Tracking

The sun has been out for days, for longer than it seems we've seen it all winter in fact. The Himalayas in our front yard are starting to look more like the rolling landscape of Vermont. My Panda is increasingly disappointed by his habitat loss. The best thing about this weather, aside from the warm sun flooding our front room every evening and Jon getting home before dark, is the hiking situation; with compacted snow covering what will soon be muddy fields there are animal tracks to be found everywhere, and it's warm enough to go looking for them. There's rain lurking around the corner and with rain the opportunity will be lost, so we struck out into the fields today to look for signs of four legged neighbors.

We've been tracking before. Calvin's pretty familiar with the tracks of humans, dogs, and deer and he found lots of deer tracks today.

Deer path through the stream.

And a new treat, raccoon tracks.

And we listened for birds.

Chickadees (we heard all three calls)

And a tufted titmouse.

So now we're ready for the rain threatening the rest of the week, and maybe for a return of the rain boots.

December 1st

I don't start our Christmas countdown until the 12th, but these guys were so cute hanging out on our snow covered deck this morning that I thought I'd better share.

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.

Rearing Black Swallowtails

Two weeks or so ago I clipped parsley from the overgrown plants on our deck and stuck the bouquet in a glass of water, hoping to find use for it over time (the parsley has been very happy this year for sure). Then, on Monday of this week, I decided that we'd gotten as much use out of it as we were going to and went to throw out the remaining stalks. Imagine my surprise at finding a very fat bright green and yellow caterpillar perched right on top of my parsley in my cup in my kitchen. He must have come in on the large bunch nearly two weeks ago and has been munching away ever since (I must say, the bunch did seem significantly smaller, but I hadn't paid much attention).

At his current size and appetite we decided that replacing him on the already pared plants outside would be the end of our parsley crop for the year, and in fact a quick check of the outdoor plants revealed his two brothers or sisters on the now much-munched outdoor plants. Not willing to give up my plants or the learning opportunity waiting to be grasped, we brought all three little buggers inside and made them happy with clipped parsley (organic from the store) and sticks inside large wide mouth Ball canning jars. They could have picked better timing, though—looks like they will have to go on vacation with us next week.

Shall we name them Larry, Curly Parsley, and Moe?

The orange horns are a stinky warning to those who might bug him, but we bugged him anyway and brought him inside. The other two were far more mellow about using the horns, but this guy was feisty.

Here are two of the cats, each in a different phase; the one on the left is much bigger and greener and is in the final caterpillar stage while the one on the right will molt one more time.

Fascinating.

We'll keep you posted on their progress.

Camping, a dry run

I camped with my family when I was little and have fond memories of the experience. The Girl Scouts often got me out and about, too, and then in high school I camped several times with friends. That, however, is the extent of our camping knowledge, but we have friends who have also enjoyed camping in the past (with far more experience between them) and our sense of adventure got the better of us, so this weekend, on a day's notice, we packed up and headed over to Irish Hills to camp for one night in the state park there. The event was an unqualified success.

There was a lot of teamwork setting up tents.

And then we were hot and tired enough to have to go swimming.

Then more setting up—a fire and lanterns, water for dinner, food stuffs, yadda yadda. A one night dry run was probably a good idea, but I'm not sure I'd ever plan to camp for just one night again.

Mmmm...campfire food.

Scavenger hunt in the woods.

Roasting mallows for s'mores by the fire.

Playing card games with four year olds is a whole different animal.

Bedtime story by the fire. Thankfully Curious George is the only one who got sprayed by a skunk.

The biggest success of the trip? The Stanley Thermos we got for Christmas. We made coffee before leaving home on Saturday, around 11am, and poured into the preheated thermos. On Sunday at 7:30am the coffee was still hot enough to enjoy.

And yes, by the way, that is Calvin peaking out from behind a tent room divider. We had a three room tent for the night. This was new to me. Also new was the existence of electrical outlets (several of them) at each and every campsite, and the rampant use of them throughout the camp. Aside from the apparently popular trend of stringing your tent or RV with gaudy novelty lights (so, as my dad says, you can find your own site when you're stumbling in drunk at 3am), there was even a site with a flood light trained on an American flag all night. Camping. It's not what it used to be.

But we got a good night's sleep, and had just as many helpers the next day to take the site down.

Then we went GeoCaching.

And then we went into Irish Hills for a little amusement before heading home. Finding amusement in Irish Hills, however, is a little like visiting a graveyard for good eats. All the places Jon remembered from childhood visits were dead, though not gone.

The Prehistoric Forest—closed for about seven years(?) but listed as a creepy place to explore uninvited.

Stagecoach Stop has only been closed since 2008, but its heyday was back in the 1970s when US12 was still the main route between Detroit and Chicago, before the interstate. All this according to the creepy fat old bearded guy who was driving around the place in a golf cart. We think he used to own it and/or the hotel next door (which is still open). Either that or it's even creepier that he was buzzing around on that golf cart.

There is something photogenic about dead and dying 1970s attractions, though.

What? Unnecessaryquotes.com it is.

There's nothing quite like sitting on the feet of a giant lumberjack. Actually, according to creepy bearded guy this lumberjack used to be one of the Muffler Men.

And lunch at neon barbecue. Creepy bearded guy was here, too. Maybe he owns the whole US 12 strip in Irish Hills. Or maybe he wasn't even there at all—all that shows in the picture is his cart...

Camping. It's something we will definitely be doing again.