Backyard Consumerism

Nothing appeals to our ancient hunter-gatherer instincts like a good sale. Animals are not immune to that feeling. Watching the frenzy at the feeders in the morning is a lot like watching a Black Friday sale at a department store.

When you spend your life foraging, it's hard to resist easy pickings. The "early birds" line up at the door (in the tree) before the feeders are filled. Many times during the year, I filled the feeders to the sound of blue jays alerting their friends that the doors just opened. They are all about being first.

There are also the saavy shoppers. Woodpeckers check for suet. Chickadees, titmice, and nuthatches only want the best seed. They swoop in, pick out the seed they want and swoop out to enjoy their treasure before coming back. Some understand that the seeds will only last so long. I observed nuthatches hiding seeds around the yard so they could get back to the "sale" quicker. This could explain the mystery sunflowers that popped up in our yard during the summer.

There are always aggressive shoppers at any sale. Clumps of house sparrows swoop in, shouldering each other for better positions. Fights break out often, usually among the mourning doves. They smack at each other with their wings as they protect the seeds they claimed.

There are the hoarders. Once the squirrels come, it's hard for anyone else to eat. They hang from branches over the feeders and grab handfuls of seed and suet. The smart scavengers station themselves underneath, grabbing at anything the squirrels drop.

Then there are chipmunks. I think they are the smartest shoppers. Their motto is "come early and come often." They fill their bags (cheeks) to bursting and run off to stow their goodies in the car (burrow) before rushing back in for more.

Which leads  to another life lesson learned from animals...

 Bring your own bags.

Eaglets, I've Seen a Few

Have you ever heard the story of the sun and the wind? The sun and the wind make a bet to see who can make a man remove his coat. Wind blows and blows but all that happens is the man pulls his coat more tightly against his body. Sun, on the other hand, shines and shines until the man gets so warm, he takes off the coat.

When I do something outside on a windy day, it's a struggle. My hair blows into my face and I feel like the breath is being pulled out of me. I need to brace myself simply to walk around. By the time I come inside, I'm tired from fighting gusts.

Lately, we've been spending time watching the Decorah Eaglets. At this point, the eaglets are starting to spread their wings and practice flapping, preparing for flight. It's interesting to watch. Today was a windy day at the nest. Watching the wind flutter through their feathers, I noticed one and then another do something interesting:

They faced the wind and spread their wings.

The eaglets know the wind is nothing to fear. Someday, that wind will lift them up and they will soar.

And so, another life lesson is learned from watching animals:

Wind is not an obstacle to moving, it is a benefit for flying.

A Problem of Moth-ick Proportions

I can't say I will miss summer. There were several challenges this year. Let's talk about one of those challenges in particular.

Moths.

This was the summer of the moths for us. Every time we opened a door, at least one or two followed us in. There were signs of moth activity in every dresser. They ruined clothes. We found frass and evidence of cocoons at the bottom of some drawers. At least they kept the cats entertained. There were lots of "toys" to chase after.

How could the moths become such a problem? It's quite simple. I assumed the holes in our clothes meant the cats were overdue for a claw trimming. Considering the number of holes I was looking at, I should have wondered why no one looked mauled. Also, brown streaks appeared on some clothes after washing them. I figured the problem was our old dryer, because it has been known to catch clothes along the rim and scorch them. It didn't occur to me that the marks were smaller and narrower than the typical scorch marks I see when pulling a sock free.

And then we found a moth worm in my daughter's drawer.

It all made sense now. The brown streaks were the paths of scorched moth worms in the fabric. The holes were entrance and exit points. They had a real taste for natural fibers, especially organic cotton. I started cleaning each and every drawer and tossed armfuls of clothes into the dryer for 20 minutes at a time (to check for infestation). Marina's clothes seemed to get the brunt of the damage, including some new clothes. In fact, it was because we found holes in new clothes that we began to wonder. 

Cleaning my son's dresser brought the most humor to the situation. His dresser was given to us by a friend. The two top drawers wouldn't close completely and they couldn't pull out all the way. With the aid of a flashlight, we realized clothing had fallen out of the drawer in back. I tried to fish it out by hand, but I don't have enough bends in my forearm. Marina managed to reach one of the objects. It was a bra. The stress of the situation and the unexpected find sent us into giggles. The bras (there ended up being more than one, as well as a pair of pink socks with lace trim) must have belonged to our friend's daughter, who used the dresser before us. My son was shocked and appalled and endured much ribbing.

At this point, I have nearly finished with clearing and treating clothes. I put cedar in most of the dressers as well as cedarwood essential oil along the edges. And I would be remiss if I didn't learn a new life lesson from this experience, so....

Today's life lesson from watching animals...

Overeating can be bad for your health. It can also be bad for clothing.

Helping Them Fly is not Enough

Midsummer was a noisy place at our bird feeders. Fledglings screamed and shook in the branches as their parents diligently gathered seed and carried it to them. As they matured, the young birds might fly down and try to pick at seeds themselves, but mom and dad knew they weren't completely ready to be on their own yet. They still fed them, and showed their brood how to find food on their own. I call this time the birds' teenage years: old enough to fly and eat on their own, but still dependent on their parents for food, shelter and protection.

I've had some interesting conversations since Marina started college. Most of the people I've spoken with believe that life gets easier for parents when their children are in college. After all, their now off on their own, living their own life. I've found the opposite is true. I've never felt so busy and tied to a schedule. True, my daughter hasn't learned to drive yet, we're working on that, but even if you take away the transportation issues, there is so much to do as a parent for teens and young adults. Beginning at fifteen, I've walked my teens through filling out various forms, how to dress for an interview, and how to boast. Yes, boast. They tend to feel shy about their accomplishments or don't see them as anything special, but those unique attributes--including homeschooling--can be important when talking to an admissions counselor or interviewing for a job. What can I say? My kids don't like to toot their own horn. They even felt guilty about asking for letters of recommendation from places where they had volunteered. Marina said it made the volunteering seem less genuine if they received something for it. We ended up in a discussion about the service requirement most schools have in our area and how it amounts to involuntary volunteerism. But I digress.

A huge part of the teenage years and young adulthood is support. While some are naturally able to "jump out of the nest" and fly, I believe most young people need some amount of hand holding to successfully meet the challenges of becoming an adult. Apart from the stress of new responsibilities, teens are also dealing with a lot of hormonal changes within their bodies, which can cause emotional stress. Is it a good idea to choose this moment in time to decide to kick the baby bird out of the nest and wish it luck? I don't think so. I will take my cue from the birds and continue to teach them how to survive until they are ready to fly off on their own. Homeschooling doesn't really end. The subject matter just changes.

Birdhouse for Wren

When we moved into our house over ten years ago, one of the first things I did in the spring was to set up a birdhouse. I got it up rather late in the season, so I didn't have much hope anyone would move in, but that April a house wren took it over and made it his own. He put a lot of work into it. Our reward was seeing the wren and his mate raise their young that summer.

We've gone through several birdhouses since that first year in our home. Some years the wren would use it, some years he would simply fill it with nesting material but raise his young somewhere else. It's a peculiarity of the house wren. They tend to hog the birdhouses, even throwing nesting material over other birds eggs. They like to set up several nests to impress a mate, then she chooses which one will be used.

This year, a chickadee tried to take the birdhouse. I was excited to see someone different nesting. Chickadees are around all winter, so technically he had first dibs on the new house I had set up in the autumn.

That did not sit well with the house wren. Now it is likely that this is not the original wren, but it might be a descendant of the one who first nested with us. I should look up what their life expectancy is. At any rate, I'm sure our young oak tree has been in their family for generations, and the wren wanted to keep it that way. When he returned in April, his song filled our bedroom, but he wasn't singing for pleasure. He was mad. We watched for days as he hectored the chickadee. Keep in mind, the chickadee is slightly larger than the house wren. The chickadee would fly out of the birdhouse and attack him, but the wren simply continued his rant. I felt sorry for him, so I tried to calm them by hanging extra houses, but they meant nothing to my ornery little friend. Location, location, location. That oak tree had been his, and he was not going to give it up without a fight. Or two.

Just when we thought the chickadee had settled in, Sierra spotted the wren flying in and out of the house, singing his heart out. We aren't sure how he had managed to take it over, but now there was no sign of the chickadee. The wren sent him packing.

Which leads to another life lesson from watching animals....

Sometimes you have to fight for what is yours, even if it's not.

Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick (Bug)

Back in October, the park ranger where we take nature classes asked if we would be interested in taking some stick bugs. They keep stick bugs in the nature center to demonstrate camouflage. There were so many they were overcrowding the cage. They aren't native to our area, so they couldn't simply be released into the wild. After thinking about it, we came back the following week with a cage and took home five stick bugs.

These have to be my most favorite pet ever. They have very few requirements. A cage with some dirt and sticks, a spray bottle to mist them every day, and all they eat are leaves. I can do leaves. I don't have to worry about leaves escaping the way the crickets would when we kept anoles.

We did have a couple of mishaps. When we first transferred them to their new home, we lost one. Stick bug camouflage is very effective. We couldn't find it for hours until Sierra decided to spray water in the tank. The missing stick bug was sitting on the spray bottle. In our defense, the bottle had a floral pattern on it that made it difficult to see. Stick bugs specialize in hiding in plain sight. The second mishap occurred two months later, on Christmas Eve. Dusty had taken to sitting on top of the stick bug tank. When I went to take her off, she dug her nails into the screen lid and toppled the tank. Four of the stick bugs were accounted for, but it took us some time carefully sifting through tank debris to find the fifth. It's hard to find something that isn't moving and resembles the sticks in its tank. It didn't survive suddenly getting buried by dirt.

Camouflage can be a good thing and a bad thing. The good thing is that it took months for the cats to realize we had them. The anole and its cricket food was noticed from the first day we brought it home. We really needed to work hard to keep the cats from harming it. The stick bugs existence went unnoticed until the end of December, when Merlin happened to see them move after I sprayed them.

Sierra loves the stick bugs. Whenever she takes one out to hold, it raises its front legs in the air and sways as if it is doing the wave or shouting "Alleluia!" They look unreal, like something a child put together that came to life. I suppose that would add to their appeal if I were a child. There is something exciting about a piece of wood coming to life. Think Pinocchio.

Sierra has learned a lot from watching them. They have tiny antennae on their head. They sway sometimes, as if they are twigs that have been stirred by a breeze. They molt when they get bigger and then they eat their own molt. I wonder, can you still be considered vegetarian if you eat your own molt? Or would it be like taking off a too small shirt and eating it rather than throwing it out? That does happens to be one of my favorite features about them. They are very neat creatures that clean up after themselves. I also like that they don't knock things over, wake me up in the wee hours of the morning or yowl loudly when they are hungry.

Which leads to another lesson learned from watching animals...

A tidy guest is a welcome guest.

What Moth is This?

The reason I love the library book sales is that you never know what treasure you might find. The last sale, back in October, I happened across a wonderful book called Pictures and Stories from Forgotten Children's Books by Arnold Arnold. The book is out of print now, but it was from the Dover Pictorial Archive series. I have a weakness for these old stories with their pen and ink drawings and their harsh lesson stories that make no apology for attempting to scare kids straight. Marina found a wonderful story in this book called Fanny Overkind. Fanny tries very hard to be kind, but it never works out as she intends. Here is an example:

Fanny had a nett(sic) made to cover her flowers and keep the chickens away; but if she had not put the nett over her garden the plants would not have died as they did: for the chickens, and birds, were only picking off the caterpillars and bugs: that would eat the young plants. But Fanny did not know that...

I wish I had read the Fanny Overkind stories sooner. We might not have had the problems we had over the holidays. I'm thinking about that first time I saw a little white worm inching its way across the kitchen ceiling. It looked so fragile. I didn't want to kill it, so I asked hubby to put it outside (because a November chill would have been so much better for it.) I think he didn't hear me. Whatever the case, in the midst of holiday preparations, we started to notice the moths.

It was only a few at first. The cats, as inept as they are, couldn't catch them. They were too fast. I was worried about them getting into our closets and eating our clothes. Bad naturalist. I was so busy I wasn't being observant. I wasn't noticing little things, like the fact that every time I opened my baking cabinet, a moth flew out. And the fact that the bag of cornmeal I threw out had a strange stringy appearance that didn't really look moldy.

I had been stocking my baking cabinet for about a month in preparation for holiday baking. Luckily, the extra flour wasn't stored there and the flour we use was in a sealed container. Except that my son is not neat in the kitchen and has a penchant for making pancakes on Saturday morning. That's why there was flour on the shelf of the cabinet. We had created a perfect environment for mealworms. So in the midst of holiday baking, I ended up tossing half of my supplies and starting over. I found cocoons in boxes. I found nests in the corners of the shelves. It was my own little holiday horror show. I'm still checking cabinets at this point. Even though I did a thorough job of cleaning, I worry about them coming back. Not so worried anymore about killing the poor, helpless worm. I learned that lesson. On the bright side, our birds had a holiday feast and my baking cabinet is clean and organized.

You may be wondering how all this started. I was at the pet store one day looking for crickets for the anole. I couldn't find any, but I remembered that the woman who sold us the lizard said you could feed them mealworms. I had never done this before, but I figured Lizzie would enjoy the variety. Imagine my surprise when I opened the mealworm container at home and a moth flew out. It scared the bejeebers out of me--I'm pretty sure I screamed--but I thought nothing of it until I was fighting for my baking supplies. I don't think any of us even attempted to catch it.

Lizzie is back to eating only crickets and mashed bananas and I am wiser with a new life lesson from watching animals....(and I have no picture to share this time, as we have no more moths)

The smallest problem can become a big one if you don't take care of it right away.

Incredible Journey, Reptilian Style

A couple of weeks ago, we had an interesting incident with Sierra's pet anole lizard, "Lizzy". We had left for a day to attend the baptism of my cousin's baby. When we returned, the anole's tank was on the floor, partly dug out, and no lizard in sight. Sierra was a mess of wails and tears. I was trying to hold it together on the off-chance that the lizard survived. Those of you who read my blog regularly know that we have six cats and at least three of them are excellent mousers.

Anoles are considered America's chameleon. They have the ability to change color and blend with their surroundings. Lizzy's surroundings happened to be a living room full of books, paper, toys, and furniture. The cage was also close by the doors to the furnace room and a coat closet. In other words, if Lizzy was a needle, our house was now the haystack. The house got a very careful cleaning that night as we picked our way through bookshelves, carefully swept under couch, desk, and computer, and crawled around in dark places with a flashlight. I had no idea how long the cage had been tipped, we had been gone for at least five or six hours. Our Miss Lizzy had vanished and our one hope and prayer was that she wasn't hiding in a cat's stomach.

After the fourth day, you start imagining the worst. After a full week, you start deciding whether a hermit crab would be a better pet. At least, Sierra did. I only suggested it as a solution to the cats' habit of knocking down tanks. They also ruined two triops experiments with their pushy behavior. Every day, Sierra would tell me how much she missed Lizzy. I admit, I missed her too. Of the three anoles we've had over the years, she was the most interactive. Her cage is next to my desk, and more than once I would look up from a drawing to find her plastered against the side of the tank, watching me. Sierra often had Lizzy clinging to her neck as she played on the computer. They were as close as a girl and a lizard could be. I told Sierra that she had to think about all of the adventures Lizzy was having. After all, we had never found a trace of her. My theory is that if you don't have a body, you can't prove there has been a death. I know, denial isn't just a river in Egypt. But wait, there's more.

A full week and three days after Lizzy vanished, one of our cats got very vocal. Rosie is not a talker, but she was mewing up a babble on that day. I was at the computer when I turned to look down at her...and saw Lizzy hanging out of either side of her mouth. Yikes!

I followed Rosie into the hallway where she dropped the lizard. Now I feared the worst. But as I reached down to pick up the anole, Lizzy scooted away from me! She's alive!

I carefully scooped her up and gave her to Sierra to warm. We couldn't see any punctures on the tough little creature, but she was severely dehydrated and hungry. As Sierra held her, Lizzy opened her mouth wide. I fed her drops of water from my fingernail each time she did this.

After several days of convalescing and a couple of skin changes, Lizzie is feeling much better. We're doing our best to make the cage more stable. We never did figure out who was responsible for knocking it down.

And there you have another life lesson from watching animals...



With good survival skills, miracles can occur.

Come Out of Your Shell

Marina has been in a knitting frenzy lately. This little guy became a gift for one of my nephews in California. All of those legs made the hermit crab take a bit longer than her usual project, but I think it was well worth it.

I happen to love hermit crabs. They are such unique creatures. Not as scary as a regular crab and not slimy like a snail. I had a few as pets when I was a child. They are shy creatures, hiding in their shell when they are startled. I remember sitting quietly with the hidden creature on my palm. It was always a thrill when it would slowly emerge. First its little "whiskers," testing the air. Next its eyes would peek out from under the rim of the shell. If it felt safe, legs would spill out and it would walk around, always ready to retreat into the safety of its mobile home at a moment's notice.

Unlike snails, when a hermit crab gets too big for its shell, it is time to move. House shopping usually involves finding a shell the next size up. You may think all hermit crabs instinctively look for a shell that is a perfect fit, but we once witnessed a crab dragging a shell along that was at least two sizes too large. It was a wonderful learning opportunity. I pointed out the different hermit crabs on the beach. The kids (back then it was only Marina and Chase) noticed how the crabs that fit their shells could quickly move across the sand and climb over obstacles while the crab with the large shell moved slowly. His shell left a furrowed line behind him, as if he were plowing a field. He may have thought his shell was nice and roomy, but it left him much more vulnerable to predators than his fast moving friends.

Sometimes I feel like that hermit crab. I think about how nice it would be to have a bigger home with more room. But a bigger house is not a good solution. To paraphrase George Carlin, a house is a place to keep your stuff. You get a bigger house because you have too much stuff.

I don't want to have my stuff hold me back. I would rather make the effort to declutter than to save piles of things. It is also better for my health if I have a more open area, since it is easier to keep clean. I've been decluttering a lot since I built my bookcase. I want to have room for Sierra to dance or for me to do yoga. I'm getting there, little by little. It's an ongoing process.

I hope the hermit crab found another shell. Your possessions shouldn't hold you back.

And so another lesson from watching animals...


If the shell fits, wear it.

By the Light of the Silvery Trail

It has been raining a lot here since the beginning of June. In fact, we had the second wettest June on record. We missed first place by about two tenths of an inch. Yesterday there was some wild weather south of us. The golf-ball sized hail was so bad they actually took out snow plows to clean it up. I'll repeat that. They took out the snow plows. In July. There was also a "downburst" which I suppose is different from the "microburst" I experienced years ago and definitely isn't a tornado, even though the locals insisted it was.

The worst part of the wet weather is the lack of sunshine. I don't know about you, but when I haven't seen the sun for days, I find it hard to motivate myself. I get sluggish. Which makes me think of another side effect of all the rain: slugs.

There is a quote I remember from the movie Time Bandits. Evil is complaining about things the Supreme Being created. "Slugs! HE created slugs! They can't hear. They can't speak. They can't operate machinery. Are we not in the hands of a lunatic?"

I admit, the gardener in me detested slugs. Many times I've accidentally stepped on one bare-footed. That slime is hard to wash off. I knew all sorts of ways to kill them. I would actually buy beer to set dishes of it out for them. Usually I never buy beer, because I don't drink anything harder than fruit juice. Slugs love beer. They climb in, drink themselves into a stupor and drown. How's that for a moral lesson?

There came a point when I grew tired of fighting them. I don't like killing anything, especially something that isn't trying to hurt me. We learned ways to deter them from our flowers and vegetables, using marigolds and pine mulch. I have observed many animals in our yard go after them as a food source, so when I stopped trying to kill them, I actually saw fewer slugs in my garden. Perhaps skunks and chipmunks don't like beer soaked slugs.

When I've observed them, I have found that their slimy trails are really lovely; glimmering silver lines along the ground. Recently we discovered a tiny slug hanging from its mucous thread as if it were a spider. Once it hit the ground, it sped off at an unsluggish pace. I wonder if the stereotype of the slow moving creature is unfair. Maybe they aren't ready for the slug slalom, but for a critter lacking feet they do alright.

And so, another life lesson from watching animals:

If you leave a trail, make it shine.

Caterpillars of Learning

Congratulate us. We have become the proud caregivers of a brand new Painted Lady butterfly! Our project has been going well. Sierra was very excited to see the first butterfly hanging from the remnants of its cocoon. She fussed over it all afternoon, partly out of necessity since Dusty had noticed it fluttering in the mesh habitat. Sierra spent the rest of the morning asking me questions. Why isn't it flying yet? (It just came out of its cocoon) Can we feed it now? (I think we should wait for its wings to dry) How long does it take for the wings to dry? (At least an hour) Has it been an hour yet? (It hasn't even been five minutes) On and on it went.

I started thinking about this transformation. The caterpillars didn't hold much interest for the kids, other than to find out if they were entering chrysalides yet. All caterpillars do is eat and poo. I guess I should be thankful they don't cry, but I feel a little sorry that their baby stage was so overlooked.

When I think about it, how bad is a life where all you do is eat? Wouldn't it be great if we could eat ourselves into a stupor, make a cocoon, and emerge into this beautiful winged creature?

Then I started thinking of it in terms of learning. We also go through that caterpillar period of eating and pooing, a period where only the most basic needs must be met. In our cocoon period, we begin to address the higher needs of the mind, a period of knowledge and spirituality. As the cocoon becomes clear, the butterfly prepares to emerge. How cool is that! In clarity it is ready to step out into the world. Emerging from our cocoon is a difficult process, much like a second birth. Think of the growing pains that our young people go through between their late teens and mid-twenties. That process of becoming an adult can be stressful struggle. We want to fly, but we were so safe in our cocoons. Unfortunately, not every butterfly emerges.

Those who do emerge still have challenges. After the butterfly is born, it releases meconium, which is all the unneeded material and color left over from its transformation. Just as we leave behind our childhood to enter the world, the butterfly must leave this behind to fly. It pumps its wings to open them and dry them, preparing them. This is the work we do as we struggle to begin life as an adult.

And then it flies! How wonderful to reach this point! You've succeeded my little butterfly, the world is yours to sample. Enjoy the nectar of the flowers, find a mate, and do your best to keep away from the predators.

And so another life lesson from watching animals:



You can't live your life in a cocoon. Feed your body, feed your mind, feed your soul.

Update: All five butterflies have now emerged! We've never been so successful with this. It's quite a momentous occasion. No wonder people enjoy raising butterflies! Now to convince Sierra to release them in the next couple of days...

Pill Bug Pioneers!

I was watching our cat, Rosie, sleep at the foot of our bed one morning. She was completely curled up, her nose hidden under her tail, and she looked so cozy and warm.

I started thinking about pill bugs.

You may know them as rollie pollies. As a child, pill bugs were a natural backyard toy. A bug that rolled up into a tiny ball when you poked it. What could be better? They are the armadillos of the bug world. Really. Their species name is Armadillidium vulgare.

Did you know this humble isopod is the only crustacean that spends its entire life on land? They are more closely related to crabs and crayfish than insects and bugs! This is why you find them in damp areas under rocks and leaves. Most of the pill bugs we find live in our compost piles. Left in the open, they will dry out and die.

They are one of the important parts of the degradation process, aiding decomposition. They eat almost anything--fungi, live and dead plant matter, dead animals. They are like tiny little Roombas for nature.

Like many of their sea dwelling cousins, pill bugs are a valuable food source to other animals. That wonderful ability to curl up into a hard little ball is actually a handy defensive maneuver. They also are colored to blend into their environment.

I think I appreciated them more after I learned about them. Just think, mom and dad pill bug, trying to make it in a harsh land environment. They make a burrow for their babies and bring them food. Papa pill bug guards the homestead. They huddle together to keep their gills moist. When it's time to clean house (their burrow) , the entire family pitches in to remove the trash (fecal pellets). And when predators threaten, they roll up to make it hard for their enemies.

And so, another life lesson learned from watching animals:

Roll with the punches.

Sorry for the lack of pictures this time. My subjects are hiding from the frigid temperatures. I do have some links if you want to read more:
Pillbug factsheet from zoo.org
Animal Diversity Web: Armadillium vulgare

How to Enjoy Christmas like a Cat

Our tree is up. Sierra gets credit for doing most of the decorating this year. I think she did a great job.



We had to make sure the angel was very secure. You might remember the antics of a certain kitten last year. Well, he still thinks the tree is the most awesome cat toy ever. And since he is now the largest of our cats, the tree topper has been clamped to the tree with large clips.



This year, Merlin has also decided to be an ornament.



Some may wonder at us allowing our cats in the tree. They would be the readers who don't have cats. (I'm kidding!) My husband notes that at least with this tree, we don't have to climb up after them! The truth is, I do get frustrated from time to time. Things get broken or lost in the excitement of having that tree. It's not unlike having a toddler in the house. In fact, I think we lost more ornaments to enthusiastic young children than to cats. We keep the breakable ornaments securely tied at the top of the tree and I try to make sure I don't leave any food unattended, lest it get knocked over or nibbled. I really do enjoy watching our feline friends run through the house. They bring laughter and cuddles when we most need it. A house that is beautifully decorated might look nice in the pages of a magazine, but decorations are just things. Replaceable things, at that. Children and pets show what is truly important this time of year: the restless joy of the season and the love of family and friends.

Hope

Nothing can bring furry rivals together like a common cause. We can learn so much from their example. There comes a time when we should all lay aside our differences, sheath our claws and consider the simple needs that unite us all.



In this case, chipmunk watching.

The Jelly-cles Come Out

The month of August always gets me thinking about jellyfish. No, really. August is the typical month that I would see jellyfish. Jellyfish came earlier this year, but in my mind, August is their month, the month I was zapped by a jellyfish in Puerto Rico.

I can't remember whether I was sixteen or seventeen when I spent the summer with relatives, but I do remember asking why the beaches were so empty in August. I couldn't understand why a whole month of summer was squandered. I was sure if I lived near a beach I would be wading in the ocean every day. That was what I was doing when I got stung on my wrist. If you've never experienced a jellyfish sting, imagine getting slapped on the wrist with a live electrical wire. I could feel the pain slowly travel up my arm, across my shoulders and down the other. Then I felt achy everywhere. Ever since that experience, I've had a sensitivity to jellyfish stings. Even the mildest stings cause me to break out in a rash.

It's difficult to believe a creature that looks like a cross between a mushroom and Jell-O gelatin could cause so much harm. Viewing them from the safety of the aquarium, they are one of my favorite sea creatures. Like colorful miniature bumbershoots constantly opening and closing, they propel themselves lazily through the water, gathering food. They seem so peaceful as they float along. With no front, no back, no brain, a mouth that doubles as an anus, are they really animals? Eighteenth-century scientists argued whether they belonged in the plant or animal kingdom. They ended up somewhere in-between, classified as cnidarians. Cnidaria comes from the Greek term cnidos, which means "stinging nettle." I'm guessing the scientists had a good reason for picking that name over the Greek word for "umbrella."

Plant or animal, it's hard not to appreciate the jellyfish. I know they left their mark on me.

And so another life lesson from watching animals:

Go with the flow, but don't be afraid to shock when necessary.

Keeping the Backyard Neighborhood Safe

We've noticed an interesting phenomenon this summer. Dustbunny, the escape artist cat, has caused a stir in the bird community. Dusty has a habit of sneaking out because she has the uncanny ability of knowing when we are thinking about getting up and turning the doorknob. We've always tried to keep her in because she has an incredible talent for catching shrews in our garden, which upsets our nature loving family immensely. It's one thing to see death happen in the wild, but to have your overfed, pampered tabby cause death is a great burden of responsibility.

And then it got worse. No longer content with shrews, Dusty began setting her sights on the birds and chipmunks. A definite no-no. We've saved many chipmunks (or the same chipmunk over and over again?) from the jaws of death. Last year, I saved an ungrateful fledgling cardinal. But this year we were not in time to save a small bird I later identified as a Yellow-rumped Warbler. We were all heartbroken. Dusty was trying the patience of all of us.

By "all" I include the birds. I think that was the last straw for them as well. I began to notice that when I couldn't find Dusty after an escape, I could usually "hear" where she was. Not because she was making noise, but because every bird in the area had begun chirping, in strong short tones. At first it was just the chickadees, robins and jays, but it soon developed into a full scale Avian Early Warning Emergency Alert System. I'm always amazed at the diversity of birds that keep their eyes on her under the trees. Along with the birds I've mentioned, I've seen: catbirds, cardinals, downy woodpeckers, red-bellied woodpeckers, flickers, titmice, and house wrens. All raise their voices in a unison to let the cat know she's being watched. It works well, too. Now that Hobgoblin, our young orange cat, has been taking escape lessons, the alert system helps us quickly locate him before he can get too far. Birds and people, working together to keep the backyard safe from feline predation.

And so another lesson from watching animals:
For community security, organize a good neighborhood watch program.

Bumbling through the Garden

I love bumblebees. I consider them the big shaggy dogs of the bee world. Appropriately named, they bumble about through the garden, happily buzzing from flower to flower. I've even found bumblebees resting on flowers in the evening, the good dog asleep on a fuzzy rug of yellow.

Of course, one must always remember that dogs bite and bumblebees sting. Yesterday, Sierra rescued a bumblebee from a bucket of water by scooping it onto a stick and set it on a flower. She was so proud of her heroic deed she called me outside to see where she had set the bedraggled fellow. If only she had stopped at that point. I went back inside and not ten minutes later she was screaming that the bee was stinging her. As she ran to the door I could see the bee on her shirt, buzzing and angry. I pulled the shirt off and tried to carefully shake the bee away, but it would hear none of it. It continued to poke at the shirt, clinging tightly with its chubby legs. I finally left the shirt outside and went in, where Marina was applying a paste of wet baking soda to Sierra's stings.

I asked Sierra what happened to the bee. It seemed so upset. After a long series of questions I learned that the bumblebee had fallen off the flower and Sierra felt the need to try to force it onto a stick so she could place it back on the flower. We all have our limits. The bee wasn't too happy with her poking it and ended up jumping onto her hand and stinging her. She managed to sweep it off her hand, but it continued to attack her.

And so another lesson learned from watching animals:

There is a fine line between being helpful and bugging.

Worm Out of This One

I'm the first to admit to being weird. I like weeding. I can't walk into my yard without yanking something out of the ground. I find it therapeutic, especially when I manage to get roots and all with one pull. I'm easy to please.

One of the effects of my weeding is worms. I'm not sure they like it. I must disturb their tunnels, or they think an earthquake is coming, because any time I yank at a weed, one or two worms rise out of the small pock I create. They crawl accordion-like along the ground for a moment and then begin burrowing back into the dirt. I'm certain they were sleeping because I recognize that dazed, disoriented gait from my own early mornings before the coffee is brewed.

Perhaps they surface to ask me to be a little more gentle with the earth. Worms are very sensitive about this issue. They are nature's little composting machines, after all. They tunnel through organic matter and dirt and recycle it into worm castings, a rich dark soil that is perfect for the garden. I've found they especially love the coffee grounds I put into our compost pile. I understand this. We are kindred caffeinated spirits, the worms and I. And it is nice to know that all of those weeds I pull will eventually be chewed back into nourishing dirt for my berries, vegetables, and flowers.

Another lesson for You can learn a lot from watching animals:

Something good always comes out of weeding.

A Tick to Ride

This week, I picked a tick off of the head of the 2 yo I babysit. It was my first tick removal of the spring. Either I'm a bit out of practice or this little bloodsucker was particularly embedded, but I managed to lose its legs in the process. Maybe because this wasn't one of my children, I was more nervous about hurting her while yanking it out. It didn't help that it had found a cozy spot in her hair. It was very hard to use the tweezers without taking a small clump of her hair out in the process.

All of this activity made me wax philosophical. What can we learn from a tick? Here we have a very simple creature whose mission in life is to feed off of other creatures. They are as slow moving as a turtle, smaller than a sunflower seed, and yet they can strike terror in our hearts. Last summer Chase had Lyme disease thanks to a tick and that is only one of many diseases they can carry. It was not easy for me to find some positive life lessons from a parasite, but since I love a challenge...

Consider the tick's methodical nature. It doesn't rush through life. Like a pilgrim seeking enlightenment, it carefully climbs up grass or other vertical obstacles and stays perched at the summit, waiting with uplifted arms for the hot breath or warm flesh that signals sustenance for the tick. When it senses life, it reaches out and grabs hold.

But the tick does not feed yet. Instead, it searches for the perfect spot. Someplace warm, where it can leisurely settle in and drink deeply. It may spend another day in search of perfection. I wonder how long that is in tick years? Think about this! All it has to do is sink in as soon as it makes contact with skin, but it would rather wait until it is in the best possible place!

And so, another lesson for my series, You can learn a lot by watching animals:

Search for your perfect niche, then dig in.

Author's note: I was certain I would find a tick to photograph, since we were at the nature center twice this week, but the little buggers have proven elusive. I will update with a picture soon.

Tales from the Tuffet

I know I'm weird. Spiders have always fascinated me. When I was a child, I would wander around my backyard armed with a flyswatter to catch flies and drop them into webs. I had learned that the spiders would not come out if the fly wasn't struggling in the sticky silk, so I would only swat the flies hard enough to knock them out. Go ahead, call me cruel. Say, "Poor fly!" I hope you remember that next Spring when you set out your bug zappers and wave at the flies that make it impossible for you to enjoy the outdoors.

That is the point, after all. Spiders are nature's bug zappers. They can sense the difference between a breeze blowing through their web and a moth fluttering helplessly. They are incredible hunters, expert at stalking and pouncing. I would say they are the cats of the insect world. We were once amazed by a tiny jumping spider we found at a friend's house. It was no bigger than a sesame seed, but it followed the movement of my fingers, crept up to me and jumped as if it were the fiercest tiger.

All spiders produce silk, but they use it in different ways. Spider silk is an incredible material. It's clotting factors have been well known in folk medicine. Cobwebs have been used to pack serious wounds to slow blood loss. It's stronger than steel thread of the same thickness. Scientists have even consider making bulletproof vests from it. It is the versatile tool of this creative creature. Webbing can be sticky or non-sticky. Some spiders use it underground and build trapdoors to surprise their prey. Some have learned to fish. Some weave incredible orb webs. Webbing wraps their food for storage and protects their eggs.

We have met many protective mother spiders. The one in the picture had laid her eggs on a picnic blanket in the yard. Instead of leaving, she circled the eggs protectively. Another time, we had the pleasure of watching an egg sac burst open with baby spiders and were surprised when we realized the mother was cocooned with her babies. (I say pleasure because it happened outside. I don't think I would have been as happy to witness this inside!) One kind of spider will actually sacrifice herself as her babies' first meal. Now that's mother love!

And so another lesson for my series, You can Learn a lot from Watching Animals:

Remember to pack a lunch.

Author's note: I want to thank my factfinders, Marina and Chase, for contributing heavily to this edition. Apparently I'm not the only one in the family who is fascinated by spiders.