The Fair Folk

Artsy pond photo, for starters.

Before I bore you with Odonata classifications, allow me to bore you with unabashed bragging. My son is really smart. Always, even as a young child, he always possessed a literal mind. While that has at times been a nightmare for whimsical me, it is also often a joy to behold. At the age of nine, one of his favorite movies is Titanic. He knows more about Titanic than most people three times his age. But I got tired of fast forwarding past the boob parts of that movie, so I decided he should find some other nautical disaster movie to obsess over. He also likes tornadoes and hurricanes, so I introduced him to The Perfect Storm. And he loved it. How I relish these little parenting moments. But here is the bragging part: once he got done watching the movie, he decided that the world simply needed a Lego Andrea Gail. So he invented it.

Charlie's super cool Lego Andrea Gail.

You can trust this face.

That said, I figured my last post had gone on far too long about the names of bugs and the superiority of my commonwealth over your state (neaner neaner boo boo) so I wrapped up without sharing with you the damselfly half of the Odonata world. You thought you were safe. WRONG! Much like the way I annoy my dear husband by endlessly bringing home buckets of shells from the river, I intend to annoy you by pontificating upon the names of the flying insects I photograph at the river. And if you choose to stop reading, you better think again because catastrophic universal consequences will result bringing about an inevitable world collapse. Oh yeah!

I doubt that my sons are as thrilled with river swimming as I am most days. For them, one part of the fun of swimming is the actual swimming, but the greater part is that at swimming pools, one finds other kids. Not so much, the river. At the river there are, of course, huge-ish fish, and also pointy faced fish, and also zippy crayfish. There are rocks, shells, and Water Willow flowers in a veritable sea. There are Cliff Swallows in a colony under the bridge, occasional snakes, turtles, and mice. I realize all of that is probably enough to convince most of my readers never to visit, but it's a great place for me. The kids like it too, but they just think there should be more kids there. Or maybe just Daddy. The river is even better with a Daddy in it, because he makes us all braver.

Shooting the rapids!  (Do not try this at home.
Besides your home's lack of a river, this photo
was totally staged.)

American Rubyspot, probably male, not that
I asked him or anything

The thing about the river that makes it for me, though, is that it is the easiest place to believe in fairies. At the shady edge of the stony shoal where the Water Willow grows thickest, there the fair folk dance. Their wings move so fast it seems like they hover on the power of magic alone, dressed in colors as vivid as any flower. The move so nimbly around each other that it seems there must be steps to their dance. Watching them, it isn't hard to imagine where the idea of tiny fey spirits might have come from.

Vivid Blue Dancers, not dancing at all, just
sitting around on coffee break

Of course, the fey of legend are not pretty Tinkerbells. Come to think of it, even Tinkerbell was not the innocent that Disney made her. She and they were ephemeral, enigmatic, and often capricious creatures just as likely to do harm as good and see nothing wrong with doing it. The insect world of the Odonata fills out that part of the myth as well. They might come to rest on your shoulder to awe or to startle. They might perch on a branch to observe you or to issue challenge. Of course, to mosquitoes, they are flying death. Some are as vain as Tinkerbell ever had it in her tiny heart to be, and others as elusive (to the photographer, at least) as any shy naiad of stories. It is this that I see at the river, where I breathe free.

Violet Tail Damselfly who seriously needs
a more imaginative name

Damselfly Love

Damselfly Love 2

Bizarre love child of Butterfly and
Dragonfly is Owlfly. Shouldn't it be
a Butterdragon or something?

While I hope that the naturalist adventures to which I am prone provide something unmatched in my sons' childhood, I am also grateful for the kindness of family and neighbors. In my last post, I wrote about camping at Hueston Woods. That trip was made possible by the letter "S", as in Grandpa Stanley and Grandma Shelley Crum. The week following that, Nana and G-pa Pearson put up with the considerable discomfort of sleeping on our couches so that they could take us bowling, swimming, and to the zoo. Grandparents, if it weren't for you, my boys would probably think that there was no civilization in this world.

Lucy thinks we're totally square!

And peacocks are just
fancy dress roosters.
They will totally
attack you if you're
getting all paparazzi
on their feathered
expletive deleted.

The week after all the grandparental adventures, we received a surprise invitation from Steve, Angie, Easton, and Best Case Farms for the boys to go on a special fishing trip. The boys were thrilled, and I discovered that right here on my own home road is a hidden paradise the likes of which I could not have imagined. The boys had a great time fishing, and I had fun rowing (and not crashing!) a boat. Big thanks to Steve, Angie, Easton, and Best Case. You're Fair Folk too!

No one happier than a boy and his fish!

In the Woods and Around the Pond

Fledgling Chickadee!
Consolation prize for not
getting bobwhite photos. 

In the world of birding accomplishments, I will never rank. Still, this summer, I have felt quite Audobonesque because of all the Northern Bobwhites who have been visiting the yard. Like you (probably) I've been hearing them for years, but this summer, I've finally seen them. I've been excited enough that I've waxed poetic about this, The Year of Tall Grasses. That's where they came from: the mate pair pecking around in the yard just feet away from the safety of the field on the other side of the fence, or even, it seems, nesting on the hill we decided not to bother mowing this summer. I've tried to get a ghetto telephoto of them, but they are always too busy to stand still long enough to allow me to focus.

Bridge Over the River... Whatever

Along with the Bobwhites, about which you'll have to take my word because I didn't get a picture, I also saw the ever elusive Wood Thrush that trill so beautifully in boreal forests. The pair I frightened on the stream bank at the Hueston Woods campground were a lovely cinnamon color on their backs with creamy breasts speckled with black. After their initial flight, the female (presumably) stayed on the rocky shoal to peck around. When I read up on thrushes, I found that they need extra calcium for their eggs than other birds, so I expect she was eating shell bits.

Moneywort

Having gone to school in Oxford, within decent sling shot range of Hueston Woods, you'd think I would've known what I was in for taking a weekend there. Alas, no, I didn't make use of the amazing state park when I was living right on the border of it. I had no idea of the size of its lake or the wonderfulness of its wooded trails, the perfection of its sandy bottomed streams or the incredible yuckiness of its latrines. The latter doesn't really signify. What latrine isn't totally disgusting?

The danger of hiking with me is that I make people climb
random piles of logs for photo ops.

Just hikin'. What are you doin'?

This guy knew how to build a dang sand castle!

Kids making additions.

Farewell to thee, oh campsite critters.

I may decide to live on that shoal...

Here is the part where I probably get myself into some sort of legal trouble. We spent a weekend at Hueston woods, and I didn't want to drive to the bath houses over in the A neighborhood. Still, I didn't want to be sticky and smelly all weekend either. So, naturally, I walked up the creek behind our campsite far enough not to flash anyone, and took a bath in the creek. With soap. And Shampoo. Ecologically proper, probably not, but I'm pretty sure I didn't kill anything with my tiny bit of soap, and I probably fed a few mosquitoes, so I'm not ashamed. Also, bathing in water cold enough to make you gasp involuntarily is a sure fire way to get wide awake fast of a morning. Silly and weird as it may be, I believe walking and bathing in the little creek behind our campsite was my favorite part of the weekend. There was a positively huge tadpole, for one thing. I also didn't get a picture of him, but his head was the size of a twenty five cent gumball. I am curious what manner of frog he's going to be when his tail drops off.

Especially when these are the
tadpoles I'm used to...

Tiniest frog ever! Squeeeeeeee!

Pretty sure this is a male.

Being broke living in the middle of nowhere is the mother of innovation. As such, this summer has afforded good opportunity for local adventure. So far, the elementals have been content to keep temperatures mild and rains clustered. Only recently has the normal Kentucky-in-June heat wave swamped us. While an arid summer makes watering a protracted affair in the practice of scatter-gardening, it has also made possible many mild evenings of fishing and insect observation, a weekend of camping and stream bathing, and subsequent frequent trips to swim in the river and photograph damselflies. As far as the observation of interesting bugs goes, our corner of the county is the place to be. This summer has been especially fun. We must've had a pair of Actais Luna caterpillars munching our sand cherry tree because two Luna moths hung out to dry on our living room window within days of each other. If I were ever going to spend a ridiculous fortune on a tattoo, these wings are what I'd have done across and down my back. Don't worry, dad. That's a big if. Maybe I'll just get his eyebrows tattooed on my forehead, eh?

Soulful black eyes, and big, hairy eyebrows.

While Luna moths are too groggy in the daytime to resist my photographic forays, dragonflies have no excuse. Some dragonflies are just vain. Seriously, it's like they pose for the camera. Geeks who study such things label some dragonflies as fliers and others as perchers. Obviously, the perchers are unfazed by me and my camera, but the fliers make me want to jump in a lake. This summer is the first time I've been able to sneak up on the illusive, red Calico Pennant dragonfly. He must be a "flier." 

Aaaaand, a little closer. Look at that RED!

Other news from around the pond is that Mr. Bill came to visit, causing great excitement. Besides bringing on a round of fishing, he also brought a dog with him. Yes, that is what constitutes great excitement around here. His visit afforded opportunities for the man o' the house to smoke his pipe, the boys o' the house to pull Bill's finger, and the woman o' the house to have all her pots precleaned by Wilbur the dog. Wilbur can come to stay any time he likes. Abraham also began referring to Bill (who is roughly the bloggist's age) as "Grandpa," to the great delight of everyone except, possibly, Bill. Good times. Come back whenever you like, Grandpa!

Female Calico Pennant (?)

Great Blue Skimmer, male, is a total poser.

Great Blue Skimmer, just emerged from nymph

Great Blue Skimmer, female, best guess.

Clubtail

I am a Six Spotted Tiger Beetle. I eat bugs you don't want around.
I am NOT an Emerald Ash Borer. Do NOT smash me. 

I am a Caterpillar Hunter beetle. Besides having awesome iridescent

rainbow exoskeleton, I eat nasty caterpillars. Put me in your garden!

Bugs are clearly easier to photograph than birds.

Summer is, indeed, a great time to live in the middle of nowhere.  Don't tell anyone, but I actually do a lot of science teaching during the summer. The kids don't even know it, but they are learning more biology now than most kids will get in a lifetime, all because of the words, "Mo-om, I'm bored!" Charlie may be on to me, but he doesn't seem to mind.