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| monarch caterpillar munching milkweed
Photo by J. Harrington
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A second or third major hatch of deer flies has made outside activities very unpleasant. Despite our best efforts, deer fly bites have made the top of SiSi's muzzle look like she's spent an hour or two as Muhammed Ali's sparring partner. Would that we had a pet dragonfly the size of a small dragon that then could, and would, mightily diminish the population of deer flies in and about our neck of the woods and fields as we flew our dragonfly dragon on the end of a string, as if it were a live drone.
[UPDATE: A careful examination of the handful of milkweeds growing in the front grading and part of our roadside ditch revealed a few plants that had been chomped almost into nonexistence, but no signs of the chompers. We'll keep our eyes open the next time we wander by the wet spot behind the house and see if anyone's living on the swamp milkweed.]
Under this loop of honeysuckle, A creeping, coloured caterpillar, I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn spray, I nibble it leaf by leaf away. Down beneath grow dandelions, Daisies, old-man's-looking-glasses; Rooks flap croaking across the lane. I eat and swallow and eat again. Here come raindrops helter-skelter; I munch and nibble unregarding: Hawthorn leaves are juicy and firm. I'll mind my business: I'm a good worm. When I'm old, tired, melancholy, I'll build a leaf-green mausoleum Close by, here on this lovely spray, And die and dream the ages away. Some say worms win resurrection, With white wings beating flitter-flutter, But wings or a sound sleep, why should I care? Either way I'll miss my share. Under this loop of honeysuckle, A hungry, hairy caterpillar, I crawl on my high and swinging seat, And eat, eat, eat—as one ought to eat.
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