And the meme goes on ...

I've been tagged with the 8 facts meme. I don't know whether to thank Cathe or not. It's sort of like a chain letter, isn't it? But I remember falling forparticipating in the Friendship Bread one, years ago; for a while, every house in the area had a batch going. And it was fun.

So here goes.

The rules are as follows:

• We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
  
• Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
  
• People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
  
• At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
  
• Don't forget to leave them each a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

So, my 8 facts, randomly chosen, are:

1. I have a pen holder on my desk made of an animal horn of some kind, covered with inscribed aluminum. I have no idea why anybody would do this.
2. I was kicked by a deer when I was a pre-schooler.
3. Sometimes I temporarily manage to break my habit of biting my nails.
4. I have a vintage log-cabin design quilt, quite tattered, on my bed. I don't think it is particularly valuable, but I like it.
5. I have lived in three countries and in villages of less than a dozen people as well as in a city of over 10 million at the time. (Mexico, DF.) I loved both extremes.
   
6. I dream of hang-gliding, but I never will actually do it.
7. I am a night-owl and have always been, from baby-hood.
8. I re-read my favourite books, sometimes many times.

And that's the eight. Next step: tag eight more people. (Will this earn me eight enemies? I hope not.)

Here are 8 from my blogroll:

1. Celeste, from Dzonoqua's Whistle.
2. Hugh, from Lulu Island Blog.
3. Oaksong's Nemeton. Because he is a "once and future goatherd."
4. Carolyn from Roundtop Ruminations.
5. Bug Girl, from Bug Girl's Blog.
6. Cicero Sings, up in Williams Lake. I just discovered this one today.
7. A Mark on My Wall.
   
8. Jeenybeen on Ginkgo Leaves. Because I love his (her?) photography.

And that's it. Whew!

Back to my normal blogging. But not tonight.

Just because...

... I liked these.
Boundary Park, Surrey, Tuesday.

And it's late, and I've been wrestling with code all night. See you tomorrow!

It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is taking photos.

Bella Coola trip, Part VI:

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V)

The sun always shines in Bella Coola in the summer time. Always. If anything, it's too hot, but the evenings are balmy and long; the sun sets well after 9:00, and dusk lingers on for another hour. Perfect photography weather.

So I told Laurie.

Promises, promises.

It rained off and on that first day; we drove down valley, but saw no mountain peaks because of the cloud cover. We went to the wharf, but it was raining too much to hike to Clayton Falls.

Photo from Nusatsum House B&B.

We did stop briefly near Thorsen Creek, where eagles often are perched on snags visible from the highway.


See what I mean about cloud cover? There are tall, snowy peaks and waterfalls behind all that whiteness.

By supper time, it was raining steadily. And it kept up most of the week. Still, we were there to see the valley; we went out doggedly next morning into the weather.

Saloompt Mountain (pronounced Salumpt) is on the north side of the river. There is a story told about this mountain; once, long ago, when there was a big flood that filled the valley, a chief herded his people onto a raft and tied his rope around a notch in the peak of the Saloompt until the water went down. You can see the mark of the rope to this day.

We didn't see it. But we did get out of the car at the Bailey bridge over the river, to look at the mist. I had found an umbrella, and I held it over Laurie's head while he took photos, getting good and wet myself.

Logs floating down the river, mist and rain.

And a fisherman in rain gear, as insane as we were, standing at the base of the bridge on the far side, casting for trout. He saw us watching him and waved; hail, friend! Isn't this fun?

Good weather for a rainforest, though. The lichen and mosses love it.

Still, we enjoyed our stay. We found little artist's galleries here and there. I bought dried pine mushrooms to make pine mushroom butter for potlucks at home. We managed to see one glacier. Looking for a place up-valley where Laurie could get a drink of water, we ran into an unadvertised shop where a man carved burls into fantastic shapes. We went up to Burnt Bridge and found mushrooms and heard the rocks that always rumble down the creek, the mountain gradually falling into the valley.

And a week later, on a rainy, drizzly morning, we caught the ferry south. And it poured the entire journey.

Oh, but the sun came out, gloriously, for our return down Vancouver Island. That's next post.

Silver wings, golden pouches

Boundary Park, Surrey: A small extension of the Watershed which we hadn't visited before. A tiny "lake" and a long stretch of semi-wooded green space between housing developments, mowed in lieu of paving a walk-way. The neighbours on each side mostly keep their backyards open to the space, and fill them with flowers. Beautiful!

Dragonflies by the lake.

White duck. Escapee?

Rabbit. White "cotton" tail, unusual markings.

And this from Crescent Beach, yesterday: a bumblebee with pouches of nectar.

Just like the fjords of home ...

Bella Coola trip, Part V: Hagensborg Church.

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV)

The last day of October, 1894, just before the winter set in in earnest, 120 settlers arrived in the Bella Coola Valley, from Norway, via Minnesota. A difficult time of year to start homesteading; residents have spent the summer building up their stores of food and firewood and now they are hunkering down to withstand the winds storming down from the icy slopes. But these newcomers were determined. And tough.

Their leader was a Lutheran pastor, Christian Saugstad. They intended to set up a "little Norway", where they could follow their beliefs without the controversy raging back in Minnesota.

Jacob Johnsen's house. Photo from Bella Coola Valley Museum

That first winter, they cleared land and built their log cabins, tiny shelters from the cold. Soon they were building in the traditional Norwegian style: solid, squared-off logs, neatly joined with dovetailed joints, built to last. Which they have; we can still see some as we drive up the valley.

By 1904, they had built their church, which they named after the one they had left at home; Augsburg. It is still in use today.

Our hostess is a granddaughter of the first pastor, Christian Saugstad, and lives a stone's throw from the church. She lent us the keys and we walked over.

An old photo from my album, 1980s. Slightly faded.

Simple, unpadded pews, and the original altar at the front.

One window: there are three on each side.

From inside, in the summer, the windows, with their view of the mountain ash covered in berries, almost look like stained glass.

Looking inwards: mountain ash and reflected trees.

Moody reflections.

Apples in my hostess' field; a far cry from those first days.

Vines.

Next Bella Coola post: rain on the Saloompt.

A River Runs Through It

Bella Coola trip, Part IV: Layout

(Part I, Part II, Part III)

Long before we reached the Bella Coola valley, we could see the river. It mingled with the salt water of the ocean all the way down North Bentinck Arm and well into the Burke Channel, turning the current a milky pale green.

(See Google map.)

What turns it that colour is glacier melt. The Bella Coola River is a short one, as rivers go; less than 75 km from its start at Burnt Bridge to the tide flats in Bella Coola. But it is formed by the union of the Atnarko and the Tlachako rivers flowing down from the mountains, both glacier runoff. The glaciers, inching down the rock slopes, grind that rock into a fine powder. In the summer, when the glaciers are melting more quickly, the rivers and creeks of the valley run greenish white.

The tide flats, at high tide. Half river water, half salt.

One of the many creeks, Thorsen Creek, I think. Or Snootli.

The Bella Coola Valley is a favoured tourist destination. No Club Med, very little "entertainment", at least in the summertime; what it offers is scenery, fishing (some of the best in the world, they tell me), wildlife, hiking, historical and arqueological "points of interest" and even some mountain climbing.

The valley itself is about 75 km long, and only about a mile wide at the bottom; a crack in the Coastal Range between high mountains. Nusatsum* (7400 ft.), Mt. Saugstad, the Saloompt, Mt. Stupendous, Table Mountain, Mount Defiant and more; wherever you look, a high peak forms the backdrop.

At the eastern end, the road (there is only one) loses its pavement and crawls up to the plateau, some 2500 feet above, which is accomplished in a few short miles, some at an 18% grade. "The Hill" and the long, lonely drive back to civilization serve as a natural barrier. Most visitors fly or, now, take the ferry, as we did.

I had lived here (up-valley) for 8 years, long before I met Laurie; this was the first time we had made the trip together. There was much to show him.

First, just beyond the ferry landing, is the rock inscribed by Sir Alexander Mackenzie, arriving overland from the East coast in 1793. The end of his trail; from here he turned back because of the hostility of the Bella Bella natives, just down the Channel and perpetual rivals of the Bella Coolas. Hikers still follow his old trail up the valley and on to the volcanic Rainbows (8000 and more feet).

The Rock. Written by MacKenzie with bear grease and vermilion, later scratched in by surveyors.

My daughter's in-laws picked us up at the ferry and drove us to Hagensborg, half way up the valley. Here we would have a house to ourselves and the use of a car for the week. We would see everything!

Weather permitting, of course.Next post: Hagensborg church, Saloompt bridge, etc.
* My story: Nusatsum: A Parable.

Working late, again

Too much work; another of those all-nighters.

Tomorrow, I'll continue with the Bella Coola trip: milky river, insane fishermen (and photographers) and more.

For now, back to the plowing:

Richmond field.

Good Planets are Hard to Find, June Edition # 2

How cunningly nature hides every wrinkle of her inconceivable antiquity under roses and violets and morning dew! ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Fragility and Durability; two sides of the same coin. The most transient, delicate butterfly emerges, flies and is gone, but she leaves behind a row of eggs; and conversely, the most solid, taken-for-granted, ancient ground under our feet will someday crumble.

Robin forwarded this photo, sent by Evan of Virginia; his newborn son. He writes:

"The doctors are still wiping the fluids off of him seconds after birth."

Congratulations, Evan! And long may he thrive!
A little girl comes to grips with impermanence.Bev, of Burning Silo, sends this tiny plume moth, possibly a Himmelman's PM.

And also from Bev, a pair of Delicate Cycnia moths, photographed at her farm this week.
Robin, at Dharma Bums, says,

"I saw this very sweet chickadee pulling fibers from our doormat again. She may be getting ready for her second brood. There is something about the black-capped chickadee that is the essence of cuteness. They are tiny, but have incredible presence."

And this one, from C. Corax, rouses all my protective instincts; a temporarily, I hope, blind garter snake.

She writes,

"When I saw this garter snake, I assumed she was getting ready to shed. But I wonder--perhaps someone knowledgeable about snakes can tell me for sure--whether the snake has actually shed already but is retaining the eye scales. She was very nervous at my approach. Certainly when a snake is blind, even temporarily, it is very vulnerable. If vulnerability is viewed as a sort of fragility, this photo fits the theme."

Yankee Transplant sends this New England reservoir, demonstrating "durability and variety from season to season."
Along the Kamloops - Merritt highway, this dead tree still serves as a handy roost for birds.
A glacier calving brings to mind the fragility of our planet and its climate. From Wrenaissance Woman.
Eggshell china, almost a century old: Japanese Kutani porcelain. So delicate you can see through it to the signature on the back, so sturdy it stands up to a lifetime of tea ceremonies. From Laurie's collection.

Detail of the saucer.

And the cup to go with it.

And also from Wrenaissance Woman,

"Denali, ... one of the sacred places of the earth. Its durability gives me hope that we, and our good planet, will survive the current mess we're making."

It's a Good Planet we have here, a splendid, breath-taking planet. Thanks to all for sending these amazing photos of it.

Next Good Planets will be hosted by SBGypsy, of The Gypsy's Caravan. You can e-mail your photos to sbgypsy AT hotmail DOT com, on or before the Friday after next.

See you over there!

The Sasquatch, in plain view

Bella Coola trip, Fourth leg, Port Hardy to Bella Coola, by the ill-fated Queen of the North:
(Previous posts, #1 and #2.)

So many photos, and we haven't even gotten to photographer's heaven yet...

The ferry trip from Port Hardy, on the northern tip of Vancouver Island, to Bella Coola takes approximately 10 hours, starting with an 8 AM boarding. The first few hours are in open water,
but soon enough we slipped behind Calvert Island into Hecate Strait. From here on, the shore rises steeply on both sides.


We spent most of our time on deck, chasing from one side to another to watch the killer whales and the sea birds.

Blowing steam.

Try as we might, we could not identify these.* They never came close to the ferry, and never stayed in one spot for more than a moment. Our captain told us that auklets nest on the cliffs in this area; these could be them. Or not.

*Update, July 2nd; They're Thick-Billed Murres.

And the Sasquatch: here he is, walking along the shore.
I must admit, I never imagined that one would be wearing a hat and coat, or that he uses a walking stick. But why not?

Laurie was commenting today that he is amazed that no-one else saw him. Maybe if we'd pointed him out, instead of just taking photos...

Nanaimo to Port Hardy: Found treasures.

Bella Coola trip, part II:

The third leg of the journey was by car. We drove up Vancouver Island, from Nanaimo to Port Hardy. A long, hot day, with a deadline at the end; a ferry to catch. We didn't waste much time.

We did stop, however briefly, at a rest stop:

And we spent a good hour in Union Bay. The highway hugs the beach here; a pile of driftwood at the entrance to a garden attracted our attention.Right side of the road.

And left side.

The driftwood surrounds Corry Lunn's shop and garden. She is "a clay sculptor and copper enamel artist. ... Her work incorporates driftwood, slumped glass, found treasures, within her clay and enamel wall pieces." (From her site.) (Joint site with Darrel Nygaard) More glass and found treasures blend with the tangled roots and stumps around the garden, which includes a marvellous table made of one thick, golden, freeform slab.

Corry was very welcoming, encouraging us to loiter in the backyard as long as we wanted. Eventually, though, we drifted into the shop, and remained, Oooohing and Aaaahing. Laurie bought a Raku plate for the wall and a ceramic starfish that I took a fancy to. We stashed them carefully in the trunk and regretfully took our leave.

North again. Another beach:Late in the afternoon, where the highway moves inland, we came across this pond full of dead trees. The orange/brown material floating on the surface is made up mostly of evergreen needles.
Oh, the sasquatch? Sorry, that's the next leg of the journey. But just because I promised, here's a glimpse of his mate in the distance.
The Walker, I always call this photo.

From far, far away, he has walked, a weary way, steadfast through rain and mist; now he faces a long valley, and at the end, the sea, where he can rest and bathe his blistered feet. Where he comes from, nobody knows; nor can they tell what message he brings. He is the Walker.

Photo taken from the now lost "Queen of the North".

Next post: Port Hardy to Bella Coola, by ferry. And a good, clear photo of the sasquatch.

Soft and Cuddly

Would you pet this guy? He's almost cat-like, smooth and furry.
Except: here's the other end:
Ouch!
As I found him, in an old stained-glass lamp. A Dolomedes Tegenaria, or fishing funnel web spider.*

But I promised you a sasquatch, didn't I? I'll get at it right away. Next post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Update: That was quick! Eric Eaton, on Bug Guide, identifies it as a Tegenaria. He writes,

"There are at least three species in your area, two of which are introduced, including the infamous "hobo" spider. There is relatively general agreement that the hobo is NOT venomous, but also little doubt that something is going on whereby its bites are sometimes causing necrotic wounds. This may be due to a bacterium the spider harbors on its fangs, but the mystery is still unsolved....Be careful not to put your hands where you can't see."

So I'm glad I kept it under glass while I photographed it.

How I spent my summer vacation

I know, summer hasn't started yet. And I think we're staying home and sweltering this year.

But I can remember, and wish. Can't I?

In July of 2005, we spent a week in Bella Coola. We drove across the Lower Mainland to Horseshoe Bay, took the ferry to Nanaimo, and drove north to the tip of Vancouver Island. Spent the night in Port Hardy, and caught an early-morning ferry to Bella Coola, an all-day trip.

My Google map of our route.

I had promised Laurie great weather, "It's always hot in the summer in Bella Coola," I swore. And the trip up was warm and sunny. When we disembarked, it was starting to rain. And it rained, and poured, and stormed for the entire week, including the ferry trip back.

Still, we had a few hours of in-between-downpours.

I'd like to share some of our photos from the trip with you.
That first morning, starting out on the ferry from Horseshoe Bay. Morning mist low over the water.
A fellow passenger, and an oatmeal sea.
Green water, barnacles and seaweed at a ferry landing.

Next post: open water, seabirds and a Sasquatch.

Links. Just because.

I've been cleaning my desk today. Emptying In boxes. Filing and paying bills and sorting.

I'm down to the virtual boxes now, and tidying up my bookmarks. Here are some of the recent additions.

Whale survives 19th century hunt.

"...a 50 ton bowhead whale was discovered with a 19th century bomb lance fragment lodged between its neck and shoulder the bomb lance fragment was patented in 1879, ..."

From Deep Sea News.

Drowning in a Sea of Plastic

"Increasingly, researchers are peering through their microscopes at the specks in seawater samples and finding miniscule bits of poisonous garbage instead of life-sustaining mini-critters. It's plastic-- broken by sunlight and water into itty bitty pieces, but still intact."

From Common Ground.

Plants prefer siblings.

"Plants have a secret social life and there's a lot known about it, but the notion that it included the ability to recognize kin is new," said researcher Susan Dudley, an associate professor of biology at McMaster."

When Fat ... is a Good Thing.

"Two new studies have received little notice in the media, perhaps because their findings tell young people caught up in dieting and the desire to be thin, that they need to eat more and have more body fat."

From Junkfood Science.

An Illustrated History of Trepanation. Not for the squeamish.
What the Slug had eaten for dinner. Slug fecal analysis, from Snail's Tales.
Where poison dart frogs get their poison. From Behavioural Ecology.

As good as it gets. From SansGod.

"People are buggers. They won't conform to scientific examination. If you devise a hypothesis to explain a behaviour, it will immediately be proven false. It may work for one person, perhaps even a group of people. But apply your theory to society then it'll fall on its arse.

Not only that, people behave like quantum particles."

And, since I'm on the topic, the Atheist Blogroll. Some good blogs here.

One last one, Richard Dawkins, "About Time".

"... mysterious stuff ..."

Morning visitor

Found wanting out this morning:
A crane fly, Tipulidae, species unknown, male. (The females are thicker through the abdomen and have a pointy end for laying eggs underground; the males have assorted "grapplers" at the end of the tail. At least that's what they look like to me.

Instead of a second pair of wings, these flies have a pair of halteres, or knobs on short sticks, which help with steering in flight.

And no, they don't bite. I used to think of them as giant mosquitoes, and was slightly afraid of them. But they rarely eat at all as adults, and then only a bit of nectar. This guy was quite tame, and sat quietly unless I brought the camera too close; then he would shiver all over and squirm delicately an inch or so off to the side.
I love the sheen on those wings!

I keep forgetting...

... to post a reminder about "Good Planets".

I will be hosting it here next Saturday. Don't forget to send your photos to me (susannah AT dccnet DOT com) before Friday afternoon, if at all possible.

The topic -- non-binding, of course -- for this edition is "fragility / durability". More on this in a moment.

First, though, let me mention the next installment, which Robin at Dharma Bums says will be hosted by SBGypsy, of The Gypsy's Caravan. Send photos for the second Saturday in July to sbgypsy AT hotmail DOT com.

We've got a tentative list of hosts covering up to October, maybe November. If you would like to host a month please let Robin know. She writes,

Hosting Good Planets means that for second and fourth Saturdays in the month, you will post photos that people send depicting the beauty of our good planet. It's a traveling gallery of appreciation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok. Back to the topic(s). "Fragility / durability."

I don't know what inspired me to choose these qualities; the words just fell out of my fingers onto the keyboard. I had nothing in mind that they represented for me, just the words.

However, thinking about it this week, Laurie and I have been struck with the sheer number of areas or categories that they apply to, and their relevance to the issues that confront us today; climate change, pollution, energy, population pressures, the safety and the future of our children, and more. And I've noticed the added dimension that thinking in these terms gives to my appreciation of the beauties of this solid/fragile, watery blue rock in space.

I am eagerly anticipating the photos you will be sending in this week.

Barbershop Quartet

Seen in Red Barn Antiques, Cloverdale, BC.

From the 1930s, and still functional.

That will be 25 cents, please.

(I wonder what is meant by "Tin Money"? See third label on the cash register.)

Two snails, and a dilemma

Here's looking at you:
The eye of a snail, investigating that other eye-on-a-stalk on the camera.

This is a more conventional view.

My little garden is shady and damp; slugs, snails and sowbugs love it. The sowbugs I ignore, the snails I remove from leaves and toss into the ivy bordering the path, hoping they won't find their way back. And the slugs, I kill on sight; I have lost far too many good plants to slugs to have any tolerance left.

Why the snails merit any kinder treatment, I don't really know. They are basically just slugs with a shell on the back, and they eat the same plants. Maybe not as voraciously, and maybe they haven't proved themselves quite as prolific. Or it may be that the shells are attractive.

I'm silly that way.

I caught this brown one on a ficus I have moved outside for the summer. New munchies!

These are not as common around here as the banded snail (above). And notice the difference in patterns and colour on the body. Browns instead of blue-black.

The yellow banded snail seems to be possibly one of the Cepaea, which are extremely variable in colour and pattern. (See bootstrap analysis, or Google cepaea images.

I'm not so sure of the brown one. It could be a Cepaea nemoralis, or then again, maybe an Allogonda townsendiana; they both live around here. See local photos of both, taken just a few miles east of us.

And one is endangered, the other a pest. Was I wise to move it to the ivy? Or should I have squished it? Or let it have the ficus?

Why don't these things come with labels on the bottom?

Weekly One (worth more than five others)

This is a must-see; a video of Richard Feynman's 1964 lecture on quantum mechanical behaviour.

If quantum mechanics bores you (how could it?), at least watch the last couple of minutes, when he defines the requirements of science. (About 53:40)

From Blake Stacey. Who says, "Watch it before it goes away..."

Intrepid Explorer

We've been too busy these last few days to go far afield, but we took a few minutes to check out the vacant lot across the street, the one I bioblitzed just a couple of months ago. The grass has now overwhelmed even the blackberry vines.

And now, back to chasing the clock.

Once a Salt Marsh...

... and now, sun-drenched slopes where kids fly their kites. Garry Point Park, the extreme southwest corner of Lulu Island.

The last time I was here, in the 1980s, the city of Richmond had just begun terraforming. The kids and I scrambled over heaps of gravel, piles of logs and tangled driftwood. Inland, dozens of kites flew, buzzing and whistling. Today, there is a gravelled walkway along the shoreline, sandy beaches, monuments (not very interesting ones), a vaguely Japanese "Japanese Garden". And wildflowers, acres of them.

Lupins, blue, purple, pink and red.
A little brown bird flitted from one to another of these, perching on the flower spikes, bending them right over, always too far away to get a clear view.
The red area behind the lupins is mainly red sorrel; I never would have thought of it as a flower, but massed like that, it is quite attractive. Beyond them, Scotch broom, near the end of its blooming season.

Plantain, Plantago. Quite large plants, scattered over the seaward edges.
Along the north end, we came across an old slough, Scotch Pond. A couple of signboards told its history, in brief. And I'll be briefer, still: up to the late 19th century, it was Musqueam Indian territory. In 1899, the Scottish Canadian Cannery took it over. In 1905, the Japanese came in, with Atagi Boatworks. Since then, canneries, mooring, net floats and boatworks have come and gone. Since the late 1980s, it has been a heritage site owned by the City of Richmond.

In the reeds bordering the slough, we found white and yellow irises, probably planted long ago, now gone wild:


And finally, along the pathway, some variety of Malus, apple or crabapple, probably. Fragrant, white and cream, with the slightest tint of pink.

What I will remember most, though, could not be captured by any means yet known: the touch of the breeze from the water, the warmth of the sunshine, the scents -- salt, dust, flowers, and some indefinable "green" fragrance --, the song of birds and the hissing of waves on the sand. I'll just have to leave that to your imagination.

Where the river meets the ocean

... the water is brown with silt.

Rollers from a passing boat, Garry Point Park, Richmond.

Ancient lumber, much weathered.

These are the last of our photos from Finn Slough. Until we go back for the next visit, at least.

Welcoming sign.

Texture and pattern on the old boardwalk.

Cedar shakes on old roofs.

A workshop, possibly still in use, at least for puttering around.

Newer wood, on a garbage and recycling shelter, enhanced by found materials. That's a softball in the V of the support.

A welcoming gate; made to stay open. Old, hand-milled boards.

Good Planets are Hard to Find

... Aren't we lucky we found this one?

“When you realize how perfect everything is you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.”
Supposedly said by the Buddha.

Here are some morsels of that perfection that arrived in my mailbox this week:

From Yankee T., a glorious magnolia blossom from her local Botanic Garden.

I don't know what it is about magnolias; they are so ... blatant, I think would be the word. Strong, heavy, sturdy-looking, but so impermanent; like a loud shout of laughter. The buds look like individual flames, flaring joyously up from the bare branches.

C. Corax saw this catbird singing a Leonard Cohen song, one morning on the way to catch the bus to work. "It definitely made me smile!" she writes.

All I can say about life is, Oh God, enjoy it!
Bob Newhart

We attribute human-like attributes and ideas to our animal neighbours, sometimes correctly. I wonder what this alligator lizard (Elgaria coeruleus) is smiling about?
Contributed by Celeste, of Dzonoqua's Whistle. More details on her blog.

Here's the lizard, in all his slithery length. (Click on the photo to get the full benefit.)

In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous.
Aristotle

I asked Laurie what made him smile. He remembered this photo from some years back: a sassy little widgeon confronts a bigger mallard who tried to grab the crumb he wanted. She seems quite taken aback. The little white dots in front are bird food that I was tossing while Laurie snapped away. At Reifel Island bird sanctuary.

More disruptions in avian affairs; seagulls ignoring a "Danger -- Keep Off the Ice!" sign. Queen Elizabeth Park, Vancouver.
Good sex, ours or someone else's, always brings a smile. Robin of Dharma Bums caught these two in the act last week.

Laughing is the sensation of feeling good all over and showing it principally in one spot.
Josh Billings

Poles; totem poles, Maypoles, poles for the birdmen of Papantla, and more, feature in the celebration of the beauty of our earth. Kim Herdman sent a totem pole from K'san village, topped with a man in a decidedly western-looking hat and suit.

And a telephone pole from Strathcona, Vancouver, from my collection: I labelled it "Post No Bills".
Wrenaissance Woman says, "goldfinches hanging upside-down to feed always make me smile."

Cherish all your happy moments: they make a fine cushion for old age.
Christopher Morley

One final photo; a few years back, in the bright sunlight after a heavy snowfall, we went out for a walk by the river. This little dog had been enjoying every moment of his own walk.
And to quote another celebrity; "Th-th-th-that's all, folks!"

Next "Good Planets" will be up June 23, in two weeks. I'd like to suggest a couple of concepts to play with, two opposites; fragility and durability. Do you have photos that speak to either or both of these ideas? Send them along!

But do feel free to send other photos of our "good planet" that you would like to share. Send them to me, at susannah AT dccnet DOT com, by Friday the 22nd.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quotations from here and here.

P.S. C. Corax posted a wonderful and apposite poem in the comments.

Just a reminder: Good Planets tomorrow

Just a reminder; it is Friday. I will be loading the next "Good Planets " in about 12 hours.

If you can, please send your photos for this edition to me today.

Thank you all!

:)

More pieces of the green bug puzzle

Hugh Griffith, of the Lulu Island Blog, left a comment on my last post, Aphid in Sheep's Clothing, suggesting that the woolly green bugs I have been trying to identify may be flatid pale green planthoppers.

The bug, in the nude, as I saw it on Wednesday.

Off I went, to research immature planthoppers. And some of the nymphs are woolly, just like woolly aphids. They have those funny little winglets. Some are even green. But none were quite like what I had.

I had put the tray of leaves and bugs outside on the patio. After I had looked at too many jpegs of planthoppers, I went out to look over the real thing again, and incidentally, to see if they had survived my manipulations. They had. But one looked different, even to the naked eye; the little brown winglets now looked larger, and white.

I brought it inside to the light and grabbed the camera right away. Which was fortunate, or I would have missed this:

First photo; about 2 minutes after I had discovered the change. The white wings are already larger. Note, on the left, the exoskeleton, with wool, that he had just vacated; I had caught him in the final moments of molting. His eyes and antennae are white, he's lost his goggles, that black tail end is gone, and now he has some sort of pale brown tubing at the rear.
A minute later; the wings are longer already. Having trouble with the lighting.


Barely another minute: now the wings are well beyond the tail structure.Wings straightening up. He now seems much larger than the little shell he came out of, just minutes before.
Total time, from first glimpse to final photo, about 5 minutes. After this, he just sat there. I went to look over the photos. When I came back, much later, after supper, etc., he hadn't changed much, except that the antennae were no longer transparent.


There is no trace of his previous eye and tail markings, although the body shape is similar, and he is still that brilliant green. The eyes, depending on the light, are now brownish or white.

I looked again, at photos of treehoppers. Most of them seem to have solid-colour wings, but there are a few similar to mine. He looks something like a whitebacked planthopper, which is present here in BC, but much greener. He resembles, in some ways, the Ormenaria rufifascia, from Florida, but without the orange head striping, and with paler, silvery wings.

So, I think I am dropping the idea of a woolly aphid, and running with an indetermined species of planthopper.*

And I am still left with the questions: why? What function, if any, does that woolly, waxy blanket serve? And does the planthopper exude honeydew, like the aphid? Because those leaves definitely became sticky; or is that due to the wax?

The more I learn, the more mysteries I find.

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Update: The big guns have spoken.

Dr. Hamilton identified my photos on Bug Guide as Psyllidae, otherwise known as plantlice. So the breakdown goes: Insects (Insecta) » Winged Insects (Pterygota) » True Bugs, Cicadas, Hoppers, Aphids and Allies (Hemiptera) » Plant-parasitic Hemipterans (Sternorrhyncha) » Psylloidea » Psyllidae.

These insects (one of the planthoppers) are very "host specific" (Wikipedia); they feed on one species or a small group only. So it was important to note that I found these on alder. Googling Psyllidae and alder, and looking at another series of photos, both of nymphs and adults, I come up with Psylla alni as the closest match. Still not exactly the same, but near enough to know I am on the right track. Finally.

Phew!

And look at this stunning photo of a nymph of Psylla alni, under its coating of fiber! (Copyrighted.)

Aphid in Sheep's Clothing

I will never grow up. I am still asking small-child questions: "What is this?" "What does it do?" "Why?"

The green bugs Laurie brought me the other day have been keeping me busy. Google was little help, this time; I had nothing to go on, other than "green bug, alder, cottonwood". I posted my photos, such as they were, on Bug Guide; the next morning, a commenter said they looked like "woolly aphids". Back to Google, to research woolly aphids on alder.
First, I discovered that woolly aphids produce their own "blanket"; it is not cottonwood fiber, even though it looks similar, and is also coating leaves in the vicinity. Instead, it is a waxy substance that they exude from the anus, as other aphids exude honeydew.

I compared a cottonwood twig, with seeds and fiber, with the fiber from the bugs. The cottonwood was not quite as white, silkier to the touch and more "feathery". Fiber from the suspected aphids was sticky; cottonwood fiber was sticky only when it had already come into contact with the leaves where the bugs were. So that checked out.

But then I ran into problems. The woolly alder aphid is common in BC, is covered with a white, sticky fibrous blanket, migrates from maple to alder in early summer, and eventually covers the leaves with a sticky nectar which leads to the growth of a blackish mold. Check, check, check, check and check. Except that all the photos of woolly alder aphids without the coating were nothing like mine. Wrong colour, wrong eyes, wrong shape.
A close-up of my bug, shorn of its "wool". Note the little wings or wing covers; he beat those winglets, but never managed to fly with them. Also note the absense of visible mouth parts or pincers. And the "goggles"; black circles around the eyes, as though written on with a felt pen. The tail is black, but in two sections, with the rear-ward one being slightly greyer. You can see where the wool is produced; a small bit still sticks there. (Ignore that red fiber: it's a piece of my carpet.)

I looked at hundreds of photos of woolly aphids, of all sorts; none of the denuded bugs were anything like mine.

Could something else mimic these? Something that, under the disguising blanket, turn out to be another beast? A predator? A "wolf in sheep's clothing," in miniature?

In the New Westminster Library, I searched the indexes of insect books for "woolly aphid". Mostly, it wasn't there, or referred to one or two lines of text. But there was a new (to the library; it's from 2003) book: For Love of Insects, by Thomas Eisner. And it has 20 pages on woolly aphids, a mimic, and its interactions with the aphids and the ants that "farm" them.

The green lacewing larvae prey on woolly aphids. Some of these are known as "trash bugs"; they purposefully coat themselves with bits of debris, including food leftovers. Eisner discovered some of these that took the waxy fibers from the woolly aphids, and covered themselves with them, until they could pass for a large aphid themselves.

He pulled the covering off some of these, the same way I had with my bugs, and watched. They immediately set about covering themselves again, grabbing pieces and twisting around to place them on their spiked backs until they were completely disguised again. (I went back and looked at the bugs I had stripped the day before; they were also back to normal, sheep ready for the shearing.)

Ants are well known for their talents as aphid farmers. They will stand guard over their herd of aphids, protecting them from wasps and other invaders, including humans, and "milking" the aphids for honeydew by stroking them with their antennae. The woolly aphids also produce this honeydew, along with the wool, and are shepherded by ants for this purpose.

The green lacewing larvae escape the notice of the ants by stealing the waxy fibers from the aphids they will be preying on. Eisner and his staff stripped the larvae and placed them back in the colony of aphids; ants attacked them right away. Some they killed outright, others they carried away and threw off the branch. A few were eaten. But an ant that bit a larva coated with fiber got a mouthful, and retreated to clean himself off. After a few attempts, they ignored the larvae.

So: were my bugs lacewings? If so, it was odd that I hadn't seen any lacewing eggs anywhere; these are noticeable, because they lay them one at a time on top of a 1/2 inch stalk. To me, they would look at first glance like one variety of slime mold, which I keep a lookout for.

And none of the lacewing larvae looked anything like my bugs, either.

Besides, all the lacewing larvae that I could find, and all the descriptions, mention the large mouthparts , the "powerful jaws" "like ice tongs". My bugs have no visible mouthparts at all, no matter what position I prodded them into. And smooth bodies, with no spikes.

So, what are they? I still don't know. For now, I'm going with "woolly aphid". But not the woolly alder aphid, nor either of the two invasive woolly aphids here in BC, the woolly balsam aphid and the woolly hemlock aphid.

A "normal", non-woolly aphid, on another leaf from the same tree, for comparison purposes.

This world is so full ...

Working on green bugs. Finding things out. Fascinating things. Back tomorrow, with details.

Weekly Five, and an update on the green bug

First, the bug.

I planned to send my photos to What's that Bug?, but when I went to the site, I found this announcement:

We're Swamped!!!!!!!

We've Returned
(05/29/2007) We were in Ohio between May 20 and May 29 and we returned to over 700 emails. Sadly, we can only answer a few.

There is such a thing as being too useful, I guess.

I loaded my photos, instead, on Bug Guide. Hopefully, someone will help with their identification. The real difficulty is that some of these creatures go through several different shapes and habits in the course of their life cycle. So that a nymph, which I'm thinking this guy is, may not look anything like his adult form, nor even live in the same environment.

Next: science links, the weekly five.

1. May as well give you Bug Guide's home page. Well worth just wandering around.
2. Astronomy picture of the day. Yesterday's was amazing; I was going to link to that. But today's is wonderful, too. I'm going to go back and browse the archives.
3. Sharks do too get cancer! On Junkfood Science.
4. Arctic ice caps reach tipping points. Scary, but a bit premature.
5. And GrrrlScientist passes on a report on Body Bugs. Denialism blog explains this in a more credible, less credulous fashion, in Folie a news. (Not to say that GrrrlScientist is credulous, but the producers of the report certainly were.)

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to look at those astronomy pics. G'night!

I'm stumped; what is this?

Laurie brought me home a treat, yesterday; the tip of a branch covered in bugs.

(Romantic, isn't it?) (It is, really; he knows what I like.)

The branch was from one of the "weed" trees along the street; an alder. And the tip was covered in tiny white fibers. At first glance, I said, "cottonwood". Disappointedly, because the cottonwood is spreading its "snow" everywhere this week; this was nothing new.

But, on principle, I checked it out with my hand lens. Cottonwood seeds and fibers. As I thought. But as I looked, one of those clumps of fiber started walking.
I looked more carefully and found three or four tiny green bugs, well camouflaged with cottonwood. I used the hook from a microscope set to remove the fibers one by one, which took quite some time, what with the fibers being sticky and the bugs walking away every time I touched them.

But I got one more or less cleaned off. Here he is, upside down and struggling, and then right side up.A weird little beetle, of some sort. 6 legs, long antennae, and stubby wing-like appendages on the sides. Pinkish eyes, and a black tail end.

What is this? I have never seen anything similar, especially with those stubby wings, which certainly wouldn't help him to fly underneath that cottonwood blanket.

These weren't the only residents on that branch; I found several aphids, large and small, a tiny pale fly, quite a few round eggs or egg cases too small to photograph, or even to see clearly. And a pretty green inchworm:
A tiny, tiny spider, very cute:For comparison, a paper clip:
That's the green bug and the spider. The paper clip is the standard office size.

The whole kit and kaboodle is outside again. I'm sure the green bug has gotten himself a new blanket by this time. And tomorrow, I'll write What's That Bug?

Bits and Pieces

Assorted links and oddments.

1. I'm a bit late with this: I and the Bird #50 is up at A Blog Around the Clock. 39 separate entries, including mine. Enough reading there for the week.
2. One week until the next Good Planets, here. Send your photos to me at susannah AT dccnet DOT com hopefully before next Friday afternoon. Again, the topic is wide open, although I did ask a "priming" question; "What makes you smile/laugh?"
3. Laurie asks if anyone can identify this:
4. I did not vote for Harper. Just saying.
5. Circus of the Spineless #21 will be up next Monday at 10,000 Birds. The previous one, #20, has gotten lost somewhere in transit, and now the whole blog seems to be down. I will provide a link whenever it shows up. (And I have posts in both.)
6. I'm going to bed. 'bout time.
   

Update on rhododendron pollination

In my musings on rhododendron anatomy, yesterday, a few questions about their pollination presented themselves.

Today, I fired up "the Google".

First, why didn't I see pollen on the anthers?

From a discussion of hand-pollination of rhododendrons, I learn the following:

"The stamen consists of the anther, which has two chambers, each with a hole through which the pollen is dispensed. The chambers are called lobes or pollen sacs and contain masses of pollen grains."

Here's that photo, again:
So the pollen is inside those little purple tubes. But there's more:

"Pollen is not a dust as in many plants, but rather long, irregular (tacky) stringy masses. The pollen ripens before the flower opens. After the flower opens, the pollen may soon be lost."

The flowers that I examined had been open for several days. The pollen was long gone. In an anther containing pollen, I should be able to see those stringy masses protruding from the holes. If not, I may be able to shake the pollen out, which is what the bee would do.

The second question was whether the pollen would come from the same flower, or from another.

The stigma (the female receptor, that red tip above) is ready for pollen about three days after the flower has opened. In other words, it will be receiving pollen from another flower, freshly opened. (Pollen can be dried and frozen for later use, but the rhodos aren't up to those tricks. Only human hybridizers do that.)

Rhododendrons and their relatives, the azaleas, hybridize quite easily, as we can see quite easily here in the Vancouver area; there are as many varieties of rhodies as there are backyards, I think.

And I found this fascinating:

"Once the stigma ripens, a critical process must take place whereby the stigma excretes a thin syrup and furnishes nourishment to the pollen which then forms a sprout-like process called a pollen tube. The style (stem) portion of the pistil has a channel running down its center from the stigma to the ovary configured with loosely formed cells through which materials easily pass. The pollen tube grows, heading down this canal. The pollen tube develops into a long slender thread-like structure as it grows down the style canal toward the ovary. At its lower end, the pollen tube contains the male cells and vegetative nucleus. In the ovary, the female (egg) cells are present. After a minimum of 24 hours at approximately 68°F, the pollen tube enters the ovule; the male nucleus is discharge and fuses with the egg nucleus to form a new seed. A separate ovule and a separate pollen cell are required to produce each seed. Dr. Bowers further writes that "up to several hundred pollen tubes may pass down the style at any one time and these may not be of the same variety or species. " Therefore, it is entirely possible in open pollinated flowers for one rhododendron flower to be successfully pollinated by several different sources of pollen at once."

And after all that effort, I come along and deadhead every single stem.

Shameless!

When you come to think of it, flowering plants are blatantly sexual beings, showing off their reproductive organs for the world to see. And be tempted by, of course. That's the point.

Not only do the wasps and the bees fall for this, but even we humans harvest plant sexual structures to decorate our homes and our own selves.

My rhododendrons: no false modesty.A brief review, for those of us (like me) who forget the terminology too easily; the female part of the flower is the pistil, a tube (the style) which connects the stigma at the tip to the ovary at the bottom. The stigma has features which enable it to collect the pollen, whether from the same flower, another on the same plant or from a more distant plant.The stigma of a rhododendron. Somewhat suggestive of a lipsticked mouth.
I took a flower apart. This is the pistil, with the ovary (green) at the bottom. The style feels silky, like the petals, but the stigma and the ovary are sticky, and the ovary tastes sweet and a bit spicy.

The male organs are the stamens. These have a stalk (a filament) which supports a pollen-producing anther.
Rhododendron anthers, on their pale stalks. I don't see any pollen on them, like I do on other flowers; that may be because the pollen is so tiny. Or it may be that it is contained in those two tiny tubes, and shakes or shoots out when the flower is disturbed.*These rhododendrons, a separate variety, are much smaller. Some of the flowers on the plant are singles, others, like this one, are doubles. The stamen here is a deep pink all the way down, whereas the anthers are so pale that they are almost invisible in this photo.

The pistils and stamen of a rhododendron form a pathway for insects, leading into the centre of the flower, where I see the bees collecting that sticky, sweet nectar. I have noticed that they (the bees) go quickly from one flower to the next; they do not spend more than a few seconds on each. On other flower species, they sometimes spend quite a while in one place. It all has to do with the precise mechanism that the plant uses to get pollen from the anthers into the stigma, and whether or not the pollen must come from another blossom. I would guess that this is the case for these rhododendrons.**

One other thing to note about the flowering plants; it is no accident that we find them attractive. We are related, after all, to the birds and the bees that pollinate them, lured by seductive scents and brilliant colour.

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* and ** See next post.

A terrible, stark beauty

Sometimes I let my mouse do the walking. On Google maps.

A few days ago, I went north. To the far Canadian north, at the very edge of the satelite views.

These are not trees; they are rivers. With no vegetation to slow them, shield them from view, they become sharp-edged trunks and branches.

More "trees":
Flat mud plains. What looks, to my eyes, like ridges, are really indentations, small valleys. I can't seem to convince my brain of that, though, and I still see concave plains with upturned edges.
Jagged chunks of ice, at the mouth of a river. This one still has the scale at the bottom; it measures off 1 mile.
More ice, rugged valleys, sharp peaks. Impossible country. Imagine hiking over that!
The glaciers flow just like wet water, only more slowly.
I don't know what to say about this country. It fills me with a wordless awe, it humbles me more, even, than gazing into a starry sky does; it's closer to home, but somehow feels more terrible, colder, more alien. And yet I have rarely seen anything so beautiful.

It's not just these representative views; it was also the effect of wandering, mouse-walking, step by step over endless brown terrain, lifeless and silent. Except, of course, for the roar of waters, the crashing of rock, the ping! of splitting ice. And probably the howl of wind. But no birdsong, no whisper of pines. Screen after screen of ever-different sameness. It gives me the shivers, and not from the imagined cold.

Where are these sites? Here, at the markers.
(And don't forget to click on these for a full-size view.)