The Gift of Waxwings

I recently celebrated my birthday, and yes I celebrate, no matter the age; it just seems a wonderful excuse to pamper yourself, even if in small ways.  I have found a number of places I enjoy volunteering at here in Texas, but, as it happened, on my birthday, due to a cancellation I ended up with a delightfully clean slate.  I could finally take down the Christmas decorations, which with a backdrop of 70 degrees seemed a bit incongruous. 

But the way I would “treat” myself on this day was to stop occasionally and head out to the deck to indulge in some bird watching.  I recently moved most of my feeders further from the house for a few reasons.  First, the seeds were making a messier-than-usual mess in this deck whose boards are separated just enough to catch the seeds and start them growing.  Secondly, on any given day, you could hear the disturbing sound of White-winged Doves whamming into the window.  I have decals on the windows but that doesn’t seem to solve the problem.  However, because these birds are as sturdy as little flying tanks, they often just bounced off and flew away, but still, they must exude considerable oil, for I have all these dove imprints on windows I can’t hope to reach to clean. 

And so, the feeders are now among the Ash Junipers. The birds have plenty of cover for recently, Sharp Shinned Hawks have been around dining on the stunned doves and titmice, and with them at a greater distance I could finally use my binoculars again.  On the Cape I loved my daily walk and my companions were always my dog and this great pair of binoculars my daughter gave me at Christmas.  They were as much a part of my wardrobe as gloves and scarf, but here, with the feeders so close, and the walk around the neighborhood involving a leashed dog, my binoculars were sitting idly by.  So, on this my birthday I would treat myself to taking “bird breaks” after completing each task.

First several viewings humbled me to the fact that I have yet to know who is who in the sparrow world of TX, at least in the winter sparrow world.  I am pleased to say that, that “Greek Austerity” plan I put into place (see past blog on the topic) has reduced the number of way-too-easy-to-identify House Sparrows.  Now, however, winter sparrows have arrived and, all I can say is, even if there are twenty on the ground, they still seem nearly invisible and when they fly up simultaneously into the Junipers, I lose them completely. 

But then, while I was straining to see maybe a white eye ring, or a tawny cap I suddenly became aware that right over my head was a flock of some high pitched calling birds.  I KNOW that sound, ah indeed, and on my birthday!  A flock of Cedar Waxwings had filled, literally filled, the top of the Live Oak I was under. At first, I only heard them but then scanning the branches with my binoculars, I saw they were everywhere!  Happy Birthday to me!!!

Now, not only are these gorgeous birds, but they come complete with so many cool facts.  Want to hear some?  These are gleaned from the Cornell Ornithology webpage that is always THE “go to” site for the best information on birds.  Here is some of what I read today…

-The “waxwing” part of the name comes from the fact that some of the birds have waxy red secretions on the secondary feathers, perhaps to attract a mate.

-In the 60’s, that wild time in our history, some Cedar Waxwings started sporting orange rather than yellow tips on their tail feathers.  They found that with the spread of an introduced honeysuckle that had red berries, birds that dined on these while growing their feathers had the orange feathers.  Darn, not much honeysuckle in TX so I can’t check this out, but all of you in the NE could.  Watch for it and let me know if you see any this year.

-They are one of the few NA birds that dine on so much fruit and hah! because of this, the cowbird that decides to lay its egg in a waxwing nest will come to naught for their young birds can’t survive on a fruit diet. So there.

-We clearly need more Public Service Announcements aimed at the Waxwings warning them of the danger of overindulging in fermented fruit for the alcohol in the fruit not only can leave them with a horrid “morning after” feeling but can outright kill them!

-File under the “ahhh…how sweet” category- male Waxwings will offer their mate small gifts when courting; a berry, an insect, or, and I love this, a flower petal.  She hops away with it, but then, hang on to your anthropomorphic hat, returns and says, “no you take it” and gives it back to the male, who in turns insists she has it.  They do this a few times until she finally accepts.  How can you NOT anthropomorphize when you read something like that! 

So, can you see how a tree full of Cedar Waxwings is a great birthday present?  And I really need to appreciate them when they ARE here, for whereas they were year round residents on the Cape, they wisely, like all rational folks, only spend the winter in Texas and then, head north.

Well, this was perhaps longer than it should have been, but you see, throughout my birthday month, I have leeway to get away with all kinds of things-  lengthy blogs being one of them.

Take a Walk on the Wild Side

I have been in Texas a little over a year now.  Those of you who have been reading this during that time know that one of the hardest things for me to adjust to here, besides the heat, was having to walk my dog on a leash rather than letting him romp through the woods and by the sea unchained.  We were both pretty sad about it.  The irony was that I live where there are miles of hills and pastures but it is all private property, fenced and often sporting signs that say “We don’t call 911” which, I can only take to mean, that they shoot first, ask questions later, so it seemed not worth the risk to trespass.

Then one day, returning from church, I noticed a TX flag and an open fence leading to an area of some 50 acres that was “for sale.”  Now, I had just read a book by a TX naturalist who said, “Before you bought land, you should walk it for a year, get the feel of it under your shoes, and then consider a purchase.”  Hot dog!  Just the benediction I needed to feel free to walk this parcel with dog off leash for a year while I got the “feel of it under my feet”.  And indeed, I did.  It was THE best place for finding coyote scats and signs of wildlife other than just deer and more deer.  It even had a watering hole that provided swimming for the dog and great track-sighting opportunities for me. Of course, that dried up in summer and we went less then for it was just too hot.  But now “winter” is back so the dog and I are “walking the land” again.

Two weeks ago, when we were there, we came across a deer kill, a buck with a large set of antlers and I made note to self to keep checking on the site in hopes that once all scavengers had cleaned it up, I might have a set of antlers to use in my walks.  I wasn’t sure what to make of the kill, just absent-mindedly thought perhaps a hunter had injured it and coyotes had finished it off.  However, the very next day, I returned, this time with my brother-in-laws grandchildren and 8 adults to show off this great spot.  They of course loved seeing the bones and the cool addition of realizing that right in the middle of the kill site were hundreds of pupas.  We deduced that they must have came from maggots who had had a feast here, pupated and moved on as flies.  Kids love this sort of detective work; the grosser the better.

Now, in my year of walking this area, I have never come across any other people.  On this day, when I have 15 people in tow, of course I would come across, gulp, the owners?  No, just some workers who were clearing more trails to enhance its sale prospects.  They were friendly and seemed to have no trouble with all of us being there but before we parted ways they gave us an admonition to “Be watchful, a mountain lion was spotted here recently.”  A MOUNTAIN LION!!  A real mountain lion?! How cool is that!  Amazingly, over-the-top cool!

 

Then it hit me-that buck; maybe it was a mountain lion kill!  We went back to look more carefully at it, and this time I noticed that the rib cage and backbone had been separated from the main body and were several feet away from the rest.  The ribs were sheared off from the bone and wow, oh wow, when I read about mountain lion kill sites, this is exactly what they do.  Not only that, but the rest of the body was further up the hill, against a ledge that was right at the edge of the woods. The kill was probably weeks old, think of the pupated flies, but, and this is conjecture, it would seem as though it might have eaten the insides where it had brought it down, then dragged the rest of it further up towards the edge of the woods where we found it.  Maybe.  One can’t be sure.

 But, the other “smoking gun” was the scat I had noticed the first time I saw it, it was straight and gray, not like the twisted coyote scat I often found there.  Looking that up in Mark Elbroch’s amazing book of, “Mammals Tracks and Sign”, I found the scat in the photograph to be identical to the one I had seen.  Wow, wow, wow! 

Now, of course, some people are saying, “Surely you won’t walk there anymore”, but lets think about it.  Male mountain lions have a range of 20-200 miles, and females 20-100, so if we even take the least amount of 20, it doesn’t seem likely it will be hanging around here everyday.  They hunt at night and at the crepuscular times of dawn and dusk, so it would seem if I go at high noon, there should be no worries.  They also are shy animals, with plenty of deer to eat, so I shouldn’t expect to find myself on their menu.  However, the dog, which is getting older, is probably the one I might worry about.

But believe me, it made my day just realizing, I, for the first time ever, lived in mountain lion country.  Taking a “Walk on the Wild Side” just got a little wilder and I love it!

"Cedar Fever" another Proud Texas Tradition

Surely the makers of Kimberly-Clark must delight in this season.  Thousands of boxes of Kleenex will be sold to we poor sods who will spend 50% of our day blowing our nose and itching our eyes.  The season of “Cedar Fever” is upon us.  Last year we moved here in the midst of it, and while many were suffering around me, I was thankful that my Yankee constitution would not be bothered by the Ash Juniper that makes up half of the trees in my yard. 

Well, clearly, I counted that blessing too soon.  I don’t know if that is typical, that a newly moved body is too behind the curve to react the first year to allergens, but this year, my nose and sinuses are on top of things and from the moment my plane touched down from Maine, I started sneezing and didn’t stop for at least three days.  “Cedar Fever” has claimed another victim.

Now, Cedar fever is a misnomer in two ways.  First, the tree is really an Ashe Juniper (Juniperus ashei) and although innocent, newly-moved, moi comes down on the side of this tree being good as wildlife cover and holding the soil in place, most native Texans get a murderous look in their eye when you mention them and recommend you cut the whole lot down immediately.  Their reasons being they “take up a lot of water”, but you know, I beg to differ.  Like all junipers they have the small scaly “leaf” adapted for water retention and they are NOT huge water users but are well-adapted, drought resistant trees.  Birds and mammals alike love the berries of this juniper, and the bark that is so easily stripped is used as nesting material for many birds.  It turns out the jewel of the Hill country birds, the endangered Golden Cheeked Warbler, insists on using old stands of Ashe Juniper to nest in, no other tree species will do.  So without these junipers, the bird will lose their tenuous hold on life.

 

In keeping with everything is bigger, grander, etc in TX the amount of pollen the male trees put out from Dec- Feb is stunning.  The amount considered “heavy” is 500 grams per square inch and I read that last year at this time the trees were producing 14,680 grams!  They expected the same high yield this year, so yikes, no wonder I can’t stop sneezing!  It seems the key to its creating such an explosive stir in us is that the biochemical structure of the junipers pollen protective coat has properties that make it unusually noxious.  File under “everything bigger or more dramatic in TX”! 

On the Cape, I was surrounded by Eastern Red Cedar, (Juniperus virginiana) and Common Juniper, (juniperus communis); the latter one produces the berry that is used in the making of gin.  I read one article that said if only you could make gin from the TX juniper you could drown your sorrows over your allergies.  No such luck though.  But you can make some of the sturdiest fence posts and with pastureland fenced for miles and miles here; you would think that would win some fans.

 

 Well, sniffle, sneeze and blow on; my cedars are full of White Winged doves, Black Crested Titmice, Golden-fronted Woodpeckers and soon, if my memory of last winter holds true, Cedar waxwings will come through and turn my trees into holding places for those stunning, Egyptian-drawing birds, with their black eyeliner and tidy crest.  I’ll take my Vit. C and use my nasal rinse and remain a supporter of this maligned tree.  At least, that’s my optimistic plan, but then I am only in the first weeks of this, check back at Valentines Day and see if I am still singing it’s praises! 

"Here Comes Suzy Snowflake"

 

                                              

 “Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Dressed in a snow-white gown
Tap, tap, tappin' at your windowpane
To tell you she's in town.

Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Soon you will hear her say
Come out ev'ryone and play with me
I haven't long to stay.

If you want to make a snowman
I'll help you make it, one, two, three.
If you want to take a sleigh ride
Whee! The ride's on me.

Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Look at her tumblin' down
Bringing joy to ev'ry girl and boy
Suzy's come to town.” 

Tepper and Bennet

You have to be of a certain age, perhaps even raised in the Northeast for you to know the tune that goes with this old 50’s hit by Rosemary Clooney.   It was made into a cartoon that seemed to play endlessly every Christmas and how I loved it.  It is amazing how one’s mind holds onto lyrics FOREVER, so during any of the three snowstorms we had while I was in Maine this Christmas, you could find me by the window singing this song to my young grandchildren who would “tap, tap, tap” on the window pane on cue whenever we sang it.

And how the snow did “tumble down”.  I think we received some 20” while we were there and it made Christmas perfectly, perfect for this homesick New Englander.  We are back home in Texas now and catching up on some old taped news programs.  They made it all sound so awful and dramatic, which sadly it must have been for those who were in accidents because of it. But if you were by the window singing with children, or watching it swirl off rooftops under the floodlights, or walking knee deep in the softest, lightest, snow pulling grandchildren in a sled behind you, than it was beautiful beyond belief.  It was so cold in Maine; single digit mornings, highs in the 20’s, that this was that “Ivory Snow” snow, easy to shovel, easy to walk through, the kind that does blow off rooftops like some scene from  “White Christmas”- in a word, lovely.

Shall we marvel for a moment at the delight the water cycle brings us?  In Texas I am a bit water cycle deprived, although the best Christmas gift ever was waiting for me when I returned home- 2 days of real, much needed, rain, and thick fog!  Perfect for unpacking and settling in.  Too much warmth and sunshine would have been hard to take after such “Currier and Ives” weeks in Maine.  Thank you God. 

The water cycle also made our trips to the airports pretty exciting each time.  On the way there, water in the form of ice and sleet cancelled the third leg of my flights to Maine resulting in a miracle of being rerouted, for no extra charge, to the airport 10 min from their home rather than the 2 ½ hour drive.  Then when it was my turn to pick up my daughter and husband in Portland, snow had already fallen, making my “wrong way Corrigan” trip to Canada a scene from the Polar Express. (See previous blog for my, minor but significant, error of heading North rather than South on Rt. 95 and not realizing my mistake until I reached Canada!)  Of course, once I turned around and headed the 200 miles back in the right southerly direction, I ran into the liquid form of the cycle in its most torrential state.  Coming down in buckets, meaning I was reduced to going 30mph with flashers.   

Then, when it was, sadly, time to head home, another 150-mile adventure to the airport, changed from a dusting of snow, to nearly a full-blown blizzard.  My youngest daughter headed off in sideways snow to Boston, Hap and I slept at the airport and my daughter and her family, crawled back through 3 ½ hours of nail-biting driving, once again, brought to you by the water cycle.  But they “arrived alive” by midnight so I was relieved.

Next morning, I flew through the condensation part of the cycle with clouds billowing around the plane and giving us a bouncy ride till we landed in Texas.  On New Years Eve, if Santa had chosen to go celebrating, he would have needed to be piloted by Rudolph for sure.   Even as I type this, the world is gray with fog and a buck has just stepped out of the gray to eat away a bit more of what remains of my Esperanza.  But my Christmas lights are glowing and its cozy inside and I am full of good cheer.  “OOOOOooo I really love weather!” said with Eloise-style enthusiasm.    

So here’s to the Water Cycle, clearly we wouldn’t be here without it. And here’s to the God who set it all in motion.  Thank you God, how I appreciate it!  Happy New Year everyone!

The Importance of Direction

I think it is true that, for many of us, our lives often contain contradictions.  For myself, when I am leading a nature walk, either with children or adults, I am often complimented on my powers of observation, the ability to spot a scat among the leaf litter, or an acorn with the telltale hole of a curculio.   Yet, when I am on the open road, my ability to use my sense of observation to choose the correct way to go has historically been, sadly lacking.  For that matter, you might have amassed a tidy sum had you wagered on my accuracy when claiming we should go left instead of right at a particular juncture.  My family can ask me which way we should go, and then with great confidence chose the opposite way.

And so, this “skill” of mine came into play this past week when I was to get my daughter and husband from the airport in Portland ME to join us all for Christmas.  My daughter’s new home in ME is very close to Rt. 95, the only really substantial road this far north in Maine and so, the only turn I had to make, was onto 95 and then continue south for 2 ½ hours and exit at the airport.   Elementary.  And yet, for one delusional moment, I had it fixed in my mind that the town of Bangor was north of where we were, and I did know I had to go south. Clearly then, I shouldn’t head for Bangor, but rather, choose door #2 which led to Houlton, a town I had never heard of, but then I had only been here once before, so merrily I set out, convinced in my mind I was Portland bound.

And was the ride ever beautiful!  Within 10 miles I was into snow, freshly fallen snow, that had just missed Orono and I was singing God’s praises, for I miss the field of jewels snow can be.  As I drove on, it continued to get deeper, the trees like a scene from the Polar Express and I was just dazzled.  So dazzled I wanted to share it with friends, so, as there was no one else on the road, I decided it was a good time to catch up with everyone and share the beautiful scene around me.

Now here is a fascinating phenomenon.  It is amazing that once a “truth” is set in your mind, no amount of evidence to the contrary can penetrate.  For instance, I knew the airport was at Exit 46, yet I kept noticing that these exits I was passing had some pretty high numbers; 260, 296, etc..  Curious.  I knew I would always be in Maine so the numbers shouldn’t start again, but you never know, maybe southern Maine is on a different number system.  Fa la la la, just carry on, as delighted as a child in an illustrated wonderland.  Also of interest, no one was on the road, I mean NO one, a truck or two but otherwise I had it all to myself.  Ah, sad how the recession plays itself out, no money for gas, fewer cars I guess.  Hmmm and not a single town, well I do remember in the summer it seemed to be nothing but trees, so now it was nothing but snow covered trees.

Finally, I did come to an exit that had some rudimentary stores and Yeah! a Burger King.  My daughter called that she had landed and, as I had been driving for 2 hours now, I told her I should be there shortly.  But wait, when I went to get back on the road, being careful to go in the same direction and not make any mistakes, I was shocked to see that what I perceived to be the right ramp claimed to be going North to Canada!  What?  That can’t be right, so I turned around thinking I must have gotten mixed up, but THIS sign said south to Bangor.  Oh those silly Mainers, they put the wrong city on the sign, they must mean south to Portland.  I must make a note to call the Dept of Transportation to alert them of their error when I return.  Whoa, but as I head “south”, I see landmarks that I have just passed.  Are you kidding me? I have taken the wrong way and the exits have been miles apart.  Stink!  I need to get the airport; I can’t waste these miles going the wrong way!  Ah, but here is one of those “for official cars only” turn arounds.  Well, clearly I am the only one on the road so I shall risk it. 

Now I am heading in the right direction surely.  Odd that there haven’t been any signs counting down the mileage to Portland; again, must be an austerity budget, but you would think they would mention the airport is coming up.  Then a sign does appear- it says “Welcome to Canada”!  What? CANADA!  Finally, all the clues gather together in one shocking truth- I have been going North all along!  I made a mistake right out the starting gate and now I am in Canada!!!  Second big truth hits me; I don’t have a Passport with me! Stink and double stink!  I wheel around but now I am in a long line ready to go through the US customs line. Panic, laughter, incredulity, all hit at once as I sweat out my turn in line.  What if they don’t let me back in?!

The cars were going through extremely slowly, like a true grilling was taking place by the customs officer.  And now it is my turn, and I am off and babbling, telling the whole story,  “I was in Orono, I was headed for the Portland airport, I had no intention of going to Canada, and technically I wasn’t in Canada.”  “May I see your passport?”  I didn’t bring a passport!  “No passport?”  NO,  “ a license then?”  And here I am with a TX license, driving a TN car, registered to my son in law, so a completely different name.  A raised eyebrow- “And why, again, are you in Maine?”  For Christmas, to be with my daughter and I have a daughter waiting for me at the airport, how far is that from here?  “About 5 hrs!” Super Stink!

Then I get an idea.  I had just eaten at Burger King, you could still smell the French fries in my bag and surely in the middle of all these woods there wasn’t another Burger King nearby in Canada.  So I told him he could smell my bag, I just ate, “You know the place, just 10 miles from here in the US. Honest, I am not a terrorist, I am just someone with a terrible sense of direction!”  In the spirit of Christmas, and mercy he finally let me through, thank you God.  Clearly I had given him his “tale of the day”. 

As it would turn out, I also gave my daughter the tale of the day.  Not terribly thrilled to know she had to spend another 5 hours in the airport, yet, when I finally arrived I was greeted by the applause of everyone at the airport lounge that had heard about the ditsy Mom who went to Canada! Her new friends included one very handsome Marine so, I think the long hours weren’t pure torture.

So, do you see God’s hand in this? For I surely do.  First of all, it was GORGEOUS, and I miss snow and the New England landscape and God gave me hours to revel in it.  Secondly, I usually have an amusing tale to tell in my Christmas letter and this year I really didn’t, yet here he was, handing me one on a silver platter, right before Christmas.  And thirdly, what better way to start off a new year of blogging than with a long drawn out tale such as this.  So thank you God, you indeed work in mysterious but wonderful ways.

And so a new year begins.  May we find ourselves sharing good times and new discoveries as we continue to explore the Glory and the Humor all around us!  Happy New Year everyone!

Discovering what makes Santa's suit so Red

Incredibly, I may have the secret to the vibrant red of Santa’s suit right outside my front door.   I had been noticing that the thornless Prickly Pear cactus that grows next to the front porch is not only a delicacy to the deer who eat it to nubbins each fall, but also home to a tiny little scale insect called Dactylopius coccus.  The green pads that sprung from the stumps of eaten cactus in the spring gradually developed a white looking fungus all over them.  However, what I thought was a fungus, turned out to be the white webbing of this little scale insect.  Trying to wipe it off one day I was startled to see streaks of red, like blood as soon as I wiped it.  Yikes, a bleeding cactus, what else will Texas have?!

Ah, but what I was seeing was something called carmine, a crimson dye, a toxin really that is produced by the female scale insects to protect themselves from being eaten by predators.  And the white looking fungus part was the webbing they use to cover themselves to keep them from frying in the heat.   What I didn’t know, but would learn later, is that these insects and their vibrant red color were the secret ingredient to the red, red robes of the Aztecs, they put the red in Redcoats, the Red of the Royal Canadian Mounties and who knows, maybe the red of Santa’s suit himself!

It goes by the name “cochineal” and this little insect and its color which was painstakingly extracted was, get this, the number two export from Mexico after silver in the 1600’s!  The Spanish admired the Aztecs scarlet robes and start exporting it as far away as India.  Row upon row of Prickly Pear cactus playing host to the moisture sucking insects and then delicately scraped and boiled then dried to 30% of their original size so they can store without rotting.  From that comes the  powder that would give you a red that would keep on giving, not run in the rain and just dazzle the socks off anyone who saw it.  Isn’t that amazing!  Who knew?

But it is never wise to put all your insects into one basket for the bottom fell out of the cochineal industry in the 1800’s when artificial dyes, which were ever so much simpler to produce, took their place. After all, it took 70,000 insects to make 1 pound of dye. Yet, it must have been sad for those who had invested everything in the ruby-producing insects.

 

But, guess what, they’re back!  Remember awhile back, red dye # 40, was found to be carcinogenic?  Being from the Cape, I had heard that cranberries were being used to produce a safer red color.  It turns out not only cranberries were put to the task but our little scale insect got pressed (no pun intended) back into service.  Insects once again were being raised and exported from Peru and Mexico to be used in food coloring and cosmetics.  And, even at Starbucks, in their Strawberry Frappachinos!   And the way I know that is from an article complaining that outraged Vegans and Vegetarians had not been properly warned that they were consuming insect life along with their caffeine treat.  Poor Starbucks, they were trying to do the natural and healthy thing but found, of course, that you can’t please all the people all the time.

Now it is the season of the deer eating these moisture-laden pads down to nothing again, which turns my husband about the same red as the cochineal.  It also makes me wonder if I should turn a sharper eye to the copious amount of deer scat in the front yard, might they be as red as the cranberries I miss?  Perhaps, and if Santa needs a touch up job on his suit, he is welcome to help himself to what is left by my porch.

 Ironically, I find I am writing this on St. Nicholas day, so Happy St. Nicholas day and Merry Christmas to you all!  I am thrilled to be heading to my daughters in Maine for Christmas so lets hope if another blog comes it will be from a winter wonderland.

The Constancy of Butterflies

I am going on my 11^th month in Texas, well technically I did skip a month when I went to ME this summer, but for the months I have been here I can say one constant thing has been the company of butterflies.   I was shocked to find them skittering over the ground when I arrived in January.

 Dainty Sulphurs, all along a rocky path that seemed to have little in the way of food items, but there they were.  They are said to feed on dogweeds and sneezeweeds and, in that I have no idea what those plants look like, they may very well be along my daily path around the neighborhood.  They are in the Aster family so maybe some teeny tiny starry flower is right by my feet and I don’t see it.  These tiny butterflies seem to be here year round with an ebb and flow that perhaps represents a time when they are in their pupa phase.  I read somewhere that they zip through metamorphosis, which seems believable in that they are only about 1” wide.  How long can it take to grow to that size?

Spring featured Acacia trees full of Red Admiral butterflies, ones that would congregate in great numbers on plates of overripe bananas.  I felt I had landed in a tropical rain forest with them flitting everywhere.   The omnipresent Pipevine Swallowtail followed them in the summer, and again as often as I had looked up the pipevine plant I still couldn’t find it in my lawn.

 Try to tell that to the females that were forever bending their abdomen over some random leaf in the grass apparently laying eggs.  The spiky red caterpillars followed and adult swallowtails were a daily sight through summer and into fall so I guess they knew what they were doing.   

In late summer, an explosion of Blue Mist flowers around the gazebo drew in throngs of Queen butterflies, a bright orange butterfly with a black border.  Smaller and in a different family that the milkweed-loving Monarch, they still seem to lead a lot of people into thinking they are seeing Monarchs.  In my yard there were far more Queens than Monarchs but when the Monarchs did show up they seemed to love these flowers too.  So from early morning to dusk butterflies in a blue mist stupor could entertain you.  Drinking, then taking a lap or two, then coming back to dive in again. There must have been 20 at a time at the height of it and some are still floating about, now trying to eek a living out of the few flowers that remain.

Then came an “almost killing frost”.   The day after, as I was doing a hike with some 5^th graders we kept coming across the still forms of swallowtails that hadn‘t been swallowed, yummy abdomen still intact so, no “crime scene” here, just the sad luck of not finding cover on a chilly night.  So I thought 11 months would be the amount of time butterflies would be present in my little stretch of Texas.

When this morning, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but brand new Red Admirals fresh from the pupa to here!  So the flitting game continues, the bananas are out again and an afternoon walk showed all the hardies that had survived this first round of cold.  Fritillaries, Clouded Sulphurs even the really large one called, inventively, the Large Orange Sulphur, which is completely yellow by the way, and a few Monarchs were all spotted on this day when the temps reached 60 again.  Long live the Lepidoptera!  Maybe there never will be a month in Texas without them winging past. 

And that is something I should be thankful for don’t you think?  With Thanksgiving on the horizon then, lets say “Thank you God for the constancy of butterflies in my little corner of the world.”  May there be a constancy of beauty in your world too, in one form or the other.