Under what freakish celestial (mis)alignment was I born?
Once again, I am visited by the dreaded Camera Curse.
This time, my Panasonic Lumix DMC-200 has failed.
And, ironically, this time, I must shoot with my third Canon G12 (the used one I bought after my first two new ones suffered the same fate of catastrophic sensor failure). I shall have to work hard to remember how to use it. Already, today, after a one-and-half-hour hunt for the elusive Blue-faced Meadowhawk (no such luck, of course), I have remembered why it's hard for me to use the camera (think poor eyesight and tiny screen).
I would beat my fists against my breast (but it would hurt) and rail against the Deity of the Camera Curse (but just who or what is that?), but instead I wait patiently for news from Square Trade.
This time, I bought a two-year warranty.
Experience is the best teacher.
So many female Autumn Meadowhawks sunned themselves today: on dry grass, leaves, my hand. Wherever I walked, they flitted, activated by the warm temperature and tease of changing seasons. Woods and water shimmered with their wings.
I am glad I walked today. I am glad I visited the lake at mid-day, under high sun and heat. I am glad I lingered. And I am glad I did not learn one final fact until ten minutes ago: "Once they reach sexual maturity, individuals seek a mate, lay eggs and die soon afterward." So many females, so much urgency to reproduce and tap their eggs into the sedges, then surrender.
Hello and goodbye until next late spring when their offspring, or at least many of them, emerge and my watching begin again.
Until today, I didn't really see.
Today, I put on a new pair of glasses over my eyes with new lenses and everything snapped into focus.
I stood atop the Lake Cheston dam, looked down some fifteen feet to the water's edge, and saw two bluets chasing one another. Mind you, a bluet is about 28 millimeters long. Then I noticed the single Rambur's Forktail (about 34 millimeters long). Far to my left, I picked out a wheeled pair of Autumn Meadowhawks (about 35 millimeters long) looking for just the right leaf.
This is amazing! This is 20/20 vision!
Filled with fall fever, I headed over to the campus late this afternoon to watch light move across stones and down trees. I saw three boys playing soccer at All Saints', ginko leaves yellowing, and a little lime-green plane (which my friend Bill identified as an Aircam, "designed to fly low and slow with extreme visibility and the security of two engines") buzzing us all.
Those two flyers surely had an amazing view. But so did I.
Correction: so do I!
Saturday, I spoke with two entomology students wading near the metal bridge. I told them where to find the mating Autumn Meadowhawks, and they showed me their larvae.
Sunday a woman walking with a cane stopped twice to talk with me on the dam. "I was going to mow my lawn this afternoon," she said, "but maybe I'll just look for dragonflies instead." As she walked away, she added, "Thanks for making my afternoon so special."
Monday, Julie and I chatted.
Today, while I was watching the Meadowhawks slapping eggs into the water, a fisherman arrived, pulled out his rod and his popping bobber, and started talking. "I've been fishin' here since I was a boy. I get plenty of bass here, but I always throw 'em back. In the spring, it's bluegills. They make good eatin'."
I asked, "Have you ever caught a snapping turtle on your line?"
"Oh yes, and they make good eatin', too. Some snappers in here are prob'ly 50 years old," he said.
Lake Cheston isn't just about bugs and blooms.
It's people, too.
Those I know and those I meet for a conversation.
And I love them all.
