Happy 9th Birthday, wondermyway!

Thank you to all who read and comment and share wondermyway.com. Some of you have followed my blog posts since the beginning, February 21, 2015. A few have joined the journey as recently as yesterday. I’m grateful for the presence of all of you in my life.

To mark this occasion, I thought I’d reflect upon those moments when my wonder gave me a glimpse of the “Thin Places” that I’ve experienced either by myself or in the company of others.

To quote my friend, Ev Lennon, “A Thin Place is a spot of beauty, loveliness, space–an example of the wideness and grandeur of Creation.”

I think of them as places that you don’t plan a trip to visit, but rather . . . stumble upon.

I had
the track of
a bobcat to thank,
for it showed me the way
to a special friend.
It was without expectation 
that we met
and spent at least
an hour together.
And then I realized
though its sight is not great,
it was aware of my presence
and I hightailed it home,
but I will always
celebrate time spent
with the Prickly Porcupine.
Something quite small
scurrying across the snow
captured my attention
and suddenly
there was a second
and a third
and then hundreds
of Winter Stoneflies.
All headed west from the brook
toward mature tree trunks
to beat their drum-like structures
against the bark
and announce their intentions to canoodle.
Though I could not hear
their percussion instruments,
I am grateful
to learn
with those who
march to the beat of a different drummer.
Standing beside quiet water,
I was honored
on more than one occasion
to have my boot and pant legs
considered the right substrate
upon which to transform
from aquatic predator
to teneral land prey
before becoming
a terrestrial flying predator.
It takes hours
for the dragonfly to emerge
and I can't think of a better way
to spend a spring day
than to stand witness
as the mystery unfolds
and I begin to
develop my dragonfly eyes
once again.
It took me a second 
to realize that I was
staring into the eyes
of a moose,
and another second
to silently alert My Guy
while grabbing my camera.
She tip-toed off
as we relished our time
spent in her presence
and at the end of the day
had this Final Count
on a Moosed-up Mondate:
Painted Trillium 59
Red Trillium 3
Cow Moose 1
One was certainly enough!
Some of the best hours
I spend outdoors
include scanning
Great Blue Heron rookeries
to count adults and chicks
and get lost in the
sights and sounds
of rich and diverse wetlands.
Fluffy little balls
pop up occasionally
in the nests and the
let their presence be known
as they squawk
feverishly for food.
And in the mix of it all
Nature Distraction
causes a diversion of attention
when one swimming by
is first mistaken for a Beaver
but reveals its tail
and morphs into a Muskrat.
I give thanks to the Herons for these moments.
What began as a "Wruck, Wruck" love affair
continued
for longer than usual
and due to
a rainy spring and summer
I was treated to a surprise
in the form of developing frog legs.
In the midst of my visits
one day I heard
the insistent peeps
of Yellow-bellied Sapsucker chicks
demanding a meal on wings,
which their parents
repeatedly provided.
Walking home 
from the pool
another day,
I was honored
to spend about ten minutes
with a fawn,
each of us curious
about the other
until it occurred to me
that its mother
was probably nearby
waiting for me to move on,
so reluctantly I did,
but first gave thanks
that something is always happening
right outside my backdoor.
While admiring shrubs
that love wet feet,
I counted over
one hundred branches
coated with white fluffy,
yet waxy ribbons.
Theirs is a communal yet complex life
as the Woolly Alder Aphids
suck sap from Speckled Alders.
Communal in that
so many clump together
in a great mass.
Complex because
one generation reproduces asexually
and the next sexually,
thus adding diversity
to the gene pool.
Along with the discovery
of coyote scat,
and Beech Aphid Poop Eater,
a fungus that consumes
the frass of the Aphids,
it was an omnivore, herbivore, insectivore kind of day.
Awakening early, 
a certain glow
in the sky
pulled me from bed
and I raced downstairs
to open the door
and receive the quiet
that snowflakes create.
The snow eventually
turned to rain,
which equally mesmerized me
as I watched
droplets elongate
and quickly free fall,
landing on bark below
in such a manner
that caused them
to mix with sap salts and acids.
The result was
White Pines foaming
in the form of
Pine Soap
with its hexagonal shapes:
worth a natural engineering wonder
and I gave thanks for being present.
Occasionally, 
it's the action
outside the backdoor window
that keeps me standing sill
for hours on end,
as a variety of birds fly
in and out
of the feeding station,
such as these Purple Finches,
the males exhibiting
bad hair days.
Bird seed is not 
just for birds
as the squirrels prove daily.
And White-tailed Deer
often make that
statement at night.
But this day was different
and they came
in the morning
using their tongues
to vacuum the seeds all up.
At the end of the day,
my favorite visitors
were the Bluebirds
for it was such a treat
to see them.
But it was the mammals
who made me realize
not every bird has feathers.
These are samples 
of the Thin Places
I've stumbled upon
this past year.

They are a
cause for celebration,
participation,
and possibility.
My mind slows down
and time seems infinite
as I become enveloped
in the mystery.

I give thanks
that each moment
is a gift
and I have witnessed
miracles unfolding
that did not
seek my attention,
but certainly captured it.

And I thank you again
for being
one of the many
to wander and wonder my way.

Winter Inventory

We live on the edge. The edge of a small town in western Maine. The edge of a neighbor’s field. The edge of a vast forest.

Our property only encompasses six acres, but it’s six acres that I love to explore and it’s been my outdoor classroom for a long time.

And so today, I invite you along to take a look; if you are a regular, you may have already met the friends I’m about to introduce, but their actions keep me on my toes, much like the deer who crisscross our yard on a regular basis.

Though the acorn crop was abundant in our area, the deer make several trips day and night to consume sunflower seeds and corn and they’ve worn a path (deer run) making it easier to travel. They don’t always follow it, as you can see, but do so enough that it’s much like my snowshoe trails.

The yard is full of tracks, for besides the deer, there are gray and red squirrels who also frequent the feeders, an occasional red fox that I’ve yet to see this winter, and our neighbors’ dogs and cats. Everyone has a place at this table.

Of course, the deer run does lead to another species they love to munch on, the needles of a Balsam Fir. They frequently pause here before climbing over the stone wall into our wood lot.

And so I paused too. And discovered yet another cache and midden created by one of our local Red Squirrels. I’m in awe because until yesterday, I wasn’t aware of this one and I can see it from the desk where I’m writing right now. And to top it off, yesterday was the first day since I filled the feeders at the beginning of December that I saw a Red Squirrel chasing the Gray Squirrels away.

I, too, climbed over the wall and look who I met. Always on alert and often either skittering along the ground or a stone wall, or chastising me from its branch of choice, Red doesn’t realize that I’m a fan.

Next, I ventured over to the old cow path, bordered as it is by two walls, and checked on the cache and midden situation that’s become so familiar to me.

The cache or storage pantry of pine cones is located under the mound of snow the black arrow points toward. At last measurement as recordered in The Forever Student, Naturally, the pile was a foot high. As you can see if you look closely at the tops of the stones behind the snow-covered pile, you’ll spy several middens. So my question is this and I’ll have to wait until the snow melts to answer it: Are all of the cones the squirrel is consuming (well, seeds actually, for the midden is the pile of discarded scales that protect the seeds, plus the cob or core left at the end) coming from under the rocks, where I’m sure there was more storage space, or the bottom of the pile, because Red Squirrels do tunnel? I can’t wait to realize the answer in another month or so.

The pine tree beside the cache also provides a grand dining spot.

About an inch of snow fell overnight, so when I went into the woods this morning, I found fresh Red Squirrel prints, with the straddle or track width being the typical three inches. It was a bit nippy with the wind chill, so I didn’t get the card placed exactly as it should have been, but you get the idea. Its big feet in front are actually this hopper/leaper’s hind feet.

Okay, so I did risk the freeze for a minute because I spotted the set of four prints behind the first set I’d photographed and realized not only how close together the four were, but also the length of the leap from one spot to the next: My mitten and wrist holder are 19.5 inches in length and they didn’t cover the length of this motion–perhaps an attempt to quickly reach safety in the other wall or up a tree.

That action was on the eastern end of the path, but there’s more to see as I head west.

A few days ago, and probably because the night temperatures were more moderate, a family of rascals crossed from the other side of the wall and onto the path. By the baby fingers of the front foot, I know they were Raccoons.

As waddlers, Raccoons have their own pattern that is easy to recognize once you get it into your head. They don’t travel this way all the time, but most often I find their prints, with a front foot (baby hand) of one side and hind foot (a bit longer print) of the other side juxtaposed on opposite diagonals. If you look at the black lines I placed before each set of two prints I hope you’ll see what I mean. And notice the keys. It’s all I had in my pocket that day and I wanted something for perspective. I really didn’t expect to find the raccoon tracks.

I went back home and grabbed a tracking card to set on the ground. If you’ll look closely, you’ll note that it’s more than one animal, but all the same family. I followed them across the wood lot, over another stone wall, and into the field where they split up into four individuals before heading off in to the neighbor’s woods on the far side.

Back to the cow path I did return and this time it was a scene just off the path that drew my attention. Our Pileated Woodpecker has been active as evidenced by all the wood chips on the ground. That means one thing to me. Time to look for scat.

And I wasn’t disappointed. Check out that cornucopia stuffed chock full with insect body parts that the bird couldn’t digest.

Finding this is always like opening a Christmas present. The thrill never ends. But, curious spot here. Seeds. Staghorn Sumac seeds.

And on the pine tree and at its base, I found more of the Staghorn Sumac in bird droppings, a completely different form from the Carpenter Ant droppings.

Both followed me home! The Carpenter Ant scat is very fragile.

The sumac, being fleshier, held together better. Under the microscope I noted that there were some ant body parts mixed in with the sumac.

Here’s a closer look at one of the legs of a Carpenter Ant–notice the long “thorny” thing, which is the tibial spur located at the base of the tibia.

And an exoskeleton plus another leg. With lots of wood fiber in the mix. Lots of nutrients and fibers mean scat findings for me.

A power line bisects our property and I have a love/hate relationship with it. I do love that it looks like we could walk north to Mount Washington. But my destination was to the trees on the western (left-hand side), where we own at least one more acre enclosed by stone walls.

About half of that acreage is a combo of hemlocks and firs fighting for sun. In the end, the hemlocks will rule the world, but the firs are trying to compete.

It is here that I discovered Snowshoe Hare tracks and my heart smiled again. There’s not much on this portion of our land for the hares to dine upon, such is the landscape when the trees block undergrowth. But on either side of the walls, there’s plenty available to them in areas that have seen timber cuts within the last twenty years.

Here’s the thing about hare prints–as hoppers, the smaller front feet land first and often, but not always, on a diagonal. The much larger hind feet swing past where the front feet had been as the mammal moves forward, and thus appear to land in front when you look at the overall pattern. And my favorite part of this set of four footprints: the overall shape, which to me looks like a snow lobster with the front feet forming the tail and hind feet the claws. Do you see it?

This neighborhood on the other side of the power line also supports a Red Squirrel who in true squirrel tradition travels this way and that.

And like its relative on the other side, it took time to cache a bunch of cones and now feasts upon its supply.

And leaves its garbage for nature to recycle. Notice how the middens are often located on high spots such as the rocks along the wall–the better to be in a spot where you can see who or what might be approaching. Even those on the ground below trees mean that the squirrel probably did most of its dining from a branch above, and then let the trash fall.

What could a squirrel possibly fear in these woods? Besides coyotes and foxes and bobcats, oh my, think Fisher such as the one that left these tracks in the squirrel’s territory. As far as I could tell, the Fisher (and it’s not a cat, it’s a member of the weasel family) was only passing through, probably on its way to hunt down the hare. Though a squirrel would make a fine meal, as well.

Heading back across the power line, cases stood out on the White Pine saplings at the start of the cow path. The cases consisted of clusters of needles bound together. This is the work of the larval form of a Pine Tube Moth, Argyrotaenia pinatubana. What typically happens is that the caterpillar uses between ten and twenty needles to form a tube or hollow tunnel.

The caterpillars move up and down their silk-lined tunnels to feed on needles at the tip until they are ready to overwinter.

The moth will emerge in April, when I’ll need to pay attention again. Two generations occur each year and those that overwinter are the second generation.

Walking home via a different path in our woods, I spot deer beds. At least a half dozen spread out under the pines and hemlocks, the spot where the evergreens keep heavy amounts of snow from reaching the forest floor, thus making it easier for the animals to move.

Finally back home, there’s one more member of our family to mention–a porcupine. This may be my friend Bandit, but I haven’t actually seen him in a while so I can’t be certain.

The porcupine did check out a tiny hole under the barn, but we don’t think it actually stayed there. Will it return. Probably, as the barn has long hosted this species; along with other small critters.

That’s a lot for now and at last I’m done counting the stock for our winter inventory. There’s more out there, but this is certainly enough to make me realize that they don’t live in our woods, but rather, we humbly reside in theirs.

Pileated Woodpecker Works

Pileated Woodpeckers often take the rap unfairly for killing trees. In fact, even though they drill holes into the bark and excavate wood in order to reach the galleries of Carpenter Ants, the trees are both dead and alive. Huh?

Take for instance this Eastern White Pine along the cowpath in our woods. While the Pileated Woodpeckers have riddled it with holes, its still standing and still producing needles and cones, because there’s enough bark left to protect the cambium and sapwood.

There was a time years ago when hearing or spotting a Pileated was a rare occurence, but now it seems that every day I either find evidence of habitat, hear their drumming and Woody Woodpecker calls, or actually spot one such as this that I spent some time with by the cowpath today.

And it’s not just holes that they drill. Quite often, I’ll see a tree that appears to have been chisled and shredded. This to is also Pileated Woodpecker sign.

Some trees receive only one visit, but others must be a huge source of food for multiple squarish to rectangular holes are drilled.

I love to peer into the holes because sometimes I’m rewarded with sightings such as this . . . a long-horned beetle that got stuck in the sap and is now frozen in situ.

Though we can’t see it, Pileated Woodpeckers have sticky tongues, which they probe into the tunnels the delicious (to a woodpecker, that is) ants have created. Their bodies don’t process all of the ant, and so their scat is another sign I love to find. It’s like a treasure hunt at the base of a tree and let’s me know if the bird was successful in dining or not.

Their scat is made up of the Carpenter Ant exoskeletons, and some wood fiber, and white uric acid.

If you haven’t looked for this, I highly encourage you to do so. Any scat is fun to encounter because it helps us determine who passed this way, but there’s something extra special about seeing those body parts and knowing better the critter’s diet.

Pileated Woodpeckers excavate from any spot on a tree, including at the base, so if you see large woodpecker holes there, you’ll know the creator. The cool thing is that they use their long tail feathers as the third leg on a tripod in order to stay steady while smacking their beaks into a tree.

Don’t worry, their brains don’t get rattled. While it was long believed that they had a shock absorber to protect their heads, new research states this: “Their heads and beaks essentially act like a stiff hammer, striking and stopping in unison.” You can read more here: New Study Shakes Up Long-held Belief on Woodpecker Hammering.

So I stated earlier that not all trees are dead, until they are like this one, even though the Carpenter Ants have set up their own woodworking shop. The heartwood, at the center of the tree is deadwood and its pipelines that served as the xylem and phloem, servicing the tree with water, minerals, (xy rhymes with high pulling these up from the roots), and sugars (phlo rhymes with low, pulling sugars down from the leaves), become clogged with resins and that’s where the ants take up residence. A storm knocked this particular tree over on Burnt Meadow Mountain where My Guy and I hiked about a month ago. It was so overcome with the ants that the core could no longer support the tree.

If you look closely, you can see the galleries or tunnels the ants had created. That’s a lot of ants and a lot of work.

My woodpecker seems to be hanging out in a small part of its territory these days. A Pileated Woodpecker’s territory can reach up to 200 acres, and there’s certainly more than that available to him here (the red mustache indicates this is a male), but he appears to have found his pantry closer to our home.

I don’t mind because it means I get to witness him on a more intimate basis.

Pileated Woodpecker works. Indeed.

The Dear One

When My Guy looked out an upstairs window this morning, he noticed an anomaly in the field. I looked with binoculars and confirmed his suspicions. A carcass.

Last night, at about 5:15, we heard a single gunshot. Closer than any I’ve heard in the past. The gunshot itself is not unexpected in these woods as it is deer hunting season in Maine. And based on the date, hunters had until 5:50pm on November 4th to take down an animal.

Was it mere conincidence that we heard that single shot and today discovered a carcass on the other side of the wall? My first inclination was anger at the hunter. I assumed before I actually approached the site, that he/she had taken the deer down in our woods, then dragged it to the field to dress. And all that happened while I was inside reading in a room closest to the field. But . . . we never saw any lights or vehicles and so I had to wonder how the person carried the meat out.

Mind you, I don’t have anything wrong with hunting. In fact, I have huge admiration for hunters because they know the natural world better than most and they don’t have to go to the grocery store to purchase processed meat. Theirs is the finest and freshest.

It wasn’t until a couple of hours later that I realized it was a kill site. And so the questions changed: Had the hunter injured the animal and another animal took advantage? Or was the animal ill or elderly and a predator did what they do and preyed upon it, such is life in the forest.

If you are still reading, please be aware that some photos are kinda gruesome. But it’s nature in its rawest form.

This is the site that greeted us, and made us realize a full meal had been devoured last night. It’s amazing to think that this occurred so close to home and yet we heard no howling. Or . . . we were so tired from yard work that we slept right through it?

I promised you gruesome and didn’t want to let you down. Here’s the thing. By the head, you can see it was a doe. Had she been entered from the hind. So it seems. Who would do that. Well, coyotes and bobcats both do. And bobcats also go for the back of the neck, but that wasn’t the case.

I started to look around for more evidence. And found that there had been a struggle and the doe had been dragged around the field as you can see by the bloodstained grass.

Tufts of hair highlighted the tussle and I can just imagine how awful it must have been for the doe.

As is the case at any natural buffet, the entrails had been left behind.

Also on display was the rumen and other chambers of the stomach. This article from Wildlife Online helps explain how a deer’s stomach works: “Deer are ruminants, which means that they “chew the cud”. Indeed, the word ruminant stems from the Latin ruminatus, meaning “to turn over in the mind” or “chew the cud”. Cud is thought to have roots in the Old English cwidi, meaning “what has been chewed”. More specifically, deer are “foregut fermenters”, so-named because the fermentation chamber is ahead of the “true” stomach. Overall, the stomach is compartmentalised into four chambers, each of which has a different role in the digestive process and, in order from the oesophagus to rectum, these are the rumen (sometimes called the “paunch”), reticulumomasum (“manifold”), and the abomasum (“true” or “glandular” stomach), which empties into the small intestine, which joins the large intestine and finally the rectum. Despite how this list might make it appear, the rumen and reticulum are essentially sections of the same the same functional space (chamber), because material moves back and forth between the two as it’s regurgitated for chewing and re-swallowed. Hence, some authors collectively refer to the two as the reticulorumen.”

Northern Red Oaks are masting in our area this year and so the acorn crop is abundant and after fermenting with microorganisms in the stomach, they begin to turn to a pasty cud. Don’t you want to regurgitate that?

When I looked at the ribs, I noted that they’d been gnawed off in a ragged manner and not one was left on this side of the doe. If she gets turned over tonight, I will check her other side. Think of it as a meal of spare ribs. Or at least rare ribs. Very rare. As in raw.

Crows visited the site several times today, but I scared them away each time I went out the door. What I did find on the carcass was a Blow Fly that I believe to be a Common Green Bottle Fly. Tom Murray, author of Insects of New England and New York states that their “normal food source is carrion.”

All the evidence I found was within about 20 X 20 feet and as I said, just over the wall from our house. I still can’t believe we didn’t hear any of the action.

Still thinking the hunter had taken that shot in close proximity to our property, I scanned the field looking for a gun shell, especially along the herd path, but found nothing. My neighbor thought the shot was taken farther out in the woods. I don’t know. It certainly sounded close, but that noise does carry.

Standing at the far edge of the field, I continued to look for evidence.

And that’s when I spotted several bobcat prints in the mud. Yes, the toenails are showing, for those who track with me, but . . . it was slippery mud and so they were needed for traction.

Bobcat. Maybe that’s why we didn’t hear anything. If it was coyotes, we would have heard the family howling to announce the feast.

And remember the ribs–with ragged breaks. That’s typical of bobcats. Did one bobcat eat all that meat? They are known to be solitary. I didn’t find a cache anywhere, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. And I did spot a large amount of scat, but for some reason didn’t photograph it. I’m losing my touch.

For a brief relief from the hard core deer carcass photos, because I wandered the field and woods looking for evidence, I noticed that Red has been active this last week, creating small caches that I hope I’ll be able to watch grow.

The Crows may not have cooperated and let me watch them dine, but Red did. And I began to wonder if he knew that a predator was nearby last night. Did he shiver in his sleep?

As for the doe, her sleeping days are over. May she rest in peace.

While she was a dear one, last night this deer lost. But others gained.

As my peeps know, I felt like it was a gift–Kill Site. Practically in my back yard. Did I interpret it correctly? We may never know, but I had fun trying to pull the story together.

And now, our neighbor has a game camera focused on it and we can’t wait to find out the rest of the story.

Omnivore, Herbivore, Insectivore, Oh MY!

I walked out the door this morning and wandered down one trail and then another and intended to go farther into the woods, but as often happens, I was stopped in my tracks.

On granite at my feet, covered as it was with lichens of the crustose and foliose sort, I spied a rather large specimen of scat. High point. Center of trail. Classic.

Based on the size and hair and bones packed within, I knew the creator: a coyote. If I awake during the night I can sometimes hear the family members calling to each other, the youngsters learning to hunt so they’ll be ready when they disperse.

The trail narrowed by a small stream and I was wearing my muck boots so proceeded at will. It’s been a few months since I’ve traveled this way and was surprised at how grown in it had become this summer. While the Sugar Maples do not like wet feet from all the rain we’ve had, other species have thrived, including the Red Maples, and this shrub that bordered each side of the trail.

It’s leaves still entact showed off that they are doubly toothed in a rather random order. So each little “tooth” is like the edge of a saw, but if you look closely, you’ll note that there are bigger teeth made up of a series of smaller teeth before the leaf margin cuts in toward the main vein and then heads out again to form the next bigger tooth made up of smaller teeth. And those veins in between the main vein and those that lead to the margin–reminded me of the crinkles on an apple doll person, since it is apple season.

The leaf buds, which form in the summer for next year, are hairy and have only two scales. Because of recent warm weather, at least one decided to jump the gun and open now rather than waiting until next spring. I’ve seen that with other plants of late, including Blueberry, Daylily, Sheep Laurel, and Partridgeberry.

Others who best not jump ahead are the catkins of this species, the longer green and red being the male pollen carriers that will slowly elongate over the winter and turn more yellowish red in the spring. The female flowers are tiny magenta catkins located just above the males.

Once the females are wind pollinated, the males will drop off and the females will form into a fruit that resembles a cone.

The name of these shrubs, if I haven’t already spilled the beans, is Speckled Alder, so named for the white dots (think lenticels for gas exchange) that populate the bark. These shrubs love wet feet, which is why they are growing on either side of that small stream.

Some of the Speckled Alder cones hide beneath tongues imitating piles of snakes stretching out, made from galls caused by an infection to increase the surface for spores from a fungus to spout. It’s a smart strategy.

I also found a few Lady Beetles today, including one larval form. They were on these shrubs for one reason.

That reason being the Woolly Alder Aphids who live a complex life in which they alternate between a generation reproducing asexually (no guys, just gals), and one reproducing sexually with both males and females adding to the diversity of the gene pool. The males and females fly to Maple trees to canoodle, but those found on the Alders are all female.

They live such a communal life as they suck sap from the shrub, that one might think this entire mass is just one insect. Hardly. And do you see all that waxy wool that covers their bodies? If you watch these insects for even a few seconds, you’ll note that the hairs move independently. It’s almost otherworldly.

Since they’ll overwinter, I think of the wool as providing a great coat. In the summer, ants, and now Lady Beetles, and even a few other insects farm them to get the aphids to excrete honeydew from the sap.

The aphids don’t harm the the shrubs, but I saw so many today that that fact is hard to believe. I gave up on counting branches but over one hundred played host.

That said, there was another character in the mix. Do you see the top branch that leans out to the right?

The sweet honeydew I mentioned forms a substrate for a nonpathogenic fungus called sooty mold that blackens leaves and bark beneath colonies of aphids. The mold is known scientifically as Scorias spongiosa or, my favorite and drum roll please . . . Beech Aphid Poop-Eater: A fungus that consumes the scat (frass in insect terms) of a Beech Blight Aphid (not the same as Beech Scale Insect that causes Beech Bark Disease). Alders are in the Beech family.

As I left a few Autumn Meadowhawk Dragonflies flew ahead of me on the path. They’re days are numbered, so I’m always thrilled to see them flying and posing.

Omnivore, Herbivore, Insectivore, Oh MY! And all of this within a ten-foot stretch of the trail.

A Week of Wonders

Every. Little. Thing. Captures. My. Attention.

Whether wandering along the board walks at Holt Pond for six hours with a friend, or . . .

hiking up the new Patterson Hill Trail with My Guy, there’s always something to look at.

One of the most beautiful, and also most difficult to spot, is the Phantom Crane Fly, so named for its black and white markings. As it floats through the air, for I swear it looks like a little box adrift rather than an insect that is flying, its presence is so subtle that it is easy to miss because it blends in with both light and shadows. Shady edges of wetlands are its preferred habitat and that’s exactly where this specimen and a bunch more were spotted . . . at least in the moment. Finding them to photograph is not easy.

While the black and white coloration seems to help the crane fly disappear into its landscape, the White Admiral Butterfly, who utilizes those same colors, but with a different pattern, plus a few other hues in the mix, is hardly inconspicuous. And by the tattered wings, it seems this insect has escaped becoming a meal on more than one occasion. That, in itself, is reason to celebrate.

Of course, if you are a follower of this blog, you are hardly surprised to spy a dragonfly. It’s Meadowhawk Season, for those who thought the season is actually autumn. And take my word for it because you can’t see it, this is a Cherry-faced Meadowhawk, one of the most common species, along with White-faced Autumn, and Ruby Meadowhawks.

If you near water, be on the lookout for a bunch of pairs in tandem flight as he continues to grasp her behind her head while she dips her abdomen on the surface of water in the act of ovipositing eggs. Sometimes, many tandem pairs will oviposit simultaneously, for there is safety in numbers.

In addition to the Phantom Crane Flies, I’ve been looking for this species, a Pale Green Assassin Bug for months, and tada, a nymph makes an appearance. While its name sounds intimidating, this is actually an insect to admire for it eats flies, wasps, aphids and other small insects that you might consider pesky things.

This was another for whom I’ve been searching, stalking actually, as I pace around gardens. And then, the other day a colleague invited me to join her behind our land trust office, and there Charlotte was, writing a message in her orb-shaped web. Now to find Wilbur. But he’s probably busy getting ready for the Fryeburg Fair.

And today, it was this big Bumblebee that surprised me for though it moved its antennae and abdomen, it seemed to remain in one spot on the Gooseneck Loosestrife.

In fact, it stayed so still, that I was able to get into its face, without worry of being stung. Did an Ambush Bug have hold with its claws? Or was a Crab Spider somehow involved? I walked away several times and returned to find it in the same spot, unlike all its other cousins who were busy as . . . bees! But, on a final visit, it had disappeared. I looked under the plant and on the ground below, thinking it might just be a skeleton if a predator had sucked its guts, but found nothing, so can only assume that it finally flew.

The next two photos are of flowers and not insects. Actually, there are fewer and fewer flowers in bloom right now as we enter the early phase of autumn, but Witch Hazel has started to show off its ribbony display and that made me happy to think that all is right with the world.

Until, that is, I arrived home a few days ago and found a Day Lily blossoming in mid-September, which is quite late, especially considering all of its brethren had had their day in the spotlight back in early July. Houston, we have a problem. (And maybe sending more aircrafts into space isn’t the wisest decision.)

That said, dear readers, I leave you with something that I hope will bring a smile to your face as it did to mine. My Guy returned from a business trip toward the end of last week and said he had a gift for me. He opened his backpack and pulled out this box of Jelly Slugs! For those who know me, you’ll know that he knows me as well!

It’s been a week of wonders indeed, and though these are only a few samples, I’m grateful for every little thing that captures my attention.

The Rest of the Story

I had only one intention when I stepped onto the patio this afternoon, but that changed quickly when I spotted a Great Black Wasp behaving in what I thought was a peculiar manner . . . until it wasn’t.

Rather than flying around the flowers, where I usually find these large wasps, who may be aggressive in terms of flying at me to let me know I need to take a step back, but never actually stinging me, this Great Blue was walking frantically through the grass. Well. we call it grass. I guess I should say “across the lawn,” but that sounds too fancy for our yard.

Do you notice something strange about the wasp? It was actually carrying a spider. I was stymied at first, until I read that they bring home treats for larvae to feed on. This I wanted to see.

What I observed was that the wasp dropped the spider on the edge of the patio and then the wasp scrambled around on the ground for a bit before flying off. The spider stayed dead still . . . cuze it was dead! Apparently, the wasp won the struggle, if there was one, and paralyzed the spider.

Since the wasp had flown off, I decided to give it some time, though I was curious to know if it would return. Dragonflies defend territories, but do wasps know where they dropped a meal?

Instead, I turned my attention to the flowers that are still in bloom, including this Oregano I let go to flower because though I love its flavor, I equally love the insects it attracts, like this Thread-waisted wasp.

That got me to thinking how I often see the insects in situ, but don’t get to follow their daily lives.

That said, I poked around some more and found Bumblebees on Sedum,

Great Blue Lobelia,

Plus Turtlehead . . . going in,

And backing out.

There was even a Green Stink Bug trying to trick me into thinking it was just part of the leaf.

But I let it know that I was aware of its existence.

There were even a couple of canoodling wasps who flew out of the herb garden and landed on a window screen before moving on.

I, um, moved with them to the corner of the house, where they frantically walked across the ground as well. But when they finally flew off toward the driveway, I decided to give them some space.

(Note: Do you see the brown maple leaves? Who would think that after last year’s drought we’d have too much rain this year, but that’s exactly what happened and the Sugar Maple leaves in some places are drying up and dropping. Fall foliage? I’m thinking it’s not going to be as spectacular a show as we’d like.)

When I returned to the spider’s location, I noticed that the wasp had returned but was behaving in an odd manner . . . or so it seemed to me. Its legs on the right side appeared to have collapsed.

Eventually, however, it stood on all six and walked back toward the spider.

I was amazed to think that this insect had flown off, but knew where it had left the intended meal. All I can think of is that there has to be a scent involved.

The wasp proded the spider with its antennae before grasping it again.

And then the two headed off in the same direction of travel as I’d earlier observed (north). Until, that is, the wasp passed under the dandelion leaves and somehow dropped the spider. Off the wasp flew, but again, a minute or two later, it returned to the exact spot and located the spider that I couldn’t even see.

Then the march began again and I followed the two until the wasp reached the edge of another garden. It climbed over the granite stone, taking the spider with it, and then disappeared below the foliage and that’s the last I saw of them.

I’d gone outside originally to sit on the patio and start rereading a book I read about 30 years ago. That never happened.

And I don’t know the rest of the story for the Great Black Wasp, but I sure wish I did. I wish I knew what happened between the wasp and the spider because I imagine that would have been a great show. And I wish I knew where the wasp’s hole was and its larvae were waiting for a meal, as I assumed.

One of these days, I’ll open that book and maybe the rest of the wasp’s story will be revealed or another story will attract my attention.

My Reawakening

In any given year, 
I've said good-bye
to you, 
my dear vernal pool 
in late May 
or early June. 
But this year 
of Twenty-twenty-three
has been like no other
as you've retained water
beyond your ephemeral season.
When upon July 14
I peered into 
your shallow depth,
I was greeted
with frog legs
growing upon tadpole bodies,
a sight not witnessed
in your waters 
ever before. 
In years past
miniature amphibians
had to mature quickly
or become scavenged tidbits
supplying energy
to insects and birds,
but this year, 
the Wood Frogs 
and Spotted Salamanders
who share birthrights
of your pool
took their time 
to metamorph.
As I stood quietly
beside you,
you invited an American Robin
to land on the opposite shore
and I could not believe
my good fortune 
to watch its behavior. 
Much to my amazement,
and despite my presence, 
for no matter how still 
I tried to be 
I still made noise,
the Robin
splished and splashed
in frantic birdbath form. 
It paused
and looked about . . . 
Then jumped in again
for a final rinse 
from your warm waters
before taking time 
to preen. 
Finally cleansed,
the bird posed
upon a moss carpet
and then 
we both took our leave
fully sated from your offerings
of that day. 
When next I visited you
on August 9,
wonder accompanied 
my approach
and I knew 
sudden movements
and resulting ripples
meant I would not be
disappointed. 
Below your surface,
I spied a live frog,
its hind legs formed 
and front feet developing. 
And there was another,
and another, 
and more legs,
and sometimes even
the tiny suction-cuppy toes
and my heart was full again.
I last made my way
down the cow path
to the trail
leading to you
on August 18
and again
the amount of water
you held in your grip
far exceeded
my expectations,
but other than 
Mosquitoes,
all was quiet. 
And then today dawned,
 and after listening 
to this morning's homily
about Celtic Thin Places
offered by Ev Lennon, 
I felt compelled
to pay you a visit again. 
On the way
I slowed my brain
by intentionally stepping
along the labyrinth path
I created a few years ago. 
And then . . . and then . . . 
as I approached you, 
my dear pool, 
a pile of Black Bear scat,
full of acorn and apple pieces
from a neighborhood forage,
sat smack dab 
in the middle of the trail. 
And so it was 
that as I reached you, 
surprise again overcame me,
for though you are shrinking
to your traditional 
early June size, 
you still exist
on this day, September 3. 
Small Water Striders skated
across your surface,
sometimes approaching others
who quickly
escaped any chance
for an embrace. 
As has been
my experience 
for the last month
you offered no evidence 
of Wood Frog or Spotted Salamanders
and I trust many 
hopped or crawled out
as is their manner. 
Green Frogs, however, 
squealed to announce 
their presence
before diving under 
the leafy bottom you offer, 
which makes a perfect hideout. 
When one frog resurfaced, 
we carried on a starring contest, 
until my attention
was drawn away. 
Ten feet from 
where I stood 
American Goldfinches 
poked the ground, 
foraging in the duff. 
Then one took a bath, 
and suddenly it 
occurred to me
that this was 
the third time this summer
I've had the honor 
of watching birds 
make use of the watery offering
your pool provides,
even as it is now
a not-so-vernal puddle. 

Before I finally
pulled myself
away from you, 
I offered great thanks 
for all the lessons 
of life and love and even loss
that you have
taught me all these years. 

And thank you,
Ev, 
for being today's inspiration
and for reawakening 
my wonder, 
which occasionally goes dormant,
as the pool will soon do as well. 

Tri-day Mondate

It’s been a while since I’ve shared a Mondate mostly because it’s either rained, or we had errands to run, or whatever we did was something we’ve already done a million times before and didn’t seem worth sharing. And so this weekend dawned as a three day weekend for the two of us and we decided to dig in and have fun.

We began our journey on Saturday with a long (think 9.5 mile out and back, with some backtracking in the mix) walk on old roads deep in the woods of western Maine. Our goal was to find the Hand on The Rock. Yes, you read that correctly. The Hand on The Rock.

And we did. I’d heard friends talk about this over the years, but until recently didn’t know of its actual location. Yes, that’s my guy’s hand. But do you see the engraved hand on the rock? It was perfect for my guy to place his hand on top, as he’s left-handed.

Below the left hand is the name LH JEWETT, that features a backward letter J. According to Arthur Wiknik, Jr.’s Hand on The Rock essay, “The rock carver has been identified to be Leander Hastings Jewett. Leander was born on April 4, 1851 in Sweden, Maine to Milton and Eliza (Whitcomb) Jewett, and for a time lived in the northeast corner of Sweden known as the Goshen neighborhood.”

Continues the writer: “As with most young men in the 1800s, Leander was a working member of his family and likely chiseled the rock between 1868 and 1873, presumably out of boredom while helping his father do some logging.” 

I think what I love most about all of this is that Wiknik acknowledges my friends Jinnie Mae and Dick Lyman, (may they both RIP,) for their historical knowledge.

Since we were in the neighborhood, we also stopped in at the Goshen Cemetery. The stones were discovered years ago under the duff and uprighted in situ. The tombstones are unmarked and as far as I know, two theories exist–an epidemic struck the neighborhood and those who died needed to be buried as fast as possible, or these were the tombs of the residents from the town’s poorhouse.

And when we finally returned to the truck, we were blessed to discover a bag of fresh veggies left by two dear friends.

That was Saturday.

Sunday found us driving across Hemlock Covered Bridge in Fryeburg, Maine. The structure has spanned the Old Course of Saco River for 166 years.

Built of Paddleford truss construction with supporting laminated wooden arches, Hemlock Bridge is one of the few remaining covered bridges still in its original position. Peter Paddleford of Littleton, New Hampshire, created this design by replacing the counter braces of the Long-style truss bridge, creating an unusually strong and rigid structure. It was reinforced in 1988 and one can still drive across (“You’re stating the obvious, Mom,” our sons would say.).

Our goal was to paddle under the bridge and head to Kezar Pond on this beautiful afternoon.

My guy had never actually travelled this route before, so it was fun to share the tranquil paddle with him.

A juvenile Bald Eagle greeted us from high up in a White Pine. And we greeted it back. As one should.

Reaching the pond, we discovered a beautiful day to the east and storm clouds to the west. And so it was a quick look-about and then a wise decision to turn around and paddle back to the bridge.

But first, a small skimmer dragonfly known as a Blue Dasher, begged to be admired. And so I did.

As soon as we started our return journey it began to sprinkle, but despite the rain, we were rewarded with another look at the juvenile eagle as it flew down to a tree limb beside the river.

Did we get wet? A tad bit. It was a gentle rain, however, and since it wasn’t cold, we didn’t mind.

Was my guy faster than me? Yup. But he waited under the bridge until I caught up.

And then today’s decision was to climb The Roost trail in Evans Notch and hike along another trail in Shelburne, New Hampshire. The Roost is a fun loop that doesn’t have much of a view at the summit.

But we found things to look at that made up for it, like this Clintonia, aka Blue Bead Lily, growing out of a dead snag.

And this mystery plant for my naturalist friends to identify.

The trail down that we chose to follow was a wee bit longer than that ascending The Roost, but offers a much more gradual descent. And four water crossings.

And a view of Hobblebush leaves speaking of the future. Since I mentioned Jinnie Mae earlier in this post, she had to be smiling down upon me when she saw that I was taking this photo. She used to tease me about all the Hobblebush photos I took. But it always has something interesting to offer, no matter the season.

At the final stream crossing, we spied an old sluice way that speaks to the history of the area once known to support many logging camps. We were just below Hastings Campground and Hastings was formerly a booming village during the early 20th Century.

There are also bricks in the water, so I wondered if a grist mill or saw mill had been operated here.

As we walked back up Rte 113 to complete the loop and return to my truck, we took a detour across the bridge over Wild River. It’s part of the snowmobile route when the white flakes do fly.

Our next plan was to explore Shelburne Riverlands, a Mahoosuc Land Trust property just across the line in New Hampshire, but where gnats had been annoying on The Roost, the mosquitos drove us crazy and about a half mile in we decided to turn around and save this hike for another day. A cooler day. A less buggy day. I think we’re on at least the fourth mosquito hatch this summer.

Instead, we continued down the road to Mahoosuc Land Trust’s pollinator garden at Valentine Farm. It’s a favorite hang-out of mine. My guy tolerated my slo-mo photo taking by napping in the truck.

Look at all the pollen on that bee!

And check out this Hawk Moth that hovered much like a Hummingbird.

I also fell in love all over again with the White Admiral Butterfly, especailly since the orange on its hind wings seemed to match the orange of the Coneflower.

But the stars of the show were the newly emerged Monarch Butterflies.

If my guy hadn’t been waiting so patiently in the truck, I might still be there, circling around and around watching all the action.

It was the perfect ending to this Tri-day Mondate. And I’m glad we were able to make the most of it.

Bugmania

Each spring and summer I find myself basking in insect awe. 
In my Book of Shoulds, everyone should behold these masters of land and air who all have the same body plan: Head. Thorax. Abdomen. 
Let's start with the Sedge Darner's head.
That "face"--oh my--yellow-green mouth parts below darker bluish-green eyes. 
And a T-spot just below the eyes and thin black crossline lower down on the face.
What a treat to meet this handsome guy.
And then there's the contrast of Halloween colors on the Great Golden Digger Wasp.
Take a look at its thorax connected to the head. 
It actually consists of three segments, the prothorax, mesothorax, and metathorax,
each supporting a pair of legs.
It's hard to tell, but the front wings are attached to the prothorax, with the hind to the metathorax.
Meanwhile, upon another flower there's a view of the abdomen, the beginning of which is quite skinny on this Thread-waisted Wasp. How does that body function? 
This female Blue Dasher offers a perfect stance to truly see the head, thorax, and abdomen.
When trying to identify insects, coloration is important, as well as shape and placement.
Compound eyes provide complex vision with thousands of tiny lens creating an entire scene.
Compared to a dragonfly's eyes, those on a butterfly like this Painted Lady are much smaller,
but her clubbed antennae are much longer. 
Antennae are actually segmented sensory organs that function differently for each group of insects. 
They may be used for smell, taste, touch, air motion, or maybe even vibrations.
In the case of the freshly emerged Dog-day Cicada, the antennae are short, but the eyes bulge from the sides. 
And that camouflage coloration will be useful as this insect disappears into the treetops singing raspy love songs in an attempt to attract a mate, while trying not to be eaten by a predator. 
Behold next the Robber Fly, this particular species with such a hairy body that it mimics a bee.
Its proboscis, or mouthpart is rather beak-like, the easier to consume insects. 
The Goldenrod Soldier Beetle can spend a long time actively pursuing pollen on one plant, as has been my experience in its presence. It's a similar body structure as a firefly, but the legs strike me as being much longer. 
While I was focused on this Bumblebee seeking nectar with its tongue, an Ambush Bug lay in wait, hoping for a big, hairy meal of its own liking. It didn't succeed this time, but one of these days I'll spot the leftovers of an Ambush Bug's dinner. 
The first Monarch of the season, at least for me, was sipping from a Marigold with its super long straw-like proboscis. I've noted them before, but notice again the club-shaped antennae, a feature of a butterfly, unlike the feathery antennae of a moth. 
The Silver-spotted Skipper is another butterfly, albeit much smaller than the Monarch. For such a small one, its eyes are huge and proboscis equally long, as it reached deep into the Wild Bergamot. 
The Dog-day Cicada pictured earlier gave me a unique opportunity to look at its underside as it perched upon a broken stem. Do you see the zebra-striped design below its eyes and above its legs? That's the start of its mouthpart, which is tucked against its body until its decides to dine. Moments after this photo was taken, the Cicada made its first flight ascending high into the treetops.
The Great Black Wasp with its iridescent blue wings, offers a prime example of the amazing construction of insect legs. Insect legs have moveable joints between some segments. 
So here's how the song goes: 
The pretarsus (toe-like with one or two small hooked claws) is connected to the tarsus (foot-like), 
the tarsus is connected to the tibia (longest part of leg), 
the tibia is connected to the femur (largest and thickest), 
the femur is connected to the trochanter (kinda like a hip joint), 
the trochanter is connected to the coxa (joins body)
the coxa is connected to the body! 
Now shake dem insect bones! 
The fiercest looking legs are the lobster claws of the Ambush Bug, 
the better to snatch prey and hold it in position to suck its guts out. 
Another incredible insect feature: wings. 
Muscles that work the wings are attached to the thorax. 
But how do such scaly membranes provide the gift of flight for such a robust looking body? 
Even the much tinier Hover Fly is amazing as it flaps its wings so rapidly that they are almost invisible and can "hover" in place, much like a Hummingbird. 
In the end, it all comes down to investing in the future by canoodling upon the flowers that nourish you and you help pollinate. 
And then it's time to be like the Robber Fly and find a safe place that will protect you from the elements so you can  take a rest. As August continues into September, my hope for you is that you'll spend a few moments basking in insect awe and develop or continue to nourish your own form of Bugmania. 

Thanking the Herons

As a community scientist for Maine’s Heron Observation Network these past 14 years, I have the distinct honor of keeping track of several rookeries each spring/summer to monitor the number of active nests, inactive nests, hatchlings, young, and fledglings, plus any obvious disturbances. It’s a task that only takes a few hours every other week and the time span in total is about six weeks. Those few hours are some of the best hours that I spend outdoors because rookeries in this neck of the woods are located in or abutting wetlands and offer a rich abundance of wildlife.

From the HERON website: “The Heron Observation Network of Maine (HERON) is a citizen science adopt-a-colony program started by Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife (MDIFW) in 2009 to help investigate the status of Maine’s nesting population of great blue herons. Since 1983, the coastal breeding population of great blue herons has undergone an 82% decline; and it is unknown whether that decline is a statewide phenomenon or whether it is restricted to only the coastal colonies. This is where HERON volunteers come in: they collect invaluable data on colonies statewide that will help biologists assess the population trend over time.

One of my rookeries has had no nests for the past two years since Bald Eagles wiped out the Great Blue Heron population three years ago.

But the beaver pond in the photo above is making a come-back after peaking with about 30 I think about ten years ago, then crashing to a single digit number. This year, we counted 12 nests, all of which proved to be active over the course of the six-week time span.

Observing means making ones way quietly to the edge of the wetland, listening as the youngsters squawk for an incoming meal, then finding a good spot to see the nests with binoculars while not disturbing the birds, and begin counting.

We avoid publicly sharing the locations of these sites for as it is stated on the HERON website: “If you are not the landowner or colony monitor, please refrain from visiting colonies during nesting season to minimize unnecessary disturbance.”

This third rookery we thought had crashed after discovering two nests two years ago and then none last year. But . . . we knew the birds had to be somewhere in the vicinity because, though several rookeries in the area were no longer active, there were still adult birds visiting local ponds and lakes and rivers.

It wasn’t until Maine State Waterbird Specialist Danielle D’Auria completed a flyover this spring and sent an email with the subject: “Your colony is THRIVING!” and two friends joined me and we explored the wetland from a different vantage point than in the past, that we knew just how big the colony was. In total, there are over 40 nests and over 30 of them were indeed active.

Counting so many can be a real challenge, and even with three pairs of eyes, we still needed to restart several times with this larger colony, but figured out a system to identify certain nests as a given # and then restart from there and move from left to right, though sometimes we had to dip down and then look up again to find the next nest.

What added to the counting confusion was that my peeps and I suffer happily from Nature Distraction Syndrome (I used to call it Disorder, but really, it’s such a good thing that it deserves a new name), aka NDS rather than NDD.

And so this is a Dot-tailed Whiteface Skimmer, its name reflecting its features.

Looking up again, we’d spot hatchlings, those fluffy little balls that we could barely make out unless they popped up . . . definitely one of the many joys of those special mornings.

Sometimes the youngsters were difficult to spy based on how well they blended in with the snags upon which the nests were built.

And then it was a matter of deciding: is that a bird or part of the tree? And is there another lump in there? Do you see three or four young, plus the two adults?

Often, several adults stood sentry, keeping an eye on the entire rookery, rather than heading off to fish and feed the youngsters. This one stood on one leg, which I’ve read is a way for birds to reduce the amount of heat loss on their unfeathered limbs.

One of the things I always found amazing is that by week #3, the youngsters seemed to know that their parent was approaching with a feast to share, while those in the condo below waited patiently and quietly for their meal on wings to fly into the nest.

Meals were regurgitated, with those prehistoric croak-like squawks perhaps encouraging the parent to pass the food to its youngsters.

And then it was time for the kids to fight over who got the best and biggest bite, while momma or poppa stepped aside to let them assert their birthright. The question remains, did the first born always get the worm? Or in this case fish or amphibian or whatever the meal might be?

And how could we not admire the Green Frogs that “Ga-dunked” their banjo strings as they surrounded us and kept moving in closer making us think we might become a meal while we stood there and counted?

Feeding time continued to be the birds’ favorite time and as they grew bigger, they certainly became more assertive.

Vying for position continued to stymie us for we didn’t understand which mouths received first dibs. But of equal importance, how did all of those birds remain in their treetop nests without falling over during such squabbles? And how did the nests and birds withstand the rain and wind that marked our spring and summer here in western Maine?

Motion below the nests caught our attention once again, and what we first thought was a Beaver because it explored a beaver lodge, morphed quickly into a Muskrat when we spied its rat-like tail.

It went about its business as we watched, probably in search of food, maybe to feed its own youngsters.

And then there was the ever lovely Four-spotted Skimmer Dragonfly.

By week #6, most of the kids were tweens, and those in the left-hand duplex watched intently for their lunch box to arrive just as their neighbors to the right were about to eat.

We labeled this double-nest “The Squawkers” because anticipation of the lunch box contents in both places was extra loud.

Once the right-hand duplex had finished eating, they turned their attention next door, though nary a beg did they offer and nary a tidbit did they receive.

Still they looked on.

And so did we . . . at this female Eastern Pondhawk Skimmer dragonfly with her bright green thorax and pair of white cerci (terminal appendages).

During week #6 the moment arrived, when encouraged by others a teen got up the gumption . . .

to step out on a limb . . .

and then turn back to say, “Hey, look at me. I did it.”

And then, in an instant, first flight!

So where did the herons go once they no longer needed to remain at their breeding grounds? Well, I took off in my kayak to see if I could answer that question. And a Slaty Blue Skimmer posed on my boat much like a figurehead, this one in obelisk form with its abdomen raised toward the sun to offer some relief from the heat.

I also found the Eastern Pondhawk’s mate. Look at that green face, and powder blue abdomen, or the hints of color on its wings.

I was equally excited when I spied him again, this time with a frontal views. I hope your “Ohs” and “Ahs” match mine.

Another “Oh” moment: A Water Snake peering out from under its lilypad-shaped sun umbrella.

And a couple of Painted Turtles basking upon a rather shaded rock.

Plus a pair of juvenile Mallards in preening mode.

And among my favorites, okay, really, they are all my favorites, but I was quite surprised to spend a few minutes with this Beaver while searching for herons one recent day.

Tada. The search has ended and going forward I’ll probably spot them more and more frequently for I know how successful at least two local rookeries have been this year.

I give great thanks to this Great Blue Heron and all of the others because they offered a chance to not only contribute to research, but also to spend some delight-filled hours standing still and observing. Your breeding and food-gathering habitats are my favorites too.

Our Blue Greed Mondate

Somehow that time of year always sneaks up on us. And yet today dawned and the writing was on the wall: This is that time of year-kind-of-day. But the question remained: Would we be rewarded?

Well, we had to find out and so this morning we set off in search of this small mountain nestled in the midst of so many behemoth uprisings. It took us several wrong turns before we finally shared that sudden “Aha” moment that indeed the pasture road was the correct road. It was all rote from there.

Last year we discovered the mountain top had been cut back and there were no little specks of blue to glean, but that cutback lead to this year’s abundant offerings. My Guy was in his happy place.

Well . . . one of his happy places. This one offering such sweetness in a manner all blue.

I chuckled when I overheard a mom commenting, “This is just like Blueberries for Sal.” I immediately texted our friend Kimmy for she and I know otherwise. Drop the “S” from Sal and you’ll know what I mean.

That said, his blueberries are my pollinators and with pollinators you have flowers, this one being one of many, many Wood Lilies.

There was also the Red-shouldered Long Horn Pine Borer, so frantic in its activity upon the Steeplebush flowers.

Plus a Paper Wasp upon Yarrow, . . .

And Flower Longhorn Beetle on Bristly Sarsaparilla. The season is short and there’s so much work to be done and the rain may have slowed things down so when the sun doth shine, it’s all insects on hand.

We finished up our hike, grabbed a to-go lunch at a locally eatery and then took off in the tandem kayak, with the same mission on our minds. Picking more blueberries for him, of course.

And checking out the local wildlife activity for me. We watched a beaver pass by our dock two nights ago, so we knew there was an active lodge somewhere in the area.

We actually found two new lodges and other older ones that were turning into islands. But we didn’t spy any beaver activity, probably given that it was the middle of the afternoon.

I, however, spotted a couple of species that envied My Guy’s blue greed, this being a male Slaty Blue Skimmer pausing in the midst of defending its territory.

And my heart was glad for we also spent some time with this tiny male Blue Dasher, another Skimmer who posed longer than I expected.

Only yesterday, I included his mate in Hunting for Dragons. Suddenly, here he was, albeit with a few Red Mite hitchhikers attached to his thorax.

While My Guy’s Blue Greed may be low and highbush blueberries, mine is definitely insects, and the bluer the better.

Rewarded were we, indeed!

Hunting for Dragons

Living life in two forms, as members of the Odonate family do, I spend countless delight-filled hours peering into water for their naiad forms and watching them eclose upon vegetation. I so appreciate their flying acrobatics as they defend territory and, of course, their preference for smaller flying insects such as the ubiquitous deer flies and now a second hatching of mosquitoes.

This summer I’ve had the pleasure of standing upon boardwalks and other edges of ponds and streams as the naiads have literally decided the temperature is right and that particular day is the day that they are going to make the great transformation from aquatic to land form.

And I’ve been especially tickled when an Emerald or two or three, thought my boot was the perfect place to climb in order to split open its thorax and step out of its former self.

Earlier in the season, hundred upon hundreds seemed to emerge at the same time, and now we aren’t see as many as they’ve become bird food, passing energy gained from the insects they ate on to the birds who eat them.

By the color of the eyes, markings on their thorax and abodomen, and shape of the latter, I’ve been teaching myself, or rather the dragonflies have been teaching me their names, some of which I actually remember from one year to the next, this being the Racket-tailed Emerald. What distinguishes it from the Kennedy Emerald, at least for me, is the shape of the abdomen that rather resembles a tennis racket, unlike the long and slender tail of the latter.

Upon arriving “outta” rather than “upta” camp late yesterday, I plucked a few different exuviae from the foundation, in awe of the journey they each made since it’s about twenty feet from the water’s edge. Emergence is such a tenuous time, exiting the watery world, crawling to just the right place, and then beginning the process of shedding ones old ways for a new form–a time when they are most vulnerable. And so I am honored that they chose our little place and hope it provided the protection they needed.

Another who honored me recently was a Variable Darner, its hues of blues and greens among my favorite color combo. Capturing a photo of a Darner is no easy task, and so I was amazed that this one actually posed. Notice the thin black line across its face–a clue in the identification. (And I hope I’m correct on the actual species)

The Darner’s naiad form is long and thin as compared to most of the others.

This is a crisper look. I love the clear bubbles where the eyes had once been. And the wing pads that form during the last instar before the critter climbs out of the water.

Next up on the plate is a member of the Skimmer family. There are so many, many members of the Skimmer family, and Maine hosts quite a few of them. This is the Spangled Skimmer, a female by gender. She and her mate are the only ones with white stigmas on their wings, so if you spot a brown and yellow female or a blue male with the white you’ll be able to identify them immediately. Or share a brain with someone else as so many of us do.

Another Skimmer I recently met for the first time, or so I think, is an immature Blue Dasher. In Dennis Paulson’s Dragonflies and Damselflies of the East, I read that those red over gray eyes will turn green with age (not envy).

Here’s another look at its abdomen because it was the two rows of stripes that clearly helped me feel confident about this identification.

And I would feel remiss if I didn’t include this beauty, despite that fact that many of its ancestors have graced wondermyway.com in the past. What not to admire about this female Calico Pennant Skimmer? Those stain-glassed wings with yellow stigmas and the yellow hearts on her abdomen. Her honey is adorned in the same pattern, only with red where she displays yellow.

This is the shed exuvia of a Skimmer, perhaps one of the Slaty Blues that I didn’t photograph as they defended their territory late yesterday afternoon. I looked to see if anyone was flying today, but found the water’s edge to be rather quiet in the midst of so much rain.

The shed skin of this Stream Cruiser I did not find because this isn’t the right habitat for the oreo cookie of the dragonfly world. But . . . I just like to look at it and smile each time I encounter one.

What I have found recently, and also brings a bit of a thrill to my mind, is a Dragonhunter Clubtail.

These are the mighty monsters of the Odonata world, and they’ll even consume other dragonflies.

And here is the exuvia, which Paulson describes as “wide, flat larva that resembles a wood chip.” The legs alone speak to its strength; formidable in the water and out.

And the cool thing is that sometimes when you are hunting for dragonflies like the Dragonhunter, others make their presence known and you capture them in photographs rather than your jaws. The Bi-colored Sweat Bee didn’t have to worry about me.

Something’s Always Happening . . .

This is a tale that I’m so excited to share and it’s actually a month or two in the making. Each year I write about the saga of the vernal pool in the woods behind our house and how it begins as a “Wruck, wruck” love affair, but by the end of May fizzles into a stinky puddle full of dried up Wood Frog tadpoles and flies and Scarab Beetles mating and laying eggs.

Not so this year. It’s been a wet spring and now a wet summer and that, my friends, is fantastic if you are a Wood Frog or Spotted Salamander. For the first time in my 30+ years of visiting this pool, there is still plenty of water in it.

It is my understanding that if a pool dries out too fast, the frogs and salamanders sense this and some metamorph into their adult upland forms quickly in order that they may hop or crawl out and be representatives of the next generation. I have to believe that is true since despite the pool usually not lasting long, come April 7 or 8 or 9, when the ice “goes out,” the love songs begin and eggs are fertilized and laid.

This year, however, the frogs have been given the opportunity to slow the process down and perhaps that will make them stronger, as well as increase the numbers that leave the pool.

It’s not just the frogs, but the salamander population might also be on the rise.

So here’s the other thing. Walking to and fro the pool offers numerous other distractions of the natural sort, like this rather handsome White Admiral Butterfly.

And a female Ebony Jewelwing Damselfly, the white stigmas or marks on her wings providing a hint of her gender.

But then there was the day that I heard baby peeps as I headed out there and suspected I knew the species to whom they belonged because they’ve nested in our yard before.

Crossing through a gap in the stonewall, I found the tree and Momma Yellow-bellied Sapsucker gave a hint as to the location. At first, however, I couldn’t find the hole where the babes waited for meals on wings to arrive.

Until I did because I passed back through the gap in the stonewall and went to the oak tree located in the far corner of the yard beside our woodlot and there they were: Papa on the right, Momma below, and the hole in between. These were two extremely attentive parents.

Momma would fly in rather silently and surprise me as I stood behind another tree about ten feet away. But the kids always seemed to sense the arrival of a parent and their peeps would rise in a crescendo and I’d look up and there she or he would be.

And then it was a matter of delivering the meal. To the hole the adult would move in its woodpecker manner.

And into the hole its head would duck, presumably delivering an insect of choice either into a beak or two or three or at least into the nest for the kids to fight over.

Right after the delivery was made, the insistent peeping would begin again. “More, more. We want more food,” the chicks seemed to proclaim.

And the parents delivered before flying off to find the next morsel to nourish their young.

Still they did peep and occasionally showed their heads in the process.

By the end of the week that I spent watching, this youngster stuck its head out and made that insistent cry. Its parents disappeared for longer periods of time, which I’ve noted in the past and it makes me wonder if they have to go farther afield to find food, or if they want the kids to understand that instant satisfaction isn’t always the name of the game. Within a day or two and when I wasn’t looking, the chicks fledged and now I hear them learning the art of tapping to mark their territories.

Oh, but wait, this is the tale of a vernal pool. And there too, there were changes like I’ve never seen before in this one. For one thing, the water teemed with activity.

Up for air they’d come and then dodge down again, leaving ripples in their wake.

But . . . do you see what I saw during today’s visit? Legs! My frogs are growing legs. I’m so excited for them. I have to be as, unlike the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker chicks, they don’t have parents watching over them, feeding them, and teaching them froggy ways of living.

The same is true for the Spotted Salamanders who are breathing through those feather gills behind their heads for as long as they are aquatic in nature.

It was on my way home this afternoon when something else moved in the woods not far from my labyrinth and I thought at first it was a bird.

Until it too morphed . . . into a fawn licking its chops. And then I recalled that on the way to the vernal pool, I’d startled a doe in about that same spot and she’d leaped away and in the last few weeks I’ve seen the doe visit a spot in the field over another stonewall and I’ve stood on a kitchen chair with my binoculars trying to see if she might have a fawn. Apparently she did. I am tickled except for the fact that they are eating flower buds in my pollinator gardens.

That face. Those ears. And spots galore. How can I not share the buds with this rather chunky youth?

We spent about ten minutes together, each curious about the other, until it occurred to me that again, like the Sapsucker chicks, its parent was probably nearby and waiting for me to move on.

And so I did.

Still, I can’t stop smiling because something is always happening and it’s right outside my backdoor when I take the time to listen and notice.

Beauty and the Brawn: Two Kingdoms

It's a mix of both realms in the natural world;
a kingdom of beauty and a kingdom of brawn; 
and sometimes a kingdom that includes both, 
in such a way that it's all about one's perspective. 
Beauty fluttered in one recent day,
Upon hairy wings of orange and gray. 
The Inornate Ringlet Butterfly
May have lacked adornment, 
But its textures and lines and colors
From the zebra-striped antennae 
To fringed wings gave pause
In its teeny exquisite way. 
On a much larger scale, 
Upon a clover posed, 
A Tiger Swallowtail seeking sugary nectar
For a quick dash of energy 
As sucked through its extended proboscis. 
While the nectar provides nutrition,
It's not enough for that which is 
Utmost upon the butterfly's mind, 
If it is a mind they have, 
Or perhaps pure instinct
That urges them to reproduce. 
A stronger drink is indeed necessary.
The White Admirals
Embraced the same "thought" 
As they congregated 
On a small pile of scat. 
Mud. fermenting fruit, and carrion
Provide the same, 
That stronger drink
A source of sodium and minerals
That males store in their sperm
And pass on as a betrothal gift 
When they canoodle with loved ones, 
Ensuring that a little extra zing
Gives her eggs a better chance of success. 
Canoodling is also
At the forefront of 
The Luna Moth's adult form,
So much so, 
That it has no mouthparts 
Or digestive system
Despite its large body. 
With less than a week to mate,
This large silkworm moth
Must smell the pheromones 
Of a female counterpart,
and then . . . and then, 
Death doth come 
As is visible by this find. 
But still it provides an opportunity
To note those broad feathery antennae, 
The light green wings that match the color of leaves, 
And the reddish-brown forewing edges 
Branching out like twigs
In an attempt to avoid predators.
Another nectar feeder, 
The Clearwing Hummingbird Moth,
Hovers with its body stationary
As its transparent wings beat
In such a quick manner 
That they are nearly invisible. 
Unlike most moths, 
These take to the air 
Throughout the day. 
The subject matter transitions
From butterflies and moths 
To others such as a female Metallic Green Sweat Bee,
So named for her color 
And preference for seeking salts upon our skin.
Thankfully, unlike some bees, 
She isn't aggressive.
Rather, she's a buzz pollinator,
One who grabs the anther 
Of a flower with her mandibles, 
Curls her abdomen around it,
Vibrates her wing muscles, 
And relishes with glory 
As the anther releases its pollen, 
Which she gathers
Upon her hairy hind legs.
A Spring Fishfly 
I accidentally agreed was a Lacewing
In the field, 
Rests upon a twig 
As is its daytime habit, 
Wings pleated and folder 
Over its shorter abdomen. 
Like the Luna Moth, 
It only lives a few days as an adult. 
The feathery antennae 
Identify it as a male,
One with a twinkle in its eyes. 
Though kind of creepy in nature, 
The Woolly Alder Aphids 
Lead an interesting life. 
Eggs are laid upon Silver Maples, 
And as leaves burst in spring, 
Feeding takes place along the midribs. 
A winged generation soon follows,
Taking advantage that it looks like airborne seeds, 
As it floats through the airways
Until it reaches a Speckled Alder. 
Each little insect is coated 
With waxy streamers that shed water. 
As they imbibe on the Alder's juices
In an effort to gather sufficient nitrogen, 
They release unwanted carbs
In the form of honeydew,
And ants kick into action,
Farming the aphids 
To take advantage 
Of the sweet secretion. 
All is not pretty
In the natural world
Where though some 
Don't have a meal on their minds, 
Others must dine,
Such as this spider, 
That spent several hours
Wrapping a damselfly
For a future meal 
Upon an American Beech leaf. 
That was the first example of brawn, 
An exhibition of physical and muscular strength. 
In the case of the spider, 
I'm not sure I spotted an equal amount of beauty. 
But this Stream Cruiser, 
With its Oreo Cookie coloration
Was a sight to behold,
Despite the fact
That it beheld a meal of it own. 
And finally there was
The Dragonhunter, 
A clubtail dragonfly
Revered for its wide tail,
Large size,  
And bright colorations,
But feared for being 
The Monster of the Dragonfly World 
Due to its aerial ambush
Upon other dragonflies and anything else it can eat. 
It appears there is possible meal 
Dangling below the feet and wings of this one. 

It truly is a world of beauty,
but I recognize also 
that eating for the sake of reproduction
means that brawn is an important part of the mix
in this world of wonder. 

Two kingdoms indeed. 

Snow in June

On this June day with temps in the 70˚s, it hardly seemed possible that it might snow.

But indeed it did.

OK, so I hope the title caught your attention just as this field of daisies caught mine. The little flowers with their sunshiny centers (disK flowers) and white petals (ray flowers) that open with the break of dawn and close as the sun sets are an example of a $.50 cent word I recently learned: nyctinasty. I’ve read several theories about why some plants do this: perhaps to reduce its surface at night and thus retain temperature control; or reduce nighttime herbivory; or reduce the risk of flowers freezing; or protect pollen by keeping the plant dry at night.

All of these make sense, but it’s the daytime display in an unexpected place that has been mown for several years now, that captured my heart. I’d completely forgotten how beautiful this field could be with its array of daisies and hawkweeds and clovers. It was the daisies, however, that made the biggest splash.

By day, the field daisies attract any number of pollinators and as I stood beside and among them, they offered landing pads for a multitude of insects.

The White Admiral, with its handsome blue spots that mimicked the color of the sky, was nearly the same size.

With hundreds of those tiny disk flowers to feast upon, the butterfly had a full supply of nectar and in the midst of sipping it, gathered some pollen upon its feet, which it could pass off to the next daisy.

A Bumble Bee in constant motion, did the same. And added to the sound of buzziness in this place.

In the midst of all the flitting there was a tiny skipper sticking its proboscis into for a sweet sip. Such big eyes for such a little butterfly.

Big eyes are an insect thing–all those lenses in compound fashion offering views up, down, and all around so that as it stops in to take advantage of all that the flower has to offer, it can see all others in the area, including a certain photographer.

There were even teeny, tiny flower flies with long legs, veined wings, and equally teeny eyes, sucking from the source.

No, it isn’t my beloved snow that I came upon on this June day, but rather a field of daisies offering a scene reminiscent of snow white . . . with lots of colors and sounds in the midst spotted on this longest of days.

Happy Summer Solstice 2023.

Waving on Father’s Day

It barely rained. Well, actually, it didn’t rain. Just a bit of drizzle now and again. And so this afternoon, after a Facetime session with our youngest and his gal, we headed off for a hike, My Guy and me. I’m pretty sure he missed most of what I saw, but that’s okay. It was a day to celebrate him and he was welcome to do as he wished and think whatever he thought along the way.

Every once in a while, I’d say, “Hold on,” because something caught my eye and I needed to stop to honor whatever it might be . . . in this case Northern Bush Honeysuckle, a native species. Honeysuckles always take me back to my childhood and that heady scent that filled many a walk from beach to town. I spotted only an ant today crawling into the leaves, but suspect on a warmer day butterflies and moths will stop by for a sip and in the process aid in pollination.

Next up, was another not quite in flower yet . . . a Bristly Sarsaparilla. Its round flowerhead is known as an umbel and when the individual flowers do bloom, each will offer five teeny, tiny petals.

One contrast between this, the Bristly version and a Wild Sarsaparilla is that the compound leaves of the former are found below the umbels, while the latter flowers occur on a separate stem and hide below, as if the leaves are an umbrella.

And that adjective in the name . . . Bristly . . . refers to the bristles on the stem, which aren’t sharp at all. The stem of the Wild version is smooth, another difference to consider when trying to distinguish the two varieties.

The next stop in my tracks find was a Red Raspberry Slime Mold, aka Tubifera ferruginosa. It’s one of those species that you wish you could spend hours or even days watching, but My Guy didn’t quite feel the same and so we moved onward.

Much more to his liking . . . a few Lady’s Slippers. We only saw three in total, a low number in our book of hundreds, but we still rejoiced in these because their days are waning.

So much so that the petals and sepals of this particular orchid had begun to change form and we suspect there will be a capsule head and seeds in the future.

The last great find of the day was what could almost be considered a crystallized candy upon maple leaves. But really, it’s bumpy pink growths caused by a gall mite. This is the Maple Velvet Erineum Gall.

The mites overwinter under loosened bark and around wounds and scars. In early spring, they produce the gall-forming stage that migrate to expanding buds and make themselves at home as they begin to feed on the undersurface of future leaves. The tree won’t die, but really, leaves work so hard to survive the winter and then are attacked on so many fronts.

Can you believe that one leaf followed me home? Here’s a look at part of its structure not affected by the gall.

The pinkish-red, however, is the gall. The mite itself is so microscopic that I don’t think I can locate it.

I did take a closer look and maybe the dark thing on the right is related. But what struck me most was the deformed shapes where the gall had affected the leaf’s cells.

And then there was this other interesting form, again on the right, in a different section of the leaf. It certainly looked like it had a form and purpose, but I’m not yet privy to that information. Maybe some day.

Could it be a bunch of mites?

In the meantime, it is still Father’s Day and My Guy took a moment to wave hello to family and friends from the summit. We’re pretty sure we saw you all wave back.

Looking Through A New Lens

I have a new toy. While I’m still learning how to use it, I’m having the best time making discoveries. And trying to understand what I see. Actually, it’s two new toys. One that sees. And a second one that sees what the first one sees. Now that you either need to know more, or have already clicked out of this blog, let me explain.

It all begins with a Tiger Swallowtail butterfly, one of exquisite color and form. This is one I spotted recently.

But one of my Pam friends, being Pam M., tells a story of finding a tattered one that still had some life and how she tended it for a few days and hoped it would fly, but alas, the other day she found it did not survive. So she did what good friends do and saved a piece of the wing for me to look at under my new microscope. Check out each of those scales, which put together form the color pattern we see.

The wings consist of thousands of tiny scales that overlap. If you were to touch the wings of a butterfly, and I don’t encourage that unless it is dead, it might feel like you have powder on your hands. That powder is actually the scales, so if handling a butterfly, you may be removing some of these delicate forms that together make up the mosaic which becomes the color pattern we recognize.

Our next look is at a leaf I gathered last week while tramping with some friends. I regret that I didn’t take a photo immediately. Instead, the leaf spent a week in a bag in my truck and when I took it out yesterday, the bag was full of insect frass. This is an upper view of the leaf.

And this is the underside. When we spotted it last week, we all used our loupes to take a closer look and what we saw intrigued us, but we didn’t quite understand what we were seeing. Where the leaf is brown-gray on the left-hand side and a bit deformed, there was a series of structures all in a row. They seemed to be a bit raised. Sad to say I cannot share that image with you because I did not take it.

But . . .

When I looked through the microscope, these critters appeared. they are minute, and some sort of leaf eater.

As best I can describe it, you are looking at several insects, some frass (think mammal scat or bird poop), leaf veins and tissue and colors that don’t appear to the naked eye.

I’m not the best with using the second toy I mentioned earlier, which is an adapter so I can take photos through the microscope with my phone, but at least I have something to work toward. And understanding all that I’m seeing will also take time. In the meantime, I’m just enjoying it for the sake of the different world it has opened up to me.

The final selection was found by a group of us today and it’s a Maple Eyespot Gall created by a Maple Eyespot Gall Midge (Ocellate Gall Midge). The curious thing about this fly midge is that larvae develop in leaves, but after about a week during which time the gall forms, the larva falls to the ground and burrows under the leaf litter to pupate.

This is a view of the top side of the leaf. I’m in awe not only of the colors of the gall, but of the intricate structure of the leaf as well. The midge larva had been in the upper right-hand corner until recently based on the vivid colors, which will fade with time.

Here is the underside, and that same area that had stored the midge, now visible toward the center, appears to be an open hole, meaning the larva had moved from tree to earth, but this also gives a sneak peek at the cellular structure of the leaf. A topic to explore more down the road.

That’s all for my first attempts at taking a closer look with the microscope and then trying to capture what I saw with a phone, but I had to share this little critter because I don’t often get to see the actual creator of the Snake Spit. Yes, I grew up believing that all that plants that had this foamy white “spit” on them had been visited by a snake. It’s actually the protective covering for the larval form of a Spittlebug.

This was a first attempt to wonder with the help of some new technology. I don’t know about you, but it’s opening a whole new world to me so stay tuned for occasional closer looks through the lens.

Craning for the Fliers

It all began with a fishing spider moving across the surface of a river. But there was more to the story, as in a meal being consumed. And so a few of us recently went in for a closer look.

It was then that we saw wings below the spider that reflected the sun’s light. And very long, spindly legs unlike the spider’s rather robust and hairy deck of eight.

And it suddenly occurred to us that the spider was dining on a crane fly. Crane flies intrigue me for a variety of reasons. They are true flies and go through complete metamorphosis from egg to larva that molts several times to pupa to adult, but like some other adult species (think mayfly), they don’t have true mouth parts and their sole purpose at this stage is to mate and procreate.

Some folks are afraid of crane flies, and it’s understandable. They look like giant mosquitoes. And are attracted to light so if you leave an outdoor lantern on by the front door, you might find them hovering and then sneaking into the house. But, only the larval form eats and they are decomposers of organic material.

In that same river, it soon became evident that there was a lot of crane fly activity taking place. Tipula caloptera larvae are aquatic and so it makes sense that they would choose some river cobbles to support them while they canoodled.

Click on the arrow to take a peek at their efforts.

And a few cobbles over another was depositing eggs by sticking her ovipositor into the river bed repeatedly. Some crane flies deposit eggs in water and others in moist soil near water.

Again, you may click on the arrow to watch her in action.

It wasn’t enough to enjoy them in their river setting, but here at home as well. So the river action was with a large group of students on Thursday. And on Friday, a couple of hours before a major thunderstorm (that thankfully transformed 97˚ to this morning’s 48˚ and I feel alive again), I looked out a kitchen window and spied this beauty.

Meet Tipula trivitata. It’s by wing venation that a crane fly can best be identified to species.

Since crane flies are true flies, they have only two wings. But do you see the little knob at the tip of what appears to be a filament that the arrow points to? And a second on the other behind the wing on the right-hand side? Those are considered reduced wings or halteres.

Spotting these this week made me think of crane flies I’ve met along this journey, including Tipula tricolor depositing eggs among mosses.

And another of the same species resting upon the fertile frond of a Cinnamon Fern. Adult crane flies rest most of the time, that is when they are not cannot engaged in the art of begetting offspring. As adults they don’t eat. So any energy they have must be saved up from their larval form. Within a few days of mating they die, so their adult life span is not long. Maybe a week or so.

Lest we think they are only spring and summer fliers, there is also a winter crane fly, and this one made the mistake of flying too close to the winter works of a Pileated Woodpecker’s hole that had flowed with sap.

As cool as all of these species are, my favorite crane fly is the Phantom Crane Fly, Bittacomorpha clavipes.

Their wings are much shorter, but those legs! And to watch one fly almost like a little square block carried by the wind–it’s a sight worth seeing and one which you won’t forget.

I do love dragonflies, but I’ll also be craning for these other fliers as spring heads toward summer and even into the fall.

Honoring the Lady’s Slippers

It’s become a tradition for us to spend Memorial Day or at least a day during this weekend searching for one of My Guy’s favorite blooms. I don’t even remember how the count began, but now he cannot not count them.

What we’ve learned over the years is that they like a variety of habitats. from dark forests to bogs, and even mountain tops. And they like to hide. So we must really don our Lady’s Slipper eyes (just as I’ve been donning my dragonfly eyes lately) and look for them.

I mean . . . really hide.

It’s acidic soil that they are rather fond of, just like Yellow Clintonia, the beacons of many a forest trail. But while Clintonia seems to bloom anywhere and everywhere, Lady’s Slipper need Rhizoctonia fungi in order to grow and show off a blossom. According to Jack Sanders, author of The Secrets of Wildflowers, “Unlike most seeds, the minute and dustlike Lady’s Slipper seeds contain no food to allow them to grow. However, the outside of the seed is susceptible to attack by Rhizoctonia fungi, which digest the outer cells. If things balance out just right, the inner cells escape digestion and absorb some of the nutrients the fungus obtained from the soil. Not until this happens can the seed germinate and begin growing . . . The symbiosis with the fungus doesn’t end there. In order for the infant corm (or ‘proto-corm’) to obtain minerals and other soil foods, it must use the ‘go-between’ services of Rhizoctonia fungi. The fungi, in turn, take from the seedling Lady’s Slipper foods that are photosynthetically manufactured. These sensitive and complex relationships make native orchids of all kinds relatively uncommon . . . What’s more, in the wild, it takes from 10 to 17 years for a Lady’s Slipper seed to become a mature plant capable of blooming.

So here’s the thing. Yellow Clintonia and Pink Lady’s Slipper flowers look nothing alike. But their leaves–that’s a different story and when there are no flowers to confirm, one like me, must slow down and notice the features. Do you see what I mean? Clintonias are members of the Lily Family, with six lily-like tepals (segment of the outer whorl in a flower that has no differentiation between petals and sepals). And their leaves can be folded in half with the inner vein forming the fold line.

Lady’s Slippers, on the other hand, are orchids. The flower is a moccasin-shaped, inflated pouch, but also two lateral petals that twist outward. And the leaves–take a look. Remember folding paper in an accordion-like manner to create fans, or tissue paper to create flowers? That’s what Lady’s Slipper leaves look like to me. Multiple pleats.

Lest you think nature didn’t distract us, there was a male swallowtail puddling in a wet seep that we had to pause and admire.

And we certainly didn’t want Indian Cucumber Root, in the same lily subfamily as Clintonia, to think we were ignoring it for it has just begun to offer its unique flower to the world.

But our real focus, of course, were the slippers, even those decorated in white, which is a form of the pink.

Until, that is, the Common Loons begged to be noticed and so we did.

A few miles into the hike, we reached one of My Guy’s favorite spots. Just the other day I heard him describe it as a field of Lady’s Slippers. I’m pretty sure he was thinking football field. I happen to think it’s closer to the size of my office. But, it does produce about fifty flowers each year.

While he was meticulously counting those fifty, a Bald-faced Aerial Yellowjacket flew in and started chewing some wood. My attention was indeed diverted.

Heading to the summit, we didn’t find as many, but still they were there and we paused to admire this grouping. I wonder if there was a nurselog below them that offered the right growing conditions and thus the line.

At the summit, after finishing dessert (we’d eaten our sandwiches below by the pond), someone had to survey his kingdom.

It’s always worth a look.

We found some more as we descended and then followed a different trail out, where another lady made herself known.

Meet a female Common Whitetail Skimmer dragonfly, who is hardly common with her tail markings, and spots on her wings.

We were almost finished when we spotted this Lady’s Slipper blowing in the breeze. Note the curve in the stem, and the closed moccasin.

I don’t know if removing the leaf will help the flower to fully develop, but it made me think of today, Memorial Day, and the fact that so many have in the past and do presently work so that we can enjoy the freedom of going for a hike in the woods–thank you to all who have served our country, past, present, and future, including our dads, uncles, cousins, and friends.

The question remains: How many Lady’s Slippers did we honor on this Mondate? 351. And those were only the ones we could spot from the trail. I’m sure we missed some. Can you imagine how many more might be out there.