Seasonal Cheer

Autumn Meadowhawks seek out sun, and despite the cold, some still fly. When I first paid attention to odonates at Lake Cheston, I thought it amazing to find one of these on Christmas Eve. Now I know that the weather cooperated mightily, and now I look forward to seeing them late in the fall, even in dwindling numbers.

Worth the Wait

for the sun to reappear, and with it the temperature. The bugs came out, and so did I.

There is this in the habit of walking and looking: the seeing of something previously unseen, something so startling that only seeing is believing.

This:

When Autumn Meadowhawks are in copula or "the wheel," so called for the shape of joined male and female, sperm meets egg. When she's ready, the female releases herself at the terminus of the abdomen, and the male flies them both at plant or rock or shoreline, where she taps fertilized eggs into water. 

Why this male thwacked the female and himself, still locked by their biological parts, into the mud time after time (for at least the three minutes I watched), I do not know. But I do know this: I was greatly relieved when she released and they went about their business the old-fashioned way.

Once again, Ken Macrorie has been proven right: "People who daily expect to encounter fabulous realities run smack into them again and again. They keep their minds open for their eyes."

Holy Tamoly Cow!

Sun and Autumn Meadowhawks all over the lake -- warming, mating, ovipositing, resting, and landing on me.

Nothing new there, but this sure is.

Never before have I actually seen the part projected out of the male's pocket. (Hamules hold a female in place during copulation.) When I looked at my photos, I thought I knew what it is, but I posted this photo to my Southeastern Odes group on Facebook for confirmation. Within seconds, Giff Beaton, whose Dragonflies and Damselflies of Georgia and the Southeast is one of my holy books of odonata, replied, "That is a male and it's his hamule . . . "

How many ways can I thank my lucky stars?

     1. sunshine

     2. some good shots

     3. warm earth (good for lying down)

     4. Facebook

     5. and the humorous support of an admired expert.

Annual Wish

If only fall lasted all year long.

Can You See Me Now?

First day at Lake Cheston in more than a month, following a week of rain and fog, and look what I see as soon as I walk out toward the dam. The fat lady has definitely not sung the end of this odonate season.


I may be hobbling, my muscles may be aching, the rental camera may be challenging, but boy does it feel good to be out and about, even just a little bit. We all agree.

Old Friends

sure signs of summer: 

bluebird training in the back yard

Hackberry Emperor visiting the screen door

first appearance of the Autumn Meadowhawk

Lake Cheston ABCedarian: R

R is for REFLECTION, RELATIONSHIPS, and REVERENCE

Of Two Ponds, Two Lakes, One Horse and Rider, One View, and Fall

I
The Day Lake Road ponds shimmer in morning sun, swollen with rain, becoming lakes nearly, and bursting with Autumn Meadowhawks, mating and ovipositing.

II
Lakes Cheston and Dimmick wear fall well.

III
Firecracker and her rider (wearing orange as protection from "juvenile hunters"), a chance friend I see every now and then, enjoyed the day as much as I. A nuzzle and a head rub while listening to a tale of Firecracker's "failure" as a walking horse prospect, I marvel at her good luck when just the right young woman found her, and saved her, and loves her.

IV
A crowd gathered at Green's View for one reason: to look.

V
Today, I'd rather walk or ride or lie under trees more than anything else I can name. Call me Smut Woman: I am a slut for Autumn.

Sun and Shadow

Scar Tissue by Charles Wright

The insect world has no tongue to let loose, and no tongue to curb,Though all day and all night it cries out.Who says we shouldn’t listen to them?Who says we shouldn’t behave ourselves as they do,                     no noise but for one purpose?

Whatever the root sees in the dark is infinite.
Whatever the dead see is the same.
Listen, the rivers are emptying
               under our feet,
Watched over by all the waters of the underworld.

Lake Cheston ABCedarian: Q

LAKE CHESTON IS QUERULOUS

Lake Cheston ABCedarian: O

is for Orange (with a touch of red).

Red-spotted Newt

Autumn Meadowhawk (male)

Lake Cheston ABCedarian: M

Fall means Autumn Meadowhawks perching on Meadow Beauty, their amber and red faces and abdomens the perfect complements to the flower's "urn-shaped fruit[s] . . . Thoreau once compared to . . . little cream pitcher[s]."

Walking with Friends

J and B joined me for a walk at Lake Dimmick, where one had been and the other not. He carried a strainer and on occasion scooped the pond or lake bottom for Odonate larvae and other signs of life.

Even though we walked from about 11:30 to 1:15, the temp was still cool and the wind strong. As a result, only the brave were visible: a couple of Swamp Spreadwings, a couple of Calico Pennants, one male and one female Citrine Forktail, several Autumn Meadowhawks (included a mated pair ovipositing), and a number of Common Green Darners.

I didn't get to see the Clamp-tipped Emerald, which I longed to show off, but just as I despaired, four darners appeared (three males, one female), and one hung from sumac, providing just the right seasonally striking contrast.

I had forgotten how enjoyable it is to be in good company!

That Kind of Day

when sky is so blue you remember if only a moment that it's only blue for us on Earth and not black and this blue is ultramarine and sun so bright it casts hard shadows all day sparkling water and burning fall leaves and grasses like dry ice, cool and hot colors all at once so creatures slip in and our like beach bathers only in search of heat not a tan, and my camera lens can't determine if there's too much light or not enough, and everything looks beautiful, especially the two Clamp-tipped Emeralds, those big dragonflies I see up close and personal for the very first time:

that's the kind of day it was.

Autumnal Equinox

9:29 PM CT tonight.

But fall has already begun with wind, cool temperatures, and a profusion of browns, reds, and golds.

It even brought a migratory visitor to Lake Dimmick. Though I can't prove it (because he never lit where I could find him), a Twelve-spotted Skimmer blew through, teasing me three times, diving right toward me and then soaring upward.

Other evidence do, however, prove fall's glorious jewel-like colors and defining shadows.

Let the fun begin!

Survivors

I
A fellow lake-walker asked me a simple question this morning.

"Why are you interested in dragonflies?" she asked.

"Photography," I answered quickly. Too quickly because I immediately answered, "They're beautiful, like works of art, especially when seen up close. And they're so hardy."

"Will you see any today?"

"If the wind dies down, I will," I said. "Last year, I saw the last one two days before Christmas."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yup. They're just amazing. Despite the freezes we've had over the last week and the heavy rain and the strong wind, I think I'll see some." And then I added, "They're among the oldest living things!"

"No wonder you enjoy looking." Then she and her dog Oscar crossed the bridge and headed down the trail.


II
On some of the dam rocks, I noticed markings I had seen before, but I didn't photograph them. 

At the trestle bridge, I saw more scribblings made by what seems to have been a marker of some kind. Why? I thought would anyone scribble on the iron rail of an old and beautiful trestle? Again, I took no photo.

But soon, I saw more and I couldn't ignore the defacement any longer. Stones and wooden bridge bore the writing of someone shouting I was here. 

III
I looked up and saw another defacement: the new dog park. A scar on the hill where rows of sumac stood sentinel over ground cover. Even in winter, I could barely see the road and the cars coming and going. Now, everything's revealed. 

I confess: I resent the destruction of that beautiful vignette.


IV
My mood spoiled, I hastened across the bridge, around the hill, and onto the patch of rocks and dirt facing the beach. 

And then it happened: Autumn Meadowhawks appeared as if by magic -- that suddenly, alighting on leaf and stone, shimmering in flight above the water, ovipositing in it.

I felt myself lighten with their arrival. Just think, I thought: these Odonates descend from ancestors that lived some 325 million years ago! 


V
If they can survive, so can I.

Despite people who despoil the landscape by scrawling themselves into it.

The Last Hurrahs?

Low 60s today and full sun at the lake brought out the Asian lady beetles, cucumber beetles, tiny spiders, flies, one American Watersnake, many Autumn Meadowhawks, and a single Sleepy Orange butterfly (I think; my first). Tonight the temperature dips to 34 degrees (predicted) with a high of 39 tomorrow, followed by a plummet to 25 by night and a slim chance of snow.

Two years ago, I might have thought this change of weather would mean the end of my entomological adventures, but last year taught me differently: I last photographed an Autumn Meadowhawk two days before Christmas.

Fingers crossed that this isn't the last hurrah.

The Power of the Sun

One photo op in the first hour at the lake. One. Under a white sky, everything washed out. Everything.

But Chris, out hunting red efts, brought me a gift: a katydid he discovered hiding under leaf litter. That one bug and I made long acquaintance after Chris sat him on a limb.

My day redeemed, I thought, and then the unbelievable happened. 

The sun appeared, the sky blued, fall burst along the shore, leaves yellowed while I watched them, and so many Autumn Meadowhawks burst out from the undergrowth and mated that my friend Julie remarked, "Like last call at a singles bar!"

Yes, and last call for my mood, too.

Sesame Street Asks

It's RED!