Empty chrysalis syndrome

Our black swallowtails finally emerged and left. Having read that they remained as chryslids for only 8-10 days we had come to believe that they were planning to winter over with us, since they had gone into that state while we were still up at Walloon, 14, 15, and 18 days ago. We were surprised and excited, then, to find one of hte shells empty on Sunday afternoon. Having missed the take off of Larry, our first caterpillar turned black swallowtail, we were determined to keep a closer eye on Curly Parsley and Moe so as not to miss the great show. to give them more room we had tied their smaller sticks to longer ones and propped them in an open (never used) bird feeder on our deck table.

This morning we were finally rewarded. Right after eclosing the butterfly has a body distended with fluid and wings folded tightly against the body. They then pump the fluid out of their abdomen and into the veins of their wings to spread them open. These two eclosed probably 4-5 minutes apart, although we missed Moe (on the right) emerging. This picture was taken at 8:48am.

Just four minutes later at 8:52 Curley Parsley (on the left) has significantly altered his appearance. The chrysalis is still there on the stick. Notice that it is no longer dark in color now that the black butterfly is out.

A closer look at Moe so you can see the veins running through her wings. Curly Parsley and Moe were both females, a specific that can be determined by the spot formation on their wings—big yellow spots on the male, smaller yellow spots on the female.

Here is Moe stretching out her proboscis, making sure she's ready to get nectar from the plants she finds.

Stretching and sunning. This was right before Moe took off. Curly Parsley (on the right here) wasn't that far behind time wise, but she stuck around for another 30 minutes.

This is pobably best chance we've ever had, and probably will ever have, to take such a close look at a butterfly.

And just two final shots of Curly Parsley before she took off to look for nectar plants and a mate. Good luck Curly.

Awesome.

Project 365, days 232-238

One last day on the lake up north, visiting an historic railroad on the way home; a tea party with a friend; lazy road workers bring hilarity to our day; fun in the new dino sandbox; flowers are still blooming in the yard; keeping a close eye on our chrysalises, but we're thinking they might winter over with us.

I see what you're doing there.

Earlier in the summer our neighbors around the corner offered us the dinosaur sandbox from their yard that Calvin has been coveting since we moved in and that their children have long since outgrown. They told us to just come by whenever we had time and take it home. A month went by while we hemmed and hawed about how to get the thing, still full of sand, back to our house—it's only half a block, do we carry it? Do we pull it on the wagon? Do we drive? Finally, after putting Calvin to bed one night, we decided to just drive over there, stash it in the back of the van, and drive it home. It was already quite dusky, almost dark, when we pulled up next to their house, opened the trunk, and started shoving the thing in, and that was when another of our neighbors drove by, slowing to a crawl to watch us stealing children's toys in the middle of the night. It's not what it looks like. Really.

We couldn't fit it far enough in to close the trunk, so we actually just backed up the street and around the corner into our driveway, trunk wide open, dinosaur peeking out. Then, after we'd carried it to the backyard and were softly discussing how exactly to settle it in its new home, I looked up at Calvin's window where I expected him to be soundly asleep. Instead, I saw, faintly outlined in the dark, the shape of our son peering quizically out his window at us.

"what are you doing?" I asked
"I'm looking at that sandbox there."
"At what?"
"At that turtle you have there."
"I don't see a turtle, I see a dinosaur."
"At that dinosaur there."
"What dinosaur?"
"That one behind you."
"I don't see a dinosaur."
"Behind you."
"I still don't see a dinosaur." (looking up and all around)
"No, look down. Down and behind you."
"Oh that! Yes, that is a sandbox for you."
"I didn't know that you would be bringing a sandbox tonight."
"No, it was a surprise."
"I like that sandbox."
"Good."

So now we have a dino sandbox, and it even came with a few toys.

Project 365, days 225-238

225, Friday night at Dexter Daze; The rest of the week was spent up north on Walloon Lake where we enjoyed good weather, fun with family, time on a friend's farm, and meeting the newest member of our extended family.

The Huckleberry Railroad

Actually, we kind of like touristy kinds of things. It's something I come by naturally; while other families might have steered far clear of Wall Drug, my family followed those signs, which started 500 miles away on remote and well traveled highways alike, to get our free cup of water and snap a few photos. Jon and I have mostly stuck to national parks on our own travels, but every once in a while a sign with enough bright touristy appeal will take us off the beaten road and right into the trap. One of our most regularly beaten paths, of course, is the line of highway between here and "up north" in Michigan, and we've become familiar with the traps along the way—mystery spots, overlooks, and discount malls alike—but the one sign we had yet to follow was for The Huckleberry Railroad and Crossroads Village. Having our four year old train lover always with us it's hard to believe that we'd resisted this long, but until this past trip the timing had never been right; often we've tried to spend every last moment possible in north country and then we've passed the railroad sign too late in the day to stop, or else it's been winter and the place was closed. But this time we planned ahead and left Petoskey with a stop at the Railroad in our sites for just after the lunch hour.

So let me just say that sometimes there's good planning, more often even the best-laid plans go awry, and then, once in a blue moon, there's something far better than well thought out plans—there's good luck with a sprinkling of good timing. We left Petoskey knowing that the forecast was for showers and storms and a 90% chance of rain that afternoon, but as we neared the park in a determined drizzle, we could see blue skies behind the last of the afternoon clouds. We decided to go for it. What does a little rain matter when you're riding a train, right?

I can think of only one thing that would make a tiny, out-of-the-way attraction like Crossroads Village busy beyond belief on any given day, and that would be the Day Out With Thomas Celebration Tour, but since it visits each railroad only one weekend each year, what were the odds we'd run into that trouble? Yes, we really are one in a million. As we approached the two ticket booths we were pretty sure we'd be out of luck, but instead were informed that there were a handful of tickets for the last train of the day. Great! We only needed three, after all, and now all we had to do was come up with something to do while the rain blew past. We walked past the incredibly long line of families waiting to board the 2pm train in order to use the bathrooms, and afterwards regrouped on the suddenly deserted (and covered) platform to form a plan. Then, through the rain and the whistle of the train, came a quiet "psssst" from one of the sharply dressed train conductors; "Want to ride in the caboose?" he asked with a wide smile showing underneath his ancient-looking but appropriate handlebar mustache.

Uh, yeah. He was not bothered by the fact that our tickets were for a much later train, and he ushered us quickly down the line, handing us into that happily bright red last car, and then boarded with us. I figure the rain worked for us in two ways. First, it kept the ticket sales down so there were a few left for us, and second it sent some of the people with pre-purchased 2pm train tickets home so that we got to enjoy our 40 minute ride while the last of the rain showers blew past.

I remember Calvin's first swimming class, back when he was only 6 months old; the teacher was concerned that he was afraid of the water because he didn't crack a smile once during the first few weeks, but he wasn't afraid—he was absorbing and taking stock of the situation. It was this experience that kept coming back to mind as we sat in the little caboose for 30 minutes before seeing anything that even remotely resembled a smile, and even at the end of the ride our little thinker was only vaguely pleased in a visible sense. I hoped that our friendly conductor wouldn't be disappointed, thinking that the little boy chosen for such a coveted seat was ungrateful or uninterested, but the story of the swimming class seemed a bit much to share at the moment. In any case, Calvin thanked him for the ride as we descended once more to the Crossroads Station platform.

Again with the timing, our need for indoor entertainment had come to an end; as we had pulled up to the station at the end of our travels, the rain had stopped and the sun come out to shine through the thick air of a now warm and steamy afternoon.

Once stopped we explored the caboose a bit (something we missed out on doing at the front of the journey since we boarded last minute) and then spent a few more minutes exploring some of the retired cars near the station while we waited for the next train to board and depart so we could watch it.

There's not a whole lot more to Crossroads Village than the Huckleberry Railroad itself. Really it was like a much smaller version of Greenfield Village with much less attention given to the old buildings and their stories. I wonder if we had visited on a less cartoony weekend if maybe things would have been different.

My very favorite find of the day was the old farmhouse. It wasn't so much the farmhouse, though, as the lady and her vacuum inside. Look at the name on that vacuum, and then look at the floor she was in the process of cleaning when we walked through (with dirty feet, I'm sure).

They don't make vacuums like that anymore (in more ways than one).

The upside to the Thomas situation, though, was the activity fair. Attentions may have been drawn away from the beautiful old buildings and their lessons, but after a morning in the car an afternoon of craziness might have been just what the sane-parents fairy ordered. Bubbles, model trains, and even a little ice cream sent us back to the car well exercised, both mentally and physically, and well fed.

And would you believe, after all the good luck we'd already had, and even though I parked the car without a second thought for any more than the rain and the crowds, when we walked back to the car through a baking, sunny heat, we found it parked in the shade. Who put that tree there? Thank them kindly, please. Yes, sometimes luck far surpasses the benefits of planning.

It was also at this time that we finally learned how much Calvin really had enjoyed that train ride. "Can we come back next week? Please?"