Diversions 101

Because I am a nature nut, and because it makes me happy, and mostly because I can, I plant milkweed in my yard to attract Monarch butterfly larva. And because, once, I watched in horror as wasps made off with the little caterpillars, I look for them and bring them indoors where I have to worry about keeping fresh leaves stocked and cleaning up caterpillar poop, which is called frass. But oh, the quick gratification. Not at all like waiting all year for a moth to emerge. The lovely monarch has a very quick turn around time, mere days from cocoon to emergence. It's magic of the highest order, every bit of it. The part I find most mesmerizing is the stage where the caterpillar shrugs off its skin and becomes the green lump that becomes the turquoise gilded chrysalis. It looks violent and painful, and it makes no sense that it can occur right in front of my eyes, no matter how many times I watch it happen.

For the record, I've been doing this for years now. My rural childhood was made magic by caterpillars, moths and butterflies. One summer, an entire batch of caterpillar eggs hatched in our kitchen window, which delighted my mom and dad, so our summer was filled with terrariums filled with green Cecropia caterpillars, which are so huge they make the largest tomato hornworm look puny. They emerge the largest moth in North America, one of the most beautiful creatures on the planet. We set more than a dozen free that next summer, after waiting all winter to see them, and I have been forever transformed by that magical experience.

Maybe this Monarch will make the journey to Mexico and return to lay eggs in my yard next summer. I certainly hope so. I'll be watching.







This one emerged this morning, very early. It took several hours for the wings to become rigid, and by this afternoon, it flew away. But I'm not sad. I have another chrysalis that should hatch next week, and one caterpillar almost ready to cocoon, and a tiny little one that needs another week or two to grow big enough to work its own magic. I'll keep you posted.

In Flux

The bones of this decaying leaf nestled on lush cozy moss caught my eye. I got down low to look and listen.

I've heard the woods come to life before, two years ago, the first warm evening of Spring. I stood outside, on the edge of the woods with my puppy on a quiet night. From everywhere came a tiny rustling under the leaves, and at first my monkey brain registered fear, visualizing spiders, snakes, voles, creepy crawlies crawling toward me. The forest floor was alive with crinkling leaves. Curiosity overcame fear and I began to question, to look for the source of the noise. What could there be that many of, moving in unison? Crickets? No, because I would see them, and they would be chirping. What then? I walked further into the trail, got down low and listened carefully. It was not a march but an uprising. I was listening to the forest wildflowers breaking through the fallen leaves, pushing them aside, or poking right through them in a glorious awakening. The sun had warmed the earth just enough and they used every last bit of its energy to rise up and break through. I used a little stick to lift up the deepest layers of leaves, and there they were, just crowning the soil's surface. Trillium, Jack in the pulpit, ferns, soloman's seal, virginia creeper, all crinkling and crackling to life in the dark, hoping to break free in time to face the morning sun. My senses tingled, not from fear but in awe. I stayed there a while, until the evening chill and the puppy brought me back inside. But I listened, and payed homage to the amazing forces that surround me, to the miracle of the seasons and to the wonder of hearing it happen. I felt a part of everything.

I try to find that night every year now. It will be soon. Very soon.

On this day, amidst the riot of bird song, I heard a little crinkling beneath the leaves, and spotted this new arrival. The leaf hopper was sitting atop a dead leaf, collecting warmth, with no new leaves to hop yet in March. I think this early warm spell might doom him if a bird doesn't eat him first.




This hole in my oldest hickory tree fascinates me. I wonder who shelters in there, maybe squirrels or chipmunks. The decaying oaks house owls and hawks. Somewhere a lone opossum makes its home. I wonder what shape I'll see in it this time. Somedays it looks like an old woman, which is how I think of the tree. She is the mother of half the trees in my woods. Very fertile. I wonder what you see when you look at this hole where her first limb used to be.

And saving the best for last, my favorite Spring bulbs are up.

Very Sparkly....

Saturday morning I awoke to a sunny 22 degrees, which felt pleasant after the latest artic blast. A light breeze floated sparkling snowflakes to the ground through the morning sunshine.
Amazing. Enchanting. Magical. Joyful.


Click on any photo to enlarge and see the detail.

With the help of this Snowflake Chart I know that the temperature was about 15 degrees when the snow fell. I was eager to catch any of it with the camera, and ran around outside with the dog in my slippers and bathrobe. I don't even care who sees me anymore, honestly. Of course, the dog was oblivious to the magic snowflakes, he just wanted to play.

Winter Magic

Saturday's frost was amazing:


Sunday's frost was even better:






The inadequacy of my camera to catch the magic of this frosty morning frustrates me to no end. I've never seen anything like it. I'm going back outside to marvel at it while it lasts. On days like this, I forget that I hate winter.