Nature Education

Eagle Eyes on the Mosses

~ lmachayes ~ 7 Comments

This lesson began on Black Friday, but I was waiting for a sloggy snow day to finish the assignment and today was such. Three more inches of snow and then, of course, rain. Ugh!

But, Black Friday was bright and brisk and while many people spent dollars and dollars shopping for the perfect Christmas gifts at supposedly discounted prices, some peeps from the Maine Master Naturalist Program and I joined Jeff Pengel and Alan Seamans for a Moss Foray in New Gloucester.

Among other things, they reminded us that mosses are divided into two groups based on their reproductive structure, and this I think I now know. Pluerocarps form spore capsules from side branches while Acrocarps are not as branched and the capsules arise from the tip of the stem or main branch.

We’d hardly walked fifty feet from the parking lot when the first subject was introduced. I love its common name: Electrified Cat-Tail Moss. This was a new one for me and the real quiz will be if I can find it on my own once the snow melts (though I do hope we get some more snow first).

The guys introduced us to a variety of mosses and a few liverworts, but . . .

one of my take aways was gaining an understanding of this blue-green growth under the arrow. I always thought it was algae. Not so. This is protonema, or germinating moss spores all tied together with filaments. We could not identify them to species yet, but their mossy leaves were starting to emearge here and there. Now I can’t wait to spot this again–and meet it all over for the first time.

As we moved along, and I think we determined in the end that we had traveled less than a quarter of a mile in the few hours we were together, I collected some specimens I wanted to get know better. Damp as they were, they put my all-weather field book to the test, and it’s now a bit warped. Ah, but so worth it.

Fast forward to today. The mosses found their way from the field book to petri dishes and all were labeled with common and scientific names. I’m feeling so efficient. For a brief moment.

And then it was on to a somewhat deep dive and so out came a 10X and 20X loupe, as well as the microscope. Let the fun begin.

Taking photos through the scope is an acquired skill and I’m working on it.

Up first: Electrified Cat-tail Moss, Rhytidiadelpus triquetrus. I can remember the common name, but am going to have to practice the scientific. Though the leaves grow outward in so many directions, thus giving it an electrified look, even as a dry specimen, it feels rather soft and fuzzy.

This is a pluerocarp that likes wet soil. The take aways for me are the orange stems and shaggy appearance.

Under the scope, I could see the pleats on leaves, which is another identifying feature.

Along a stream we found the next species, growing in another shaggy manner, though more upright than the Electrified Cat-tail. This is Lipstick Thyme Moss or Mnium hornum. It is an acrocarp.

I’m fascinated by the leaf cells that are equal-sided and look like snakeskin. Along the toothed margin the cells are elongated.

Though the common name of this next species is Tree Moss, it grows in moist areas and not on trees. But Climacium dendroides does resemble a tree in its growth form.

The leaves of this pluerocarp are overlapping and toothed.

They are so tighhtly arranged and didn’t let much light into the photo.

This next species has two common names: Wrinkled Broom Moss and Bad Hair Day Moss. I think I prefer the latter because that’s me every day.

The stems have conspicuously whitish or reddish tomentose (lots of filamentous rhizoids or hairs) and hold water.

Dicranum polysetum actually has more common names: Waxy Leaf and Wavy Leaf moss. It seems to fit all of its descriptors.

The final species was Delicate Fern Moss, Thuidium delicatulum. We found it, as is often the case, growing on a rotting stump. The leaf structure is very fern-like, thus making this one easy to identify even without Jeff and Alan as guides.

As a pluerocarp, the sporophytes would have formed in this curved capsule. In the fall, the operculum or lid covering on the capsule opened, releasing spores. Visible at the tip is the one ring of teeth located inside the mouth of the capsule and known as peristome.

Looking through the lenses and microscope offered a great way to get to know these mosses better, but slowing myself down to do some sketches may be the thing that solidifies them in my mind.

Even my guy noted that it’s been a while since I’ve actually made time to sketch. The real test will be if I can meet these friends in the wild and greet each one by name. I think I should earn bonus points if I can remember both the common and scientific names. Fingers crossed. And practice needed.

One needs eagle eyes to really learn the idiosyncrasies of bryophytes such as mosses, those tiny green plants with rhizoids, rather than roots, and no true vascular system.

As it was, on Black Friday, an immature Bald Eagle greeted us when we returned to the parking lot, all grateful for the time spent together learning from each other, and especially from Jeff and Alan.

A perfect ending to the perfect classroom shopping expedition.

Wednesday Wanders

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Today’s wander begins at the end because it can in my book of life. And by the end, I think you’ll understand why I made that choice. But don’t scroll ahead cuze then you’ll ruin the surprise.

Our deer friends are feeding on bird seed and corn right now about ten feet from the back door. Meanwhile, the fairies are flittering about behind this doe. Do you see their twinkling wands at work?

Actually, all the lights are kitchen reflections on the door window.

This, of course, has nothing to do with the rest of the day, but I do love our deer friends and like to honor them when I can.

Now on to the nitty gritty of the rest of the story. My friend Dawn and I are Maine Master Naturalists as you may know. And because of that, we must volunteer time to teach others about the natural world. An unpaid job that is hardly a hardship because it’s so much fun.

Right now, we are in the midst of offering a program every other week for Loon Echo Land Trust in Bridgton. And the winter focus is tracking. Not easy to do without snow or mud. Wait a second. The animals are always on the move, and without the snow, we must look for signs. And so we did.

The first, a special offering left on top of a rock that Dawn actually noticed this past weekend when her son and daughter-in-law were visiting, and which she complety embarrassed him by taking photographs of it.

Out came my scat shovel today and everyone took a look. By its form, size, and location, we determined Red Fox.

Our real mission today, however, was to explore the territory of a Red Squirrel. No, this is not my friend Red, but another who has established a territory in a different space that’s also been blessed with an abundant amount of pine cones this year.

We wanted the partipants to take a close look at the scales where the seeds the squirrel sought had been stored. They got right into it.

After locating caches and middens created by said squirrel, we taught the ladies how to use a loupe, aka hand lens, by holding it close to their noses and bringing the object closer until they could focus on it.

To say it opened up a whole new world is possibly an understatement.

Discovering the tiny seeds the squirrel consumes would have been enough, but there was more. In one section of this squirrel’s habitat we found numerous mushrooms upon branches, placed there by the rodent to dry. Talk about being in a food pantry.

And then . . . and then . . . we spotted hoar frost between a couple of stacked logs . . . and surmised that our little friend was living in the space below. How cool is that? Wicked, in these parts of the woods.

What we learned is that this particular squirrel’s territory is located between two downed trees and a wetland, about the size of half a football field.

At the edge of the wetland, it was time to turn our attention from the squirrel to another rodent.

Yes, a Beaver. Once our eyes cued in, just like spotting the squirrel’s mushrooms, beaverworks made themselves known.

And so we encouraged partipants to channel their inner Beaver and try to chop down carrot trees.

Like any Beaver, they were eager to shout, “TIMBER.”

And rejoiced when their tree stumps matched the Beaver’s sculptures.

Finally, we took them along a path that led to more Beaver works, where we noted how its the cambium layer that this rodent seeks for its nutritional value. The rest is left behind, rather like a squirrel’s midden.

And so the inner Beaver channeling continued, this time with pretzel sticks and they were challenged to only remove the outer layer.

The competition was stiff, and a couple of Beavers broke their sticks so we’re not sure they’ll survive the winter.

But at least one was super successful.

While only one Beaver fells a tree, the family may help to break that downed tree into smaller pieces and there are at least three sections like this indicating that they’ve worked on it–maybe one at each spot. We don’t know for sure, but that’s the picture we like to imagine.

Below where we stood, we spotted the dam and talked about construction.

And then located the lodge. Another cool thing–more hoar frost at the top where a vent hole exists and is not covered with the mud that insulates the rest of the structure.

By evidence of the frost, we suspected the family was gathered within, probably consisting of mom and dad, at least two two-year-olds who will move on in the spring, and maybe a few youngsters.

As we walked beside a trail on our way to check out another lodge we determined wasn’t active, one among us discovered a kill site. So here’s the thing. When we first met in the parking lot, that same participant pointed to a Bald Eagle that flew just above the trees.

Could the eagle be the predator of what had been a duck? We suspected so.

The blood was fresh.

Nearby a Mallard had been quaking and we thought it was laughing at us and our enthusiasm and inquisitiveness. But perhaps it was lamenting the loss of a mate. Or at least trying to locate the mate that had become a meal–providing energy for another to carry on.

Yes, it’s sad. But this is nature. This is how it works.

After two delightful hours of discovery and learning, we said goodbye to everyone, dropped in at Loon Echo Land Trust’s office, and then went on a reconnaissance mission at another local spot, trying to determine if we should use it for a class we’ll teach for Lake Region Lifelong Learning, another volunteer venture.

And it was there, that just after we’d talked about being in hare territory and knowing that the lack of snow meant that a hare would stand out amongst the leaves, that . . . Dawn spotted a Snowshoe Hare.

We were so excited about how the morning had unfolded and spying the hare was a grand reward.

Can you track mammals without any snow. YES!

Wednesday Wanders, oh my! So much to learn. So much to share.

The Forever Student, Naturally

~ lmachayes ~ 8 Comments

This story begins . . . at the beginning. Okay. Early morning, not enough coffee, humor. Rather, this story begins at a bird feeder located about twenty feet from our back door.

Birds, like this Tufted Titmouse, frequent it, especially on rainy days, which seems to be the norm this December. In fact, this year. Sadly.

But, there’s another visitor, who thinks its a bird. If it had the membrane that stretches from the wrist of a front paw to the ankle of a rare paw, we could at least call it a Flying Squirrel. It does not. It just thinks its entitled to the bird feeder selection, despite the fact that I spread plenty of seed on the ground and have a dangling corn feeder intended for such uses.

Eventually, it did resort to normal Gray Squirrel behavior and fetched an acorn, then frantically searched for a spot to cache it. And taught me a lesson.

I realized I’ve never paid particular attention to a Gray Squirrel caching acorns, one here, one there, for future food sources, or a future oak sapling if not dined upon. I knew they did that. But what I didn’t realize is that much consideration goes into location of said single cache. The squirrel moved through two gardens, across the yard, and paused about three feet from the back door to dig, all the while holding the acorn between its lips.

And in the end, that wasn’t the right spot and so it moved on.

And I stepped out the door. The hole was just deep enough and wide enough for that single acorn, but the last I saw of the squirrel , it still hold the nut tight as it pranced along the stone wall and then into the field beyond. Funny thing is that when I returned home an hour or two or three later, there was a second hole excavated but equally empty. Why dig here twice and not make a deposit?

The Gray Squirrel’s activity inspired me to step into our woods and check on the activity of my friend Red. He doesn’t disappoint and each day that I visit I notice new middens (garbage piles of discarded cone scales) and new cones added to the cache (food cupboard).

My favorite cache is now a foot tall and the cool realization is that he doesn’t dine upon this pile. Like the Gray Squirrel burying his acorns for future consumption, Red is dining on plenty of pine cone seeds, but saving up for that day when we have so much snow (will that day ever come again?) that he has a food supply available and doesn’t have to tunnel through the white stuff in search of a meal. Considering how many pine cone seeds he must consume each day, I have to wonder how long this source will last and will it grow taller and wider in the coming weeks?

On the other side of the cow path, for that is where the tall pile is located, I realized he’s started another cache, this one located under some discarded garden fence left behind by previous owners of the land. It’s actually a great spot in my squirrely mind, for its beside the wall so he can easily access it from a dry spot within and the fencing and sticks and leaves have created a shelter.

Much to my delight, I spotted Red on a pine branch, a perfect high spot on which to dine and keep an eye on invaders of his domain, such as me. My presence, however, did not stop him from peeling each scale to seek the two seeds tucked close to the cob.

And as is the custom, its only the seeds that he cares about, scales discarded because their usefulness is no longer important.

The base of the tree shows just how many scales he’s discarded over the last few months as his midden contiunes to grow. Considering this year was a mast pinecone production year for Eastern White Pines in western Maine, this is one well fed squirrel.

Another tree that produced a mast crop is the Northern Red Oak and the abundance of acorns has been a food source for the squirrels, especially the Gray, Porcupines, and White-tailed Deer.

The tree behind our barn is massive, with a coppiced base and therefore three large trunks. Our sons once built a fort in that space between.

At about 4:15pm the day before, our youngest son, his gal, and I watched Bandit, the local porcupine come from the acorns to a puddle beside the herb garden and pause for about five minutes as he sipped from it. That was another first for me. And them as well. In fact, for his gal, just seeing a porcupine in the wild was a first.

Then he waddled off to the woods on the other side of the stone wall, and probably found an Eastern Hemlock upon which to dine for the night. I found a few trees with downed twigs, but none that cried out, “I’m Bandit’s food source,” so I suspect I need to expand my search on another day.

Instead, I made a different discovery. We know that Bandit has spent time under the barn, and he’s left tracks when we did have snow that led to a neighbor’s shed, but I have wondered about the old oak tree and the hollow within its three trunks And today, I spied evidence that he has inspected the hollow. Do you see it?

How about now? Quills! I found them on both sides of the trunk.

And on the ground below.

About two inches in length, and some were longer, I love how his brownish hue is similar to that of the bundle of dried pine needles.

The hollow is dark and deeper than my camera could see. The curious thing is that there is no scat. Yet. You can rest assured that I will keep an eye on this spot.

I decided to hang out not too far from the tree and barn as day turned to dusk in hopes of spotting Bandit emerging. Much to my surprise, an Eastern Chipmunk appeared on the wall behind the tree. Wait. What? Shouldn’t he be in torpor? Yup. But chipmunks will make an occasional appearance on warmer days and we’ve had way to many of them this year.

A doe and her two skippers also appeared and watched me from the edge of the field, or at least listened to my movements, which I tried to minimize as much as possible, but those ears were on high alert.

About a month ago, when we did have snow, I discovered blood beside her tracks on this side of the wall and knew that she was in estrus. A day later, I noticed a young buck in the field and by the way he kept his nose to the ground and moved frantically, I knew he was on a mission to find her. Did he? Is she with child? Only spring will tell.

In the meantime, her twin skippers are still with her. They ran off before I headed in, but I suspect it wasn’t long before they returned under the blanket of darkness and munched on a bunch of acorns.

Bandit never did appear during the time that I waited. Who knows? Maybe he had spent a night and day or two in the hemlock of his dining choice. I’ll continue to search for evidence of his activities because it’s what I most enjoy doing.

There’s always something wild going on outside our back door, rain or shine or snow or sleet, and I’m grateful for each lesson they take the time to teach me. I am a forever student, naturally.

Porcupine as Teacher

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

I walked up two stone steps beside one of our pollinator gardens this afternoon and when I looked up, which wasn’t really up, but rather a few feet ahead instead of at my feet, I was startled.

“Whoa!” I exclaimed.

My sudden companion didn’t even make a peep, which in hindsight is surprising, because its brethren are known to make some various squeaks in different occasions, but it did turn quickly so that its back was facing me, such is its defense weapon.

Yes, in the middle of the day I met a porcupine. If you are a frequent flyer on wondermyway.com, you know that I’m fascinated by these large quilled rodents. And their quills. And especially their scat!

By turning its tail toward me, my friend was ready to go on the defense should I try to get too close. Notice how the 30,000 quills on its back side were raised–a message to me that I should beware.

No, a Porcupine cannot send its quills aflying, but if I nudged it, which I chose not to do, the barbed hairs would have detached easily and I would have been screaming for help.

Instead, my friend decided to move away from me. And I decided to follow at a reasonable distance, giving it some space.

Our property is bordered again and again by stonewalls, some once used to mark boundaries, others to keep animals in or out, and still others served as garden walls, their double-wide structures the garbage pail for small stones that popped up each year during the spring thaw.

My friend had a single wall to conquer and that’s when today’s lesson began.

Actually, it was a few lessons. Maybe the first was noting the coloration of my buddy. We are used to variation in colors of our local Porcupines, but typically they are either black, or black with a lot of white, or brown. This guy seemed to bear the “coat of many colors,” embracing all of the above.

Not only that, he donned a white mask, the opposite of a Raccoon’s black mask. Today that mask earned him a name. From this day forward, he shall be known as Bandit.

The second lesson Bandit taught me is that because his sense of sight is not as prime as his sense of smell, once he was on the stonewall, he had a difficult time making the move down to the next stone.

I moved to the other side of the wall, and watched in awe as he raised his front legs in the air and stood upon his hind legs, rather bear-like in stance it seemed. Okay, so he even looks like a mini bear.

I began to realize that I sometimes channel my inner porky when I’m hiking down a trail. Going up is rather easy, despite the increase in elevation and sweat effort. But coming down. That’s a different story and I need to know where to place each foot. Especially in this autumn season when American Beech and Northern Red Oak leaves are slippery and hide obstacles.

Bandit continued to test his next move for a few minutes. Of course, some of that may have included my presence, and perhaps he was also sensing my odorous being. I have to admit that I hadn’t showered this morning, and for one who has a keen sense of smell, I was probably a bit of a mystery since I didn’t smell like a Fisher or a Bobcat. Those are a Porcupines finest predators–going for the soft hairs on his face or stomach.

Eventually Bandit took a step of faith. I know the feeling because I’ve done the same frequently on a hike and it brought to mind descending South Baldface in Evans Notch, and thinking that I couldn’t possibly lower my body from one ledge to the next, especially given that I couldn’t see a safe spot to place my foot. Or any spot, for that matter. I thought that perhaps I should just wait for a rescue mission, but My Guy did what he does and patiently waited and then talked me over the edge. Bandit talked himself over the edge and that worked for him.

And then I watched him waddle through our woodlot, lifting first the legs on his left side, and then his right.

He traveled close to the stone wall that borders our land and our neighbor’s field and I worried he’d cross over and she’d let her dogs out and quills would fly. Well, not really fly, but you know what I mean.

Thankfully, she wasn’t home yet. And . . .

Bandit had a different idea. He started to climb an Eastern Hemlock on our side of the wall.

Higher and higher he climbed and I noted that like me, he much prefers going up to coming down.

Knowing that he was going up the trunk and would be looking for a place to settle down, and probably wouldn’t go anywhere else for the time being, I decided to leave him be for a bit and check on my friend Red.

I’ve actually been checking on Red frequently these past few weeks and today I noted that he’d finally started to really build up his caches in several places. Cold temperatures have triggered his need to grow the pantry.

And in the meantime, he needed to eat to maintain his stamina.

I also checked on the Northern Red Oak beside another stonewall behind our barn. I suspected that prior to our meeting, Bandit had been feasting upon the abundant acorn crop the tree had produced.

I scanned the acorns for scat, but haven’t turned up any sightings yet. That said, I’m sure it’s there and don’t worry. I’ll continue to search, because, after all, scat happens.

I also intend to keep an eye on a hollow within the tree, which in the past has served as a Raccoon’s retreat. Maybe this year Bandit will do some housekeeping in this place. Or under our barn. Or somewhere else, for the options are endless in our neck of the woods.

Finally, I headed out to the field on our neighbor’s side of the wall and up in the Eastern Hemlock spotted Bandit. Do you see him? I say “him” because males typically are the ones we spot during the day.

I’ve been waiting for such a sighting because it is the time for Porcupines to switch from a summer diet in a field or orchard to a winter diet of acorns and hemlock cones and buds.

Today I give great thanks once again for living in a place where I can spy wildlife frequently and always there is a lesson to be learned. Porcupine as teacher, as it should be.

My Friend Red

~ lmachayes

It’s been two years since we’ve spent time together, and to be honest, I kind of doubt this is my friend from 2021, but perhaps an offspring. Anyway, what I do know is that last year was not a mast year in my woods and so there wasn’t much food available–the type my friend prefers to survive the winter months. But this year–pine cones and acorns abound.

As I headed down the cowpath that marks one of the boundaries of our property here in western Maine, I knew instantly by the chortling that greeted my ears that things had changed for the better.

You see, my friend is a Red Squirrel. And he spotted me before I spotted him. And then he let me know in no uncertain terms that I was not welcome. What kind of friend is that?

As I looked at the rocks along the inside path of the cowpath, I began to notice garbage piles Red had created, or middens as we prefer to call them, full of cone scales and the inner core or cob.

They were located in high places where Red could sit and eat in peace . . . that is until someone like me comes along, or worse . . . a neighboring squirrel, or even worse, . . . a predator. Given that a cone on this rock was only partially eaten indicated he’d been interrupted mid meal.

Maybe that’s why he continued to chastise me as he climbed higher up the tree.

It takes at least two years for an Eastern White Pine cone to mature. And once they do, Red has a habit of squirreling his way out to the tips of twigs, gnawing the cone stem and letting it fall to the ground. If you spot a pine cone with closed scales such as this, count the number of scales and then multiply that number by 2. That’s the number of pine nuts the cone offers.

And trust that all are still tucked inside.

Pine cones are in a way like Common Polypody ferns and Rhododendrons in that they predict the weather. If it’s dry, the scales on cones will open. If rain and humidity are in the air, the former being today’s weather, the scales will close tightly, overlapping and sealing the seeds from the outside world.

While wet weather dampens seed dispersal, dry windy days are best and that allows the seeds to be carried away from the mother tree.

In the photo above, you can see where the two seeds had been tucked in, close to the the cob, while the lighter shade of brown indicates where the wings or samaras that help carry the seeds were attached to the outer scale.

And I can attest that the sap on the scales is still sticky even though this cone no longer had any seeds stored inside. The sap coats the cones because its the tree’s reaction of placing a bandaid on a wound when its been injured or in this case had a fruit gnawed free.

One would think that Red’s face and whiskers would be covered in sap, and that does happen, but just as it stuck to my fingers initially, eventually it wore off. And Red is much better at grooming than I’ll ever be.

To get to the seeds, Red begins by holding the cone with both front paws, and turns it in a spiral, tearing off one scale at a time. Quickly! And gnawing each tiny seed packet open. The seeds may be small, but they are highly nutritious.

He continued to watch, vocalizing constantly, as I explored his territory below.

Upon every high spot, including tree stumps, there was at least a midden, but also a few cones for possible future consumption, though I did have to wonder if some went uneaten because he realized they were open and thus not viable.

More of the same I found upon some of the cut pine stacks we created long ago that serve as shelter and . . .

Storage! I’ve been looking for a cache for the past few weeks, a squirrel’s food pantry, and today I located a few small ones that I know will grow in the coming weeks. Cool. moist locations like among the logs, but also in the stone wall, offer the best places to keep the cones from drying out.

As he backed up but still chattered at me, one thing I noticed about Red, which will help me to locate him in the future, is that he not only has a reddish gray coat, but between his back and white belly there is a black stripe. Maybe he’s disguising himself so he can go trick-or-treating this week and his neighbors won’t recognize him.

So here’s the thing. Red is an omnivore. And though we associate him with pine cones, especially in the winter, he also eats flowers and insects and fungi and even smaller mammals if given the chance. And acorns. And this year is also a mast year for acorns in our neck of the woods.

He’d peeled the outer woody structure away and had started to dine, but again, something or someone, and possibly I was the culprit, had interrupted his feeding frenzy.

That said, I was delighted to find the acorn shell fragments because already in my collection I had samples from a Gray Squirrel and a Porcupine. Now I have all three and you can see by the tape measure how they compare in size, as well as the manner of stripping. As you can see, Red’s fragments are about a quarter inch in size, while Gray’s a half inch or so, and Porky’s are about three quarters of an inch. And the latter are much more ragged in shape.

Red. My Squirrel Friend. He just doesn’t know it. Maybe by the end of the winter he will because I intend to call upon him frequently to see what else he might teach me.

Omnivore, Herbivore, Insectivore, Oh MY!

~ lmachayes

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.

Bugmania

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments 
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

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

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

~ lmachayes

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

~ lmachayes ~ 1 Comment

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.

Lake Living Summer Issue 2023

~ lmachayes ~ 5 Comments

With twists and turns along the way, somehow we once again pulled off a summer issue of Lake Living magazine.

This one is super cool because not only are all the articles written by women, but they each feature women. And one was actually written by a high school student; while another is about an fabulous twenties-something naturalist who is also an artist. I wrote an article about the middle school class I have the pleasure of working with each week during the school year. And another about Maine women who support an incredible group of women in Zambia. There’s another about The Summer Camp, a camp for girls from Maine and beyond who are at-risk (and an organization I worked for years ago). Plus, there’s one about mushrooms, because as most of us know, mushrooms are most intriguing. The issue also includes everyone’s favorites: The Summer Bookshelf list of recommendations by the owners and staff of Bridgton Books.

I hope you’ll take some time to savor this issue. And I hope this link works as intended because we don’t have it on the Lake Living website yet and that may take a bit.

Read it here: Lake Living Summer 2023

LKL.SUMMER.23.web (1) (1)Download

Beauty and the Brawn: Two Kingdoms

~ lmachayes 
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.

Slippery Eyes

~ lmachayes

Exactly one year ago on a fine sunny day, My Guy and I drove to Wolfe’s Neck State Park in Freeport to fill the inner most recesses of our lungs with salty ocean air.

Today dawned rainy as has been the forecast now three days old, but we returned to the park with one quest in mind.

To see if we could match the count of Lady’s Slippers we encountered last year and Nature did not disappoint.

But, she also presented others to honor in their wet formations like a few remaining dandelion seeds and translucent bracts offering a sunshiny display.

Even the underside of a windblown tree, one of many, showing off its shallow root system created an artful design to admire.

Hiding beneath two three-part leaves, a long club or spadix sitting in a hooded base or spathe known as a pulpit indicated that Jill and not Jack was doing the preaching in these woods.

Though the weather changed from drizzly to dry, or maybe because it did so, White Baneberry celebrated with a show of fireworks.

And Indian Cucumber Root began to take the next step in its two-tiered story, for at least one flower had been pollinated and rather than dangle below the leaves, rose above in anticipation of a fruit forming.

There was all that to see, but My Guy, whether walking along the yellow brick road or over rocks and roots, only had his sight on one species that actually slowed him in his tracks.

Looking left and right, and peeking under and over, he kept count of his Lady’s Slippers.

Whether they grew in groups or singly, including this one that surprised even him, for it had sprouted from a mossy substrate upon a rock, each one mattered.

When at last we departed the park, I paused the truck beside a small pond outlined with Lupines.

They may not be Lady’s Slippers, but their own unique design and colors deserve to be honored as well.

We didn’t count the Lupines, but our Slippery Eyes took in 324 Lady’s, a total of 87 fewer than last year, but still we gave thanks.

Craning for the Fliers

~ lmachayes

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

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

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.

The Other Season

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Most people think there are four seasons in the northern hemisphere: spring, summer, autumn, winter. In Maine, many would argue that there’s a fifth: mud. And maybe even a sixth: road construction season.

I beg to differ on all accounts. In my wee world view we just came out of tracking season, which began at the beginning of December and lasted through the end of March.

And now, we have entered The Other Season. While tracking season doesn’t involve much color, it does offer an insider’s look at the animals with whom we share this space, and the habitat in which they live.

But now . . .

one’s eye needs to focus on what is different. The anomaly. Really focus. For there is a special snake making an appearance upon an old stump by the water’s edge. It looks rather like the saplings that have made this nurse log their home, but if you look closely, you might spy three light yellow stripes that contrast against a dark background and a bit of a curved tail.

Zooming in even closer, look at the snake’s head and the light colored spot in front of its eye. This is a key ID feature for an Eastern Ribbonsnake, an uncommon species in Maine, and one of special concern, which according to the maine.gov website means ” particularly vulnerable, and could easily become an endangered, threatened, or extirpated species due to restricted distribution, low or declining numbers, specialized habitat needs or limits, or other factors.”

Then there’s the Backswimmer who spends its life rowing about, belly up. Each set of legs is used for a different function – the front pair for catching prey because they are voracious predators, the middle pair for holding the prey tight, and the flattened, hairy third pair acts as oars, much like those used with a rowing shell.

As piercer-predators. they kill and suck the bodily fluids out of any prey they can subdue – invertebrate and vertebrate alike – including tiny tadpoles and fish fry. They remind me of terrestrial assassin bugs. But, Backswimmers also become fish food.

In this same habitat, one of the first butterflies to grace our airwaves is the Mourning Cloak because it overwinters as an adult. It’s an easy one to ID, perhaps the easiest for its rich brown wings are accented by vibrant blue dots and a bright yellow border along the trailing edge. Seeing mourning cloaks flutter out of the leaf litter is a sure sign of the other season.

In the same space, moving swiftly from one body of water across a cobbly road to another wetland was a Snapping Turtle. Though Snapping Turtles appear to pose a threat to humans, they are not as aggressive as we think. Instead of swimming, these turtles spend most of their time crawling along the bottom of shallow water.

On land, however, Snappers often act like the nastiest characters that you ever want to encounter. Have you ever tried to help one cross the road? With its long neck, that is almost as long as its shell, it’ll swing its head and lunge with open jaws.

I have read that even though they hiss and strike out with their formidable jaws, they will usually not bite. Supposedly, they’ll close their jaws just before they reach your hand. I don’t intend to verify this. Their act is enough to keep me at a safe distance. It’s best to leave a Snapping Turtle alone and treat it with respect.

Because I was beside water, upon floating leaves, an insect flew in that could easily have been mistaken for a wasp, such as is its tendency to mimic such. The Masquerading Syrphid Fly, aka a hover fly, has longitudinal stripes on its thorax that resemble those on the back of a Paper Wasp, but a wasp it is not. For one thing, it has only one pair of wings, where bees and wasps have two pairs.

Away from the water but within the nearby leaf litter, and easy to find if you roll a log or move some downed tree bark, you might discover the high population density of Red-backed Salamanders who often maintain small territories that they guard and in which they exclusively forage.

The forest floor is a sophisticated, perennial cycling system of leaf litter, fungus, minerals and soil extending from tree trunks down into the earth. Scores of critters travel in between, eating, moving, and transforming the layers as they go, like Red-backed Salamanders who feed on a wide variety of invertebrates and to whom we give great thanks.

Among their meals, Red-backed Salamanders feed on of invertebrates including ants, but have you ever seen anything like this: an ant convention? And not one focused on a sweet treat you accidentally dropped?

According to Donald Stokes 1983 A Guide to Observing Insect Lives, “The other situation is where hundreds of ants seem to be crawling all over each other . . . These masses are probably involved in an aggressive encounter, possibly over the position of nest sites. They could be termed ‘territorial battles’ or even ‘wars.’ In contrast to our wars, they are conducted entirely by females. lf you look closely at the ants, you will see individual battles — ants using their pincers to dismember the bodies of other ants. On the battlefield may be cutoff legs or heads.”

We may be in a new season as witnessed by all the finds commented upon, but where there’s mud or wet sand, there will be tracks and so there’s some carry-over. Do you see the baby hand prints? At least two Raccoons had passed the way of some of the other critters in this post.

But the time has come to emerge from the depths of winter and shed a few weeds and head into the other season: Standing Beside the Water Season.

If you are looking for me in the next six months — I’ll be holding true to this next season.

Quill You Be Mine?

~ lmachayes

It’s not even Valentine’s Day and already I’m thinking of love. Don’t tell My Guy, but this is love of a different sort. And the story all began while tracking with friends earlier this week.

Just as we were about to finish up the program, we spotted the signs of a resident rodent, including downed hemlock twigs and then a den. The den did not entirely make sense due to its placement in what seemed like a wet area, but we decided the critter must have found a dry place above the moisture, for indeed there was scat.

Once spotted, I knew I needed to return, for almost nothing makes me happier than to spot sign left behind by this mammal.

And so I did yesterday afternoon and while taking a different route to the den, I noticed the sashay of said critter as it had waddled through fluffy snow.

Next, I did what I do, and followed the tracks in a different direction than originally intended. And that’s when I saw these, the resident’s name carved on several wooden shingles. It’s an agile critter given that the shingles were posted all the way to the tip top of these pole trees.

Can you read it? Porcupine Lives Here is the inscription engraved on the tree. Actually, it’s a sign of winter feeding for porcupines, like beavers and deer, seek the cambium layer as one of their food sources. Each line shows where the porcupine’s incisors came together as it scraped away to obtain a meal.

And just beyond those pole trees, I spotted a hole that I suspected could only be one thing. A den with tracks leading in and out and the required pee, for such is this mammal’s habit.

A closer look at the dooryard and I spotted a barbed quill and hair. Actually, quills are a modified form of hair.

Did you know that porcupines have a variety of hair? For winter insulation, they have dark, wooly underfur. In addition, there are long guard hairs, short, soft bristles on the tail’s underside, stout whiskers, and then there are those pesky quills.

They aren’t pesky to the porcupine; just us and our pets and any animal that might choose to or accidentally encounter a porcupine.

The quills are 1 – 4 inches in length and lined with a foam-like material composed of many tiny air cells, thus their round, hollow look. There are no quills on the porcupine’s face, belly, or inside its legs.

But on the upper portion of its head, down its back and along the top of its tail, oh my. Within one square inch, there are approximately one hundred quills.

All told, there are over 30,000 quills. But who is counting. Not me. Though I did count these fancy toothpicks, 100 in all, to represent the quills in a square inch.

Despite the myth, porcupines cannot throw their quills. Because the quills are loosely attached, they dislodge easily on contact and stick into a victim’s flesh. And because they are barbed, they are difficult to remove. Talk about a formidable defense!

Returning to the den, which was located within a hollowed tree, I knew the porcupine had visited within the last twenty-four hours but wasn’t so sure it was home at the hour I stopped by.

As I often say, “Scat happens.” And in the case of a porcupine, it happens a LOT! One porcupine evacuates 75 – 200 scats a day. And though this happens as it dines, most of the scat is deposited in the den. Why? Warm insulation on a night as cold as tonight will be with temperatures already in the negatives and wind chills expected to reach -45˚? Or a detractor for predators–do they get a whiff and realize its one they don’t want to visit?

I’m not sure, but this is an example of a winter scat–fibrous from that woody diet of bark and twigs. It’s comma shaped. And often there is a groove down the inside curve.

By spring, it may come as linked pieces, much like a necklace, for grass fibers from a change in diet help create the connection.

Having discovered this den, I decided to follow the tracks, which indicated the mammal had traveled in two directions. Where would it lead me?

Within a tenth or two of a mile, I realized I’d snowshoed back to the spot my fellow trackers and I had discovered two days prior. You can see our snowshoe tracks. But since our visit, the porcupine had happened along, climbed over the downed log and peed.

Did you know that pee plays an important role in a porcupine’s courting ritual. These critters are solitary most of the year, but between September and November they seek a mate. The male, in a bid to woe a female, often approaches and sprays her with his urine. Are you feeling the love? She apparently does, for if she likes the scent of his urine, they might rub noses, or walk on their hind feet before canoodling begins.

Right above the peed-upon log was the entrance to the den and by the sight of the pigpen approach, browner even that it had been previously, I knew this really was active. The soiled snow is from the porcupine walking across its scat to exit the den.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t get the camera lighting right, but believe me that this one is full of scat as well. And I suspect, though I couldn’t see it, that a porcupine was sleeping somewhere in there, with its tail facing the entrance just in case a predator happened along.

Another indicator of a resident in the house–hoar frost created by breath on a cold winter day.

Right above the den I discovered the tracks of another–enemy number one in a porcupine’s world view. A fisher will kill a porcupine with repeated bites to the face and head.

Coyotes have also been known to work in pairs to maneuver a porcupine onto its back, thus going for the belly, where the hair is wooly.

So the curious story to me was that the fisher passed through after the porcupine was already back in the den, but it didn’t approach the den. Perhaps it had hoped to find the porcupine out in the open and didn’t want to face a tail lashing if it stuck its nose into the house.

Since the pervious visit, there were also more hemlock twigs on the ground and lots more evidence of scat-dirty feet and pee.

Because a porcupine is a rodent, and a large one at that, only exceeded by a beaver in size, it has prominent top and bottom incisors and twig nips are at a 45˚ angle. Can you also spot the scat and hair?

The winter diet consists of needles and bark–favorite trees being hemlock, birch, beech, aspen, elm, oak, willow, fir, and pine.

In spring and summer, a porcupine seeks out grasses and other green plants. And then in the fall, it looks for acorns, tearing into them in a rather messy manner.

In fact, a squirrel’s midden of opened acorns shows that it cuts the hard shell into much neater strips.

A porcupine’s cheek tooth pattern consists of one premolar and 3 molars on each side top and bottom. As you can see, the cheek teeth are modified for grinding since they are strict herbivores.

It’s those prominent incisors that are to be admired. A porcupine uses its large two front teeth for gnawing off bites of food. The incisors continue to grow throughout the porcupine’s life at a rate of twelve inches/year, and the constant gnawing keeps them worn down to the perfect size.

I did not actually see a porcupine yesterday, despite my best hopes, but sometimes it happens when I’m not looking intentionally so there may be a sequel to this story.

A porcupine has poor eyesight, so I’m not sure if it ever actually sees me when it’s up in a tree, especially if I’m standing sorta still, but it does have a good sense of hearing and smell, so I’m sure its aware of my presence. And the tail always faces the trunk in case I decide to climb up–it’s a great defense mechanism–having the tail at the ready to thwart a predator.

I will end this long story with a drawing by a dear friend and fellow naturalist, 8-year-old Aurora. She’s done her homework and I hope one day soon she’ll be able to answer the question: Quill You Be Mine? with a yes!

ABCs of the Garden

~ lmachayes ~ 3 Comments

My garden. It’s a classroom. I’ve long been a teacher, but in this particular classroom I am the student. And I give thanks for the daily lessons. In fact, this past week, I’ve given thanks for hours on end as I’ve done my usual stalking, I mean research.

It all began when I started to circle one garden, that is hardly a work of art because I welcome all who grow there, especially several species of goldenrods, their composite flowers offering rays of sunshine on any summer day.

I knew I was in luck when I spied this flower fly . . . that wasn’t flying. That could mean only one thing.

Ambush Bugs were in the area. And indeed they were. So . . . this pair of Jagged Ambush Bugs wasn’t canoodling as some of you probably think. One of the lessons I learned is that this is a prelude to the actual event, where their bodies face each other.

While the Ambush Bugs were busy getting to know each other better on the flowers above, closer to my knees a Bumble Bee buzzed in to gather some pollen and nectar from Giant Blue Lobelia flowers. Another lesson, that gets reinforced each year, is that If one stands still for a long period of time, the bees and wasps and other insects will fly in and out and leave you alone.

And when one looks up again, you’ll discover that the male Ambush Bug was still wooing the female. He’s the smaller, darker insect on top of her. Still another lesson is that when they are in this position, and, mind you, they don’t stay still, his antennae quiver with what I interpret as excitement. I’m sure it has some more scientific meaning or purpose, like maybe he was sending out a signal to her to stay with him or to other males to stay away, but still, how fast did those antennae move.

In the same garden does Turtlehead grow, and I knew it had a visitor when I heard a loud buzz as a Bumble Bee rustled about inside. This plant gets its common name from the flower’s long arching upper lip, or hood, which overlaps the lower lip like a turtle’s beak, minus the eyes of course.

Some say Bumble Bees exit Turtlehead head first but my experience is that they back out of the tight flower. Since this was very near the Ambush Bugs, I thought for sure they’d take a break from their canoodling preparation and try to capture a large meal.

They did not. And then when another flower fly bumped into them, I thought this would be the moment of separation. It was not. Though Ambush Bugs will feed while in this position, or at least the female might, what I observed over the course of five days is that they never did. I also noted that other insects frequently nudged them or came close to doing so, but quickly flew off. Perhaps they sensed danger?

As for the wooers, at about 6:00 on the morning after I first started stalking the goldenrods, I saw that they were still in their pre-nuptial position. At least I assumed it was the same two for it was the same spot and I’d last spotted them at about 7:00 the night before.

While it seemed all they could think about was their progeny, I kept thinking that they needed energy. There were so many options for food, from the black Midas Fly to the green Sweat Fly, but in the moments that I watched, and they were many, none of these became food.

Watching so many different species visit the flowers, I wondered if an Ambush Bug, which I knew could fly, though they seldom did, would attack in flight. But I learned that is not how they operate.

Instead, they wait. And sometimes walk about upon the flowers, perhaps in search of the right spot from which to attack. This is the female with her light colored face.

Notice her front legs, shaped as they are to capture prey, with a pincer that snaps back toward the second larger segment when in action. They remind me a bit of lobster claws.

And this is a male with his much darker suit and head. With those beady little eyes, it’s amazing that they can see insects twice or more their size. Or maybe that’s why they go for larger victims.

The more time I spent watching, the more it was reinforced that an on-the-fly capture was not going to occur. Even still, I kept encouraging such an attempt because it seemed to me that they don’t eat often.

The offerings continued to be plentiful each time I took a spin around and through the garden, but still, since first finding that skeleton of a body that started my quest to watch for more action, I hadn’t seen any evidence of a meal consumed.

And then. And then. And then, no not a meal. Well, maybe not a meal in that moment, but in flew something that I saw out of the corner of my eye and then couldn’t locate.

The Katydid’s camouflage was perfect, even better than that of the Ambush Bugs. Growing up in southern New England, I used to fall asleep to their Katydid songs, but here in western Maine I seldom see or hear one.

Back to the Ambush Bugs, another lesson I’ve learned before but that was reinforced is the fact that they don’t hang out just on Goldenrods, though their camo is certainly better on that flowerhead than on the False Dragonhead. Actually, the Ambush Bug looks more like a dragonhead than the flower does. But I can’t take credit for naming any species. Yet.

Watching the male Ambush Bug proved to be humorous for me, for he always seemed to have his back to any incoming insects such as this hover fly.

Maybe he saw the Bumble Bee approach?

But again, he turned his back on a potential meal.

Even as it drew closer.

Once the bee took off, the Ambush Bug turned again and I had to wonder if it questioned its positioning. Probably not as I’m not sure such a critter can question anything, but if I were an Ambush Bug, I’d like to think I would have done so.

Finally, on day three of my observations, I discovered a successful female. With those claw-like front legs, she’d captured her prey and pierced its body with her beak-like proboscis.

First she injected saliva into the victim’s body and paralyzed it. The fluid also broke down the interior organs and muscles, thus extending the abdomen of her prey. Then she sucked out those succulent digested innards. Yum!

It’s a process that takes time. And given her overall length of about a half inch, it’s impressive that she can take down bigger insect.

Interestingly, once I found one meal being consumed, on the same plant I began to find several.

The other curious thing was that all the predators seemed to be females. That doesn’t mean the males don’t eat, and I’ll certainly keep looking, but it was interesting to note.

Today, on that same plant, I found two meals being consumed that gave a sense that Ambush Bugs really do hide within the flowers before making their ambush. If you look closely you should spy the legs of a fly in the center, and a moth dangling on the right.

Class isn’t over, for I’ll certainly continue to observe and learn and eventually I’ll have conquered my ABCs. Or at least my ABs, thanks to the Ambush Bugs.

The Otherworldly Buttons

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Rooted in the spongy sphagnum moss of our western Maine wetlands, a certain shrub makes its home beside Highbush Blueberries and Maleberry and Speckled Alder. It’s a shrub of lax and loose form, its multiple stems sprawling this way and interlocking that way.

I was finishing up an exploration this morning when said shrub stopped me and for the next hour I walked back and forth covering a total of maybe twelve feet that equaled about a half mile all told while admiring the scene that played out before me.

First, there were the conspicuous flowers that never cease to amaze. Dense, spherical, one-inch globes offer nature’s fireworks display in the middle of a summer day. Comprised of many creamy-white tubular flowers so closely packed into a ball, and fringed with protruding pistils that extend beyond the four anthers, the flowers remind some of a pincushion. Set against a backdrop both glossy and dark, the leaves in pairs or threes serve to highlight the fringed beauty of the inflorescence.

As insect magnets, the flowers attract many pollinators including a pair of Flower Longhorn Beetles who couldn’t resist the opportunity to canoodle among the scent so sweet.

And then I spied another, a predator who had relied on its camouflage much like the flower’s color to keep from being seen in order to ambush its prey. Sit and wait. Sit and Wait. It apparently did so until success was achieved.

As I looked about, I spied a silken thread and wondered if it belonged to the Crab Spider. This species doesn’t build webs, but uses silk to attach drop lines to vegetation just in case in the midst of fervent action while attempting to capture a meal, it slips and needs to get back into position.

In the midst of my observation, in flew a pollinator that we all need to revere for its species is endangered and I felt blessed to have seen this one. It seems only yesterday, when our sons were mere tots, (think three decades ago) that we often spotted Monarchs all over flowering shrubs in August and September. But now, we celebrate each and every one and only this morning a friend sent a photo of a Monarch caterpillar feasting on her Milkweed and so we know we are among the fortunate few to share these special sightings.

Meanwhile, back at Lunch Leaf, I stalked. When its prey was close enough, the spider grabbed it with its two front legs, the longest of its four pairs, and bit into the victim.

Meanwhile, a Bumble Bee buzzed in, gathering its fill of nectar and pollen, nectar and pollen, until it needed to return to the hive before coming back to collect some more.

Back at Lunch Leaf, venom was injected to paralyze the meal.

Next, a Dun Skipper made an entrance. Actually about three of them flitted and fluttered from one globe to another.

As for the Crab Spider, it seemed to work on positioning the meal just right.

When the Dun Skipper was positioned just right, I could see its body more clearly and loved how the proboscis stuck down into the flower’s tubular structure. With its deep tube, this inflorescence was designed for butterflies and bees.

Back at the lunch counter, another twist was made.

And atop a different flower head, a Transverse Flower Fly made an appearance, its eyes much bigger than its stomach.

It soon became obvious that prepping a meal takes much work.

The visitors upon the flowers were many and I suppose the lunch choices were as well. While I’m thrilled to have seen so many pollinators, the Crab Spider could only imagine its next meal.

As our time came to an end just after an American Lady flew in, I looked down to make sure I hadn’t worn out the boardwalk and I thought about all the action I’d had the honor of witnessing. Though the flowers drew in smaller insects, they are designed to attract larger bees and butterflies. The Buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis) flowers certainly provide copious amounts of nectar and pollen that make a visit worth the effort for all who stopped by . . . Including the Crab Spider.

I gave thanks to the latter for its diet is well diversified and they are known to contribute to biological controls, but . . . unfortunately, sometimes they feed on beneficial insects like bees.

But I especially gave thanks for all the bees and butterflies who shared their feeding frenzy with me.

Time spent pacing before the satellite-shaped Buttonbush flowers is time spent enjoying an otherworldly experience.   

Getting Inside a Dragonfly’s Head

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

First they transform from aquatic macro-invertebrates into flying insects. And then they perform flight rituals that include snagging a meal and mating. Dragonflies, as many of you know, absolutely amaze me.

And today, that amazement reached a new level.

For today, I took a closer look at the compound eyes of my favorite insects. I know from reading and listening to others, that large dragonfly eyes consist of 30,000 lenses . . .

each an individual light-sensing structure, but . . .

whenever I study them in situ, though I’m completely wowed by their colors . . .

and the arrangement of eyes that helps with identification . . .

always it seems, the eyes are splotchy with some areas glowing and others a slightly different hue.

Do you see what I mean? Dark blue-gray above and almost a streak of whiteness in this Ring-tailed Emerald, followed by another shade of blue-gray below?

And have you ever noticed that dragonfly eyes wrap around almost the entire head? The thing is, an insect can’t move its eyes like we can so it needs a different adaptation . . .

in the form of hexagon-shaped structures that sense light and are known as the ommatidium or those 30,000 lenses per eye. Can you see the hexagons? Each ommatidium is much longer than it is wide. The ommatidium narrows as it leads to the brain as I’ve learned from How Insects Work by Marianne Taylor. She states: “Each ommatidium is topped with a cornea and a crystalline pseudocone, which acts as a focusing lens, directing light into the rhabdom, a long, narrow, and transparent structure at the center of the ommatidium. It contains photosensitive pigments that respond to certain wavelengths of light. The rhabdom is formed by the combined inner parts of (usually) eight specialize nerve cells–photoreceptors. When the rhabdom’s pigments undergo chemical change in response to light, these cells send a nerve impulse to the brain. The ommatidium also contains six pigment cells, which absorb light that strikes the cornea at an indirect angle. This ensures that the photoreceptors only receive light that passes through the cornea directly . . . what the compound eye “sees” is, as far as we can tell, a scene formed by an array of colored specks (including, in some cases, ultraviolet “color”), each speck contributed by an individual ommatidium. In dragonflies, there are enough specks to form a detailed picture, but in insects with fewer ommatidia the compound image has little detail.”

Here’s a look inside the head of a dragonfly from a specimen I’d collected after it died two years ago. What I didn’t realize until today was that the head had fallen off the thorax because its such a delicate creature once dried. But . . . that was great news because it gave me an opportunity to see more. I thought you might like to do the same. Though we can’t really get inside a dragonfly’s head, we can certainly enjoy the view of the backside.

Worth a wonder!