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The Galveston port is a fascinating place. All sorts of things are going on there every day, including maritime commerce, tugs pushing barges, oil rig repair, shrimp boats raising their nets in a maelstrom of birds (especially gulls, pelicans, cormorants, and terns), pleasure boating, cruise ship arrival and departure, tourist excursion boats, and, when lucky, dolphin sightings. The port is part of the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway, which starts at Apalachee Bay, Florida and runs 1,100 miles to Brownsville on the Texas-Mexico border. From Galveston south, the waterway mostly runs a natural course between the mainland and Texas barrier islands. At Galveston, it skirts both sides of Pelican Island, which is situated between the mainland and the eastern end of Galveston Island. The Port of Galveston is located along the strip of the Intracoastal between the two islands. Pelican Island provides the background of both this photograph of the port and in the photo of the storm over the bay below.

Yesterday, the White-winged Doves that flock, sometimes in layers, to our platform feeder, disappeared. When I went out this morning to refill the feeder, yesterday’s seed was still there. The peanuts were gone, signifying that the Blue Jays and squirrels are still around, but other than that the feeder was full. Now I’m not a great fan of White-winged Doves. Since their arrival a few years ago the Mourning and Inca doves have largely disappeared from the feeder, unable to cope with the aggressive wing-swatting behavior of their larger cousin. They have even driven off the English sparrows. But the sudden silence of the backyard feeding area this morning was almost spooky. The little Rio Grande chirping frog’s song dominated the early morning, broken by the quick call of a visiting hummingbird and the buzzing of bees around the coral vine. Periodically, the cicadas let lose with their vibrating chorus, but it doesn’t last long and the silence once more descends.

When we first moved to Galveston, I was intrigued with the light blue ceilings that I frequently found over the front porches of older homes. When I inquired, the most frequent answer was that light baby blue ceilings deterred mosquitoes from hanging around. I decided to dig into the Internet and search this tradition a little further.

I found out that light blue porch ceilings are primarily a Southern detail, one not frequently found in other parts of the United States. And it’s not only mosquitoes that people believe are deterred by the color. Other common theories are that light blue discourages bees from building their nests in the corner or that it repels flies or wasps. In some parts of the south, folklore has it that the color has been referred to as “haint blue” or “spirit blue” because it keeps spirits (haunts, or haints) away from the front door.  

There are aesthetic explanations as well. The color, for example, is very restful and gives an illusion of height, coolness, and open air. The blue also provides a transitional bridge between the often dark interior of Victorian-age houses and the bright daylight of the outdoor environment. One referenced study (I was unable to find the original for verification) found that students did 10% better on tests when they were in a room painted light blue. But people don’t usually sit around on their porch cogitating or feel the need to change the color of their ceiling because it makes them think better.

Another unreferenced source says that blue is an appetite suppressor. That may explain why mosquitoes don’t feel like have dinner under a blue ceiling, but little else. In fact, none of my Internet excursions scientifically explained anything. The blue ceilings are lovely, however, so I will leave it at that, for now.

A couple of days ago, I observed a Black Swallowtail on our back porch whose wings were hanging limp and wrinkled, not folded or spread like I usually observe. A closer look revealed that the wings were new and very velvety. The colored spots and bands were magnificently bright, both on the wings and on the body. It took a few seconds, but I realized that this butterfly must be fresh from its chrysalis, its body plump with fluid that was being pumped into its wings, strengthening them for its first flight. I was concerned that it was so vulnerable, hanging on the white window frame in full view of the various birds and other predators that congregate in our yard during morning feeder-filling times. I left it unguarded as I hurried inside to get my camera and by the time I got back outside, its wings had started to spread, the crumpled folds smoothing out, the antenna straightening. The morning was extremely bright and I knew that it would be difficult to capture the blackness of its wings against the glaring white of the winder frame, so I hurried back in to get a better camera with a close-up lens, only to return and find the butterfly gone. I am sure, however, that the beautiful swallowtail now fluttering around our hummingbird bush must be the same one, all grown up now and on its own.

I’ve been away from these postings for too long, either because of the demands of home and work or because I’ve deserted Galveston for the green, green hills of Wisconsin as a respite from the summer heat. However, I’ve discovered that when I’m away, I miss the quirky nature of my island home and its residents. A short drive always turns up something worth recording if I only could remember to take my camera with me. I shamefully admit that I can be counted among those jaded individuals who admire our country’s official high camp bird: the pink flamingo. Obviously, some resident of the island’s west end also admires this Florida-inspired bird, enough so that it has acquired a place of prominence in the front yard.