Confusion along the Trail

Prone across the steep trail down into Shakerag Hollow, I heard this: "Are you all right?"

Where I walk, strangers often ask me this question because I look like the old woman-who-has-fallen-and-can't-get-up. I'm only taking pictures, but that's not always readily apparent.

"I'm fine," I said, "just taking pictures."

"What of?" he asked.

"This hepatica, and I'm not having much luck."

"Oh," he said. "What's that called?" And I told him again.

"Have you seen the multicolored things hanging from the trees?" he asked.

"Not yet," I answered. "I am only just now going downhill. Are they insect cocoons?"

"I think they're for Monarch butterflies! They're in all different colors and hanging about head-high," he said cheerfully and headed up the hill.

Not possible, I thought. I finished shooting the frustratingly tiny flower and took off, looking up rather than down for a while. 

First, I saw one of the colorful felt birds someone has hung along the Perimeter Trail. Surely he didn't think . . . no . . . . And then I found this (and several others):

I've seen little packages like this one before, and they weren't butterfly nurseries. Moths. That's what's developing in there, but what kind I don't know. I've seen more than a few, and I've finally learned to recognize them.

I admire the gentleman's certainty and enthusiasm. He asked if I were a wildflower expert. "Not quite!" I exclaimed. "An admirer, perhaps!" What I didn't tell him is that every spring I confuse the rue anemone for the hepatica and when the Odonates begin to emerge (soon, please?) I must review them once again in one of my books. 

Just call me enthusiastic dilettante, writ large.