hustling across the road
Winter is coming
Showing posts with label caterpillar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label caterpillar. Show all posts
Friday, October 13, 2017
Monday, February 29, 2016
Posted with BlogsyFriday, April 17, 2015
Monday, December 30, 2013
Saturday, October 13, 2012
October 13: Caterpillar
This morning I went for my first run in at least six months. You could hardly call it a run, given that I moved very slowly for a very short distance. But I wore my new running shoes, the expensive ones my physical therapist encouraged me to buy as incentive to start running again, and I didn't overdo it. It's very hard for me to begin at Square One all over again with an activity I used to be really good at; I don't have a lot of patience for what will probably be months of rebuilding my strength and lung capacity. But forcing myself to take it easy gave me the opportunity to focus on what was going on around me: red squirrel scolding in the woods along the river, robins feeding in a crabapple, a squash garden killed by last night's frost, the perfect cloudlessness of the blue sky on this crisp fall day.
Didn't step on
the caterpillar in the road.
Thought it was a turd.
Didn't step on
the caterpillar in the road.
Thought it was a turd.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
November 23: Protection
Big wet snow falling today. I walked to work and then spent the first half hour there shoveling the walk. I also topped off the bird feeders, imagining the birds would be making their rounds often on a day like this. Within ten minutes titmice and chickadees were waiting their turns on a nearby bush whose branches were bent low to the ground by snow.
While I was shoveling, I noticed the frozen body of a woolly bear caterpillar stretched out on the sheltered cement patio, untouched by snow. It had clearly missed its chance to curl up in the shelter of some dead leaves or under a flake of tree bark. When I'd finished clearing the walk and was heading in, I decided to at least move its furry little body off the patio. But when I picked it up, it curled into a ball. It was still alive. Apparently it had enough antifreeze in its veins to survive at least the initial blast of this snow storm. Grateful that now I was potentially saving it rather than just giving it a better spot to decompose, I dropped it through the lattice so it would find protection amid the dry, snow-free leaves under the porch.
Later, while I was working at my desk, a chickadee paused on the edge of my feeder for at least five minutes, unmoving except for its alert eyes and an occasional turn of its head. It didn't seem to be in any distress. It peeped a few times, but mostly just sat there looking around, its tail scrunched up against the window, its tiny black toes clinging to the plastic edge of the feeder. Beyond, trees swayed and rocked. I think the bird just wanted a little rest somewhere dry and out of the wind. Eventually I stood up, and it quickly flew off into the woods.
Shelter from the storm--
as simple as one dead leaf.
Come out of the wind.
Bonus: link to Bob Dylan singing the opening stanzas of Shelter from the Storm. (I couldn't resist!)
While I was shoveling, I noticed the frozen body of a woolly bear caterpillar stretched out on the sheltered cement patio, untouched by snow. It had clearly missed its chance to curl up in the shelter of some dead leaves or under a flake of tree bark. When I'd finished clearing the walk and was heading in, I decided to at least move its furry little body off the patio. But when I picked it up, it curled into a ball. It was still alive. Apparently it had enough antifreeze in its veins to survive at least the initial blast of this snow storm. Grateful that now I was potentially saving it rather than just giving it a better spot to decompose, I dropped it through the lattice so it would find protection amid the dry, snow-free leaves under the porch.
Later, while I was working at my desk, a chickadee paused on the edge of my feeder for at least five minutes, unmoving except for its alert eyes and an occasional turn of its head. It didn't seem to be in any distress. It peeped a few times, but mostly just sat there looking around, its tail scrunched up against the window, its tiny black toes clinging to the plastic edge of the feeder. Beyond, trees swayed and rocked. I think the bird just wanted a little rest somewhere dry and out of the wind. Eventually I stood up, and it quickly flew off into the woods.
Shelter from the storm--
as simple as one dead leaf.
Come out of the wind.
Bonus: link to Bob Dylan singing the opening stanzas of Shelter from the Storm. (I couldn't resist!)
Monday, September 19, 2011
September 19: Caterpillar
First thing in the morning I like to look out the front window to see the sun rising up over the edge of Mount Battie, to greet the day and get a sense of what the day's weather is. This morning, the mountain was draped with clouds seemingly in the process of dissipating. Out the back window, a crisp, clear blue sky hints of another beautiful day, a perfect day for getting on a boat and heading out to Monhegan.
When I looked out the window, I noticed a woolly bear caterpillar inching across our front walk. Another creature on a journey today. It was going at a pretty good clip. I paused to watch it for a while, then went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, when I looked again, it was gone, lost somewhere in the forest of grass.
It's that time of year when woolly bears roam around eating and looking for a good place to spend the winter. I've been noticing quite a few of them recently. They'll tuck into a piece of bark or curl up under some leaves and overwinter. Similar to hibernating frogs, woolly bears produce a substance in their bodies similar to antifreeze, which helps keep them from freezing solid in the winter. Come spring, the caterpillar will spin a cocoon and later emerge as an Isabella tiger moth.
As a kid, I remember being told that woolly bear caterpillars can predict how harsh the coming winter will be. The caterpillar has black bands at either end with a rusty brown band in the middle. The more black, the worse the winter, if I remember it right. While this has been pretty much debunked by science, one thing's for sure: when you start seeing woolly bears wandering around looking for a place to hole up, winter is right around the corner.
Not yet equinox,
but I shiver. Woolly bears
seek out winter homes.
When I looked out the window, I noticed a woolly bear caterpillar inching across our front walk. Another creature on a journey today. It was going at a pretty good clip. I paused to watch it for a while, then went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, when I looked again, it was gone, lost somewhere in the forest of grass.
It's that time of year when woolly bears roam around eating and looking for a good place to spend the winter. I've been noticing quite a few of them recently. They'll tuck into a piece of bark or curl up under some leaves and overwinter. Similar to hibernating frogs, woolly bears produce a substance in their bodies similar to antifreeze, which helps keep them from freezing solid in the winter. Come spring, the caterpillar will spin a cocoon and later emerge as an Isabella tiger moth.
As a kid, I remember being told that woolly bear caterpillars can predict how harsh the coming winter will be. The caterpillar has black bands at either end with a rusty brown band in the middle. The more black, the worse the winter, if I remember it right. While this has been pretty much debunked by science, one thing's for sure: when you start seeing woolly bears wandering around looking for a place to hole up, winter is right around the corner.
Not yet equinox,
but I shiver. Woolly bears
seek out winter homes.
Monday, September 20, 2010
September 20: On the Trail
Part of my day was spent tromping around various forested properties in Stockton Springs, Searsport, and Hope. At one stop, we hiked on an old logging road that now made a perfect trail through patches of dense deciduous forest mixed with stands of white pine that lent their strong fragrance to the crisp morning air. As we carefully stepped over a clump of blackberry bushes that were lying in disarray across the trail, my boss noted that a bear had probably made that mess while going after the berries. Further down the trail, I came across some scat filled with berry seeds that we agreed was that of either a bear or a large, berry-eating coyote. These were real woods. On the return walk, while paying attention to my footing, it seemed like every few yards a woolly bear caterpillar was curled up among the leaf litter. That time of year.
The clear blue sky, a few patches of early red maple leaves, and, once, a bald eagle soaring overhead made for some distraction from what was on the trail. But I was struck by how much could be seen by paying attention to what was right underfoot.
Already, red leaves
falling, animals thinking
of hibernation.
The clear blue sky, a few patches of early red maple leaves, and, once, a bald eagle soaring overhead made for some distraction from what was on the trail. But I was struck by how much could be seen by paying attention to what was right underfoot.
Already, red leaves
falling, animals thinking
of hibernation.
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