Kurt Plinke, Artist and Naturalist

It's funny how cyclical life has become.  Each year, I look for the same indicators of the passing of seasons and the return of old friends.
 It seems I look for Spring Beauties, Fish running up the river, Jack-in-the-pulpits, Adding compost to the gardens, and the annual shower of pine pollen to signal the passing of ice and snow, and the coming of longer evenings and the beginning of dreaded Eastern Shore humidity.
During this time, I begin feverishly painting wildflowers, scouring the woods for every bloom, so that I can paint them before they fade.  This week, it is Columbines.  Next week, the beginning of orchids.  Soon, the canopy will close in across the woods, and the flower show will shift to fields, where light continues to reach the soil.
On a less happy note, I saw a bird get hit by a car yesterday.  A male Yellow-breasted Chat flew out of a bush and into the car in front of me Wednesday morning on my way to school.  I held it for a moment on the side of the road, as it died.  Then I did as i always do, photographed it, sketched it, and planned a painting in it's honor.  I have ten small thumbnail sketches of chats now, quick idea drawings for a soon-to-be memorial of this very cool little bird.  Sad though, this is one of my favorite warblers, and not a really common bird.  When I finish a painting, I'll post if here.

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