Catching the food is only half the battle.

It's been a while: it was last May when I last saw an adult carpet beetle around here. Today I found two.

This one was in an awkward corner of the kitchen. When I tried to trap it, it dropped, bounced off the paper towel I was holding, and fell onto an antique aluminum thermos that sits beside the stove.


I went after it immediately, but by the time I was on the floor, it was caught in an invisible web, and this spider was on his way.

Carpet beetle, about 2 mm. Spider, even smaller.

Good enough. The object was to put the beetle out of my misery; if it also served as spider food, so much the better. But I brought the thermos up to the table to watch the proceedings.


The spider rolled the beetle over, then left, dragging a line; I could see the beetle move, slightly, in the direction the spider had taken.


Once the line was anchored, spidey came back, crawled all over the beetle, prodding at cracks,


then went off to anchor a line again. I watched while he repeated this sequence several times.

The idea is to immobilize the prey, both with webbing and venom, maybe store it in a protected place, then eat it when it is properly "cooked". But these beetles are difficult; with the legs and antennae securely tucked into their slots, and armored plates over the belly, the spider may not be able to find a vulnerable spot for an injection.

After some time, the spider must have decided that beetle was safely tied up, and he went off to explore his new surroundings. I shooed him back onto the thermos, and moved it back to its place, spider, beetle and all.

But first, I looked back at the beetle (I had been following the spider around). It was moving:

See the two legs waving?

It wasn't going anywhere, though. The webbing was holding it. It would do.

Spider, unidentified, as yet.

I checked on it later this afternoon. There was no sign of spider or beetle. I wonder; did the spider drag the beetle off to his lair? Or did the beetle work its way out of the web? I'll have to be on the lookout for it, just in case.

(And I had no idea my old thermos was so badly scratched up.)
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Drive-by

Patchwork barn:

Delta farmland. Taken from the car window.

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A new addition to MacLean Park's amenities.

A quick look at MacLean Park, Sunday morning:

I had to cross this to get there: the intersection of Hawks and Keefer.

But the park is still white.

Picnic table, idle swings.

Homemade snow love-seat, life-size. Note abandoned bottle. Careless housekeeping.

Side view of the love-seat.

Crows discussing the weather.

Someone lost a leg.

And I'm back home in Delta, looking at a 75 cm. deep pile of snow in my back yard.
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Hot and sour soup and crab on ice.

Christmas Day was a quiet one; just Laurie and me.  We went out for lunch in Tsawwassen. But I was sluggish after the riotous night before; I slept in and lazed around all the remainder of the morning. Then the chosen restaurant was closed, and so was the alternate choice. We ended up in an almost empty Chinese restaurant at 3:00 PM. I had hot and sour soup, the best spring roll I've tasted in years, and a whole pot of green tea. (Laurie drinks black.)

So we were late coming down to the beach. The sun was setting already.


We came to the end of the road to the beach, and gasped; the shore was swarming with birds.


At first, we saw only the seagulls and ducks.  The ducks were resting quietly, in rafts and lines here and there all over the bay, or taking an leisurly evening constitutional; the occasional one up-ended to pick up a last bite of supper. The seagulls were mostly by the shore, squabbling and shrieking as they do when there is anything to grab.

Second raft of ducks and gulls, just beyond the post. Another behind that, barely visible.

Assorted ducks. 

The ducks were mostly mallards, but there were a few smaller ones. The colours were indistinguishable in the fading light. I think I saw a few shovellers, too, but I can't be sure.

Mini-bergs

The snow on the shore ended at the high-tide line, as expected. But there was another line of snow further down. And in the water, what I took at first to be seaweed turned out to be floating chunks of ice. I've never seen that in these waters before.

It was getting hard to distinguish the birds; the light was failing. We walked closer to the waterline to get a better angle on them, and after a bit, I noticed movement in the shadows almost at my feet.


Sandpipers! A constantly-moving, peeping, dancing flock of sandpipers. Or dunlins, or ... It was hard to know; they blended in with the rocks and sand so well. Now, looking back at the seagulls, we could see that in places the stones seemed to be moving around their feet; more sandpipers.


There seemed to be two kinds; an occasional larger sandpiper, and larger groupings of little starling-sized waders. Dunlins?

But what was attracting them? Along the sand, I could see daubs of orangey colour; I turned on the flash.

Crab on ice.

The orange bits were pieces of crab. Shells and broken claws, pieces of leg.  They were all over the sand, tangled in the eelgrass, floating in the wavelets. Clumps of sandpipers gathered around the bigger pieces; seagulls few past with their bills full of dangling crab entrails.

A blurry shot, panning with the movement, but not fast enough.

Among the crab parts, we found several dead starfish. 


Most of them were of the purple variety, like this one, but very faded, so that even with flash, they blended into the grey of the stones. All were obviously dead. I didn't see any of the sandpipers working on them; I'm sure the seagulls would be.

I've been wondering since; what caused the sudden influx of dead crabs and starfish? Is this normal? Were they killed by the sudden cold snap? Or is it just the time of the year for a die-off?


One last shot, before we left; these were visible in the dark only as blurry whitish blobs. (All of these photos have been lightened considerably; they showed up at first as grey on black. Most were unusable; the cameras couldn't manage to freeze the action with that little light.)

Talking of freezing; we were on the edge. We drove home with the heater on full-blast.
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The after-dinner drowsies

Boundary Bay, after dusk, Christmas Day;

Caught in the flash. They'd been stuffing themselves until the light failed.

The sign said, (a little bird told me):

Christmas Day Banquet

Boundary Bay Beach

Mixed seafood menu

All waterfowl welcome! 

Free!

"The best Christmas gift," said Laurie. Pre-dark photos, tomorrow.

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Snowed!

Two feet of snow, and more coming. I'm getting quite handy with the shovel.

The weather took our neat plans for Christmas Eve and ripped them to shreds. We were to meet in New Westminster, and travel in a 4-car convoy, in case of trouble. Supper would be around 5:00, in Chilliwack.

Early on, a tow-truck slipped and rammed my grand-daughter's car, leaving it non-operational.  I was closest; I arranged to pick her up. ("At least," I said to myself, "I'll have someone to help with the digging if I get stuck.")

I heard on the news that the highway was closed. But we decided to go ahead; it would probably be fine by the time we got there.

Then another grand-daughter needed to be picked up in English Bay. Fine. Can do.

#1 g-d needed to be on the road earlier, though; she arranged for family coming through from the ferry to pick her up, delaying them by an hour. So supper would be late, but we'd cope.

#2, Auj, phoned to ask to be collected downtown; the buses weren't running, nor were taxis available. OK. Another delay; we split the convoy; my son in New West would wait for Auj and me, the first car would go on ahead.

My car was under a foot of new snow. I paid a kid to shovel it out for me, but I still had to shovel a bit when I left an hour later.

Then it took the better part of an hour just to go a few blocks downtown. It was raining, now, on top of the snow; instead of the usual roar of traffic, I was hearing spinning tires and revving motors. There were few cars actually moving, but fewer cleared streets. Around English Bay, where Auj had to pick up her presents (another delay), most streets had two deep ruts in the snow, no more. I made several runs at one hill, and finally had to back down, and around the corner into a snow bank. On another street, a neighbour had to drop his shovel and push me over a traffic bump.

I told my son that I didn't think I'd make it; I would drop Auj with him, and the "convoy" would be one car only.

Laurie said maybe we could put Auj on the SkyTrain; it would be quicker. But while I waited for her, I heard the news that a tree had fallen on the SkyTrain tracks; it was "temporarily not in service".

It was well past 5 when we got to New West. It was snowing again. The kids had been eating peanut butter sandwiches; they gave Auj a gingerbread cookie. (And Auj remembered that her dessert was still in her fridge. I wasn't about to go back for it.)

I came back home, after over 4 hours spinning the steering wheel. And had to dig myself back into my parking spot through a two-foot retaining wall of hard-packed snow, a contribution from the side-walk shovellers. I fried up a sausage for Christmas dinner. I was too tired to do veggies.

My son's car load arrived in Chilliwack a bit before 8. He said the last hour was "white-knuckle" driving.

I phoned to see if everyone was safe; my son-in-law told me everything was fine, if chaotic. "It's good chaos, though," he said.

How fortunate we are! Even getting to the party is an adventure! Even when we don't make it! Getting home in one piece is an accomplishment to be proud of! Yay, winter!

Crow's nest. Also snowed in.

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Dinner with the family

The festivities begin! I'm off to Chilliwack in a snowstorm tomorrow for Christmas dinner with the assembled family. If the weather so dictates, I may stay over, and probably won't be blogging until Christmas day.

Family tree

And to all you wonderful bloggers and readers:

Have a joyous Christmastide,

surrounded by all your favourite people

(including four-legged and winged ones)!

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Beautiful. But...

... deadly.

It snowed all day yesterday. There was no hope of getting the car on the road, so I went for a walk in the snowstorm.

Prepared for the fun to come.

Branch dumping its load of snow.

Just before dawn this morning, I went out again.

Palest hint of pink.

Tree lace.

Still sleeping.

It was tough walking, over mostly unshovelled streets, but I kept going until the sun was fully up.

Then I dug out the car. The snow was knee-deep on this narrow street. I had to use a broom; my daughter has no shovel. (Now she has no useful broom, either.)

Sensible people were walking, not driving.

I drove back to Delta, rocked the car into a parking space, rocked it out, went Christmas shopping with Laurie, rocked the car back in, and out, and came back to Strathcona after dark.

I had to dig myself back into a parking space. At least, this time, Laurie had made sure I had a shovel in the trunk.

Delicate weed.

I ache.

I am going to bed.

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Gotta have my spider fix!

It's been a long time (or so it seems; it was December 7th.) since I found any tiny critters to blog about. It's too cold; even the sowbugs have made themselves scarce. I found myself wandering around looking at the corners of ceilings, and under flowerpots or under the outside chairs.  But they're all gone, sleeping or dead.

I thought, when I came to house-sit, that the situation would change; after all, it's a heritage house. (Translated, that means, "really old, with original lumber and lots of cozy cracks.")  And there were plenty last summer. (See "Fifty-six legs") I brought a couple of pill bottles to collect them with, and wondered if, maybe, I shouldn't have packed more.

But there's not a bug in sight. I checked under the sinks, and down in the basement and even the crawl space. All I found were a couple of tiny, pin-head-size house spiders. 

This seems to me to be an odd situation for the Lower Mainland. When I lived up north, I took it for granted that we would have no multi-legged critters from October to March, but here? In this damp climate, I don't think I've ever seen a winter without an invasion of sowbugs into the damp corners under sinks and behind bathtubs, and the spiders that hunt them. Or in these older homes in urban areas, a silverfish or twenty.

I took a flashlight and thoroughly inspected every cranny here. And finally, I found it; behind the furnace, where it's always warm and dry, a spider is hanging. Twisting, and making myself as skinny as possible, I could reach far enough to get a photo!

  

Ahhhhh! That feels good! And isn't she elegant!

Almost the same photo ( I didn't have much maneuvering room), and not as clear, but I got a face shot. 

This seems to be the same kind as one I found in the summer. Now, checking back, I realize that I didn't ID it because the computer went down.  It looks like it could possibly be one of the Longjawed Orb Weavers, the Tetragnathidae, but I can't be sure.  I'll send it in to BugGuide for an ID.

Now I'm wondering; what on earth is she getting to eat?

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Everyone's doing this!

(I never believed it when my kids said this. I was right not to.)

However, this voluntary meme is going around, and I've caught the bug. The idea is to copy this list of 100 things to do, and highlight everything on it that you have done.

Here's my list; I've counted some partials, and not others, based on criteria I can't explain, even to myself.

1. Started my own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than I can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland/world (1950s.)
8. Climbed a mountain (But not to the very top. Does that count?)
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sung a solo (No. And the world is better for it.)
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched lightning at sea
14. Taught myself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child (Foster parented, only.)
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown my own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train (Long, long ago. On those old trains that wailed their mournful songs along the valleys.)
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitchhiked (Picked up hitchhikers. Up north, where we are all neighbours, whether we know each other or not.)
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort (And stockpiled snowballs, and absolutely wiped out my brothers' pitiful defense of their own fort. At least, as my memory tells it; their mileage may differ.)
25. Held a lamb (Not a lamb, but a baby goat, a kid. Same diff. Same heart tug.)
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person (Twice, once in the 1950s, once in the 1990s. What a difference! And not for the better.)
34. Visited the birthplace of my ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught myself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt (1950s, again. Unforgettable!)
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant (If MacD's counts as a "restaurant". Because that's where I was, and where the stranger was.)
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had my portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business 
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching (Or, at least, stood at the rail on a two-day and return ferry trip, watching whales.)
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving (I wish. But I was chicken.)
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten caviar
72. Pieced a quilt  (Very badly.)
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had my picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible (Many times.)
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous (Mario Moreno Cantinflas. And three Mexican Presidents, and too many actresses and beauty queens. But Cantinflas was the one who counted.)
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a lawsuit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Ridden an elephant

46/100. Not bad. But I still wish I'd gone in for the sky-diving.

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Red snow, brown snow, blue birds.

I'm in Strathcona again, house- and cat-sitting. I arrived well after dark, but once I had settled in, I went out for a walk with the camera anyhow.

The camera does odd things, sometimes. This window had a red curtain, surrounded by deep red lights. The camera, on half a dozen shots, insisted on rendering the lights as white, the snow as red.

I had the camera set to "Available light", hand-held, which meant holding perfectly still for several seconds for each shot. Not easy, when you're shivering.

A little bare tree decorated with blue lights becomes a "V", with the quotation marks and all.

Or a flight of blue birds.

Other decorations, farther away, become check marks on the night.

MacLean Park, under trampled snow. The streetlights give a brown tinge to all the whites.

Lonely bench.

Telephone pole, with the remains of a local history in signs.

I had to use the flash on this one; there was no streetlight directly on it. Arnt Arntzen's "steel macaroni", again. With a light snow dressing, for flavour.

Anyone want a desk? With a nice screen? Freebie on the sidewalk.

And I'd had enough; my teeth were chattering. I came home to Sasha.


"It's about time!" she says.

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Can't get decent help these days!

What's this?


What have you done to my water?


Well? Are you going to do something about it? Huh?


Here's a drip. But no bath today, I guess.


No thanks to you!

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Midnight visitor

What made these tracks?


Tuesday night, around midnight, I looked out and saw these in the new snow. They are bigger than a cat's feet, smaller than some dogs. They came out from under a fence with about 6 inches clearance.

Clearly marked toes, a tendency to drag. No tail dragging.

Closer view.

There was no poking around; the tracks went straight across the patio, down the path and across the lawn towards the street.

What animal made them? My guess is a raccoon or a skunk.* What do you think?

*A while later: I think it's a raccoon, because of the gait pattern; one big, one small, side by side. Next step, the sides alternate. I found some good photos and diagrams at Bear Tracker.
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We are easily amused

By the marina in Captain's Cove, a two-story wood building houses a pub and offices. We were intrigued by the reflections in its warped windows, changing with each step we took:

The boats and a tangle of masts in the upper storey windows.


Everything jumbled together.


Along the side, the boat lift adds colour. We see two faces in this window. Do you?


Ground floor windows present a saner view. Laurie taking a photo of me taking a photo of him.

Click on these to see them full size for a better view. Or go to my Flickr set for another dozen..

Cold day, hot fusion

It's too cold, at least for the Vancouver area. The weather page, updated a few minutes ago, gives the temperature here as -5.6°C. (22°F.) And we aren't prepared for it; we didn't get the slow decline of temperatures that we have come to count on. The long johns are still in storage.

So we stayed inside, in the warmth, and cleaned desks (me) and messed them up (Laurie).

I sorted photos in the afternoon, and since I was on the topic of rats yesterday, I was reminded of this photo:

Wooden rat line-up, Arnt Arntzen

Which brings me to the artist, and post # 6 about the 2008 Eastside Culture Crawl. (Previous posts: Crawling at the Wilder Snail, Sweeping nudes and other mix-ups, Scrambled Birds, Bugs in the Alley, and Two potters, side by side.)


Arnt Arntzen is a designer of

"mixed media sculpture that demands to be touched, sat on, dined upon and slept on."

The "steel macaroni" (my name for it; sorry, Arnt) that I keep taking photos of (one here), shows the dynamic, sculptural quality of his work. (He calls it "Transflexion".) He takes his inspiration from the qualities of reclaimed wood and found metal, and shows a special affinity for scrapped airplane parts. Scrapped, but not denatured; the tables and chairs he creates with them seem ready to fly, barely harnessed to the ground.

Arnt receives Culture Crawlers in the shop where he works. His tools, machines, and materials are as much on display as the sleek furniture.

Table and bowl. Reclaimed wood, airplane wing section

Propellers, polished and ready to be incorporated into the next piece.

Table, with three wooden drawers.

Glass table, with propeller pedestal trained into fluid curves. Two stools.

Airplane propeller, patterned with the polisher. I think the base of the bowl is also an airplane part.

Bowl, reclaimed wood, with brass "staples" over cracks.

Arnt was having fun this day; a polished grinder.

Detail of equipment.

Another metalworker and furniture designer, just down the street, fuses practicality and flights of fancy, as Arnt does, but with an altogether different result:

Ironside Metalworks sign

Noah Goodis creates security gates and bars, iron furniture, frames, and sculptural pieces, sometimes useful, but, as he says,

"The odd time, there’s something quite invigorating about creating a piece that's only function is to express a feeling, a fact, a thought, an opinion... or, absolutely nothing at all!"

This quirkiness attaches itself to all his creations. For example:

A plant stand. About 5' tall. Quite steady; I touched it to see.

In the bedroom, an "electric shovel", off-centre slab clocks, and a candlestick.

The bed. Welded iron, with integrated "flame" lights. Chair hangers; practical for small rooms, maybe.

On the porch; plant pot refashioned from a part of old machinery.

On his website, go to the "Sculpture" page. Scroll down. And down. Down to the toothbrush holder, and the --thing-- below it. I guess that's what he means by

"a piece that's only function is to express ... absolutely nothing at all!"

And that's a valuable function, sometimes.
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Bestia Non Grata

So Hugh, just across the river, got 2 inches of snow, and it's sticking. No such luck, here. The snow fell all night, but it was dry, flaky stuff, and in the morning, the wind picked it all up and blew it away, leaving cold, bare concrete and icy grass.

And it was a cold, cold wind! I watched a chickadee pounding at the ice in the birdbath, probably not getting any liquid. When he gave up, I went out and poured two jugs of hot water into it. The ice melted a bit around the edges, but soon froze over again.

All the birds that have me on their list of cold-weather soup kitchens turned up for lunch. More chickadees; there was a constant stream of them at the black oil seed feeder. Juncos, in great numbers, house finches, a couple of towhees, assorted sparrows, including a very fat Fox sparrow. (Or was he all puffed up against the cold?) And the shy varied thrush that I sometimes hear under the evergreens spent a good while foraging among the leaves I had raked and piled up just a couple of days ago.

I had sprinkled out a couple of handfuls of finch seed mixed with leftover bacon fat for my guests, and was standing at the window watching them fight over it, when this party crasher showed up.

Not invited. Where's the bouncer?

We had seen a pair of these, months ago, after our neighbour across the alley had been clearing brush behind the buildings. For a couple of days, they scuttled quickly across our lawn, from one bit of shelter to another. I brought in a handful of stones, and dashed to the door to throw one or two every time I saw them. (No rats were harmed in this process; I've a lousy aim.)

They must have found a new home, one with no chainsaws nor stone-throwing women. We hadn't seen them again until today.

This time, the rat came right up to the birdseed pile, and I got out the camera before I stocked up on ammunition.

But ... is it a rat? Or a humongous mouse? It didn't look like the rats I know; for one thing, it's too small, and the face is too pointed.

I Googled and Wikipedia'd (Is that a word?) assorted rodents, and finally found it. It's a black rat, otherwise known as a ship rat or roof rat. They are smaller than the familiar* Norway (brown) rat; up to 8 inches, as compared to 10 inches for the Norway. (16 inches according to this UK site; that's some big rat!) The Norway rat's tail is shorter than the rest of the animal, but this little black rat's tail is longer. And the Norway rat has a stubby, round snout.

*Wikipedia says the Norway rat is

"the most successful mammal on the planet after humans."

But the black rats are as much a pest; they chew houses, make holes, cut cables, bring disease and fleas and bad odours. I don't want them around here. Even if they're starving and freezing. I'm sorry.

I went out and gathered a few good throwing stones; they're sitting on my desk now. And tomorrow, any birdseed will be in a bowl on the table, and I'll bring it in at dusk. The ground feeders will just have to become table feeders. The table will be warmer on their feet, anyhow.
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Hit or myth weather forecasting

Signs overhead, Thursday evening:

Snowflakes against a blue, blue sky. A warning, or a promise?

Full moon. Rumoured to cause insanity.

Red sky (well, pink) at night; sailor's delight.

So, what did we get?

Friday; rain, wet snow, sleet, wind, more rain. My poor chickadees bathed in the birdbath full of slush.

Saturday; sunshine in the morning, and fine, dry snow starting after supper. It's still snowing, tiny, barely-there flakes that drift idly down, but do not melt when they land.

Midnight photos: a dusting of snow on the hydrangeas.

Iron birds faithfully guarding the tiny moss planter.

Conclusion: the sailor was insane.
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Tumbledown Dairy

We've been driving past this barn on the Ladner Trunk road for a long time. Each trip, I am surprised to see it still standing, and say, "Next time, we'll stop and take photos." Thursday was this "next time," finally.

Tumbledown barn

Side wall, curved like a boat's hull, but not watertight.

Nor is the roof.

Geometric hodge-podge.

Lean-to on the end. Leaning.

Detail of one wall.

In spite of all that twisting and crumbling, Laurie says the building is sturdy enough. I don't quite believe him, but he has evidence:

Solid underpinnings.

I still wouldn't get too close; I was afraid even to sneeze.

It seems to have been used as a dairy barn:

Surge. 1983 - 1999 logo.

This is on the door of the shed at the rear, beside the old tank. (see top photo) (Would that be for milk?) Laurie tells me that Surge is the name of the milker they were using.*

In a dirty window in the shed, a glimpse of machinery, and a reflection of the farm across the road.

Fans, motor, tanks and stuff. With blackberry runners, both Himalayan and cutleaf or evergreen.

Through another window, a back door and a pile of assorted parts, vintage and modern.

And there was an unexpected bonus; I almost stepped on a patch of large cup mushrooms.


It came with a 1981 penny for size comparison. I brought that home with me. Waste not, want not..

*Here are some of the Surge advertising cartoons. Cute! And a smiling milkmaid on a postcard (scroll down).
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Captain's Cove, Ladner

A quiet, sunny afternoon:

Captain's Cove Marina

Weeds along the breakwater


And grasses below the high water line


Wildlife habitat in the estuary


Reflections; greens, blues and browns


Skiff 17


Sleepy duck.

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Finally! A round Tuit!

Is there an award for procrastinators? * I've earned it.

I still haven't passed on the awards I received two weeks ago. They're sitting here on my desk, all 15 pretty badges, on top of my "Urgent" pile, while I dither and dawdle. Sorry about that.

A while ago, when Blogger re-structured my page without warning me, I removed most of my widgets, trying to identify the problem. I put some back, but left the blogrolls for later, because I wanted to change the format, and add new favourites. (More height on that "Urgent" pile.) I sorted that out today, and restored the Nature blog list to its place.

This may help with the awards list.

Ok; here goes. The Superior Scribbler's Award that Huckleberry favoured me with, I pass on to -- Oh, choosing is so difficult! --

1. Jessica, at Moss Plants and More; I've been enjoying her recent series on the life cycle of mosses.
2. Aydin, at Snail's Tales; recent post - When Fruit Flies Go Bad they become winos...
3. Hugh, at Rock Paper Lizard and The Interpreter. (I thought someone had tagged him already, but I just checked the blog and didn't see it.)
4. Robin Andrea and Roger, at The New Dharma Bums. They haven't been posting too much lately, but those few posts are always insightful, worth waiting for.
5. Bev, at Journey to the Center. A recent post reads, in part,

   The path I once followed ends at a cliff’s edge. My world is now filled with metaphors of birth, life, love, loss, and death. A derelict house becomes a reminder of how fleeting are our lives and our creations. Smashed out windows, gaping doors, or a fallen roof are signs of irreparable destruction and termination. Of course, most photographers are aware of the existence and use of metaphor in objects and landscapes. It is our stock in trade. But there is a difference between making use of, and living within, a world filled with metaphors.

And here are the rules, again:

1. Pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
2. Link to the author & the name of the blog from whom you have received The Award.
   
3. Display The Award on your blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
   
4. Visit This Post and add your name to the Mr. Linky List.
   
5. Post these rules on your blog.
   

Next, the Butterfly Award, sent by Dawn.

The rules, along with Dawn's wonderful escape clause, again:

These are the rules I am following and the rules that I pass on to you all.
Though I know a few of you personally and know that you probably wont pass it on..that is ok...It is like a chain letter, you wont die, blah blah blah if you don't do it..

1. Put the logo on your blog, you can right-click and copy it from above.
   
2. Add a link to the person who awarded you.
   
3. Nominate other blogs for this award (about 10).
   
4. Add links to those blogs.
5. Leave a message for your nominees on their blogs.
6. Give a reason why you consider their blogs cool.

I'm going to be lazy; I've already revisited every blog on my blogroll twice today. So, if your blog is on that list, and I haven't already tagged you with the Scribbler award, consider yourself the recipient of The Butterfly. Every single one there deserves it, in my books. You're "the coolest blog(s) I ever kn(e)w."

*It seems like there is, except that the badge hasn't been finished yet.
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A night and a day ...

... mostly in the rain.

I may as well relate this chronologically. We had supper (Indian food, from Corner Tandoori on "The Drive"; Butter Chicken - mmmmm!), then watched a video. A bit after midnight, since it was just barely sprinkling, we went out for a long walk around Strathcona. The streets were quiet, most of the windows darkened. Not these:


Tuesday morning turned out to be drizzly and cold. I lazed around, while everyone else dashed off and back. Nice. In the afternoon, we drove down to the new Save-on-Foods in the mess that is Cambie Street these days. On the way, I took a few photos out the car window:

Christmas decorations, with a twist.

The car was moving, and the street bumpy. I think the house looks better this way than in "real life".

I hadn't seen this mini-building, on the very edge of Chinatown, before.

Lucky Red Gallery

I looked it up, once I got home. It is a fairly new (2006) Tiki gallery, in what was once a one-car garage. I found some good photos on Flickr, taken while the paint was still new. (And not through a car window on a rainy day.)

On the way home, too late and stuck in rush-hour traffic, I ... but wait, let me backtrack. Some years ago, I was living in a view apartment in east Burnaby, on the 12th floor, looking west. The view was stunning, especially in the sunset hours; I made sure my desk faced the window, so I could watch.

After some time there, I began to notice the crows. They were always around, but each evening, starting precisely at 4:00, a stream of them flowed over my window, heading northwest. They flew fast and far, until they were mere flecks against the sky. I checked their direction and the landmarks on the map. They seemed to be heading in the direction of Still Creek, near Burnaby Lake. I couldn't make out any beyond this point, even with binoculars.

Several times, I tried to count them, just the ones directly overhead; usually, I could count well over 100.

Back to yesterday afternoon. While I waited in Vancouver for the traffic to inch forward another half car length, I noticed, along the railings of the SkyTrain, a line-up of crows:


The row continued on the far side of the station, as far as I was able to see.

I looked up; the sky was full of crows, all flying east. My clock read 3:55.


I took a dozen or so photos. With the rain and the dusk, the camera used a slow shutter, so the wings become a mere blur. The crows look like a swarm of gnats.

The crows flew overhead steadily, wave after wave of them, hundreds upon hundreds, all going east. When we (cars and crows) reached the Still Creek area, the sky cleared. None left but a few sentinels in a tree.


One of these days, I must contrive to be in the vicinity of Still Creek around 4 PM, to watch them streaming in, see where they spend their nights. Every tree and rooftop must be blanketed in black feathers.
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Navy blue sky

Laurie took this photo minutes after he had taken another with the sky completely gray. Dusk does strange things to the lighting.


And I'm off to Strathcona for a night and a day. I hope the weather behaves. (Even if it doesn't, I'm sure I'll have photos.)
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This is why I love blogging!

One of the reasons that I love blogging, at least.

Yesterday, I wrote about my stumbling efforts to identify a spider, and about the help I'd gotten along the way. Within hours, more help arrived, with enough info on spider anatomy to warrant another post.

Rod Crawford had identified my spider as Steatoda bipunctata. I asked about defining marks; how had he identified her, and did the name refer to the dimples on the upper abdomen? Lynette Schimming forwarded my question to him; he wrote,

There aren't any (defining marks). I identified it from the epigynum. But yes, it's probably named after the "dimples" (which actually most spiders have - they're the apodemes or attachment points for the heart muscles).

Time for some definitions:

Epigynum (or epigyne): the female genital opening in spiders. (Wikipedia) Often used to distinguish species (as in this case). Christopher Taylor says (in the comments),

If you look at the front end of the underside of the abdomen, in front of the markings, you can see a dark sclerotised structure.

The epigyne is the black thing up near her waist.

PZ has a nice diagram and an explanation of spider sex, here: Spider Kama Sutra.

Sclerotised: hardened or toughened tissue. (Csiro)

Christopher adds,

it doesn't get sclerotised like that until they reach maturity (though a non-sclerotised epigyne may be visible in the second-to-last instar).

Question for Christopher: how do you know it's hardened from a photo? Does the colour change?

Instar: a developmental stage of arthropods, such as insects, between each moult (ecdysis), until sexual maturity is reached. Arthropods must shed the exoskeleton in order to grow or assume a new form. Differences between instars can often be seen in altered body proportions or changes in the number of body segments. (Wikipedia)

Apodeme: Ridge-like ingrowth of the exoskeleton of an arthropod that supports internal organs and provides attachment points for muscles. (WordWeb) In this case, it's the heart muscles.

I found it hard to imagine this, but Visual Dictionary Online has a good diagram:

From Visual Dictionary Online.

You can see the points where the heart* (red) attaches to the exoskeleton.

And here are the dimples, on another, very tiny S. bipunctata, I found this summer. (Maybe it's Brownie, as a baby.)


And thanks, all, for your help!

*Next Valentine's Day, I'm going to make my hearts this shape; long and skinny, with spikes.
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Mistaken identity, twice over.

A couple of weeks ago, dragging out bags of potting soil from a corner of the patio, I surprised a pair of spiders. Fat, dark brown, glossy spiders, unlike the house spiders, cross spiders, and Tegenarias that I usually find. I captured one, and brought it inside.

Brownie, in a plastic food container.

When she (skinny pedipalps identify her as female) climbed the side of the container, I got a look at the underside. She was marked with a sort of hourglass shape.


Oh.

Black widow? Immature, because she isn't shiny black yet?

I know that black widows aren't supposed to live around here, but you never can tell; nor are Shy Cosmet moths, yet I found some. And it is late in the year to find immatures, but the climate is changing; it was mid-November, and my fuschias were still blooming. (Still are now, two weeks later.)

I had to be sure. I kept her lid on tight, and fed her moths and sowbugs. And eventually got around to sending her photo in to BugGuide.

Brownie, with a couple of tied-up moths.

Half an hour later, I had an ID. Steatoda borealis, the Northern cobweb spider. Not dangerous. But they are often mistaken for widows, so I didn't feel quite so foolish. And I could let her go. But now she had a jar full of specially-bred fruit flies; may as well let her finish them off, first.

And then yesterday, there was another note from BugGuide; Rod Crawford, Curator of Arachnology at the Burke Museum in Seattle says she is not S. borealis, but Steatoda bipunctata. Two-spotted cobweb spider? I found no common name for her, but that will do.

Steatoda bipunctata. Mistaken for borealis, mistaken for widow.

Rod Crawford says that she is "a rather recent introduction on the west coast." So I looked at the BugGuide map. Sure enough, they have sightings in Labrador and Ontario; nothing in BC until this one. Googling, I found pages of listings all over northern Europe, including the UK, but very few on this continent, and those all on the east coast. "Go west, young spider!"

S. bipunctata lives in close proximity to humans, often in sheds or basements, less frequently under bark in the forest. It makes a messy, tangled web, and hangs upside down either under the thick of it, or, as I've learned by watching "Brownie", a ways above. It eats mostly crawling insects, sowbugs and the like. It has been mentioned that ones kept in a laboratory and fed on fruit flies don't do too well. (So, either I let her go, or if I want to continue observing her habits, I find her some sowbugs.)

And they are short-sighted, discovering the presence of prey by the vibrations in the web. I saw this for myself: the first moth I introduced to Brownie's container didn't flutter, but simply walked around and around the edge. A couple of times, I saw the spider orient herself in the moth's general direction, but nothing came of it for a full day. I moved the container right beside a bright light, and woke up the sleeping moth; within a minute, Brownie had the moth tied up, and was dragging it off to the "dining room". She never had that problem with fluttery moths, whatever the lighting.

Brownie, in the middle of her messy web, eating a fruit fly.

One other thing; she isn't dangerous. (See Wikipedia: Steatoda) She probably won't bite, and if she does, it shouldn't be a problem. That's good to know.

And how to differentiate Steatoda from the widows? The belly of the widow is dark. It doesn't have the whitish line around the front of the upper abdomen. And the hourglass is always red. (Even when it doesn't look quite like an hourglass.)

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Half a post is better than none.

I like memes. I know some bloggers grumble about them; some even refuse to pass them on. But I think that the exercises add a more personal aspect to the blogging world, in that they round out our on-line personas with those little details that we so take for granted in our "real-world" acquaintances.

And often, it turns out that we have more in common than we thought. I love those moments when someone says, "I do that, too!" or, "I was there!" Hey, if we didn't live half-way around the world from each other, we'd be meeting for coffee at Tim Horton's, showing off the latest vacation pics, and grumbling about the traffic and the rain. The business of the day usually comes later; on the blogs, it comes first. Memes help to remedy that situation.

I especially like memes that come with awards. Someone likes what I do! Wow! That puts a smile on my face for the week.

Last week, I received two smile-makers. First, Huckleberry, at Huckleberry Days, gave me the Superior Scribbler Award.

Thanks, Huckleberry! What a nice thing to say!

And then, Dawn sent the Butterfly Award.

Thanks, Dawn. (And yes, the wording sounds strange to me, too.)

Now, here's the problem with memes; they come with rules. They have to be passed on. And that's not easy.

For the Scribbler award, I must:

1. Pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
2. Link to the author & the name of the blog from whom I have received The Award. - Done
   
3. Display The Award on my blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award. - Done
   
4. Visit This Post and add my name to the Mr. Linky List. - Done
   
5. Post these rules on my blog. -Done
   

So I only have #1 left to do.

And for the Butterfly Award; I am pasting the rules, along with Dawn's wonderful escape clause:

These are the rules I am following and the rules that I pass on to you all.
Though I know a few of you personally and know that you probably wont pass it on..that is ok...It is like a chain letter, you wont die, blah blah blah if you don't do it..

1. Put the logo on your blog, you can right-click and copy it from above. - Done
   
2. Add a link to the person who awarded you. - Done
   
3. Nominate other blogs for this award (about 10). (About 10! Eep!)
   
4. Add links to those blogs.
5. Leave a message for your nominees on their blogs.
6. Give a reason why you consider their blogs cool.

That makes 15 new award-winning blogs; 5 Scribblers and 10 "Cool" bloggers. Links, explanation, and message to the bloggers.

The difficulty is not in finding the blogs; it is in pruning the list down to 15 bloggers, none of whom I have passed on any memes to recently.

I think I need more time. Like a couple of days, or three.


Day's end. I'm off to bed. 'night, all!
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Squabbling seagulls

1 crab + >1 seagull = 1 shrieking, splashing, flapping, chasing, yelling mob.

Hey! What's he got over there?

Mine! Mine! Give it to me! It's mine!

Come back here with that crab!

While the ducks float quietly in the background, wondering what all the fuss is about.
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Two potters, side by side

Post # 5 about the 2008 Eastside Culture Crawl. Previous posts: Crawling at the Wilder Snail, Sweeping nudes and other mix-ups, Scrambled Birds, and Bugs in the Alley.


"Meditatively simple"; that's how Gailan Ngan's website describes her ceramics.


She creates functional pieces; bowls, cups, platters, vases, in muted colours and fluid shapes. Looking at them, touching a cup or the rim of a bowl (they beg to be touched), I imagine a table set for afternoon coffee in the warm sunlight, the kind of silence that stops time.

I am still dreaming of the set of bowls she placed on the central display space; unornamented, other than by their own dark glaze and their shapes, a roundness just imperfect enough to seem organic. I didn't get a photograph; the studio was crowded, and I moved on to look at the window shelves. When I turned back, the bowls were gone. Sold.

I wrote about her studio last year, describing the wobble pots. They were in evidence again for this Crawl. These are bowls, vases, and cups with rounded bottoms. Not enough to tip over, but just to rock gently when they are touched.

Laurie caught me "wobbling" one. Can't resist.

Gailan's worktable, shoved in a corner to make room for the Crawlers.

Almost next door, Red Iron Studios presents a marked contrast; here, the lines are jagged, the shapes unexpected, the functions sometimes obscure.

Lidded container. Tipped for easy access?

Set of three vases. Shaped from wrapped ribbons of clay.

Detail of a vase.

My favourite piece, already with a red "Sold" sticker on it, is a six-legged, puppy-dog-tailed, antennaed, eyeless, brush-nosed critter:

Name this beastie.

Not everything is a mystery; sometimes the focus is on beauty and grace:

Bowls and lidded jars.

Rod Wuetherick's website has a few more samples. Unfortunately, he has not been as industrious with the site as he has with his ceramics; quite a few of the pages are down. Browse through his Current Work, clicking the back button each time and starting from scratch; I think this is "current" from 2002 - 04. It's interesting to see how his work has evolved.

The studio from outside. Houses across the street are reflected in the window.

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Cold wind, warm sky

It wasn't raining. Not even threatening rain. We couldn't waste the chance, even if we were late starting; we went down to Beach Grove just before sunset.

The tide was high, the wind was chill, and the water was rough. But the sky was ... look:

From the highway, while I drove.


Over the water


Pink clouds reflected in the water and the windows of Crescent Beach on the far side.


We weren't the only watchers.


North, South, East, West. And a sliver of moon.

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Who lives in the birdhouse in winter?

I went outside the other night, to look for moths for my latest captive spider, and on a whim, brought in the birdhouse that has been housing cattail fluff, just to see what is happening on and in it. After the recent rains, it was probably growing fungi, maybe another crop of the slime mold I found a year ago last March.

No. Wrong time of year, probably. But there were a few patches of a white fibrous mass, and many tiny yellowish "thumbtacks".

The large yellow circles are about the size of a pinhead.

But what is that little thing at the bottom left? It looks like it has legs.

I examined the whole birdhouse with a magnifying glass. Eventually, I saw movement:

A globular springtail.

He was racing along, and I soon lost him down a crack. But I found another, peacefully grazing:

Dicyrtomina ornata, I think. Isn't he cute?

Rear view, and the reason for my tentative ID

Looking for info and ID, tonight, I found some amazing photos of these; a whole album of springtails, by Brian Valentine, and with comments and ID by Frans Janssens. And here's a slideshow by Krister Hall; just beautiful!

After looking over those, I was tempted to scrap my blurry photos. But I didn't; I inflicted them on you, instead. Now, go on over to Flickr and delight your eyes.
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