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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Autumn’s prairie patches

We’re fortunate to live somewhere that has a few out of the way fields that are either regenerating prairie or the owners have worked to restore patches of prairie as buffers between row crop fields and alongside the township’s gravel road. During much of the summer we had the pleasure of viewing prairie flowers such as black-eyed Susans and bee balm. Recently, the roadsides have been full of milkweed with seed pods opened and seeds awaiting the autumn winds. There’s a difference between seeing an occasional seed pod and a long ditch embankment full of them, looking like the remains of a prairie pillow fight.

milkweed seed pods in field

Photo by J. Harrington

October, in our neighborhood, is prime time to watch for woollybear caterpillars. We’ve not noticed any yet this autumn and we’re getting really curious to find some and see what their banding foretells about our upcoming winter. Then again, we remember how accurate any weather forecast is once it gets beyond twelve hours or so. For the upcoming winter, NOAA forecasts that our region has equal chances of above or below average temperature and precipitation. Using woollybears seems about as accurate and more fun. If you’ve been paying any attention to the stock market recently, you may have seen a pattern similar to that which we’re anticipating for this winter’s weather: a roller coaster ride, up and down ad nauseam.

Most of the leaves in which the woollybears will spend the winter are still on the trees. We’re not close to peak color yet, but the spatters and speckles of scarlet, crimson, gold, yellow, tan, bronze, brass, and maroon are increasing night after night. This year’s color change pattern seems more fragmented or dispersed than past years, but that may just be how I’m seeing it.

We’re looking forward to Indigenous People’s Day on October 11, Halloween on the 31st, and in between, the Falling Leaves full moon on the 20th. We’re also delighted to report that we just noticed a bloom from one of last year’s asters planted near the end of the drive. All summer there was no sign of life in either  of the plants. Now, one flower and some buds have appeared, almost miraculously. That’s almost enough to help us believe Congress might actually do something to benefit ordinary folks, one of these days, if we can just survive long enough.

October

By Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

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Woolly bear time? #phenology

First, we wish success to the folks demonstrating against Enbridge’s Line 3 and for wild rice, clean water and honoring treaty rights. If it were not for the fact that a Republican administration would be even worse, leaving progressives with few places to turn, we suspect the Democrats in the Minnesota governor’s mansion and the White House might be more receptive to honoring their pledges to treat our climate crisis as the priority it should be. It does, however, mean that many progressives might see it as I do and decide to vote for Democrats but let their corporate masters pay for Democratic political campaigns. What a sad commentary on a supposedly world-leading democracy. Enough! On to brighter topics.

woolly bear on patio screen

Photo by J. Harrington

We’ve reached that time of year when those of us in the North Country need to keep our eyes open for woolly bear caterpillars. They’re black at either end, sort of copperyish brown in the middle and about two inches long. This is when they begin to crawl along roads, sidewalks etc., looking for a place to spend the winter months in a pile of dead leaves or something  comparable. In case you’re interested, the woolly bear is the caterpillar of the Isabella tiger moth.

Yesterday we were blessed with rain. More, in the order of several inches, is forecast for tomorrow through  week’s end. It would have been more helpful during the growing season, but  we’ll take it and hope for a more balanced distribution next spring and summer.

Moths

By Jennifer O'Grady

Adrift in the liberating, late light

of August, delicate, frivolous,

they make their way to my front porch

and flutter near the glassed-in bulb,

translucent as a thought suddenly

wondered aloud, illumining the air

that's thick with honeysuckle and dusk.

You and I are doing our best

at conversation, keeping it light, steering clear

of what we'd like to say.

You leave, and the night becomes

cluttered with moths, some tattered,

their dumbly curious filaments

startling against my cheek. How quickly,

instinctively, I brush them away.

Dazed, they cling to the outer darkness

like pale reminders of ourselves.

Others seem to want so desperately

to get inside. Months later, I'll find

the woolens, snug in their resting places,

full of missing pieces.

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Here comes caterpillar season #phenology

woolybear caterpillar climbing screen

Photo by J. Harrington

We're starting to come into woolybear caterpillar season. I know that because:

1. the photo of the woolybear above was taken on August 24 some years ago; and,
2. the Minnesota Seasons web site says flight season of the Isabella tiger moth (Pyrrharctia isabella) lasts until late July and it takes about two weeks for eggs to hatch, which would bring us to mid-August or sooner

Despite the folk lore about wooly bears foretelling Winter's severity, "the truth is that this caterpillar can't predict what Old Man Winter has in store for us in the upcoming winter."

To be honest, when I think of insects in August, usually it has to do with grasshoppers and trout fishing. But, now I realize August is as much monarch, woolybear, and other caterpillars as it is grasshoppers and beetles falling into streams and rivers.

One of the strange things about woolybear caterpillars is how they Winter-over.

Once settled in, the caterpillars hibernate, creating a natural organic antifreeze called glycerol.  They freeze bit by bit, until everything but the interior of their cells are frozen.  These interior cells are protected by the hemolymph.  Woollybears can - and do - survive to temperatures as low as -90℉. 

So, if you have taken to going for outdoor walks as a way to limit going stir crazy during our COVID-19 pandemic, you can now look for monarch caterpillars munching their way across the undersides of milkweed leaves and, soon, you can watch for woolybears as they search for a dark, comfortable place to spend the Winter. Maybe, by the time we can look for next Summer's Isabella tiger moths, we'll have a better handle on our pandemic and on our government. But then, my mother often used to accuse me of "wishing my life away."

The Caterpillar

Robert Graves - 1895-1985

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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Does a "normal" band of brown = a "normal" MN Winter? #phenology

We're a few days late posting this. Last week we discovered the season's first wooly bear caterpillar. It's been hanging around on the inside of the screens on the back patio. The photo is less than ideal because, in the afternoon, when we took the picture, the sun was shining and backlit the fuzzies more than our cell phone camera could comfortably handle. It looks to us as though the brown band is about "normal," whatever that means. After about half a lifetime here, we're not convinced there is such a thing as a normal Winter in Minnesota.

should we expect a "normal" Winter?

Photo by J. Harrington

Last year we found a wooly bear late in the season and, carefully following directions, put it in a jar with food and earth to watch it hatch come this Spring. The effort failed. The caterpillar never made it to the cocoon stage. As some form of compensation, we'll do a catch and release on the caterpillar that is still trying to find its way out of the screens. We can free it next to the area where we left the tiny frog, about the size of the nail on our little finger, that left onto SiSi's head when we let her out to do some business. Cutest darn frog we've ever seen. Sorry we couldn't get a picture.

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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A chrysalis to come? #phenology

Often, it doesn't take much to make us happy, as long as it's the right "not much." Today we're in that situation. Earlier this Autumn, we found a woolly bear caterpillar in the yard. S/he was destined to be captured and observed during the Winter so we could watch the chrysalis and the moth emerge. We've never done that.

We left the woolly bear where it was because we hadn't prepared a suitable home for it. Next day, home prepared, potential occupant was gone. You saw that coming, didn't you? While not devastated, nor heartbroken, we were disappointed, until yesterday. While letting out one or another of the dogs, we discovered a woolly bear on the cement floor of the screened porch. This time the caterpillar was promptly captured using the same equipment and techniques we use to transport barn spiders and their ilk from inside to outside. (See Method 2.)

the dark spot at the bottom of the green leaf is Woolly Bear

Photo by J. Harrington

We promptly prepared a suitable Winter home for the critter, replete with potting soil, twigs, dried and fresh leaves. Today we "misted" the inside using the same sprayer we use for our loaves of sourdough bread. We're still not sure if it's a him or a her. The jar now lives on a shelf in the garage. We'll check daily until s/he goes into hibernation, which we suspect won't be long.

S/he is more obvious in this close-up

Photo by J. Harrington

The preceding more than compensates for the fact that, after a long string of outstanding successes with our sourdough experiments, we hit one that isn't a favorite. We think we know why it's lacking flavor and we won't use that combination again, especially if we go and write it down, right now!

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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Hold outs hangin' on #phenology

This morning was spent moving some of the recently pulled buckthorn from the front of the property to the burn pile out back, pulling some sort of thorny vines (we don't think they're blackberries) so they'll have fewer opportunities to trip us or rip our ankles, and checking the pocket gopher traps (there's one less gopher on the property). In our wanderings about, we noticed two tiny flowers still in bloom. Those of us who've lived in the North Country for a while are rugged souls. It takes more than an evening's hard freeze or so to do us in.

a pair of hard-frost holdouts, one white, one yellow

Photo by J. Harrington

Last night may, or may not, have qualified as once again having frost / freeze temperatures. The lowest we saw locally was 33℉. We neglected to cover the mums and asters because we didn't expect another overnight freeze. This morning the mums are looking healthier and hardier than the asters so we'll just keep an eye on things and see who may still be alive over the next day or two.

wooly bear with (only) two bands

Photo by J. Harrington

The other pleasant surprise we encountered today was our discovery of a real, live wooly bear caterpillar. This one wasn't on the road or hiding under leaves or in the wood pile. As you can see, it's hanging onto a plant. If you look closely, you can see that it barely has all three bands. With the relatively wide band of brown in the middle, we're thinking this caterpillar believes it's going to be a relatively mild Winter. Our personal beliefs are that that would be nice if it doesn't bring too many ice storms. If this caterpillar is still hanging around later today, we think it's going to become a subject for observation  if we can set up and suitably fit out a container. Last time we tried this, the wooly bear escaped before we got the dirt and twigs into its Winter home. This time we'll rig the container first.

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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Mid-September status #phenology

Before we proceed with today's status report on phenology events, we want to revist yesterday's posting for a moment. Strong Towns founder, Chuck Marohn, with whom we've briefly worked in the past, has a series on Understanding Growth that fits with and supports points we've been making about Minnesota's need for a "New Economy." It's definitely worth a read. Now, back to what's going on around here today.

• Hummingbirds continue to arrive at the nectar feeder through this morning.


• More and more milkweed plants have turned yellow.


• Goldfinches, over the past five, six or more weeks having raised the next generation, are reappearing at the sunflower seeds feeder.
  
  

  

  goldfinches at the sunflower seed feeder
  

  Photo by J. Harrington



• Daytime temperatures feel more like late August than mid-September.


• Still haven't seen any woolly bear caterpillars. If you've been more successful this September, and want to observe a transmogrification into a moth, check here. (We tried something akin to observing a captive woolly bear several years ago. We weren't quick enough to cover the container and never did locate that caterpillar again.)
  
  

  

  the woolly bear caterpillar before it went missing
  

  Photo by J. Harrington



• Based on early September's cool temperatures, we thought we might have an early onset Winter. Now we're not so sure, it looks as if warmer but diminishingly so temperatures will cover the Midwest through November.

Characteristics of Life

Camille T. Dungy, 1972

A fifth of animals without backbones could be at risk of extinction, say scientists.
—BBC Nature News

Ask me if I speak for the snail and I will tell you
I speak for the snail.
                          speak of underneathedness
and the welcome of mosses,
                                        of life that springs up,
little lives that pull back and wait for a moment.

I speak for the damselfly, water skeet, mollusk,
the caterpillar, the beetle, the spider, the ant.
                                                        I speak
from the time before spinelessness was frowned upon.

Ask me if I speak for the moon jelly. I will tell you
                        one thing today and another tomorrow
        and I will be as consistent as anything alive
on this earth.

                        I move as the currents move, with the breezes.
What part of your nature drives you? You, in your cubicle
ought to understand me. I filter and filter and filter all day.

Ask me if I speak for the nautilus and I will be silent
as the nautilus shell on a shelf. I can be beautiful
and useless if that’s all you know to ask of me.

Ask me what I know of longing and I will speak of distances
        between meadows of night-blooming flowers.
                                                        I will speak
                        the impossible hope of the firefly.

                                                You with the candle
burning and only one chair at your table must understand
        such wordless desire.

                                To say it is mindless is missing the point.

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Three discoveries #phenology

No sooner was the electronic ink dry on my speculation that it had been a raccoon and not a bear that had raided our oriole/hummingbird feeders than, a mile or so down the road, I encountered a young black bear. Hmmmm! I'm sticking with my original analysis, but adding some second thoughts. Discovering a bear in mid-afternoon, wandering nearer the local farm fields than the forests, was actually the third fun discovery of the past couple of days.

giant leopard moth

Photo by J. Harrington

A few hours before observing the bear, I noticed a giant leopard moth on the front of the house, although at the time I noticed it, I didn't know it was a giant leopard moth. I suspect it's the same one I chased from the kitchen window screen a day or so before that. Observing it from the bottom I couldn't tell what I was seeing and I've learned that photos through screens are often unhelpful. Having a second chance at this discovery brightened a day that had already been enhanced by an initial discovery in the morning of Poor Will's Almanack. No doubt many phenologists are already familiar with this resource. I wasn't until I came across it in a Tweet from?/by? @Living_Almanac. If you haven't read his laws of phenology, take a look. It's a really good read.

So, in the course of an ordinary day or so this week, by paying attention to who and what's happening around me, I've discovered two new pleasures and a very unexpected one to compound the normal joys of life. It's almost enough to make me stop paying attention to politics, but if we all did that, who'd help make sure we had leopard moths and black bears and other phenomena to discover? It is all connected you know.

the lesson of the moth

by Don Marquis

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

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