Poor Literacy Skills and Mathematical Ability in Butterflies

Black Swallowtail Butterfly wing scales

I’ve never written an article for a scientific journal or, for that matter, any other serious piece of literature, but from time to time, the discoveries made in my laboratory (the kitchen table) seem worthy of mention.

Take, for example, the Black Swallowtail chrysalis I had been watching for 13 days, every morning noting color changes, as it hung suspended from a vase of flowers in the center of the table. For much of the 2-week span, I had returned it to a spot in my garden, hoping the humidity and temperature outdoors would be most like its natural setting. Only at day 9, did I bring it indoors, and prepare to capture the emergence with my camera.

The internet is full of caterpillar raising guidelines, a manual of sorts, as the metamorphosis of Black Swallowtails is both educational and inspiring to witness. And my hope to catch it “live,” on a weekend day while I would be home, seemed realistic. By the end of last week, the chrysalis had begun to darken.

Timing is everything.
And being prepared to record an extraordinary event meant a little more homework and a plan.

Consulting the manual, I learned that once the color had changed from brown or, in my case, green to black, the emergence would soon follow. Behind the now translucent cover, the details of the large black butterfly within had become visible.

Before bed last evening, I recharged the battery, cleaned the lens, and chose a spot outdoors with good light. The forecast for the next morning was perfect.
I would easily be ready by 10:00 am—the time most butterflies emerge.

We wake early, and enjoy fresh coffee at the kitchen table and laptops until sunrise. The darkened room makes photo editing easy—a quiet world, less distracting. In the center of it all, the chrysalis, still black, just inches beyond my open screen. Camera, at my side, I watched. With every warm sip, I waited, becoming increasingly convinced that all accounts of a 10:00 arrival would be, indeed, accurate.

One last check of email, just a minute’s lapse…
And I missed it.
8:15 am--the most important moment in his life.

I have concluded that this demonstrates one or both of these possibilities:
1. Butterflies cannot read.
2. Butterflies cannot tell time.

All photos enlarge with a click

Newly emerged Black Swallowtail on Ironweed

Empty Black Swallowtail chrysalis

Green: A Color in Many Shades

Our pond wears a heavy green blanket.
Even as I approach slowly and quietly, hundreds of frogs launch themselves in a seemingly choreographed sequence from the shallow, muddy edges into deeper water—skittering across the thick, clotted surface with noisy squeaks and plops.
A tremendous bowl of pea soup, bubbling with activity.


It would appear that much has been neglected here.
The edge grows wild and untamed. Grasses and jewelweed lean forward, dangling seeds from delicate stems. The clear water of spring has all but disappeared beneath a curtain.

Water droplets on Spotted Touch-me-not appear jewel-like,
hence the common name, Jewelweed.

My morning drive to work takes me past a hillside where tall trees once covered a steep slope.
Bales of straw now attempt to anchor the newly planted grass, a lovely green entry to the latest subdivision.
A sign with gilt trim advertises proudly.




There must be many shades of green.
Those that exist as a definition of color, alone. And those that are defined by a philosophy.
It is the spaces we do not conquer, that wear the truest shade.

As I was crouching by the edge of the pond to photograph this Jewelweed,
a Ruby-Throated Hummingbird buzzed into the picture to feed from its flower.

Our Green Space, the pond, and 35 frogs.

Summer Blues

Blue on Blue

It’s been a summer nicer than most.
Plenty of sunshine punctuated by days of good rain, and temperatures only occasionally reaching into the nineties. The feeling in the air, less humid than describes an Ohio River Valley summer.
Months like these, I could take again and again.

Already the evenings have grown cool. Heavy mist rises off the tall wildflowers in the field as the sun warms them each day.

Summer has hurried past on its way to autumn.

Blue Florida Lettuce

See more Skywatch here.

Captive Caterpillar on the Run(way)

I persuaded my captive caterpillar to model his flowery outfit,
his runway an upturned pencil in the vase where his flower had been.

Synchlora sp. on Queen Anne's Lace

Can you find him here?

Click on images to enlarge

Synchlora caterpillars disguise themselves within the flowers on which they feed by adorning their bodies with flower pieces cut from the same plant. As old pieces wilt and turn brown, they are replaced with new, making it almost impossible for prey to find them unless they move.

Have you seen...

Just when you think you’ve seen it all, been there, done that, outsmarted the tricks of camouflage and mimicry—along creeps another.
And gives new meaning to the term, “decorating with flowers.”

This little Synchlora caterpillar blends perfectly with the Queen Anne’s Lace from which he's feeding, and for good reason. He’s cut pieces of the flower around him and attached them to hooked bristles on his back! As those wither, he replaces them with fresh new ones—and continues to feed beneath his flowery disguise.


Unlike many other caterpillars who require a specific host plant, Synchlora caterpillars are able to feed from a variety of plants.
Picking and arranging flowers as they go.
Yellow, purple, orange or red.

Maybe you’ve seen them?
Or maybe not!

Synchlora sp. feeding on Queen Anne's Lace

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

There's more information about these intriguing creatures here.

Empty

I stand at the edge of Little Pond pool, its green, grassy basin rimmed with field flowers reaching beyond my waist. It was in this very spot that I found him last spring, my first spotted salamander, climbing over the berm to re-enter the water of his birth, and the study of my vernal pool began.

The emptiness seems a loss now, for the thousands of lives that gathered here or hatched from the egg masses, have gone. Most, moving out into the fields and woods on newly sprouted legs. The last remaining few, picked up by a solitary sandpiper—watching the vanishing water as I, slipping like sand through an hourglass.

It is this emptiness that is its essence.

February 2008

May 2008

July 2008

August 15, 2008

Autumn rains will fill the basin once more.
The pool will wait for spring.
And on a warm, rainy night in March, we will both return.

Spotted Salamander in Little Pond pool
March 2008

Vernal pools are wetlands that become dry for periods of the year, and, for that reason, cannot contain fish. Certain amphibians must use these waters for breeding so their eggs will not be eaten.
Destruction of vernal pools by draining or fill, disrupts the life cycle of Wood Frogs and several salamander species, including the Spotted and Jefferson. Each spring, these interesting animals cover great distances to return to the pools of their birth and breed again, only to find them gone.
Many states have begun vernal pool monitoring programs to ensure the health of these very important ecological areas.

View more ABC Wednesdays here!

Hiding

I remember waiting for the bus with my girls in the early morning when they were very young. Standing wrapped in an old housecoat, down by the road, crazy curly hair every which way, thankful few people passed our old country home at that hour.
I’d run a few feet up the gravel hill of the driveway as we heard it approach, and stand straight-- behind the big maple in the yard—its wide trunk hiding me. Inching my way slowly around its wide base as the bus drove off down the road. Only peeking out as it rounded the bend toward school.



I found a spider at the edge of the pond—so thin she can hide behind a blade of grass. With four legs forward and four behind, she hugs the stem as closely as she can, her slender brown form matching it perfectly. And slips carefully around it as I peek at her.

Tetragnatha sp.
Long-jawed Orb Weaver

My, what large jaws you have!