On Cameras and Water Droplets

It's carpet beetle season in the blogosphere.

Maybe I 'm exaggerating; let's downgrade that to, "several people have blogged about carpet beetles recently." That's here, on Tim Eisele's blog, and here, by David Brady, and my last Friday's post; "Do Beetles get hangovers?"

I'm bringing the discussion from Comments up to the front page; several issues merit further discussion.

1. Tim, Chalain and Snail are going to try the water and sugar tactics. I must add a couple of cautions.

Some time ago, I was investigating a few other of the tiny beasties; I can't remember which, at the moment. I discovered that, for the really small ones, I could trap them inside a droplet of water; they were not able to break the surface tension. With carpet beetles, they're not quite so vulnerable, but my little guy got stuck head-down in the droplet, until I siphoned a bit off with the corner of a paper towel. So, keep your droplets small.

Also, a drop of tap water, freshly drawn, has killed a few of the "tinies". Now, I use water that has been exposed to air for at least 24 hours, or rainwater from the garden. I imagine that it was the chlorination that caused the problem, and it evaporates off overnight.

2. Tim discussed our respective cameras and lenses on his blog.

Comparing their pictures to mine gives a good chance to see how much benefit I’m getting from the improvised macro lens made from a reversed SLR lens. David Brady (Insect Picture of the Day) uses a camera similar to mine (his is a Canon Powershot A640, I’m using an A95). I think that Wanderin’ Weeta is using a Canon A720 IS (another model in the same series, but with almost twice as much optical zoom as mine has). At any rate, we are probably all using cameras with broadly similar native optics to photograph essentially the same insect. The cameras with no supplementary macro lens, running only on their native macro mode, can get pictures that are good enough for identification of critters 2-3 mm long. But, there is a significant amount of blurring that is hazing out the details that are brought out using the macro lens. I’d say that the carpet beetles are about the smallest things that can be photographed decently with a stock consumer-grade camera, and a specialized macro lens gives pretty significant improvements at this size and smaller.

Yes, Tim, I'm using the Canon A720. I've only had it a month, so am still experimenting with lenses. Blurring is a definite problem.

There is a Macro lens available for this camera; I have not yet investigated it, but will soon. I use the home-made lens I cobbled together (with a card tube, lenses pirated from an old pair of binoculars, and electrician's tape) for use with the beginner's Kodak.

Homemade lenses.

And this is odd: I stacked the lenses anyhow, not knowing which was the best arrangement. When the photos came out ok, I taped the stack together. Call that #1. Later, I added a removable lens from a hand-held magnifying glass. #2. It worked. As well as could be expected, given the rudimentary equipment.

With the Canon, that arrangement makes no difference whatsoever; the camera set on macro mode, with nothing added gives me an identical result. But when I turn the #1 stack backwards, with #2 at the previous inner end, and the camera on full optical Zoom, I get a nice enlarged view.

I have since taped on another little lens, from an old slide projector, in the middle of the stack. I think it will help. And I'm playing with different lighting arrangements.

I look at better, more expensive cameras, and drool. Some day, I will get one. But for now, I am learning a lot about the effects of lighting, lenses, and settings; I am content.

3. About the beetles themselves.

From Tim, again:

Something that Wanderin’ Weeta pointed out is that there are slight depressions on the beetle underside that the legs can socket into, making a nearly flat surface. I expect that this is so that, when the beetle is getting knocked around (as commonly happens to beetles), the legs can be pulled out of harm’s way rather than getting snapped off.

I found my lost photo of the leg sockets. (I thought I had deleted it by mistake, but it was just misfiled.)


The slots on either side, where the hind legs disappear to, are quite clear. But now, look at this:


The beetle was struggling madly to get himself flipped over onto his legs. The procedure involves rapid contortions and flapping of wings; after many failed attempts (much to the beetle's disgust, I am sure), I managed to catch him in the act. The photo is blurry, but you can see how the "slots" are really a division between the two major segments of the beetle's belly covering. Here they are separated quite widely, as he bends his body backwards. So he pulls the hind legs into this crack, much as a turtle does.

Reluctant Dog

Some days, I know how he feels.

Part of mural by Elizabeth Hollick, from Laurie's film camera.

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Do beetles get hangovers?

David Brady, over at Insect Picture of the Day has recently been looking at a carpet beetle, (here and here) and we've been wondering about the mouthparts.

I was (am still) interested in getting a clear picture of the face, so I've been searching for a new, live beetle. Dead ones don't work; they curl their faces inwards when they retract their legs; I can't even see the eyes.

If I have an infestation, it's not much of one. I even vaccuumed and went through the dust bag looking for a beetle, with no luck. But they may be coming in from outside; at least, I found a pair finally, by the back door.

They weren't a very cooperative couple; they seemed more interested in trundling around than in having their photo taken. When I put them on ice, they immediately, before I could even grab the camera again, retracted legs and face into slots and played dead.

Yesterday, with only one left alive (they don't do well under the heat of the lamp), I tried slowing him down with a drop of water. It worked, for a couple of minutes.

Ahhhh! I was so thirsty!

But as soon as he'd drunk his fill, he went to roaming around with renewed energy.

I gave him a few sugar crystals; he liked those.

What's this?

Mmmm. Tastes good!

Chomp, chomp, chomp. Lick, lick, lick. I like this!

This one's good, too.

I could see, under the lens, his little mouthparts working away. When I shook the lid he was in (by mistake) and the crystals rolled, he went with one, clutching it tightly, and went back to his feeding as soon as they landed.

Mine! All mine!

Now, the morning after, he's very lethargic. I think he overindulged.
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It figures!

Yesterday, we manured the garden, put in a dozen new plants from the nursery, and transplanted a bunch of perennials.

This morning, we had a hail storm, the first of the year.

Now it is snowing. Figures.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

Almost, because it's already Thursday.


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A dropping of pigeons

No, not pigeon droppings; a "dropping" is one of the terms for a flock of pigeons. *

Pigeon # 1 Basic rock dove, but with no white on back.


Pigeon # 2 Blue-grey and white; no wing bands.


Pigeon # 3 Pinkish brown


Pigeon # 4** Charcoal and white, with a speckled cap and white head band. No wing bands.

All of these pigeons are regular diners around the outside tables at the New Westminster Quay food fair. Only the first one is in any way close to the "book" description of the Columba livia, the rock dove, even though they all are related. Compare them to this, from Wikipedia: the rock dove has

a dark bluish-gray head, neck, and chest with glossy yellowish, greenish, and reddish-purple iridescence along its neck and wing feathers. The iris is orange, red or golden with a paler inner ring, and the bare skin round the eye is bluish-grey. The bill is grey-black with a conspicuous off-white cere, and the feet are purplish-red.
...
The white lower back of the pure Rock Pigeon is its best identification character, the two black bars on its pale grey wings are also distinctive. The tail has a black band on the end and the outer web of the tail feathers are margined with white.

Domestic pigeons were bred from the rock doves, then bred into different varieties; carrier pigeons and racing pigeons, for example. Many of these later returned to the wild, interbreeding with the wild variety, and giving rise to our city pigeons. For some reason, maybe in part because of the lack of constraint, on one hand by human breeders, and on the other by the limitations of living "off the land", they have been able to develop a great variety of size, shape and colour.

One of the pigeons that congregate for the dawn ceremony above our parking lot gleams a deep red in the afternoon light; the rest are varied shades and patterns of grey and white. The New West pigeons wear anything from black and white formal dress to quiet grey suits to mottled camouflage gear to psychedelic iridescences.

In the city, with food and warmth available year-round, these pigeons breed continuously, like the humans they associate with. A couple of the males in this "dropping" were strutting their stuff this week, courting females very unlike themselves; more variants coming up!

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

*An interesting list of animal collective nouns is here. I could have called this post "a dule of doves".

**Pigeon #4 has a wire tangled around one foot. He was limping. I hope he manages to work it off.
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About those veggies...

A year ago January, I wrote a blog post about flowers seen walking down the New West Quay. I ended up with veggies:

Here along the Quay, someone with a lack of imagination always sets in truckloads of "ornamental" kale, green, white, purple and pink, in any space they find empty. In straight rows, sometimes on the diagonal, sometimes alternating colours regularly, like a checker board. Pretty at first sight, maybe interesting at the second. Not at the hundred and seventy-eighth.

But then again, maybe if we have a bad economic stretch, we can eat them.

It seems that someone was reading my blog. Here's what we found in the flower beds at the Quay this week:

Beets and some variety of brassicas.

Swiss chard.

Parsley and something dark purple, either more beets or a brassica.

And, of course, plenty of ornamental kale, green, white, and pink.

Looks almost good enough to eat.

Next visit, I'll be expecting potato plants and tomato frames.
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Lazy night and five links

Because I'm very sleepy tonight (Or lazy; take your pick.), I'm just posting my occasional "Not-quite Weekly Five" science links, without any write-up, and in no particular order. Instead, I have cut and pasted a quote from each article to introduce its topic.

(Blogging on "Blogging on peer-reviewed research".)

From Not Exactly Rocket Science:
Mantis shrimps have a unique way of seeing

Eagles may be famous for their vision, but the most incredible eyes of any animal belong to the mantis shrimp.

Ditto: (BoBopr-r)
From Living the Scientific Life:
Dog Walking Harms Wild Birds

Unfortunately, a scientific paper was recently published showing that the presence of dogs, even when they are on a leash in these natural areas, seriously interferes with wild birds' reproductive success and even scares many of them away.

From The Marvelous in Nature:
Tunnels from Top to Bottom

The first paragraph read, “Cambium miners cause concern when noticed but are not very damaging to the tree. The mines can extend from a twig all the way down to the roots. The mines form light-colored lines in the bark.”

From Born Again Bird Watcher:
Time Lapse Videos of Emerging Butterflies

The very idea of a complete physical and ecological transformation of a single creature borders on science fiction; if it hadn't been so well documented, anyone would be forgiven for thinking it was the product of an overly creative novelist.

From Daily Kos:
Hermit Crab Basics

Hermit crabs are found all over the world in shallow waters and are one of the more familiar coastal animals. Although they have an exoskeleton, as all crustaceans do, this protective covering only surrounds the head, legs and claws. To protect the soft rear part of the body they must find a suitable shell to crawl into.

And now, I'm off to bed. 'night, all!
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Draba verna, lichens, and a "what's this"?

The New Westminster Quay is our banana belt. Between the south-facing, sunny hillside and the river, warmed by broad board walks and reflecting condominium windows, even a few palm trees flourish.

Now, at the end of March, the pink rhododendrons and camelias are in full flower, the beds are bright with pansies, daffodils, red and white bellis pompoms, grape hyacinths, even a few veggies (more about those later).

And I found something unexpected; a drift of white flowers over a mossy meadow.


Well, not exactly; the "meadow" was barely a metre across. The flowers here are under three inches tall; the "tree" is a small shrub.


The flowers are Draba verna, a common weed of disturbed sites. A small basal rosette, a leafless stalk a couple of inches high, and then these flowers. Four petals, widely separated, divided in two almost down to the base. An interesting arrangement.


Look at the seed pods. There is one in plain view in this photo near the centre top; you can distinguish a few more if you click on it to get the full size. They are a long oval shape, slightly flattened, green.

Ok. Now, what are these?


On a single, leafless stalk, arising out of the same area, are these long, brown, sausage-shaped things, like a miniature cattail, more or less. They have the same white button at the tip that the draba seed pods do.

I thought they were part of the moss. But, looking through my books, I see no miniature moss (this stuff is half an inch deep) with tall, upright sporophytes.

What are they? Do any of you know?

And since I'm looking at the tinies, here are several lichens from today's crop.


On a metal piling, at least two, maybe three species here.


On the same piling, another mound of the pumpkin-coloured lichen. One in my book that looks a likely match is the Xantheria polycarpa, a "pincushion". I read that,

"These and other Xantheria species require large quantities of calcium or nitrogen, and they therefore often grow on or near bird droppings."

That explains how it happens to survive on a metal piling; pigeons and seagulls feed it.

And on a tree:



A grey-green leaf lichen, and tiny yellow clumps.
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Doing it the hard way

I've got some more blurry pictures of my backyard birds for you.

But this is blurring with a difference. It demonstrates the different feeding styles of each type of bird.

Here is a chickadee:


He hangs onto the perch, off to the side with his body in a vertical position, and facing the escape route, then quickly bends his head down to grab a seed, and immediately flies off.

The nuthatch, though:


Stands in normal posture on the perch, facing the feeder, then twists his head down sideways. Note the right foot holding the lip of the feeder.

And a junco:


Stands on the lip of the bucket, body horizontal, then quickly upends, like a mallard, to get a seed, which he brings up and eats in a normal position before he flips over again. One I was watching today flaps his wings wildly during this procedure; the one in the photo did not.

And here is a pair of pine siskins from last spring. Watch closely: the one on the right at the start of the video stands quietly, stuffing his face from the open slot. But the one on the left has found a seed stuck off to the side, jammed in a bent end of the cut. He spends the entire time twisting upside down to worry it out, even though he has a dozen easy-to-get seeds at his side.

I'm still trying to get the towhee, doing his chicken scratch routine. And the varied thrush, with his leaf-flipping trick. Wish me luck. And patience.
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That was fast!

I ordered a book. Monday evening. It was here Thursday morning. 2 working days. Even Canada Post cooperated. I'm in shock!

The story: Hugh, at Rock, Paper, Lizard, wrote a review, last Sunday, of the book, "A Nature Guide to Boundary Bay", by Anne Murray. I had seen it earlier, had intended to buy it, and forgotten; Hugh's post was a good reminder. I ordered it after supper on Monday, before I could forget again.

From the link on Hugh's post, to Nature Guides BC to place an order. Done. Confirmation from PayPal. And a couple of hours later, a note from Anne Murray, saying she would send the book immediately. She meant what she said; the book, in a hand-addressed envelope, was postmarked Tuesday, the very next day. And Canada Post took only 2 days to bring it here, a full 20 minutes drive away!

And I am very pleased with the book; good info, wide coverage, maps, photos, background, covering our regular stomping ground from north to south. But I'm not going to write a review; go read Hugh's; he covers it well.

One thing I miss, having been too long habituated to the web; the ability to highlight a word or phrase, left-click on 'Search Google for "whatever you wa..."', and have a whole page of info at your mousetip. Murray puts the first mention of any species in bold print, but rarely has a description. (This is not a failing of the book; she had to limit it to one volume, not a dozen.)

So I'll be reading through the book with my Audubon's Field Guide to North American Birds, Western Region, at my side. And the Field Guide to Insects and Spiders, Kozloff's "Seashore Life of the Northern Pacific Coast", and my latest acquisition, "Plants of Coastal British Columbia".

Anne Murray's book ties them all together quite tidily.

Another book ... Here, read Hugh's entire post:

A Biophysical Inventory and Evaluation of the Lulu Island Bog, Richmond, British Columbia

The long-anticipated Biophysical inventory of the Lulu Island Bog is now available online, here. (Large PDF file, may take a while.)

If you are interested in bog ecology, or the flora and fauna of southwestern British Columbia, you will find this a valuable resource.

Silly guy forgot to mention that he is the author of the chapter on birds.

This will be a handy extension of the Boundary Bay guide; it covers the bog area immediately to the north. (Burns Bog, just across the river, is in Anne Murray's book; it will be interesting to make a comparison as to species that cross that wide river barrier.)
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In the Courtyard of the Goddess of Joy

It had been a cold, cold walk down the White Rock pier. Although the sun was shining, there was a brisk wind off the water, more wintry than we had expected. We were glad to get back to land, and the shelter of buildings.

Caticorner from the parking lot, I saw a riot of summer colour on a wall facing a side street. It warmed me just to look at it.

The front of the building, on the main drag, housed a couple of eateries; routine windows, doors, menus. But the entire side had been transformed into the home and "Courtyard of Flavia, Goddess of Joy".


This is the house:


And yes, the flowerpots are painted on. Only the electrical box and the door are "real".

Around the side of the (painted) house, facing the courtyard (and how this skews my sense of direction!), a couple of the residents lean out of a window, looking down on the festivities below.


And here is the courtyard proper, ...


... with a merry garden party in progress.

And it seems to me that this woman down in the bottom left corner just might be the artist herself, sketchbook on her knees...


... and wine in her left hand. (Compare to a photo of the real woman.)

The artist, Elizabeth Hollick, lives here in White Rock. Her work adorns many public buildings in the White Rock area, all exhibiting the same cheerful energy. I couldn't find a website by her, but some of her murals are in this Webshots album, and the Virtual Mural Tour (Vancouver); one of her paintings is here. The gallery brochure says,

"Hollick’s paintings are vigorous, highly charged and emotive: best seen from a distance."

Like from across the street. As is proper for a mural.

And the warmth of the painting had thawed out my chilled bones; I went on up the street and around the corner into the lane. And found that Hollick's enthusiasm had taken her around that same corner. A painted woman walked her dog down the lane. And you can't have a dog without an offended cat, can you?


Here he is.
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Two and two, black and white

We were on our way to the White Rock pier, in the mood for something a little tamer and drier than our usual scramble over rocks or through mud. We drove in from the south end of town, along the edge of the Semiahmoo reserve, driving slowly to watch for the new growth in the bushes, yellow-green leaves and a sprinkling of small white flowers this early in the year. At the outskirts of the town, across from some of the first houses, two eagles sat in a tree; I pulled off and parked.


Under the tree, looking up, the sky was too bright for my camera. But along the beach, the town goes straight up the hill; long staircases lead to the stacked houses above, or even to the next block, where the hill is too steep for cars. A staircase began behind the car; we headed upward, to get as level with the eagles as possible.

At the first landing, a large crabapple tree, in full spring bloom, blocked the view of the eagles.

Forget the eagles! Look at us!

Above the crabapples, the path turned at right angles, parallel to the road. We got our eagle photos.


And at our backs, almost overpowering us with its fragrance, was a mass of evergreen clematis.

So perfumed, they seem tropical.

A good start to the afternoon, followed by a cold, cold walk down the pier, a few gull photos taken with frozen fingertips, and, back at the street ...

But I'll leave that for tomorrow's post, ok?
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Pinning down a junco

Juncos never stop moving. Ever. And they move fast, and in unpredictable directions. Nor will they tolerate flash cameras and open doors, no matter how you've worked at habituating them.

I've taken hundreds of junco photos. Most are fuzzy; many are photos of a place where a junco was an instant ago. More are photos of the flash of white tail feathers signalling, "I'm outta here!"

Hooray for digital cameras! I dump several dozen photos and head out to take more, with not a qualm; they don't cost me anything but time. And time I am willing to spend, because I am determined to get a decent junco photo.

I'm learning a few tricks; I stand immobile by the closed door or window, mostly hidden by the frame, camera held in place, aimed at the feeder or baited area; I will not move it, except to press the shutter button, for the entire session. All the lights at my back are turned off; so is the flash. The optical zoom at is its maximum. I turn off the shutter sound; with it on, even behind that closed door, the juncos hear it and leave town.

Then I wait. And take one photo after another, anytime the target is within range. I don't stop until he's gone. And afterwards, I delete almost all of those photos cheerfully; I'll try again tomorrow.

So, I've finally got a few more or less worth saving. Here they are: The Junco Slowpoke collection.

"Is that a camera I see? Hmmmm..."


"Scoping out the territory. Door closed? Check. Nobody in sight? Check. It may be safe, then."


"Looks ok. Although I have my doubts about that round thing in the window."


"Right in the food bucket, I'm probably safe enough. But I'll keep bobbing up to check, anyhow."

Three "bobs", and he was gone, flitting off to the safety of the evergreens.

Juncos are ground birds; they have a reason to be cautious. They're prime prey for cats and other predators, easily got at and pounced on. So they stick, mainly, to the shelter of the shrubbery, and never stay in one place long enough for a cat to creep up on them. My feeder, at human eye level, and sheltered only by a nearby wall and a bit of the roof overhang, needs a long, slow, wary approach, from the shrubbery to the maple tree to the epimedium basket, and then the last quick jump into the bucket, where they seem to feel safe enough to stay for a few seconds.

I have tried luring them nearer the door, sprinkling food on the ground, but unless there is actually deep snow on the rest of the patio, they avoid the area, doing a quick run-through, snatch-and-grab, rarely pausing long enough for my camera finger to squeeze all the way down. I did manage to get one, though; I had the button pressed half-way already, focusing on the ground, before the junco arrived.

"I saw that! And I'm leaving. Now."

(Related post: In an inch of water; such pleasure! Junco in the bird bath. Blurry, of course.)
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Working late tonight

I'm all worn out. Back tomorrow.

Convertible.

Nothing more beautiful ...

... than a seagull on the wing.

Here's a bunch, taken at Semiahmoo Beach recently.

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Seen outside the Tim Horton's

In the street. Parked in a no-parking zone.

Not In Service.

Sorry 'bout that.

Numbers removed, to keep the driver out of trouble. Because no-one can be expected to withstand the draw of a good Tim Horton's coffee and a bag of TimBits. No-one.

What grows in a deep shade garden?

My little garden lies on the north side of the building, in the shade of tall cedars; it gets started late in the year.

Late, here in the Lower BC mainland, though, is March; in sunny spots, the crocuses have been up for ages, the daffodils are blooming madly.

Not in my garden, though.

Crocus. Coming along nicely.

It's a deep shade garden, always a difficult proposition. Add to that, heavy, clayey soil and a previous "gardener" who buried great sheets of ground cloth, now entangled in the roots of the shrubbery, and I've got a challenge.

But a couple of days ago, I discovered the first shoots of astilbe poking through the mulch; it's time. Yesterday, I spent three hours removing my thick layer of mulch, raking, cleaning, trimming, spreading crushed eggshells for slugs.

And doing inventory.

What grows in a deep shade, clay garden?

The astilbes are up; so are the columbines. And my one lone teasel, left over from a sunny garden some years back; it looks healthier than it ever has here. I hope it actually blooms this year.

Pachysandra. Already setting blooms.

So here's what I've got growing, a list possibly useful to someone else with a similar situation:

• Plants that disappeared over the winter and are now sprouting:
  Astilbe, columbine, teasel, perennial pansies, sweet william, hostas, crocuses, blue-eyed grass, honeysuckle, hydrangea, foxglove (wild type), miniature rose.


• Plants that stayed green all winter:
  The rhododendron, of course. Bergenia, London Pride, pachysandra, lemon balm (cut 'way back), dead nettle, native evergreen fern, creeping (galloping?) Jenny, epimedium, periwinkle, primula (blooming under the snow, even), creeping bluet, and the trees; yew, arborvitae, cedars and box hedge. The mosses.
  


• Still in the bare stick stage:
  Fuschia and the maple tree.


• And still not showing up:
  Lily of the valley, the largest of the hostas, the native deciduous fern (volunteers, and usually very enthusiastic), fringe cups and a foam flower. (Fingers crossed on those final two; they were not well established by last fall.)

Primula. With slug damage, already.

I want to get another batch of begonias this year. They did well the first winter, brightening up a dark corner with flowers right up until the first hard frost, but need to be lifted or replaced yearly.

And in other news, the chestnut-backed chickadee is back, and the pine siskins from last year. Yay!

In an inch of water, such pleasure!

I should have taken a video of this. But maybe stopping the action enhances the moment; what do you think?

Bird bath:

Click on the photo to see the droplets fly.


It's a junco.


Second dipping. And fountain-making.


Fluffing up.


Soaking.


Relaxing. Ahhhh!

Miles to go

I've been tagged, twice, with the same meme. So does that mean I have to do it twice?

"Cis" at Cicero Sings, and Seabrooke, at The Marvelous in Nature, have passed on the 6-word memoir meme, started 6 weeks ago by bookbabie. The challenge is to write your own memoir, but using only 6 words.

I once did an autobiography in the form of a limerick*; that was hard enough. But only 6 words? Could I do it?

Well, I'm cheating. After all, I was tagged twice; I'm entitled to a double count, aren't I?

A line from Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" has always meant a lot to me, not necessarily for any reason that I could identify, but just because it resonated with me. "And miles to go before I sleep." (That's where I cheat; I used the quote in my title.)

Thinking on that, I remembered an old photo that I have carried around for almost 60 years.


I was 7 years old. We were coming back from Toronto (via the US, including Yellowstone National Park), and drove on this highway just after it had been opened, in November of 1949. I remember Mom telling us about it while Dad drove. Back home on Vancouver Island, I cut this photo out of a travel brochure, and stuck it in my new Yellowstone Park photo album with Scotch tape. I didn't cut it quite straight; I was still little, and clumsy with those horrible blunt scissors they made us kids use.

I added three more photos from the same brochure, but this was the one that I have always remembered.


Many years later, I transferred all my own photographs to a newer album. But I kept the old album cover with the page of brochure photos; I could not steel myself to part with them.

It seems to me that I have spent most of my life "going places". On the road. In boats, planes, motorhomes, buses. I learned to walk on the train crossing Canada, they told me. And I am still wandering. There is so much to see, so much to do; there is always something new and interesting around that next corner. I rejoice in the feel of a highway unfolding ahead of me, the mystery of where it will lead, the scent of future discoveries.

So here's my memoir: "Slept in the car trunk. Etcetera."

True. Travelling alone, in a small Datsun, I stopped in a rest area to spend the night. The seats were too small and the gear shift was in the way, but the trunk had a flat bottom. I slept there, with the top open a crack, and tied down from the inside, to discourage bears.

Another of the photos. The car in front is a 1948 Dodge, I think.

Over to you: I'm tagging Jean, Robin Andrea, Celeste, Shawn, and "Mike". Here are the rules:

1. Write your own six word memoir

2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like

3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere

4 .Tag five more blogs with links

5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

*The limerick? Here it is:

When anyone asks where I come from,
How I wish that my life had been humdrum!
I am known, as a fact,
By how fast I can pack,
And for sleeping in truckstops to thrum, thrums.

About Yesterday's Slug

An update on yesterday's post.

Hugh says it is probably Deroceras reticulatum, the Grey Field Slug. It looks about right to me.

I found a site with good photos and descriptions of slugs of this end of the continent, from Oregon State University.

It seems, from Hugh's post, and from OSU, that there are more varieties of slug around here than I thought. I'll have to look at any I find more carefully in the future.

Scrape, scrape, yum, yum!

Slug:

About an inch long. On a broken flowerpot.

Slug food*:

The winter's crop of algae. And a brown springtail.

My early perennials are sprouting. I was examining them when I noticed this pattern on a broken flowerpot, kept over the winter for drainage material at the spring planting.


I brought the pot inside and inspected it. It harboured a pack of brown springtails, a few mini-millipedes, a couple of pillbugs, and this slug.


See the path of scrapings below it? The slug travels over the surface of the pot, scraping at the algae growing there, leaving cleaned marks where its mouth reached. Here, it's made a meandering path, swinging back and forth. In other spots, it nibbled here and there, making a spottier pattern.

It's a pity it will soon abandon the algae and go for my hostas, bringing all its relatives. But I'll be there first, with a ring of crumbled eggshells to scratch their bellies and discourage them. There is plenty of good food on the lawn; they are welcome to it.

One of the two pillbugs panicked at my flash; he ran hither and thither, tripping over his own feet as often as not. He spent a good part of the time upside down, legs flailing wildly in his effort to flip back upright. Very entertaining, for me, at least.

Calm down little one; I won't hurt you.

*On Snail's Tales, Aydin investigated the contents of an algae-eating slug's stomach. And without hurting the slug. And nor did I; I put the pot back outside in the rain, critters and all.

Empty snail shell and a Feynman quote

I just had to pass this one on;


On SNAIL'S TALES, Aydin Orstan writes on The pleasure of finding a snail shell, and quotes Richard Feynman:

I don't see that it makes any point that someone in the Swedish Academy decides that his [someone's] work is noble enough to receive a prize. I've already got the prize. The prize is the pleasure of finding the thing out, the kick in the discovery, the observation of other people using it. Those are the real things, the honours are unreal to me.

This is one of my favourite quotes, and one I repeat to myself frequently. "... the pleasure of finding things out..." This pleasure, this thrill, if you will, is what keeps me prodding and poking at an insect, or Googling obscure details about tegenaria cephalothorax patterns.

I own Feynman's book by the same name; "The Pleasure of Finding Things Out". I'll add to Aydin's quote another from the same lecture, this one of special relevance to birders:

... my father had taught me. Looking at a bird, he says, "Do you know what that bird is? It's a brown-throated thrush; but in Portuguese it's a ..., in Italian a ...," he says, "in Chinese it's a ..., in Japanese a ...," etcetera. "Now," he says, "you know in all the languages you want to know what the name of that bird is and when you're finished with all that," he says, "you will know absolutely nothing whatever about the bird. You only know about humans in different places and what they call the bird. Now," he says, "let's look at the bird."

Precisely. Now go on over and look at Aydin's snail shell.

Scruffy in the rain

This is Scruffy:

I've introduced him a few times before, here and here.

He was injured last fall; something, a raccoon, maybe, or a broken branch, had torn his back at the nape of the neck. He looked pretty sick for a while, and used to sit, shivering, on the chairs by my window. In December, most of the hair along his upper spine fell out. I wasn't sure he would survive the winter.

But here he is, healed, if somewhat moth-eaten, and fattening up. He's been a regular visitor at the junco-and-sparrow feeder, and I've turned a blind eye to his thievery.

Silly of me, I know. Sometimes I'm just too soft-hearted. Now I'll have to figure out how to discourage him when he decides to raise a family and do his grocery shopping here.

Identifying Tegenaria

We rearranged the potted plants in the back patio yesterday, and I took the opportunity to clean out the corners. In one of them, against the house wall and behind a stored board, where it would be warm and dry, I found a pair of spiders.

The large one, probably more experienced, disappeared down a hole within seconds. The tiny one tried to pretend she* wasn't there. Even though I brought the camera to within an inch of her, she didn't twitch. She stayed put while I swept down the wall, detouring around her, and didn't leave until I had gone to put away the broom.

So I got a few photos.

With flash.


With a desk lamp; softer light, and allowing for a closer approach.

It's a Tegenaria. Which may or not mean trouble. Tegenaria agrestis, the "hobo spider", has been long accused of aggressive behaviour and dangerous bites, which can turn tissue necrotic or cause allergic reactions. But T. domestica or T. duellica (gigantea) may be harmless.

Which is she? It is impossible to be sure without a microscope. BugGuide says,

The actual spider (not a photo) needs to be examined by an expert for a definite identification.

From a link on that page, though, I found a useful article; "How to identify (or misidentify) the hobo spider". How to tell if your spider is NOT a hobo. Just what I needed!

If the spider has any of the following, it is NOT T. agrestis. And probably not dangerous:

1. Spots on the sternum.
   
   I couldn't check this, since I didn't capture the spider.
   
   
2. Distinct stripes on the cephalothorax.
   
   Let me see... The cephalothorax (head-chest) is the front section. Very definite stripes down the back. (photo 1.) Not a hobo.
   
   
3. Dark rings around the legs.
   
   Black and brown striped legs. Not a hobo.
   
   
4. Shiny dark orange legs with no hair.
   
   Photo 2. Dull legs, with some hair. Not a hobo.
   
   
5. Long, pointy palps (Two "grabbers" in front of the eyes).
   
   I didn't get a look at the palps.

So that's a relief. By the size (not enormous), I would guess these are probably T. domestica.

Now this one, on the other hand:


Broken marks on cephalothorax, not definite stripes. (See photo below) No spots on legs. Hairy, though. Blunt palps, I think.


Compare her with this one, positively identified as a hobo, on BugGuide:


I found her in about the same spot, last June. And it seems possible that she was a hobo. Next time, I'll capture any I find, carefully, flip it over, and examine the sternum, too.

For now, I shake out my back door shoes every time I put them on, and keep gardening gloves handy. I don't want hobo bites on my toes or fingers.

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

* She, because the palps, what I could see of them, seem to be of uniform thickness. Male spiders carry heavy, bulbous palps.
.

But nary a cougar

Cougar Creek is a small creek. It trickles gently from culverts under the housing developments behind our vacant lot, meanders around and under the malls that replace the marsh and lake that once was here, joining forces finally in the gap between school grounds, housing developments and the Sikh temple. From there, the combined waters go back into a culvert, emerging at the head of the steep Cougar Canyon, where it "goes wild", allowing for an annual salmon fry release, and good cover for animals. (Two summers ago, we startled an owl sleeping on a branch barely over our heads down there.) At the bottom, it slows again and oozes into Burns Bog. Even in the rainy seasons, it is barely ankle deep, except in the ravine.

At the meeting place of the headwaters, now Cougar Creek Park, a man-made pond collects stormwaters, and a 2005 Releafing project added native trees and shrubbery.

A variety of local organizations has been involved in this work: Cougar Creek Streamkeepers, Rai Medical Building Streamside Restoration Project, Cougar Canyon Elementary School, Fisheries and Oceans Canada, and others.

From "About Cougar Creek":

Lifeform species documented as being observed within the Cougar Creek drainage system are:

Fish Species:

Coho Salmon (Oncorhynchus kisutch, illustrated here)
Coastal Cutthroat Trout (O. clarki clarki)
Rainbow Trout/Steelhead (O. mykiss)
Peamouth Chub (Mylocheilus caurinus)
Carp (Cyprinus carpio)
Goldfish (Carassius auratus)
Brown (Bullhead) catfish (Ameiurus nebulosus)
Prickly Sculpin (Cottus asper)
Threespine stickleback (Gasterosteus aculeatus)

Other Lifeforms:

Western Brook Lamprey (Lampetra richarsoni)
Northwestern Salamander (Ambystoma gracile)
Pacific Treefrog (Hyla regilla)
Red-legged Frog (Rana aurora)
Bullfrog (Rana catesbeiana)
Green Frog (Rana clamitans)
Western Red-backed Salamander (Plethodon vehiculum)
Oregon Ensatina Salamander (Ensatina eschscholtzii oregonensis)

And they forgot the birds. For shame!

We dropped in to the park again on Wednesday afternoon. And found another construction project well underway. This one is planned and carried out by non-human developers.


We had noticed, last fall, beaver activity on the creek; chewed-off trees and a dam started at the lower outlet. It has been going on apace since then. Along one side, about 1/3 of the small trees have been cut. The outlet dam is still in place, and three smaller ones are set up at the inlet to the pond. The shallow creek bed beyond is deeper and much wider, making a new, shallow pond, ideal for mallards and other up-ending ducks.

The water level in the main pond is up. Many of the trees planted on the north bank now have their feet in the water.

And the ponds have attracted a new visitor, hopefully frequent (I'm hoping there are enough fish for him):


A cormorant, probably the Double-Crested, Phalacrocorax auritus. Even at a distance, the cormorants can be recognized by their habit of stretching out the wings to dry them, as this one is doing, since their feathers are not water-proofed, like those of other seabirds.

This one is perched on a half-submerged plank or tree trunk in the centre; when he took a break to swim around, it floated.

He had company; the pond was full of waterfowl.

Mallards, of course:


And hooded mergansers:

The male, dressed to kill.

The female. Upswept hairdo.

I had a bit of bird seed in the car; when Laurie stopped at the bridge to change film, I ran back and got it to throw off the bridge and attract the ducks. Of course, the mallards mobbed us, fighting and splashing all the while; it's mating season, and the males are "tetchy".

These little hooded mergansers were much more placid, and so beautiful; I wanted to get a good photo from close up, but every time I aimed the camera at one, it dove for seed at the bottom. I came home with lots of photos of disturbed water.

But among them there was this one:


A female hooded merganser, diving. See how the legs stick straight out from the body, paddle feet extended for power?

Lesser scaup:


Lesser scaup, male. I didn't see a female. The lesser scaup can be distinguished from the greater by the colour of the head; it has a bluish or purplish sheen rather than green.

Assorted mallards and wigeons. And I'm not sure of that middle female; she looks like a gadwall, with those fat cheeks and white patch.


And the resident heron, in the same spot that we found him last visit.


We didn't see a beaver, though. And I forgot to look for scat. Next time.

New preview and old movies

I think this is a gadwall. One of an assortment of waterfowl at Cougar Creek Park today.

Story tomorrow.

For now, wander on over to Earth, Wind and Water, for the latest issue of I and the Bird, where Tai Haku invites us to the movies.

Pleased to meetcha!

The eggs have hatched!

Spider eggs, that is; Fat Momma's babies that she left in the corner over the winter.

(This will be Part VII of a continuing series on the life and times of an Achearanea tepidariorum (American house spider) family. Parts I - Spider Watching, II - Fresh laid eggs!, III - Taking Candy from a Baby, IV - We Haz Babies!, V - Baby Pictures, and VI - Post-Coital Bliss, sort of.)

I bought a new camera today. The first one, a year old, was the cheapest, skimpiest beginners' model; I've upgraded. A bit. To a Canon A720 IS. Still a cheap model, but an improvement.

I spent the afternoon and evening studying the manual and trying to get close-ups of a carpet beetle, the one I'd photographed earlier with the old camera. I still have quite a bit of work to do to find the right combination of lighting and lenses, but I did get a fairish shot or two.

Relaxing, finally, I wandered around, camera in hand, clicking away at difficult targets. I ended up outside, in the dark (2 AM), for the last trial before I went off to bed.


Hey, it does pretty good; I couldn't even see this planter, just aimed where I knew it was. I took several photos: the rhododendron, primulas in the garden, the hydrangea, an old sign on the wall.

Above the sign is the corner where Fat Momma left her egg cases. A dark, dark corner; I took a practice shot at it, too.

I downloaded the photos to the computer and looked at them; the egg cases came out clearly.

But one is different now; faded and rumpled. And down below, what is that?


Achearanea tepidiariorum. Fat Momma's latest baby. And half grown up already.

He/she has been around for a little while. At least, the remains of two good meals are hanging in the web.

Two dead, dried-up flies. Or mosquitos.

Welcome to the world, little one! May you live long and happily. Eat dozens of moths. And lay many eggs.

Egg and duck and frog and ... dog

Update on 36 photos of an egg:

Hugh, at Rock, Paper, Lizard, has posted "somewhat fewer than 36"* on the Flickr group page. He had to stop at 10, because, he says, "the dog ate the egg."

Now, why does that sound familiar? Any schoolteachers out there? What do you think?

Anyhow, go see his photos, and the accompanying blog post.

Still to come in; some "doozies" from Jamon, and some from Auj.

Anyone else?

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

Update to the update: Hugh writes that more photos are coming in. And his latest is in, and it's a doozy. All excuses are accepted, as of now.
.

Srevotfel

When I was a kid, Mom often served us her specialty supper; she said it was a Swedish dish, and called it "Srevotfel".

It didn't fool us. Read that backwards, to see what we were getting.

So this post is "Srevotfel"; recent photos that didn't get posted with their companions.

Sky and sea, looking directly into the light. On the cliffs west of White Rock beach.


One lone pink cloud at dawn.


Reflected sky, at Boundary Bay beach.


Trees, right side up and upside down, at Cougar Creek Park.


The camera focused on the frame here, rather than the scene. Part of the problem may have been that I was poking the lens through the chain-link fence, at arms' length. But I like the result; it seems more like a painting than a photo.

First forsythia of the season

Laurie brought me these two days ago, still just green buds.

Look at them now!

Yellow buds.


First of the flowers.


A closer look.


Stems and bubbles.

Now it feels like spring. Oh, and March came in like a baa-lamb. We went down to the beach and walked in the sunshine.

Looking at an egg again

Last Monday, I posted a photographic challenge, borrowed from an article in WaveLength Magazine; take 36 Photos of an egg.

A few of my readers indicated that they planned to try. So far, one, at Cicero Sings, has posted her photos in the Flickr group I set up for the purpose. (I hope that there will be more, later.)

Robin's egg, collected after the chick had flown.

Well, I took my 36 photos, and more, and learned something in the process, enough, maybe for several blog posts.

First, though, Cicero's eggs:

We each looked at the assignment from our own perspective; however, a couple of shots are remarkably similar; both Cis* and I photographed the freckles of the egg shell with light behind it, both of us showed the eggs in the carton, both broke and cooked the eggs. There the similarities end.

Cis saw the eggs from a warm domestic perspective, cooking, garnishing and serving them. Her photo of a breakfast laid out on the placemat, eggs with a cinnamon roll, water in a glass, coffee, brought back happy memories of Cariboo kitchens, with the coffee fragrant and the conversation relaxed; thanks, Cis!

I am weird, though. And not domestic, at all. Frying an egg was the limit. (And besides, I got hot oil on my lens and had to clean it. Not good.)

I spent some time just looking at the egg. Paying attention. Asking myself questions. And then almost randomly, wandering around to see what seemed to have some association in my mind to the "eggness" of the egg.

One of those associated objects was a bowl of rocks.


An egg is fragile. One crack on the side of the frying pan, and it breaks wide open. A few pecks from the baby -- how tiny and weak he is! -- from inside, and the shell gives way. We crumble the shell in our hands to spread on the garden to discourage slugs, smush a half-dozen into a handful to throw in the trash.

But an egg is incredibly strong. Grab one just right, and you can squeeze with all your strength without breaking it. Cut two egg shells in half, and you can stack books on them, even sometimes stand on them without crumbling them. (Internet Encyclopedia of Science, para.4)

Therefore, rocks.

What makes an egg so sturdy without sacrificing its open-sesame policy for the chicks? The shape. The round sides transmit stress evenly along the walls; it is only when the egg is impacted from a cross-wise direction that it breaks easily. Therefore, we crack the egg against a bowl or the frying pan; the chick pecks at one spot, against the inward curve.

Googling for formulas (how strong is eggshell strong?), I found other fascinating facts:

Did you know (I didn't) that the reason sea-going birds can lay their eggs on narrow rock ledges, without a nice deep nest, is that their eggs have pointy ends?

Murres lay one egg on a bare nesting ledge. Their egg is very pointed. If bumped, the egg is more likely to roll in a tight arc than to roll off the cliff. (Royal Alberta Museum)

I wonder if that applies also to pigeons that lay eggs on building ledges, held in place with only a loose stick or two? Seagulls, cormorants, etc.?

RAM goes on to explain the eggs of those marsh birds with the nests right down on the wet ground:

Shorebirds normally lay four pointed eggs. In the nest, the eggs are oriented with their pointed ends towards the centre. This minimizes the amount of space needed to form the nest and increases the efficiency of the heat transfer from parent to egg during incubation.

Of course, a spherical egg is more economical, conserves heat better, is stronger. But they do roll. Great Horned Owls lay spherical eggs; I think I can assume from this that their nest is deep enough to prevent loss.

So much to learn! What fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~

*Cis: not her name, but derived from the blog name.