reading the USGS data correctly, this may be a new recorded instantaneous high flow.


When I walked the dogs down the Texas Valley side of Fouche Gap on Tuesday, something just above the road cut caught my eye. At first it looked like a larger-than-normal CD hanging in the brush. It was an almost perfectly round spider web. I tried to take a picture with my phone, but it was too far away. I went back on Wednesday with a camera. I didn’t find the same web, but I found others.

two webs


Here are two more.

two other websThey are backlit by the morning sun. The circumferential strands catch the light just like the concentric rings of a CD. Here’s a closer shot.

web closerOur camera has a long zoom lens, but I was too shaky to get a really well-focused shot at a longer zoom. This is about the best I could do. I think that’s the spider in the center.

They were really cool to see, but I would hate to wrap one around my face if I were walking through the woods.




Snakes on a road

Leah and I saw this snake last week when we took the dogs for a short evening walk.


This is a blurred shot. It was past sunset so the light was bad, and all I had to take the shot was my phone. On top of that, this little snake was really moving. I didn’t recognize it. In fact, I’m not sure I have ever seen one before. I searched online for a black snake with a white ring around its neck and quickly found that it was – surprise! – a ringneck snake.

This link leads to an article about the ringneck snake at the Savannah River Ecology Lab website

According to the SREL site, ringneck snakes are 10 to 15 inches long. The one we saw was less than six inches, so it was almost certainly an immature example, or possibly a hatchling (see the image of a hatchling ringneck in a person’s hand at the SREL site). SREL says that the ringneck snake has one of the largest ranges of any North American snake. Its range spreads from Florida to Canada, across the US Southwest and up along the Pacific coast.

Wikipedia says, “Ring-necked snakes are believed to be fairly abundant throughout most of their range, though no scientific evaluation supports this hypothesis.” However, SREL cites a capture-mark-and-release study by Henry Fitch in 1975 that found densities greater than 700 to 1800 per hectare (2.47 acres) in Kansas. That’s a lot of snakes.

This small, shy snake seldom shows itself during the day, which probably explains why I had never seen one. But then a couple of days later I saw another one when I took the dogs on their morning walk. This one looked like it had been run over at the edge of the road, but when I nudged it with my foot, it raced off into the weeds.

I should have taken a picture before I nudged it, but I didn’t want to take a picture of a dead snake. Dead snakes are not uncommon on the roads around here. Just last week, in addition to the live ringneck snakes, I saw one large black snake and a large copperhead that had been run over. Both had apparently been sunning themselves in the road after a cool night. That was probably what the little ringneck was doing as well. Since they’re small, the ringnecks aren’t as good a target for our local drivers as larger other snakes.

Top o’ the mornin’

I took this picture Monday morning when I walked the dogs up to the top of the mountain. It was about 9:30, long after sunrise. Just right of center, where the steam plumes are, you can see the remains of the temperature inversion from the calm, clear atmosphere we had over Sunday night.


The foggy, linear stream on the left side of the plumes is the top of the inversion. If we had walked right after sunrise, the top of the inversion would probably have been more obvious, but it was already dissipating by this time. It would, however, have been at approximately the same level in the atmosphere.

An inversion serves as a cap on the atmosphere close to the surface. It traps moisture or pollutants that are beneath the top of the inversion. The temperature normally decreases as you go up higher in the troposphere. Air that is warmer than the air at the surface (like smoke from a brush fire) will tend to rise through the troposphere because it is lighter than its surroundings. In an inversion, the air actually gets warmer is you go up, so things like smoke will rise for a while, but will tend to stop at a low altitude. A very hot plume can push through the inversion and then continue to rise. The steam plumes are doing that.*

The steam plumes are coming from a paper mill. The two tall stacks to the right of the steam plumes are an old and a new stack at Plant Hammond, one of the two Georgia Power coal-fired power generating plants we can see from Lavender Mountain.

Plant Hammond’s active stack is 675 feet (205.8 m) tall. Although nowhere near the tallest stack in the world, it is tall enough to be on the Wikipedia list of the tallest stacks in the world.

It’s tall for a reason – the Clean Air Act, which goes back more than 50 years. That act has provisions that limit the concentration of pollutants at ground level. One might think that the logical way to do that would be to limit the emission of pollutants, but it happens that if you introduce the pollutants high enough in the air, they will have been diluted enough that by the time they can reach the ground, they will meet the standards. So the Georgia Power stacks are high enough to push emissions above the top of any reasonably probable inversion height. If the stacks were below the top of the inversion, their emissions might reach the ground because they might be trapped by a particularly strong inversion, or they might just reach the ground because of other atmospheric conditions. When the emissions are injected into the atmosphere high enough, they will be diluted enough to meet the letter of the law.

Rome happens to be in a nonattainment area for atmospheric particulate matter. That status somewhat limits the industrial development of this area. Our local newspaper, the Rome News-Tribune, does not like that. They have published editorials mocking the nonattainment status (like saying that our air seems clear enough to them).

To cast doubt on the legitimacy of the measurements that caused the nonattainment status, the editorial writer has pointed out that the air quality monitoring station is located near the base of the Plant Hammond stack. The implication seems to be that only an idiot would measure air quality that close to a pollution source, and thus the measurement must not be representative of Rome’s true air quality. I have written letters to them in the past pointing out that if you want to avoid measuring the emissions from a tall stack, the best place to put your instrumentation is at the very bottom of the stack. That is perhaps not intuitively obvious, but it is nevertheless true. However, the truth seems not to be a persuasive argument when it comes to commercial development and newspaper editorialists. (I might have mentioned this in an earlier post.)

You might be wondering why the top of the inversion is so much lower than the top of the mountain, where I have mentioned on several occasions that we are warmer than the surrounding lowlands because of a temperature inversion. The reason is that although the top of Lavender Mountain is above the actual inversion, the conditions that cause the inversion also work on the atmosphere up here. As the air on the mountaintop cools, it flows downhill into the lower areas, reinforcing the inversion down there. That air is replaced up here by the surrounding air, which is warmer than the air that flows down the mountain. I have mentioned before that we can be as much as 10 degrees F warmer than the air at the bottom of the mountain.

Oh, and Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

* The tropopause acts like the top of a temperature inversion. The air temperature gets lower as you go up in altitude until it reaches the tropopause. In the stratosphere, which is the layer above the troposphere, the air gets warmer as you go up. That’s why thunderstorms form anvil tops when they get to the tropopause. The clouds hit the warmer air and their buoyancy can’t get them any higher. At that point they tend to spread out sideways, forming the anvil top. Occasionally a very strong thunderstorm can push its clouds through the tropopause, but not very much higher.