Late Season Cow Dipping

While calendars tell us summer is over and fall has begun, hordes of giant dragonflies ride still-warm breezes and wasps hover over ripe fruits. Summer birdsong tricks us into believing there’s plenty of time for a second round of ripe tomatoes and okra or many late season dips in a lake or pond. The reality is that frosty mornings are not far off. It won’t be long before summer tunes are silent, insects and birds will vanish, green leaves will turn to dry husks, and ice will crust ponds and lakes.

Driving to school in the shadow of a setting harvest moon on the final day of summer reminded me that morning sunrises would soon silhouette bare branches instead of peep through foliage. Currently, on my morning route, gold tones tint cottonwood leaves. Flocks of vultures congregate on elevators and tall antennae but no longer stretch wings to welcome sunrise. It’s too chilly. Mist or low lying clouds rise and float just above stubble fields and farm ponds, telling me ground and water temperatures differ from those of morning air. 

Despite signs that we are on the cusp of seasonal change, most of us enjoy the moment and postpone thoughts of icy roads and water tanks, snow covered driveways and sidewalks, and winter heat bills. We turn our faces to capture last warm rays and savor final cicada serenades. Some creatures literally immerse themselves in these last moments.

While cool temperatures created a smoke-on-the-water effect over a big pond on my morning path, by the time of my late afternoon return, those mists were long gone. The sun’s reflections glittered on the steel blue water as a heron stood sentinel on a dead tree branch. It was so pretty I stopped to take pictures.

Backlit by fall’s bright yellow sun, a herd of black cows crowded the water’s edge, mucking about in mud. Suddenly, one stepped into the pond and continued heading west. In the way that only cows know, the rest chose to follow their leader.

At first, the train of bovines waded in knee (do cows have knees?) deep. Slowly, water covered those ungainly bodies to the point I saw only ears and noses moving forward. Several times, even those dipped below the surface until I wondered who saved drowning cattle. Although I had been a lifeguard decades ago, I knew these huge beasts were beyond my rescue abilities.

Despite my concern, V’s of ripples continued moving across the pond until two black ovals and a big black squared reappeared from each. A bit at a time, the rest of those cumbersome forms emerged, shaking water droplets from their hides. Each spray reflected sunlight until it looked as if diamonds splintered off the black shapes.

I only watched the first members of the herd complete their swim across the deep pond before I drove off, smiling. It won’t be long before that water is too cold or too frozen for even thick hided Angus to cross. Watching cow dipping was a great way to enjoy my last day of summer 2013. 

Hummingbird Saved from Praying Mantis Ambush

Despite the hot temperatures that scorched yards and fields up until a few days ago, autumn is in the air. One reason for that involves behaviors of birds and insects. 

While more bees hover over late-blooming plants to gather end of season nectar, cicadas sing louder each evening, trying to squeeze last notes out of their noisy carcasses. Cricket choruses are also more evident inside and outside the house. Vultures gather in ever-larger groups to prepare for autumn journeys south. Birds we normally don’t see in this region wing through. One of those migrating species is the humming bird. Those with feeders out are seeing action for the first time.

While mountain residents enjoy hummers all summer long, Western Kansans enjoy a short visit sometimes in the spring and often in the fall as the tiny birds make their way to and from nesting territory. I’ve maintained a feeder all season in hopes I’d see these little migrants. Changing that sugar nectar finally paid off. Two or three iridescent green tornadoes have drained the feeder fluid levels the past few days.

The first day I saw my flitting visitors, I also noted a praying mantis. It posed solemnly along the edge of the clear container full of sweetened water that I offered to lure in long awaited guests. If I hadn’t seen a photo on the internet showing how these large, Martian-looking bugs kill and eat hummingbirds, I wouldn’t have given its presence a second thought. However, I’d read the headlines even though I hadn’t viewed the gruesome photos. I also observed the tiny calliope hummingbird hesitating before it approached the plastic flowers at the base of the bottle.

Time for Grandma to intervene. A thunk of a broom handle sent that brown, 5-inch long predator tumbling to the ground, scurrying for cover. I added a few whacks with the bristle end of my weapon to make sure he didn’t want to set up c amp again on my hummingbird feeder.

Normally, I encourage these garden sentries who protect my veggies from damaging insects. Just looking at that triangular head with those strong jaws lets you know this guy means business when it comes to devouring prey. A close look at its legs to see how the mantis uses them to spear or confine its dinner reveals sophisticated abilities to disable victims. This is one powerful insect. It’s understandable why a tribe in Africa deified such a critter.

According to the internet site where I first saw these common garden protectors threatening hummingbirds, the mantis waits patiently for the hummer to come close. The insect then spears the small bird with a powerful foreleg. After killing the hummer, it dines on its soft belly side. Someone videotaped this predator vs. prey incident and posted it on YouTube. I couldn’t bear to watch the entire video, but I saw enough to know I wanted that big, ol’, ugly bug back in the cabbage patch.

Over decades, I’ve learned autumn is the time of year when I’ll see insects, birds, and animals most focused on their own survival. They don’t have long to store ample reserves to make it through winter’s dark, cold months. Despite knowing this, I say hummingbirds are off limits. Their visits are too infrequent to allow a predator make a meal of one.

Uninvited Guests

Nothing is more satisfying than frying chicken, making potato salad, cutting up carrots and celery, and baking a pan of brownies for a family picnic. While I’m at the stove, I imagine the perfect spot to place our blanket or cover a table so that we can savor blue skies, warm sun, and laughing kids while we feast. My fantasies about perfect outdoor meals are always ruined by uninvited guests—ants. An army of marching three-part bodies always finds the goodies and sends me scrambling to store lunch safely out of their and my reach. I recently discovered ants aren’t nature’s only uninvited guests.

To lure feathered creatures into our yard, my hubs and I set up birdbaths and hung feeding stations near the back porch. It wasn’t long before our efforts paid off with finches, orioles, robins, grackles, and sparrows visiting several times a day for drinks and snacks. 

I could watch their acrobatics from my shady porch swing, or I could hide in the sunroom where they couldn’t see me. Over the summer, hours flew by as I spied on splashing robins and timid house finches hiding among leaves. Small creatures perched on the edge of our pooches’ water bucket and tipped into it to sip delicately like one of those old-fashioned toys where the bird toppled forward and then popped back into place. At our woven net feeder, up to six tiny creatures would cling to the webbing as they ate and chattered. I’m not sure, but I think birds can talk with their mouths full.

With a small investment of money and time, I received a revolving show that ran all hours of the day. Unfortunately, uninvited guests appeared and put a damper on my fun. Not only do birds like fresh water daily, but wasps do also. 

Before long, those lazy bird watching sessions turned into wasp dodging adventures.  On the way to my corner swing, I would see hordes of striped, yellow wasps flying around the patio. At first, I thought they were just buzzing through, and then it became apparent they lived in the neighborhood and their numbers were increasing. My husband noticed as well, and, being braver than I, began to hunt for the source. 

Not only did I have a soft swing to make the patio my own little getaway, I decorated with baskets of flowers so there was plenty of nectar to sweeten the deal for the unwelcome invaders. I placed hollow yard art around the borders to add visual interest to my surroundings. Who would have thought last April as I decorated my little escape area that those wasps would find the water, blooms, and hollow statues a perfect home for themselves.

My fearless spouse watched these floating dive-bombers long enough to realize they’d colonized my favorite armadillo sculpture sitting on an old ice cream parlor chair for effect. He knew he’d have to move fast if he wanted to escape unharmed so while I was gone and the dogs were safely in the house, he dashed into trespasser territory and wreaked havoc. 

By the time I returned from work, my rusty armadillo lay on its back in the yard with a jillion little wasp apartments filling its innards. The upended chair rested nearby with a few more insect apartments glued to its underside. A can of hornet spray sat on the picnic table amidst winged carcasses. 

To discourage survivors from returning, my husband dumped the birdbath and water buckets we’d put out to encourage birds to visit. It reminded me that nature seems to frown on simple enjoyment of her pleasant side. If you have a picnic, ants will come. Apparently, if you welcome feathered friends, wasps think they’re invited too. 

Stalking a Hummer

If you watch the news, you’re aware that stalking has a negative meaning. You learn about creepy people who obsess over public figures and lurk in alleys or near back windows to sneak peeks. Possessed photographers trailing Princess Diana contributed to her fatal car accident. Hollywood loves the stalker theme and banks big bucks developing thrillers to keep us on the edge of our seats to discover whether the victim escapes in time.

While each of the previous examples sends a shiver up my spine just thinking about the topic, nature photographers have to borrow stalker skills so they can capture shots that make viewers say, “Wow!” Hiding in a bush, tree, or ghilley suit is sometimes the only way a shutterbug can snap an image of a beast, insect, or bird going about normal business. 

I recently got caught stalking hummingbirds in Meeker, Colorado. During our entire vacation, I wore my camera like a clunky necklace or carried it attached like Edward Scissorhand’s extra appendages. I wanted a picture of a hummer sipping nectar from a real flower, not a plastic bloom. Trying to capture a natural shot like that is much harder than you’d think.

Stopping in the city park so my husband could make phone calls while we had good reception began my adventure. As I waited for him to complete his contacts, I spied a nearby garden of spiky hollyhock stems, planted just west of the men’s restroom. Hummingbirds do love these tropical looking blooms, so I zeroed in on this locale.

Hidden in the front seat of the car, I noted a couple of torpedo shapes with needle beaks weaving in and out of the flowerbed. Not wanting to seem creepy and hang close to the door of the boy’s bathroom, I tried shooting pictures from the west and south sides of the garden. Unfortunately, the light was wrong, and all I collected on my SD card were washed out, blurry images of these summer charmers.

Gradually, I edged around the hollyhock bed ‘til I found just the right rays to capture clear pictures of zipping hummers. Waiting and watching for perfect shots took a toll on my back. To relieve the crick that was developing, I propped myself against the nearest available wall, not thinking about where I was or what someone might think.

For about 20 minutes, repeated camera clicks and whirs made it sound as if I were a National Geographic professional capturing one photo after another of delicate birds and blooms. This was a nice fantasy until a city employee interrupted my reverie and stared at me oddly.

It dawned on me that I was leaning against the boy’s restroom with camera in hand. Stammering with embarrassment, I explained I was shooting hummingbirds with my Nikon. Thank goodness, the man was a hunter and understood the concept of stalking game so he didn’t think I was a weirdo. I did see him walk away, shaking his head and smiling.

After I got home and uploaded my pictures on my computer, I discovered I took better shots than expected. Examining those hummingbird photos thrilled me. I realized I’d caught tiny feet resting on delicate petals, wings whirring in a dizzying blur, and long beaks sipping nectar. 

The results were worth that awkward moment when I saw the maintenance man wondering whether he needed to call in a stalker.