I woke up about 10 a.m. on Saturday morning, later than usual for my slothlike self; coffee cup in hand, I moseyed on out to the back 40 (feet) to see what was up, and was greeted by an enormous field of wild Oxalis drummondii that'd seemingly popped up overnight.
At 9 a.m., the southeast corner of my yard was a sea of three-leafed clover-like green.
The tiny plants laid in wait, thick as thieves, forming a literal carpet. I'd never seen anything quite like it. (I can't identify the long-stemmed weed with the red flowers that's popping through in spots.
Two hours later, when the sun came out from behind the clouds, the purply-pink five-petaled flowers burst open, faces toward the sun, to wish me a hearty Top O' The Mornin'. I swear, I saw one of their little green eyes a'winkin. (Look closely and you'll see a few blue-eyed Widow's Tears in the mix.)
Keep in mind that my "lawn" in the backyard was a field of death two months earlier -- brown, dry, crispy -- and now, it's a forest wildflower field?? Somehow, I don't think a couple of three-foot tall lime trees qualify as a forest!
The Native Plant Database at the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center says that "This little plant likes the higher elevations, growing at altitudes of 4,000–6,000 feet, preferably under oak trees." Well, somebody best tell the flowers, because this is the driest, lowest, most exposed corner of our 500-foot-above-sea-level urban lot, and our two oak trees are located one to two dozen feet north. The NPIN entry also states Drummond's woodsorrel is found in "open grassy areas and brush-lands of either calcareous or sandy soils." OK, that sounds more like my backyard.
Naturalist Thomas Drummond identified this wildflower in these parts in the 1830s, along with 749 other species of native plants and 150 birds.
Admittedly, I do quite like the look of Drummond's woodsorrel around these aloes and bulbine. (Of course, it would look even better if the bulbine were [cough] blooming, erherm.)
The bees adore it.
These honeybees seemed to be humming an especially melodic tune, going quiet only as they drank thirstily from the flowers, starting up again the moment they lifted off to fly on to another flower.
If I hadn't had so much to do, I would have happily sat and listened to them for an hour.
Even the spiders like it.
Some gardeners might view such a scene with utter dismay as they run for the Weed 'N Feed. Me, I try to enjoy such unexpected pleasures while they last -- until the next mowing.