On a steamy spring afternoon beside a local river the residents harkened a notice. And so, of course, I did.
Dangling like ornaments decorating hemlock trees the Mayflies did hang.
Their discarded exuviae offered a different presentation of segmented bodies and tails of length.
Here and there, newly emerged graced the same twigs of their former life style.
Many had already lived out their lives and succumbed as is their manner once mated, some upon the water’s surface. Others seemed to struggle and perhaps it was their turn to move from this life to the next, but I thought I should at least offer a finger for rescue, just in case there was a wee bit of life left to fulfill.
I let my friend free upon a shrub in hopes that I had done right by it, knowing all the while that I shouldn’t intervene, but . . . how can one living being not at least try to save another?
When it later landed upon my pants I was sure it smiled. Wait, adult Mayflies don’t have mouthparts so how could that be possible? But still . . .
Beside the water’s edge there were others who graced the scene including this giant Cranefly with wings so intricately designed.
An Assassin Bug waiting for dinner upon which to dine.
And a Frosted Whiteface Dragonfly with a penchant for mosquitoes so welcome and fine.
But the crème de la crème of this landscape was the sight of Eastern Tiger Swallowtail Butterflies numbering in the teens.
Their behavior so grouped was caused by their penchant to “puddle.”
Mainly the males of the species will stick their proboscises into mud puddles or, as was the case here, scat. Otter scat to be exact. It provided a source of nutrients and fluids needed, especially sodium necessary for reproduction and flight.
While the Mayflies couldn’t take advantage of the offerings, each of the rest stepped up and placed a different order . . . at the Bug Bar.