Woolly bear watch season is here

A review of the photo archives informs us that I’ve taken pictures of woolly bear caterpillars  in August, September and October. I don’t rely on the folklore about how the width of the reddish-brown band can foretell the severity of the upcoming winter. Then, again, we posted the other day that the farmer’s almanac and the weather service have two opposing forecasts regarding the upcoming winter and whether it will, or will not, be wetter and/or milder than whatever we’re calling normal these days. I’d rather spend some time outside on a sunny, late summer, early autumn day, looking for caterpillars. Besides, having grown up in New England and now lived in Minnesota for decades, I’ve learned that it can be risky relying on tomorrow’s forecast, let alone an estimate for three months from now.

woollybear caterpillar (Isabella Tiger Moth)

Photo by J. Harrington

I think some time last week I promised to report back on the Better Half’s cabbage roll dinner. It turned out much better than I expected, but with cabbage anything my expectations are always tempered. Anyhow, we agreed that the rolls rated “tasty” but didn’t quite make it into the “delicious” category. We’re having leftovers tonight which allows for the possibility that, like many stews and soups, they may taste even better the second time.

A Caterpillar on the Desk

by Robert Bly

          Lifting my coffee cup, I notice a caterpillar crawling over my sheet of ten-cent airmail stamps. The head is black as a Chinese box. Nine soft accordions follow it around, with a waving motion, like a flabby mountain. Skinny brushes used to clean pop bottles rise from some of its shoulders. As I pick up the sheet of stamps, the caterpillar advances around and around the edge, and I see his feet: three pairs under the head, four spongelike pairs under the middle body, and two final pairs at the tip, pink as a puppy's hind legs. As he walks, he rears, six pairs of legs off the stamp, waving around the air! One of the sponge pairs, and the last two tail pairs, the reserve feet, hold on anxiously. It is the first of September. The leaf shadows are less ferocious on the notebook cover. A man accepts his failures more easily-or perhaps summer's insanity is gone? A man notices ordinary earth, scorned in July, with affection, as he settles down to his daily work, to use stamps.

 

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