| Butterfly-weed (Asclepius tuberosa)|
Photo by J. Harrington
So far, based on a quick and incomplete count, over the years we've lost about six or eight apple trees, a few less pear trees, marsh marigolds, saxifrage, several Northern Plains Blazing Stars, prairie smoke and pasque flowers, etc. They too readily seem to offer opportunistic snacks to pocket gophers, moles and whatever else munches below ground, and deer and rabbits on the surface. Mother Nature's strategy of profligate procreation as a matter of necessity for many of her offspring is becoming more clear to me every year.
|eastern tiger swallowtail (Papilio glaucus)|
Photo by J. Harrington
Then again, before this year, I'd never seen or heard of downy woodpeckers using Baltimore Oriole nectar feeders, nor rose-breasted grosbeaks feeding on grape jelly. Although eastern swallowtail butterflies are supposed to be relatively common, I hadn't paid much attention to or noticed them before this season. I suspect Rudyard Kipling was more correct than I like to think about when he wrote about "counting your losses." Good advice for wood-be naturalists and phenologists too. I need to go find some butter-fly weed to plant.
If you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you,If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,But make allowance for their doubting too;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:If you can make one heap of all your winningsAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginningsAnd never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,If all men count with you, but none too much;If you can fill the unforgiving minuteWith sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.