This was likely not the pupated adult of the caterpillar I found on the dill, and it’s also a male, which means that my gardens are the social clubs for swallowtail butterflies. Yay butterflies!
As with most sexually-reproducing species, the male wafts his pheromones to announce his presence (cologne), flaunts his colors (“Look at my clothes and car!”), and prances about to demonstrate his virility (peels out of the parking lot/plays football). And yet, before we laugh and denounce the painfully obnoxious mating rituals of young males, remember that these behaviors only persist because females respond to them favorably.
Unlike humans, however, butterflies are minimally destructive, and to my hearing–silent. So they can stay. I saw this one fluttering about in the petunias in my daughter’s garden.
A male Palilio polyxenes
He seemed irritated with my presence, constantly flying away when I got close enough to get a picture. Eventually, I got this image. I was hoping to get a better shot of his wings, but decided to let him be after several minutes of harassment. Good luck finding your mate, Mr. Swallowtail.
Most of the news I consume is tech news. This is primarily because it interests me, but also because the scope of this news type tends to overlap social/political events, and therefore still exposes me to the more standard news that everyone else consumes, while remaining more esoteric and as a result–averse to the more repugnant predilections of other news (I’m looking at you, Fox).
But there’s still a gap, and I was oddly ignorant of the impending solar eclipse until just before the event. We as a people seem very divided on how much popular interest celestial events should garner. There’s people who don’t seem to care at all, and people who care a lot. Me? When I found out, I leaned towards caring a lot, though not enough to make travel plans.
I had never seen a solar eclipse before. The last one I recall was in the 90s, but it was far to the north and not visible where I was at the time (Texas). I assume this was the same event Liz recounted, and while in grade school she was far enough north to view it, but for the anti-litigatory reasons of school systems, she was not allowed to watch. However, she advised me that she defied authority and snuck a peek through the window, thus watching without protective eyewear and potentially causing the problem her school was seeking to avoid–and something that would have been easy to mitigate with cheap filters, had they just let the kids watch in the first place.
And so it was that my own daughter would have been prevented from partaking, had I not already scheduled the day off for unrelated reasons. And as she is AM kindergarten, I was able to bring her home and offer her this experience.
But, there was a problem. How was I to record this event without any specialized photographic equipment? We had a pair of filters, which made for a really good first-person viewing, demonstrated as follows:
Astute observers may notice interesting objects in the background–I’ll get to that
Naturally, the thought progression led to taking a photo through the filters. That didn’t turn out so well:
Option 2: projection. Following some instructions for the pinhole in box method, I got a decent solar projection onto white paper, which I was then able to capture:
As the eclipse began, I took a second photo:
Later, I tried again:
It worked, but left something to be desired. So, I considered lens magnification. I had a pair of compact binoculars. I angled them, which in itself was difficult, and eventually I managed to get a decent image:
The image was much sharper, but still I wanted something better. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a telescope. But, I did have one more optic device, and it had much bigger lenses–a rifle scope!
The trouble with this method is that it’s attached to a rifle (and rather unwieldy when the objective is to point it skyward with one hand). The scope comes off, of course, but it’s been sighted, and I wasn’t willing to have to re-sight it just for this day’s project. No, I would simply take the entire weapon outside. Of course, it is my own damn yard and I’ll walk around it with a high-powered rifle if I damn well feel like it, but I’m also trying to be a decent neighbor, so I did feel a little guilty about brandishing a gun, but oh well. Maybe it’ll keep the neighbor’s kids off my lawn for all of 5 minutes.
It was difficult to hold the rifle (it’s heavy) while trying to get a photo, but eventually I was rewarded for my efforts:
Again the image was a little sharper, and after numerous attempts I was satisfied that it was as good as I was going to get. Then the moment of maximum coverage arrived and we simply watched with our own eyes. Despite waning attention spans, I hope the experience will make lasting memories.
Then the neighbors starting lighting firecrackers to celebrate, and I became cognizant of the fact that I was waving a gun around while explosions which sounded a lot like gunshots were echoing across the neighborhood. I put the weapon away. It will certainly be a memorable experience to me.
With the new house came a lot of blank walls. And what are blank walls but blank canvases, ready for inspiration to convert them into decorative facades? They’re also tinder boxes for countless marital arguments.
But a blank wall does not a home make, and we are forced to have these arguments. Still, I find Liz’s tastes a little too cosey for my liking, and having a tendency to centralize on the theme of cabins in the woods. It was such a common recurrence that I pointed it out, and turned it into a joke, mocking her quaint tastes whenever the artwork discussion resurfaced. She responds, appropriately, with the usual round of insults and obscenities. Ah marriage, how do they survive without these bickering matches?
Personally, I enjoy surrealist art–something that isn’t quite decipherable upon viewing, and somewhat unsettling–something by Peter Gric or Zdzisław Beksiński. But, I get why that type of art might not make the best focal-point for a room designed to be a mental retreat from the outside world, so I haven’t pushed my preferences.
The other problem is that art is expensive. So while in Wisconsin, we paid a visit to a local art store, Maple Marsh, hoping to find some prints on the more affordable end. Turns out, after speaking with the proprietor, that times aren’t very good for art (unsurprisingly). In order to stay in business and appeal to the less affluent, she had taken on the practice of acquiring reprints and sealing them in some sort of epoxy. The result very much resembles an original, and are cheap and durable. She’s still learning the process, as some of the prints had shadowing effects and foreign debris within the sealant, but at $8 to $25 a print (including frame), the compromise is worth it.
Eventually, we agreed on some art for the reading/sitting room, which looks out upon our shade garden and bird feeder. This outdoor area is a haven for squirrels and various small creatures, so we decided upon some “critter” paintings to match the theme. One day, we’ll finish decorating. And now, we’re one room closer.
During the last trip to Wisconsin, I commented on the large amount of baby American toads, apparently having recently hatched. Due to the inevitable consequences of the food chain, there were far fewer this time, but the ones we did find were older and bigger. The kid was equally amused with hunting them this time as she was last time.
Anaxyrus americanus
During our evening amphibian stalk, I caught a glimpse of some creature hopping away in panic–far quicker than the toads had. Excited at the prospect of introducing my daughter to another species, I charged into the tree line, disregarding the fact that my footwear was ill-suited for such. Nevertheless, I captured my quarry.
Lithobates sylvaticus
Initially, I misidentified it as a tree frog, but some research revealed it to be a wood frog, and apparently a very common species. But common or not, I like frogs. I suggested we go show it to grandma, but upon doing so were immediately forced to egress the cottage. Apparently, moms just don’t appreciate wildlife indoors.
Prairies are a part of Indiana’s natural heritage, I’ve been told, according to this rest stop sign anyway.
The girls were inside and I was walking the whippets. I noticed from afar, across the manicured expanse of Kentucky bluegrass, what appeared to be an informational board for the casual passerby. Naturally curious (and myself being a casual passerby), I trekked through the grass to read this beacon of knowledge.
Perhaps the sign itself was a victim of fire? Or maybe it’s yet one more icon of yesterday, fallen into disrepair. Judging from the number of toll roads I had to pay to get through Chicago, it’s apparent that the national Interstate budget isn’t sufficient anymore. Sad, although it was kind of amusing to see that this sign still remained, all the way out in what is obviously not native prairie.
The field was also littered with structural foundations, but I couldn’t figure out for what. Another mystery lost to time.
