Wrapped like a gift in spider silk, the dragonfly glittered, twirling from a rusted bridge strut.I posted a photograph to the ID Request section of Bugguide.net with this question: "Is it possible to tell what kind of dragonfly this is?" Thirty-six hours later, a gentleman wrote "Yes it is!" As I suspected, an Eastern Pondhawk (female) had been captured by one of the orb weavers who set up shop where dragonflies and damselflies abound.A day later, another Bugguide user moved my photographs and conversation to "FRASS": "Frass is insect debris. Poor quality images, images from outside the U.S. and Canada, and those that otherwise do not value to the guide are moved here. Images will remain here for 30 days after the most recent activity so that comments may be viewed. After that they are automatically removed by the system."No value? I beg to differ.
Beautiful in life, beautiful in death, beautiful as sustenance for another living creature, beautiful photograph.
A former student and colleague -- let's just call her a friend -- brought her "peeps" up for the weekend. They spent the night in a dorm and took part in a special alum event. Before leaving the college for the Monteagle Sunday School Assembly to visit with another former student and one of her daughters, Susie and the girls joined me for an early morning stroll to the Cross. 
The girls huffed and puffed as some small children do, but when we got to the Cross, they were as fascinated as I by this teeny butterfly: a Banded Hairstreak (the first I've spotted and identified). On our way back to my house and their car, they decided to wait with me at the soccer field while their mother retrieved the car. As soon as she drove off, the youngest spotted another Banded Hairstreak.
Wow! What a delightful morning, and what delightful visitors!
As a long-time teacher and current resident of a college town, I sometimes am discouraged by the selfishness of young people. Today, I met two college-age students who know it's not about them. Having just ridden from Dunlap to Sewanee, they entered the shop and asked, "What's a Lemon Fair?"I answered, "A New England river," and then asked my own question, "What brings you to town?"Bike & Build was their answer. They are riding with a team of 30+ from Nag's Head to San Diego, for a total of 3584 miles. They ride, then stay in a city to work on a Habitat for Humanity or Habitat-like project, then ride, then stay, then build all the way to the West Coast. Affordable housing has found good friends in the eight teams of enthusiastic and committed folks like these two, whose trek I plan to follow now till their trip concludes in late July.And I shall be happy knowing that he has a Lemon Fair sticker on his bike now!
On the advice of my friend Ronn, I am now wearing Ex Officio Insect Shield pants when out shooting pictures. Soaked with poison to ward off mosquitoes, chiggers, and ticks, the pants are lightweight, if not stylish, and breathe even in 90-degree weather.
Today, at Lake Cheston, a teenage fisherman asked, "Ma'am, are you not hot?"
"Why no," I said and added to myself, "and I am not bothered by bugs either!"
Within a hundred steps, I was bugged, however: a large Tawny Emperor butterfly alit on my leg and probed through the fabric with his proboscis, hunting, I think, my salty sweat. I took a step and still he clung to my "insect shields." I shook and still he clung. Finally, I gently brushed him away.
If this were the only encounter of this kind, I wouldn't think much of it. But Blue Corporals have also been attracted to my poisonous pants. Now I wonder just what kind of shield I've bought.
More importantly, how many insects am I unintentionally poisoning?
Witness: A female Eastern Pondhawk depositing her eggs close to the shoreline, her mate hovering over her, protecting his successful fathering.
When another male torpedoed into them and all took off into the trees, I thought I had lost her, but just before stepping on the last small footbridge bingo! there she was, two feet away. Doesn't she look pleased with herself?
As I am with myself.
