Mantises arguably qualify as cool members of the insect class. They’re also really creepy. But, like spiders, they adhere to what I like to call the “Quarter Rule”. That is to say, if they’re smaller than a quarter, then they’re cool/cute. If they’re bigger, then I’m grabbing my 20ga.
But the one I found met the cool size requirement. As I was inspecting my jalapeño plant, I noticed this little guy hanging out, blending in nicely with the bright green:
They’re primarily ambush predators, and I recall from my childhood that once they claimed a spot, they tended to not leave unless hungry. It’s been a week and he’s still there. So it would seem that my jalapeño is lucky enough to have its own guardian.
Liz bought me one of those genetics tests for Father’s Day. I’ve been waiting for the results since, but they came in today, thus putting to rest the quandary of whether I’m Irish or Scottish. Turns out I’m definitely not Irish, at least not according to the DNA in my saliva.
I assume Great Britain is referring the the isle, as the regional color indicates, which would naturally include the Scots, thereby explaining the Moorhead surname.
This also confirms the German in me, which is no surprise. That’s mom’s side.
I surmised that there was some Scandinavian blood. They had a tendency to spread their genetics all over during the Viking age. So confirmation on that too.
The Iberian genes were somewhat unexpected, but since we’re going back thousands of years, Iberia was Celtic/Gaulic, so that makes sense.
The test also provided me an analysis of to where my people have migrated within the last several generations. Cincinnati isn’t exactly a surprise (again, mom’s side).
Looks like I’m living with my own. No major genetic shockers.
I’m happy that my daughter, despite her girly-girl side, still enjoys getting her nature on. We’ve fished before, and she’s caught her own, but this is the first time that she’s actively fished for an extended period without regular intervention. And she was quite successful at it, too.
She stopped holding them after one got her with a fin spikeBluegill
After the first day, the bluegills started swarming the dock, which made the fishing instantly gratifying–something which might have influenced her prolonged interest.
Like a pack of sharksShe advised me that she caught so many because since her shirt had a fish on it, all the fish trusted her
However, I was more interested in trying to catch a bass. So after I de-hooked her 100th bluegill, I noticed a smallmouth bass near the shoreline. I pointed it out, and told her what it was. In a jokingly dad moment, I asked if she wanted me to catch it for her, and she agreed, so I took her pole and gently completed a perfect cast just in front of the fish. The bass swam over and immediately took the bait, and I pulled it in. It was a perfect setup that momentarily restored her belief in the magical powers of dad. Here it is:
Feisty fish–you can see him fighting for freedom
Ultimately, I had to concede ownership of the fish though, as I was advised since I used her pole, it was her fish.
But the fishing was not without its casualties. I noticed her reel wasn’t working so well anymore, so I took it apart:
It takes talent to do this to a Zebco
I wonder if Zebco has some military background. I disassembled the reel in the field with just a knife.
Even so, I would say this was a successful fishing trip.
When I see an animal, the primitive part of my brain immediately classifies it into one of two categories: threat and not a threat. Once my survival instinct determines I am not in immediate mortal danger, the classifications become a little more diverse, being based on how to interact with the animal instead: avoid, eat, examine, or ignore. After this second classification, the more evolved portion of my brain then begins its own analysis: interesting, gross, scary, indifferent, cute, etc..
And it is in the cute category that I classify these baby toads (encountered during the Wisconsin trip), as they are neither a threat, nor worth eating.
It looks like a standard American toad (Anaxyrus americanus). But I think my cute classification will go unopposed.
My daughter, like any reasonably well-balanced child, holds a general concern for other living creatures. She does not capture and flay squirrels a la Peter Wiggin, which is good, but she also takes issue with her dad threatening to shoot them. The same goes for bunnies.
The she started her own garden. After the bunnies worked their way through two of her plants, her sympathies quickly evaporated. Now, she’s actively asking me to shoot them to save her plants. Maybe I’ll get to teach her hunting after all.
