If you are squeamish about insects, stop reading right now.
You've probably heard that only insects would survive a nuclear war. I'm personally convinced this is true.
I never understood insect power until we moved to the country next to a big lake. We arrived during early summer. We left lots of lights on that first night and weren't quick coming in and out of the front door.
Voila! Our nice white living room walls (2 stories tall) were instantly covered with gnats. It looked like an explosion in a pepper factory. A shop vac, tall ladder and two hours of wall vacuuming were required to turn our house back into a home. Apparently living close to nature wasn't going to be all fluffy bunnies and monarchs.
All summer long various bugs rule, and we've learned to cope. Legions of ladybugs usher in spring. Black undulating clouds of gnat hatches announce summer. Millions of weird beetles cover the beach for several days in July. Flies are a terror the third week of August.
On late summer and fall nights, our yard fills with noisy bugs. As the days grow shorter, the insect voices grow louder and louder. Their cacophony is definitely a last hurrah before the frost comes, silencing most of them forever.
Our California granddaughter visited last week. One of the first topics we had to address was the arthropod situation. "Don't," we said, "don't ever leave any door open a second longer than necessary." But the message didn't really make an impression until I was washing the dishes the first evening of her visit. The window screen over my sink was completely black and writhing with bugs.
"Disgusting!" she said.
"Even worse if they are on the inside," I replied.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Bugs
If you are squeamish about insects, stop reading right now.
You've probably heard that only insects would survive a nuclear war. I'm personally convinced this is true.
I never understood insect power until we moved to the country next to a big lake. We arrived during early summer. We left lots of lights on that first night and weren't quick coming in and out of the front door.
Voila! Our nice white living room walls (2 stories tall) were instantly covered with gnats. It looked like an explosion in a pepper factory. A shop vac, tall ladder and two hours of wall vacuuming were required to turn our house back into a home. Apparently living close to nature wasn't going to be all fluffy bunnies and monarchs.
All summer long various bugs rule, and we've learned to cope. Legions of ladybugs usher in spring. Black undulating clouds of gnat hatches announce summer. Millions of weird beetles cover the beach for several days in July. Flies are a terror the third week of August.
On late summer and fall nights, our yard fills with noisy bugs. As the days grow shorter, the insect voices grow louder and louder. Their cacophony is definitely a last hurrah before the frost comes, silencing most of them forever.
Our California granddaughter visited last week. One of the first topics we had to address was the arthropod situation. "Don't," we said, "don't ever leave any door open a second longer than necessary." But the message didn't really make an impression until I was washing the dishes the first evening of her visit. The window screen over my sink was completely black and writhing with bugs.
"Disgusting!" she said.
"Even worse if they are on the inside," I replied.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
You've probably heard that only insects would survive a nuclear war. I'm personally convinced this is true.
I never understood insect power until we moved to the country next to a big lake. We arrived during early summer. We left lots of lights on that first night and weren't quick coming in and out of the front door.
Voila! Our nice white living room walls (2 stories tall) were instantly covered with gnats. It looked like an explosion in a pepper factory. A shop vac, tall ladder and two hours of wall vacuuming were required to turn our house back into a home. Apparently living close to nature wasn't going to be all fluffy bunnies and monarchs.
All summer long various bugs rule, and we've learned to cope. Legions of ladybugs usher in spring. Black undulating clouds of gnat hatches announce summer. Millions of weird beetles cover the beach for several days in July. Flies are a terror the third week of August.
On late summer and fall nights, our yard fills with noisy bugs. As the days grow shorter, the insect voices grow louder and louder. Their cacophony is definitely a last hurrah before the frost comes, silencing most of them forever.
Our California granddaughter visited last week. One of the first topics we had to address was the arthropod situation. "Don't," we said, "don't ever leave any door open a second longer than necessary." But the message didn't really make an impression until I was washing the dishes the first evening of her visit. The window screen over my sink was completely black and writhing with bugs.
"Disgusting!" she said.
"Even worse if they are on the inside," I replied.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Grass
This is the blog the neighbors are waiting for me to write. It's a known fact in our neighborhood that my husband and I cannot grow grass.
We bought our beautiful meadow on Lake Michigan over 30 years ago. The acre and one-half of waist-high native grasses, flowers, milkweed and goldenrod had been untouched and beautiful for decades. We vowed to keep it natural forever.
But then we got selfish enough to want to be surrounded by this beauty all the time. To build a modest sized house and dig a well, holes would have to be dug in the ground. We implored the builder to make as small a "footprint" as possible.
After moving in, we naively assumed the havoc caused around the building site would be magically healed by nature and seamlessly blend in with the mostly intact meadow. Nature had other plans. She gave us a 10 foot tall crop of white clover the first year, definitely not a match.
Subsequent years saw other landscapes come and go but none that faintly resembled the untouched part. It became apparent that we would have to intervene and help out Mother Nature.
The neighbors loaned us a rototiller and my husband diligently tilled, planted and watered prairie grasses. Sometimes they grew; sometimes they didn't. Even when they did grow, they totally betrayed us by not returning the next year. We probably should have just bought that rototiller.
Not too surprisingly, this spring we had to start over again on the blighted part of the homestead. We know that idiocy is defined as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Something had to change. So we got a different blend of seeds, the Native Wisconsin mix.
At this moment, we've got a gorgeous, waving field of grass interspersed with glorious cosmos. (If you've got to dig up your front yard every year, you might as well throw some lovely annual flower seeds in the mix!)
We are praying to all the garden goddesses that this grass feels at home. But, we'll be holding our breaths until the snow melts and the sun warms next spring. If we see green, there will be one big lawn party.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
We bought our beautiful meadow on Lake Michigan over 30 years ago. The acre and one-half of waist-high native grasses, flowers, milkweed and goldenrod had been untouched and beautiful for decades. We vowed to keep it natural forever.
But then we got selfish enough to want to be surrounded by this beauty all the time. To build a modest sized house and dig a well, holes would have to be dug in the ground. We implored the builder to make as small a "footprint" as possible.
After moving in, we naively assumed the havoc caused around the building site would be magically healed by nature and seamlessly blend in with the mostly intact meadow. Nature had other plans. She gave us a 10 foot tall crop of white clover the first year, definitely not a match.
Subsequent years saw other landscapes come and go but none that faintly resembled the untouched part. It became apparent that we would have to intervene and help out Mother Nature.
The neighbors loaned us a rototiller and my husband diligently tilled, planted and watered prairie grasses. Sometimes they grew; sometimes they didn't. Even when they did grow, they totally betrayed us by not returning the next year. We probably should have just bought that rototiller.
Not too surprisingly, this spring we had to start over again on the blighted part of the homestead. We know that idiocy is defined as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Something had to change. So we got a different blend of seeds, the Native Wisconsin mix.
At this moment, we've got a gorgeous, waving field of grass interspersed with glorious cosmos. (If you've got to dig up your front yard every year, you might as well throw some lovely annual flower seeds in the mix!)
We are praying to all the garden goddesses that this grass feels at home. But, we'll be holding our breaths until the snow melts and the sun warms next spring. If we see green, there will be one big lawn party.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
Grass
This is the blog the neighbors are waiting for me to write. It's a known fact in our neighborhood that my husband and I cannot grow grass.
We bought our beautiful meadow on Lake Michigan over 30 years ago. The acre and one-half of waist-high native grasses, flowers, milkweed and goldenrod had been untouched and beautiful for decades. We vowed to keep it natural forever.
But then we got selfish enough to want to be surrounded by this beauty all the time. To build a modest sized house and dig a well, holes would have to be dug in the ground. We implored the builder to make as small a "footprint" as possible.
After moving in, we naively assumed the havoc caused around the building site would be magically healed by nature and seamlessly blend in with the mostly intact meadow. Nature had other plans. She gave us a 10 foot tall crop of white clover the first year, definitely not a match.
Subsequent years saw other landscapes come and go but none that faintly resembled the untouched part. It became apparent that we would have to intervene and help out Mother Nature.
The neighbors loaned us a rototiller and my husband diligently tilled, planted and watered prairie grasses. Sometimes they grew; sometimes they didn't. Even when they did grow, they totally betrayed us by not returning the next year. We probably should have just bought that rototiller.
Not too surprisingly, this spring we had to start over again on the blighted part of the homestead. We know that idiocy is defined as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Something had to change. So we got a different blend of seeds, the Native Wisconsin mix.
At this moment, we've got a gorgeous, waving field of grass interspersed with glorious cosmos. (If you've got to dig up your front yard every year, you might as well throw some lovely annual flower seeds in the mix!)
We are praying to all the garden goddesses that this grass feels at home. But, we'll be holding our breaths until the snow melts and the sun warms next spring. If we see green, there will be one big lawn party.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
We bought our beautiful meadow on Lake Michigan over 30 years ago. The acre and one-half of waist-high native grasses, flowers, milkweed and goldenrod had been untouched and beautiful for decades. We vowed to keep it natural forever.
But then we got selfish enough to want to be surrounded by this beauty all the time. To build a modest sized house and dig a well, holes would have to be dug in the ground. We implored the builder to make as small a "footprint" as possible.
After moving in, we naively assumed the havoc caused around the building site would be magically healed by nature and seamlessly blend in with the mostly intact meadow. Nature had other plans. She gave us a 10 foot tall crop of white clover the first year, definitely not a match.
Subsequent years saw other landscapes come and go but none that faintly resembled the untouched part. It became apparent that we would have to intervene and help out Mother Nature.
The neighbors loaned us a rototiller and my husband diligently tilled, planted and watered prairie grasses. Sometimes they grew; sometimes they didn't. Even when they did grow, they totally betrayed us by not returning the next year. We probably should have just bought that rototiller.
Not too surprisingly, this spring we had to start over again on the blighted part of the homestead. We know that idiocy is defined as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Something had to change. So we got a different blend of seeds, the Native Wisconsin mix.
At this moment, we've got a gorgeous, waving field of grass interspersed with glorious cosmos. (If you've got to dig up your front yard every year, you might as well throw some lovely annual flower seeds in the mix!)
We are praying to all the garden goddesses that this grass feels at home. But, we'll be holding our breaths until the snow melts and the sun warms next spring. If we see green, there will be one big lawn party.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
Friday, August 10, 2007
Opera
I have a lifetime goal of learning to appreciate opera. The quest got off to a rocky start.
My mother listened to opera on the radio, and, as a child, I asked her, "Who is Carmen?"
"She's a bad girl who works in a cigarette factory and breaks men's hearts," was her reply. I didn't believe a word she said. My mom was prone to exaggeration. Surely, no adult could compose an opera about a cigarette girl.
Well, it turns out they did. I've learned since that the storyline is not the main event in opera. The singing and spectacle carry the show.
My scheme to become opera educated is beautiful in its simplicity. Go to New Mexico every August. Buy tickets for the Santa Fe Opera which is performed outdoors on a mountaintop. Listen and look. If the opera proves inscrutable, the scenery and sunset are worth the trip.
This summer will mark our 28th consecutive summer in attendance. I'm making some progress. I know the The Magic Flute is, indeed, utterly magical. Papageno and Papagena, the birdman and woman, are completely delightful with deliciously human failings. My all time favorite character is The Queen of the Night. Talk about a screwed up mother-daughter relationship. But the Queen's big aria is totally thrilling.
I've also figured out three things that should never happen at the opera. First, Madame Butterfly should not have the heft of a Valkyrie. Second, The Queen of the Night must never, never wear a white costume. (Was that a PC gesture on Santa Fe's part?) Third, Carmen should not be sung by a blond. Actually, I'll amend that. If a blond sings the role, she needs a dark wig and a stint at a tanning salon.
Give me another 20 years at Santa Fe, and I might be ready to tackle The Ring Cycle.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
My mother listened to opera on the radio, and, as a child, I asked her, "Who is Carmen?"
"She's a bad girl who works in a cigarette factory and breaks men's hearts," was her reply. I didn't believe a word she said. My mom was prone to exaggeration. Surely, no adult could compose an opera about a cigarette girl.
Well, it turns out they did. I've learned since that the storyline is not the main event in opera. The singing and spectacle carry the show.
My scheme to become opera educated is beautiful in its simplicity. Go to New Mexico every August. Buy tickets for the Santa Fe Opera which is performed outdoors on a mountaintop. Listen and look. If the opera proves inscrutable, the scenery and sunset are worth the trip.
This summer will mark our 28th consecutive summer in attendance. I'm making some progress. I know the The Magic Flute is, indeed, utterly magical. Papageno and Papagena, the birdman and woman, are completely delightful with deliciously human failings. My all time favorite character is The Queen of the Night. Talk about a screwed up mother-daughter relationship. But the Queen's big aria is totally thrilling.
I've also figured out three things that should never happen at the opera. First, Madame Butterfly should not have the heft of a Valkyrie. Second, The Queen of the Night must never, never wear a white costume. (Was that a PC gesture on Santa Fe's part?) Third, Carmen should not be sung by a blond. Actually, I'll amend that. If a blond sings the role, she needs a dark wig and a stint at a tanning salon.
Give me another 20 years at Santa Fe, and I might be ready to tackle The Ring Cycle.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
Opera
I have a lifetime goal of learning to appreciate opera. The quest got off to a rocky start.
My mother listened to opera on the radio, and, as a child, I asked her, "Who is Carmen?"
"She's a bad girl who works in a cigarette factory and breaks men's hearts," was her reply. I didn't believe a word she said. My mom was prone to exaggeration. Surely, no adult could compose an opera about a cigarette girl.
Well, it turns out they did. I've learned since that the storyline is not the main event in opera. The singing and spectacle carry the show.
My scheme to become opera educated is beautiful in its simplicity. Go to New Mexico every August. Buy tickets for the Santa Fe Opera which is performed outdoors on a mountaintop. Listen and look. If the opera proves inscrutable, the scenery and sunset are worth the trip.
This summer will mark our 28th consecutive summer in attendance. I'm making some progress. I know the The Magic Flute is, indeed, utterly magical. Papageno and Papagena, the birdman and woman, are completely delightful with deliciously human failings. My all time favorite character is The Queen of the Night. Talk about a screwed up mother-daughter relationship. But the Queen's big aria is totally thrilling.
I've also figured out three things that should never happen at the opera. First, Madame Butterfly should not have the heft of a Valkyrie. Second, The Queen of the Night must never, never wear a white costume. (Was that a PC gesture on Santa Fe's part?) Third, Carmen should not be sung by a blond. Actually, I'll amend that. If a blond sings the role, she needs a dark wig and a stint at a tanning salon.
Give me another 20 years at Santa Fe, and I might be ready to tackle The Ring Cycle.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
My mother listened to opera on the radio, and, as a child, I asked her, "Who is Carmen?"
"She's a bad girl who works in a cigarette factory and breaks men's hearts," was her reply. I didn't believe a word she said. My mom was prone to exaggeration. Surely, no adult could compose an opera about a cigarette girl.
Well, it turns out they did. I've learned since that the storyline is not the main event in opera. The singing and spectacle carry the show.
My scheme to become opera educated is beautiful in its simplicity. Go to New Mexico every August. Buy tickets for the Santa Fe Opera which is performed outdoors on a mountaintop. Listen and look. If the opera proves inscrutable, the scenery and sunset are worth the trip.
This summer will mark our 28th consecutive summer in attendance. I'm making some progress. I know the The Magic Flute is, indeed, utterly magical. Papageno and Papagena, the birdman and woman, are completely delightful with deliciously human failings. My all time favorite character is The Queen of the Night. Talk about a screwed up mother-daughter relationship. But the Queen's big aria is totally thrilling.
I've also figured out three things that should never happen at the opera. First, Madame Butterfly should not have the heft of a Valkyrie. Second, The Queen of the Night must never, never wear a white costume. (Was that a PC gesture on Santa Fe's part?) Third, Carmen should not be sung by a blond. Actually, I'll amend that. If a blond sings the role, she needs a dark wig and a stint at a tanning salon.
Give me another 20 years at Santa Fe, and I might be ready to tackle The Ring Cycle.
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Opossum
I am starting an opossum fan club. I'm hoping all of you will join.
There will be no dues, meetings or cute T-Shirts. The membership requirement is quite simple: always speak kindly (and knowledgeably) about opossums.
Possums need all the love they can get. I include information on these shy creatures in many of my natural science programs for children. Kids are always coming up to me after the programs to tell me about possums who wandered into their garage or under their porch. How the kids' big macho dads handled the situations is invariably stomach-turning.
As one of the proprietors of the Tooley Cafe, I've lived side by side with opossums everyday for years. They are one of my favorite animals to watch, although observation has to be at night as these critters are nocturnal. Their faces always remind me of little Draculas. Their "hairlines" are pointed exactly like his. If caught in a light, their eyes shine red, another Halloweenish feature.
To help you market love for opossums, I will arm you with these splendid, scientific facts:
There will be no dues, meetings or cute T-Shirts. The membership requirement is quite simple: always speak kindly (and knowledgeably) about opossums.
Possums need all the love they can get. I include information on these shy creatures in many of my natural science programs for children. Kids are always coming up to me after the programs to tell me about possums who wandered into their garage or under their porch. How the kids' big macho dads handled the situations is invariably stomach-turning.
As one of the proprietors of the Tooley Cafe, I've lived side by side with opossums everyday for years. They are one of my favorite animals to watch, although observation has to be at night as these critters are nocturnal. Their faces always remind me of little Draculas. Their "hairlines" are pointed exactly like his. If caught in a light, their eyes shine red, another Halloweenish feature.
To help you market love for opossums, I will arm you with these splendid, scientific facts:
- Opossums are America's only marsupials. (No need to go to Australia to see a genuine pocket mammal, there may be one in your backyard.)
- Possums have handy prehensile tails which they use as a fifth hand for support and holding things. They do not sleep hanging from trees.
- Opossums are highly adaptable and will eat almost anything, even rattlesnakes.
- Mom has as many as 18 or more navy bean size babies. They immediately climb into her pouch, but only an average of 9 will survive.
- After about 2½ months, the babies are weaned and ride around on mom's back.
- The adult opossum weighs 2,000 times its birth weight.
- Possums put on a threat display when cornered. They pull back their lips showing their 50 pointy teeth and hiss. Leave it alone, and the frightened opossum will be happy to exit.
- Playing dead is an involuntary coma-like state brought on by fear.
- The tips of the opossum's furless tail and ears often get frostbite during winter, turn black and fall off.
I hope by now you're ready to be opossum fan club members. And I won't even ask you to knit tail warmers and earmuffs!
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
Opossum
I am starting an opossum fan club. I'm hoping all of you will join.
There will be no dues, meetings or cute T-Shirts. The membership requirement is quite simple: always speak kindly (and knowledgeably) about opossums.
Possums need all the love they can get. I include information on these shy creatures in many of my natural science programs for children. Kids are always coming up to me after the programs to tell me about possums who wandered into their garage or under their porch. How the kids' big macho dads handled the situations is invariably stomach-turning.
As one of the proprietors of the Tooley Cafe, I've lived side by side with opossums everyday for years. They are one of my favorite animals to watch, although observation has to be at night as these critters are nocturnal. Their faces always remind me of little Draculas. Their "hairlines" are pointed exactly like his. If caught in a light, their eyes shine red, another Halloweenish feature.
To help you market love for opossums, I will arm you with these splendid, scientific facts:
There will be no dues, meetings or cute T-Shirts. The membership requirement is quite simple: always speak kindly (and knowledgeably) about opossums.
Possums need all the love they can get. I include information on these shy creatures in many of my natural science programs for children. Kids are always coming up to me after the programs to tell me about possums who wandered into their garage or under their porch. How the kids' big macho dads handled the situations is invariably stomach-turning.
As one of the proprietors of the Tooley Cafe, I've lived side by side with opossums everyday for years. They are one of my favorite animals to watch, although observation has to be at night as these critters are nocturnal. Their faces always remind me of little Draculas. Their "hairlines" are pointed exactly like his. If caught in a light, their eyes shine red, another Halloweenish feature.
To help you market love for opossums, I will arm you with these splendid, scientific facts:
- Opossums are America's only marsupials. (No need to go to Australia to see a genuine pocket mammal, there may be one in your backyard.)
- Possums have handy prehensile tails which they use as a fifth hand for support and holding things. They do not sleep hanging from trees.
- Opossums are highly adaptable and will eat almost anything, even rattlesnakes.
- Mom has as many as 18 or more navy bean size babies. They immediately climb into her pouch, but only an average of 9 will survive.
- After about 2½ months, the babies are weaned and ride around on mom's back.
- The adult opossum weighs 2,000 times its birth weight.
- Possums put on a threat display when cornered. They pull back their lips showing their 50 pointy teeth and hiss. Leave it alone, and the frightened opossum will be happy to exit.
- Playing dead is an involuntary coma-like state brought on by fear.
- The tips of the opossum's furless tail and ears often get frostbite during winter, turn black and fall off.
I hope by now you're ready to be opossum fan club members. And I won't even ask you to knit tail warmers and earmuffs!
Please click here if you wish to send me a comment
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