Have you seen...

I had just made the last trip outside for the night, flipping on the porch light and grabbing the few remaining items from the clothesline across the yard. Glad that I’d caught them before the heavy summer night could leave its cool dampness with them once more, clothes in hand, I moved mindlessly toward the back door, already falling into sleep.
The sounds from the woods and field, strong and rhythmic, buzzy, buggy--on any other night would have lured me into the darkness for one last pass on the trails before bedtime. But an early morning had already left me salivating for a delicious sleep to the tune of nighttime noises.
At my feet, frozen mid-stride in the light of the back porch, a small and muddied, wide-eyed bug paused on the concrete slab.

Not an insect drawn to light, he stumbled clumsily along on over-sized forelegs more suited for digging than walking and with a rounded profile that gave him an appearance less like a beetle, more like a bullet—a very slow one—poorly aimed and off course to arrive beside my back door.
In the several seconds that it took me to stoop and scoop the dirt-clad vagabond into my hand for a closer look, I had already come to recognize just what he was. The context was what, at first, had stumped me.

cicada nymph emergence hole in ground

By mid-summer, lifeless hulls of annual cicadas garnish every vertical surface around my yard—tree trunks, garden plants, even the cedar shakes of the house. In their metamorphosis from subterranean, root-feeding nymphs to noisy, sap-sucking songsters of a heated afternoon, these large, loud relatives of tree hoppers and aphids emerge as adults, leaving behind translucent shed skins, still holding fast with clawed feet to their upright post.

molted skin of cicada adhering to tree bark

The molted skins, split up the back and empty of their residents, are as common by July as the day is strong with song.
And, though I find their small exit holes scattered between blades of grass across the lawn, I’ve never found a nymph alive and walking—trundling in the dark from a life underground to a winged life in the sky.

He sat barely moving, caked with clay in my curled hand, deep shades of green peeking through the golden brown shell where dirt from his underground passage had been brushed bare. Then, stepping past the laundry basket and off the well-lit porch, I carried him into the darkness of the yard and set him at the base of Mother Maple.

cicada nymph scaling tree
11:43 pm

Slowly and steadily he climbed to a lichen-covered knob of bark on the old, trusted tree, his heavy body seemingly quite a challenge for legs that lift little, knowing only a life underground.

12:18 am

Then, from the dirty, dusted shell, a peek of color as his newly-minted form emerged—an emerald-trimmed body with still-curled, turquoise wings, a face studded with 3 spots of gold, 2 widely-set eyes of jade.

12:19 am
See the 3 spots of gold in the center of his face?
They're tiny additional eyes (ocelli) which lie between his larger, widely set eyes!

12:23 am

12:30 am

12:32 am

1:07 am

"Have you seen...." is an effort to discover the unusual beauty in things not usually appreciated for their beauty.

Have you seen...

The face beyond the windowpane,
drawn to the light from within,
bumps noisily head to glass,
as I, on the other side,
peer carefully nose to glass,
drawn to the darkness of this night,
and look out to see who’s knocking.

This is a Reddish-Brown Stag Beetle, Lucanus capreolus, and his fearsome appearance at your window on a balmy summer night might cause you to wonder what his intentions are.
Who’s he after with those long, elbowed antennae and over-sized mandibles?
He looks quite the brute.

Reddish-Brown Stag Beetle, Lucanus capreolus

Truth be known, although some members of the insect world are voracious predators, feeding like a wheel bug that sucks the juices from its hapless victim after injecting it with a powerful jab, stag beetles play more the role of decomposer. After hatching from an egg, the larval form, a fat, white grub, lives for 2 years in fallen logs turning decaying wood back into rich, dark soil, then over-winters as a pupa. In their adult form, although those mandibles could pinch defensively, stag beetles simply feed on the sap from trees, using the smaller finger-like appendages (palpi) to move food toward the mouth. His large jaws, resembling the antlers of a stag and in this case indicating that he is a male, are used against other males as they spar, much as do male deer, for the rights to a female. Any confrontation from a curious finger, and he will rear up and hold those awesome pincers proudly forward in defense.



Coleoptera, the order within the class of insects to which beetles belong, are so named by the combination of 2 Greek roots meaning “sheath-wing.” While some insects like butterflies or bees have 2 pairs of visible wings, the forewings of beetles are hardened and cover the softer second set of wings folded beneath them.


He’s perfectly suited for climbing, as well. Just look at those grapelling hooks at the end of his barbed legs.



Antennae with comb-like clubs scan the night air in his search for a female. Listen late at night as he taps against the glass. He’s just going about the business of beetles--he means you no harm.




"Have you seen...." is an effort to discover the unusual beauty in things not usually appreciated for their beauty.

Hope... and things with wings...from a naturalist's notebook

January 18th was a day for winter walking.
Light rain mid-morning had given way to blue skies, which, in a season best described as a string of predictably gray flannel afternoons that stretches from November to March, was in itself reason to make note. But in the woods where I stood looking up, admiring the unusual brilliance from beneath a tangle of bare limbs, I discovered something even better--a small package tethered to a branch. Just above my head, encased in the barest brown wrapper and tied to the very tip of a twig at the furthest reach of slender arm off the large maple, was the cocoon of a Cecropia moth.
Gently, I broke the twig free and its small brown package, tucked into my pocket.
Beneath the date in my notebook, I wrote, “Cecropia cocoon!”

The Cecropia moth, Hyalophora cecropia, is the largest member of the Saturniidae family native to North America. Giant silkworm moths, whose members also include the Luna and Promethea, emerge in the spring from cocoons left to overwinter by last summer’s 5-inch long, ravenous caterpillars. Constructed inside a covering of leaves which falls away in the winter weather, this strong silken pouch, within which the transformation takes place, is seldom seen against the backdrop of winter’s brown and gray.

On my back porch, I carefully propped the prized cocoon against one side of a small, glass tank and secured the lid. From there, while winter’s temperatures moved the cocoon slowly toward an eagerly awaited spring, I could easily keep an eye on any change.
But could I really?

•••

April 1st brought with it a series of doubts.
Had I been correct in my hasty assumption months ago that this was really a cecropia cocoon?
And if so, was it even still alive? There was no way to see beyond the leathery brown wrapper. Perhaps the silken sac was years past holding anything viable.
Had my high hopes steered my perception to the point that I was now guarding an imagined treasure that would turn out to be nothing at all?
Had I fallen to nature’s trickery on this day of jokes and pranks?

The Cecropia spins a 2-layered cocoon--
a leathery outer layer which fits loosely
and a dense inner chamber inside which he pupates.
Added all up...4000 to 5000 feet of silk!

In the sunshine of the front stoop, I slowly opened the small package. A fine pair of scissors and steady hand made only the least slit necessary through which to steal a glimpse of what treasure might lie inside. Beyond the silken pouch was another—a fuzzier encasement more obviously oval, more shaped like the fat, squat body that I had hoped to find. Gingerly, I peeled back just the very end of it, taking care not to squeeze or bruise the precious contents in any way.


I tipped it out onto my hand, and there he was…revealed in sunlight, the dark-clad form, perfect face, plumose antennae, forelegs folded, his still, unfurled wings…patiently waiting.

Look!
Abdominal segments to the left, folded forewings to the right,
and antennae wrapping his face!
It's a boy!

In the warmth of my hand he turned, spinning circles with his abdomen as one would spin to keep a hula-hoop aloft.
Yes, there was life in this plain brown wrapper—life yet somewhere between caterpillar and moth.

Exactly as he had been, I put him back.
With a needle and thread, I drew closed the opening in the fuzzy, oval case, then set it back inside the silken pouch. A papier-mâché patch sealed it snuggly shut.

•••

June 8th began as a day like any other.
By now, at 142 days of waiting, each pass I made across the back porch, whether coming or going, had evolved into an elaborate sort of curtsy at the back door. With one hand on the doorknob, I bowed and peeked below the lid of the glass tank to be sure the moth hadn’t yet emerged to rest unseen on the underside of the lid.
It had been a long and slowly passing spring.

By noon, I left to run errands. The day warmed vigorously, the air becoming heavy and heated beneath strong sunshine as the afternoon hours unfurled. With a load of groceries, I returned home, strode up the walk and paused to curtsy beside the back door.


Broad, fresh wings fanned slowly inside the tank. Already spread to their full 6-inch span, they pumped strongly and steadily, back and forth, their water-colored rims just barely dimpled.


Furry forelegs held fast to the tip of his makeshift branch. Released from their dark wrapper, his antennae stood proudly like plumes above his perfect face.


And for the first time, I saw a tiny eye--all that is needed by one who will be guided by scent, and who patiently waits for nightfall…to fly.

Scales covering the forewing are actually modified hairs

Cecropia moths emerge from their cocoons through loose valves at the end. Once free, they hang to inflate their folded wings, using a pumping action to press lymphatic fluid into them from an oversized abdomen. Living only a brief 7-10 days, cecropia moths have no mouthparts and are unable to feed. Their sole purpose in this time is to complete the reproductive cycle. Sometimes flying more than 7 miles, males locate females using their more developed antennae to pick up her scent (pheromones) in the warm night air. Cecropia moths are univoltine—in the course of a year, only one breeding cycle takes place. Eggs left by the female will hatch this summer, feed as caterpillars and pupate to overwinter within a cocoon and emerge next spring.
Squirrels sometimes eat overwintering pupae.
Tree trimming may be detrimental as well, as cocoons are fastened to the outermost ends of branches.

Hair-like receptors for detecting odors line his antennae...look closely!

No Less Lovely

While those behind the garden gate
on fiery plumes bent low do sway
and sip the wine of kings and queens,
beyond them yet a copper.

Whose tireless flight past fields grown high
beside this ditch down dusty road,
her fare in one brave plant remains uncut.
Alas, she is no less lovely.

Bronze Copper, Lycaena hyllus, female

The Bronze Copper, Lycaena hyllus, is a butterfly primarily of open wet areas. Although adults will take nectar readily from a variety of flowers, the caterpillar must feed on water dock, curled dock or knotweed--wetland plants often in short supply when wet areas are drained or filled. With the loss of wetlands, this butterfly is declining in many areas.

For Battle

It is warm under this early summer sun.
Wrapped in heavy jeans, tucked deeply within my boots, I step carefully along, walking the edge of our pond—its few inches of water, rimmed by a brilliant tangle of grass.

Thinking boots alone enough, I walked here days before--the tender green at the edge, inviting. Only to find, instead, that I was greeted by cutting blades, so eager to slash the flesh below my shorts, that, even as I moved slowly and gingerly between them, the tiny barbs caught easily, ripped ungraciously. And, days later, boasted of their conquest in the many red scratches crisscrossing a 12-inch section on both of my legs.

Chased away, I have returned on this day, dressed for battle.
A fine bead of sweat inches its way, tickling, trickling--
beneath my armor, to reach my ankle.
It is in this savage land, defended by blades and swords, that damsels and dragons dwell.

Eastern Pondhawk, female,
emerging from larval skin (exuvia) several minutes earlier

Up to my Knees in Grasshoppers

New England Aster in front of cornfield

Almost daily, I walk our “block.”
Past an assortment of homes, old and new. To my favorite stretch of country lane—the path between the fields.
This year, a harvest of soybeans and corn.

Wildlife is drawn here, as am I.
From within the soybean field, deer raise their heads, chest-deep in the amber stems. Watching my progress down the lane, stepping cautiously toward the safety of the tree line.
From the shortened stalks of corn, killdeer and mourning doves rise, and spread their calls over the now empty, open space. Canada Geese stand feeding in small groups, their long black necks hiding in the vertical shadows of the field.

I found a very large grasshopper here, tangled in the grass of the road’s edge. With strikingly yellow legs and black chevrons decorating them.
And started reading about grasshoppers when I returned home.

The hundreds of possibilities.
Entire manuals and field guides devoted to a single insect.
Their transformation into swarms of locusts.
And international studies as to how and why swarms occur.



And I, with this simply beautiful insect perched on my hand, cannot understand it.

She does not seem at all concerned.
All that matters to her, is cleaning her antennae.

Differential Grasshopper, Melanoplus differentialis?

cornfield

click photos to enlarge

For more Camera Critters, look here!

The Great Predator

Chinese Mantid

Last summer I noticed it, too--almost as an overnight change.
Dozens of mantids--where yesterday there had been none, hanging in their upside down pose, densely scattered throughout the flower tops.

The larger ones are the most in number here, Chinese Mantids, with only a few of the smaller European Mantids among them. This year, choosing goldenrod as a hunting ground, where their long, slender green and brown-winged bodies blend perfectly with its leaves.

raptorial forelegs

They step forward slowly and deliberately. Then patiently wait, motionless, for unsuspecting prey.

The wide-eyed triangular head is quick to turn in response to the most minor movement. Front legs grasping in a flash that which wanders carelessly too close. Hungrily devouring every morsel, headfirst. Until only a small scrap of a leg remains.

Mantid with prey

Mantid eating

voracious appetite

I kept one in a terrarium on the porch for a few days, bringing her offerings each morning from the plants in the field. My collection of 2 Harvestmen (Daddy Longlegs), 2 Milkweed Bugs, a shield bug, a katydid and a caterpillar was eaten before noon with no complaint. Even while devouring one held in her right foreleg, the left caught a bug and held it tightly in its vise-like grasp. A two-fisted eater!
(Harvestmen are eaten legs first!)

posing before release to field