Caterpillar Trek

I've been looking at bugs again lately, specifically monarch larva. The caterpillars have devoured every green sprig on the large butterfly milkweed plant in my flowerbed where they were hatched, and they are on the move, searching for the perfect place to form a chrysalis. Imagine having to buy your groceries blindfolded at Walmart, and you have the idea.

I kneel down to observe the journey, and it's maddening to watch, like a thriller in slow motion. 

The small creature before me crawls to the end of a long leaf that leads nowhere, 

grips the end of the leaf with his back legs and flails back and forth, groping in the air for any new purchase...

...before turning around and heading back to where where he started. 

At the bottom, a thin blade of grass presents itself, and from the sidelines I call out "No! Bad move! Turn back!", but he is not listening. Half way up the frail stem, the grass doubles over under the weight of the the caterpillar and dumps him to the ground. Then he's up again, walking toward the nearest stem that will take him to a frail leaf and another setback, and, like Serena Williams' father during a tense tennis match, I have to walk away.

One way or another, they all manage to find their places without my help. With thin silken strands, they attach their back end to some stem or leaf. 

Falling limp, they dangle upside down, curled into a J shape. Then they wait. 

When the moment is right, a transformation takes place and a chrysalis is formed, an exquisite jewel studded with fine gold. 
In the next ten days, more or less, a butterfly will develop inside the shelter of this bright green package, 
and for the time being, at least, I can exhale.



Linking with Saturday's Critters

Looking Up

A slight breeze ripples the surface of the lake this morning and it's quiet 

except for the hum of insects and the sound of small waves lapping against the rocks.

The sun rises and everything—clouds, mist, and and a ribbon of light on the lake's surface—turns to gold. 

As the light grows, a boat is made ready...

...and a solitary fisherman takes his hopes with him out on the water.

What will this day bring?

There will be treasures, if we look for them, and some will show themselves even when aren't looking. 

There may be rain, but after all, we know where rainbows come from.

One thing is certain; God's mercies will be here for the taking.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22, 23 (ESV)

Linking with Skywatch Friday

Two Birds

Roadrunner came for a visit the other day, stopping near the front of the house. 

He found a dead hummingbird, and catlike, played with his food.

It tasted like old shoe leather and he spit it out on the rocks.

"Am I really that hungry?"

"Nah! I'm outta here!"

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Southbound

Two chilly nights and southbound geese overhead have me thinking about seasonal changes. Hummingbirds are tanking up for their trip to the Yucatan. Early in the morning, and just before dark, their activity around the feeders is intense.

The sun has warmed the rocks on the south side of the house, and I lean against them, facing the feeders, which are only a few inches away. It's an excellent place to observe the small winged warriors. Supper is over, and while Don watches a spy movie, I spend the pleasant part of an hour there, absorbed by their acrobatics, their chirps and the hum of their wings. Occasionally one of them hovers just in front of my face, trying to ascertain what kind of a creature is sharing their space, and I steel myself not to flinch. Their battles over the sugar water are swift and fierce. 

They fly back and forth between the feeders and the geraniums.

In a flowerpot at my side is Firecracker Cuphea, a plant the little birds also love. They light on the springy stems, riding them down almost to the ground, then up, pendulum-like, all the while pumping nectar out of the sweet purple and red blossoms. 

As the sky darkens, the chirps of the hummingbirds give way to the sounds of the night. I head inside, refreshed by the ambiance of the evening. And in the spy movie, the good guys win. 

Linking with Saturday's Critters
and Wild Bird Wednesday.

Lost and Found

We had a bit of a scare at our house last evening. At dinnertime, when I let Barley out the front door, a Black Snake slithered in. I screamed bloody murder, and Don came running. He trapped the snake with his boot while I went after the loppers; then I retreated, shaken, to the kitchen as he dispatched the snake. It was a mature Black Snake, not huge, but a good 2 feet long.

The calamity averted, we looked for Barley. Since coming to us last December, except when we've taken him places, he's never been out of sight of the house. He spends most of his time in the house with us, but sometimes we call him our driveway dog, because when we walk in the woods, he always runs home ahead of us, as if drawn to the house with a large magnet, and waits in the driveway. But last night, we didn't see him anywhere. Nor did he respond to our calling. Alarmed, Don noticed that the deer were still grazing on the north side of the house, so we knew he hadn't gone that way.  

Don got the pickup, and I joined him, and we headed for the road. At the highway, we saw where Barley had dropped his favorite stick. We thought he could be headed for Don's brother's place, a mile away, but Barley is not savvy about cars, and anything could happen. Across the highway and up the hill on the county road opposite ours, we found him, 1/4 mile from home, looking lost and lonely at the side of the road. With great relief, I got out of the truck and wrapped him in my arms, then he willingly jumped in the back seat, and rode with us back home. Once there, he sniffed the front door with great interest, then settled back into his routine, seemingly as relieved to be back home as we were to have him.

We trembled when we thought of the other possible outcomes for Barley.  But it's comforting to know that the God who watches over us doesn't confine His interest to people, He sees every bird that falls, He cares about every creature He has made, and He certainly cares about Barley.

In His hand is the life of every creature,

and the breath of every human being.

Job 12:10

First posted on 8/17/10