Ch-Ch-Changes

Of course, this is not the same bugger from the pic below. But it does represent who is growing and changing on my little heaping, helping of country life. And how alive it is.

I have had soul soothing field trips almost everyday. My inner-child hasn't stayed buried, she has grabbed my hand and is delightedly pointing out the amazing micro-world going on around me in the prairie grasses. The neighbors have grown-or at least look the other direction-used to seeing the large, strange woman doing her best impression of an ostrich. Head down, peeking through tri-focals to examine the flora/fauna on the up-close-and-personal level. And since my knees are blown from arthritis, I bend over at the waist...uh, and that means the bum goes up. Sorry for that visual. Hey, it has gotten smaller, though. I've lost twenty more pounds since January 1st. This is the main reason for my discovering I have a Butterfly Factory in my yard (and attached to my house) this year: I feel better.

I saw the "J" shaped Monarch caterpillar change into a chrysalis in just 24 hours. Such a fast transition. It went from stripey-undulation to an ethereal (♥ this word), almost other-worldly shape. It really reminded me of a Fairy lantern, as it seemed to have a luminescent quality about it.

I brought the chrysalis in because I saw tiny flies on it, already trying to bore into it and lay their eggs. I figured it couldn't be in any more danger inside. I was careful, this time, not to touch it. I learned humans can transfer a bacteria that will kill the developing butterfly. So, with a little time, maybe I will have a Monarch to show you. I know I could fill this blog with Fritillary butterfly pictures, as there are, at last count, eight chrysalises hanging from the siding of my house. I told you, The Butterfly Factory is in peak production right now. I just hope we don't cause a monsoon down in Central America with all these new flutterings.

"Butterflies are self-propelled flowers." -R.H. Heinlen

I have a thing about bugs. The nice ones. The ones going to turn into butterflies. Now that I live in the country, I actually have my own personal 'Discovery Channel'. I found this little guy munching on milkweed. That makes him a Monarch in training. He's only ¼" long and cute, cute, cute. I'm hoping to find a Monarch chrysalis to keep herd on. I guess I'll add caterpillar wrangler to my resume. Rollin', Rollin' Rollin'...Head 'em up, move 'em out.

Operation: Make a Butterfly- Complete

These pictures bring to a happy ending, the emerging of Jay, a happy, healthy, bouncing fluttering baby boy (girl?). I introduced Jay in the first Operation entry. I did, so, want to see this emerging. I discovered the 102 way to use duct tape with this little guy/gal. And the pic above is just one day before Jay 'hatched' on Sunday the 22nd. His wing lines could be clearly seen through the chrysalis shell.

Just minutes old.

In full 'bloom'. Ain't I purdy?
Jay having his first two o'clock feeding.

Finding My Wings

I l♥ve the Sound of Spring. Wait. Shouldn't that be Sounds of Spring? No, I think of Spring as a whole package, crafted of layers. Separate- yet, connected with 'audio molecules', at the same time. An ambiance melange. But if I could somehow separate the layers- bird music would always come to the top like cream. A yummy feast for the ears and the soul. And joy calories are the best kind, don't you think.

Hummingbirds twitter-chitter at each other, noisily arguing over feeder rights. Their wings beat incredibly fast and the sound of tiny helicopters comes to mind. The picture below was taken just outside the kitchen window. (The same window that was at the top of the must-have-list when I had my home built.) The sip-meisters waiting to see who blinks first and then...Whirrrrrrrrrrr.



House finches, to my ear, have a most delightful song. I call them my 'redheads'. They are only here for a short while in the Spring, as it must get too hot in this area for nesting and baby raising. I have them at my work yard, now, and when Autumn arrives, they'll be singing again.

A couple of years ago, there was a sweet couple who would visit me, inside my workshop. The little male would fly in the front door and sing, brightly, for his lady to join him. And in she would fly. The first time it happened, I thought they would panic and fly about in distress. No, not at all. They did it several times that Spring. It was their concert, conducted by the Great Maestro, just for me.

Operation: Make a Butterfly

Sweet Mother of Pearl. What is that? That's my happy solution in the trying-to-grow-a -butterfly saga. Last Saturday, snow was on the Texas weather menu and caterpillars don't do well in possible freezing temps. I couldn't bring it in and I was fresh out of teeny-tiny parkas. Duct tape and a faucet cover sufficed nicely. And the elevation in property value...priceless.

I discovered Jay or Jaynette on Friday, April 6th. The little orange and black striped 'cat' was rippling along the siding. I thought- aw, wouldn't it be neat if it were about to make a chrysalis. Bingo.

About an hour later I found it in the "J" position, hence the original name. Apparently, this is butterfly lingo in the Entomologist world. The best I can tell from fuzzy pics on butterfly sites, is that it is some type of Fritillary.

Butterflies are treasures at my house. I love to watch them dance through my property bringing Spring on their wings. Last year, I had a Monarch hatch from my porch railing and I let the Milkweed re-seed itself.

I'll keep posting updated pics as he/she develops. Hopefully, I will be on hand for the unveiling.

This is just an hour after noticing it wandering about.

This was on Wednesday the 11th.

Feathers Were Flying: A Tale of Almost Tragedy

Oil and Vinegar. Shake them together and they combine to make a fab salad dressing. I can say, with surety, that you don't get the same results when shaking together a kitty and a hummingbird.

Yesterday dawned bright, albeit, very chilly. About mid-morning, while I was about my weekend chores, I bopped down the hall into the kitchen. Finch, my striped kitty, was hovering over something on the throw-rug (sometimes throwed-up on rug). This is usually where he and his sissie, Enoki, come to spit out their awesome buggy prey so that I might 'ooh and aah' repeatedly. I also murmur silly statements to them, alluding to the greatness of their hunting abilities.

I started to say- "Oh, Finchers, what a good kittles. Such a mighty hunter". Huh?! It's newly Spring. Nothing in the Bugworld has had a chance to grow that large...NOOOOOOOOO. Finch has a hummingbird. I begin to scream hysterically, as I am seeing one of my favorite things in the process of eating another one of my favorite things.

Of course, wrong. Wrong to scream. Finch streaks down the hall, with bird in mouth, and disappears under the bed like a rabbit down a hole. I hit the floor next to the bed, still doing my best impression of Linda Blair. He spits out, what I think is, the poor little carcass. I gather it gently in my hands, all the while weeping and wailing- "I'm sorry birdie, Oh, poor little girl"- over and over again. I'm, now, sobbing in meltdown mode.(don't ya love being pre-menopausal?)

I start to inspect the catspit soaked little body. Astonishingly, she flies out of my hand and begins to orbit, wildly, about the room. I get all the Furkids out of the bedroom, closed the door and shut off all light sources. She finally landed on the wall vent. I gingerly plucked her- oh, such a rapid tiny heartbeat. But it was beating. I held her for a few seconds, hoping to see if she was leaving any blood trailing on my fingers. Amazingly, there was none! I went outside and opened my hand. The little girl whirred, strongly, off into the sky. I thought I would never see her again, as she would probably go off and die. A casualty of 'kitties doing what kitties are wired to do'.

Well, I am happy- ecstatic- to show you a picture taken just three hours later. Daniella, named after the Biblical Daniel, was sitting fluffing in 'her' tree. I know it's her because of the white markings on her wings. Apparently, she had landed on the patio string-lights, near where Finch was napping. She didn't see him until it was too late. I found feathers and scratch marks where Finch got at her after knocking her off the wire. I also know that she doesn't come near the patio anymore, and Finch can't get to the tree. She's there, right now, trying to plump up against the 40º (Spring!!) temperature. But about the temperature- that's another story, entirely.

Daniella: "The Survivor"

Finch: "The Lion"

Occupied

The previous post shows the birdbath sans bird. Well, this shows it does, indeed, get patrons.

Recycling At Its Feathered Finest

Since moving to the country, I've never gotten around to purchasing a 'real' birdbath. When money got tight(er), I cancelled Dish Network, and now watch TV by rabbit ears. Hmm. What to do with the old dish? Well now, wotcha think? Doesn't it make the most divine birdbath, darling? Just enough water to wet little birdie beaks and splish-splash the plumage. But not enough for the mosquitoes to hatch in, as it needs to be refilled every other day. We like recycling. "Here, here, and jolly good", say the feathered ones. And besides, watching this dish network is vastly more fulfilling.

But just so's you know, there is no old commode sitting out beside it (or anywhere else) in the garden. However, I do have a red-neck gazing ball. Yep... it's a bowling ball. Ü Ahhh. The joys of country living- without Martha.

Fluttered By

This bush was all aflutter this afternoon. It's the last wildflower left on my land. A very busy hub at Insect International Airport. Honeybees, wasps, several types of butterflies- all were landing and departing with great precision. The air traffic controller was doing a fine job on this sunny day.

That's All Folks...

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am most sad as I tell you- The Hummingbird Channel has left the airways(sic) for the season. (I apologize for my pic as I can't sneak very well, and must depend on the zoom.) This little guy will be the last of his kind at my house for the year. I watched him plump, like a Ballpark frank on the grill, in the gentle rainfall that came last week. He also seemed preoccupied with the tennis match he was attending. He sat there in the drizzle, almost motionless, for long moments at a time. Only his tiny head swinging, to and fro, as he watched the phantom game.

When The Hummingbird Channel airs its programs for the Spring ratings sweeps, it is at its best. Awesome surround-sound capabilities makes the 'twitter-chitter' and resonating wing thrum, must-hear experiences. And the dog-fight scenes have excellent aerial choreography. Such drama, such action and all in amazing jewel-tone colors. Sigh...I suppose I'll have to be content with my feathered memories until next Spring, since this channel doesn't syndicate its programs. But stay tuned, tomorrow I'll post the other channel available here. New episodes daily, with no repeats.

Next Year's Butterflies?

I was staring out the window above the kitchen sink, one of my most fave views, and noticed a fluffy, fluttering lump in the backyard. I assumed it was the remains of something's fast-food meal. So I went out expecting to find bunny parts, but was surprised to see it was an exploded milkweed pod.

This is the plant where Monarch butterflies lay eggs, and on which the caterpillars feed. An empty chrysalis, found on my porch railing earlier this year, meant I had just missed a birth. I am tickled pink (red, orange, black & yellow, too) to discover these plants on their journey to becoming next year's butterfly chow. My neighbors probably aren't- I don't mow very often in the Spring or well... ever for that matter. A major plus in moving here, was being able to see the countryside in all its glorious green imperfection, and not to live on a golfcourse. I'm thinking that one man's weeds, are this girlie's wildflowers.