Yellow rocket

Winter cress, yellow rocket, early mustard --- call it what you will.

Sorry to report that I can't recommend the new breakfast sandwich at Subway, an experiment that seemed like a good idea at the time since a trip to HyVee was necessary before 7 anyway. It wasn't that bad, I suppose, but most fast-food joints that offer breakfast sandwiches shield you from the gory details --- slabs of cold pre-cooked eggs, slices of cold dead gray cooked sausage. At Subway, you've got to watch them assemble the things, add cheese and shove it into the microwave.

I took the sandwich down to the marsh to eat while parked on a bench, and maybe that made it taste a little better. Last week's rain flooded the marsh as thoroughly as I've seen, even submerging the concrete trail that follows the shorline. The ducks seem to have departed because of that (were nests flooded?) and the pelicans left before the rains began. So the Canadas, cormorants, red-winged blackbirds and swallows plus several varieties of sparrow and I had the place to ourselves.

Other than dandelions, the only color among all that green and blue --- the sky reflected mirror-like on the water's calm-morning surface --- was the bright yellow of yellow rocket, or winter cress, or early mustard, whichever you care to call it. Also called pepper grass sometimes, winter cress is edible, but I've never tried it. Guess I'll stick to morels, also in season right now, and wild raspberries a little later.