Whoop tay yai-yay
When Sharon took off on her trip, she left behind one of the cameras she uses for digiscoping, a Nikon CoolPix 4500. It's got two very interesting things about it: one, it's capable of taking absolutely stunning close-up ("macro") shots, and two, it was forged in the fires of Hell by Lucifer himself.
They don't talk much about that second one in the promotional material.
I'm trying to explain why this post, about caterpillars, will only have two pictures in it. No matter how hard I tried, I simply could not get this camera to focus on what was right in front of it. But the CoolPix and I have bad blood between us, ever since I tried to shut off its time-delay function, which was apparently near and dear to its cold, black heart. The manual was less than useful: "To counteract time-delay function: Do not. Will cause universe implosion. If such effect is desired, please shift yourself into a parallel dimension first, and speak to the Vortex Warlock for further guidance."
So, then, caterpillars!
As you probably know, every year, Sharon "ranches" Monarch caterpillars, growing them inside a mesh container until they're become full-fledged butterflies and be set free.
This year she's ranching Black Swallowtails as well, which are a lot harder to break to the saddle, let me tell you. Also, they come from darker eggs, which means Mrs. Olson won't give us as much for them.
Ahem.
Anyway, the swallowtails are interesting: as Sharon pointed out earlier, in their initial form they're colored to look like bird poo, then look more or less like Monarchs, but when they cocoon, their chrysalis looks more like a Metapod.
Note the two silk strings attached, and the funky wood-like coloration. The other Swallowtail is green like a Monarch chrysalis, however. I'm not sure if this a natural variation, someting to do with age, or health. At any rate, it looks pretty cool, don't you think?
And it is chrysalis city in the Monarch ranch, here. We've already got about eight in cocoons, two more about to assume the J position and get started metamorphosizin', and a couple more big fat cats munching down milkweed as we speak. Soon I'll have to rope 'n' brand 'em, which is much harder than you think, seeing as the branding iron is so small.
In fact, in the time I spent off yesterday, bee-tending, they had eaten the milkweed down to the stalk and were subsisting on dead leaves on the bottom of the container. Eep! I'm sorry guys! I didn't know you'd be so voracious. I'd think you had a tapeworm, except that, well, you're a lot smaller than tapeworms.
Prowling through the street looking to feed the cats hungry for an angry fix, I left the house first thing this morning looking for milkweed, which like Scotch tape and a corkscrew, is something you trip over constantly until you need it. What must I have looked like at 7:30 a.m. on Sunday, walking the streets, my eyes glued to the edges of lawns and medians? A burglar? A drunk, staggering home? Or worst, a birder?
Ah well, I found what I was looking for, stuffed it in the container, and rustled up the cats onto the leaves, where, after a lot of exploration, they started happily munching away. I could tell that one stalk wasn't going to be enough, so later in the day I walked the Greenway for a bit, making myself a menace to the bikers as I scanned the wild growth.
Bikers, I apologize. I had hungry insects to feed, and, frankly, "On the left!" really confuses me, which I recognize is a personal problem. See, if you just ring a bell, I can generate a Pavlovian response that tells me I should dodge to the curve nearest the side I'm on. But when you say "On the Left!" First there's a shock of hearing someone bark at me, then I realize there's a person on a bike closing on me, then I have to think "Do they mean they're coming on my left, or that I should move to the left," which is really stupid, I know, because you're not saying "to the left," but there you are.
Plus, in that split second of minor panic, it takes me a second to remember which side the left is. So my natural instinct is, deerlike, to freeze in the middle of the path just so I can be certain I'll get creamed.
Anyway, some green, sluglike creatures get to stuff themselves, so that's okay.
ANOTHER PRIVATE MESSAGE TO SHARON. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS.
Dearest Heart,
Glad to hear that you're enjoying your trip, however I find it distressing that you won't tell me where you are or when you're coming back. And why do I hear laughter and Mariachi music in the background?
I miss you. The birds do, too, apparently, because just today I saw a flock of Goshawks fly right by our window.
Warmest regards,
-NBB
END PRIVATE MESSAGE.
They don't talk much about that second one in the promotional material.
I'm trying to explain why this post, about caterpillars, will only have two pictures in it. No matter how hard I tried, I simply could not get this camera to focus on what was right in front of it. But the CoolPix and I have bad blood between us, ever since I tried to shut off its time-delay function, which was apparently near and dear to its cold, black heart. The manual was less than useful: "To counteract time-delay function: Do not. Will cause universe implosion. If such effect is desired, please shift yourself into a parallel dimension first, and speak to the Vortex Warlock for further guidance."
So, then, caterpillars!
As you probably know, every year, Sharon "ranches" Monarch caterpillars, growing them inside a mesh container until they're become full-fledged butterflies and be set free.
This year she's ranching Black Swallowtails as well, which are a lot harder to break to the saddle, let me tell you. Also, they come from darker eggs, which means Mrs. Olson won't give us as much for them.
Ahem.
Anyway, the swallowtails are interesting: as Sharon pointed out earlier, in their initial form they're colored to look like bird poo, then look more or less like Monarchs, but when they cocoon, their chrysalis looks more like a Metapod.
Note the two silk strings attached, and the funky wood-like coloration. The other Swallowtail is green like a Monarch chrysalis, however. I'm not sure if this a natural variation, someting to do with age, or health. At any rate, it looks pretty cool, don't you think?
And it is chrysalis city in the Monarch ranch, here. We've already got about eight in cocoons, two more about to assume the J position and get started metamorphosizin', and a couple more big fat cats munching down milkweed as we speak. Soon I'll have to rope 'n' brand 'em, which is much harder than you think, seeing as the branding iron is so small.
In fact, in the time I spent off yesterday, bee-tending, they had eaten the milkweed down to the stalk and were subsisting on dead leaves on the bottom of the container. Eep! I'm sorry guys! I didn't know you'd be so voracious. I'd think you had a tapeworm, except that, well, you're a lot smaller than tapeworms.
Prowling through the street looking to feed the cats hungry for an angry fix, I left the house first thing this morning looking for milkweed, which like Scotch tape and a corkscrew, is something you trip over constantly until you need it. What must I have looked like at 7:30 a.m. on Sunday, walking the streets, my eyes glued to the edges of lawns and medians? A burglar? A drunk, staggering home? Or worst, a birder?
Ah well, I found what I was looking for, stuffed it in the container, and rustled up the cats onto the leaves, where, after a lot of exploration, they started happily munching away. I could tell that one stalk wasn't going to be enough, so later in the day I walked the Greenway for a bit, making myself a menace to the bikers as I scanned the wild growth.
Bikers, I apologize. I had hungry insects to feed, and, frankly, "On the left!" really confuses me, which I recognize is a personal problem. See, if you just ring a bell, I can generate a Pavlovian response that tells me I should dodge to the curve nearest the side I'm on. But when you say "On the Left!" First there's a shock of hearing someone bark at me, then I realize there's a person on a bike closing on me, then I have to think "Do they mean they're coming on my left, or that I should move to the left," which is really stupid, I know, because you're not saying "to the left," but there you are.
Plus, in that split second of minor panic, it takes me a second to remember which side the left is. So my natural instinct is, deerlike, to freeze in the middle of the path just so I can be certain I'll get creamed.
Anyway, some green, sluglike creatures get to stuff themselves, so that's okay.
ANOTHER PRIVATE MESSAGE TO SHARON. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS.
Dearest Heart,
Glad to hear that you're enjoying your trip, however I find it distressing that you won't tell me where you are or when you're coming back. And why do I hear laughter and Mariachi music in the background?
I miss you. The birds do, too, apparently, because just today I saw a flock of Goshawks fly right by our window.
Warmest regards,
-NBB
END PRIVATE MESSAGE.
Labels: caterpillars, NBB
posted by birdchick at 4:28 PM
13 Comments:
What a guy! Taking your life in your hands to feed the caterpillars. Of course, that was probably better than facing Birdchick with dead cats and no leaves. We love the way you write and will miss you when you're no longer babysitting the blog.
I'm glad to hear someone else has trouble processing that "on the left!" warning. My brain hears "left" and then wants to tell my bod move left, potentially having tire tracks imprinted upon me.
So, if I see a stranger in my milkweed patch out back I guess I should ask if he's a monarch rancher desperate for food for his critters rather than sending my rabid attack terriers after him. Who knew what lengths a butterfly farmer had to go to? Thanks for being so educational!
A flock of Goshawks??? I don't think Birdchick will buy that, but it's a good thought.
Oooh! A Metapod! When it hatches into Butterfree, please post a photo!
I, too, am very much enjoying your posts! Perhaps you should have your own blog? I think Cinnamon needs two blogs to disapprove of.
I'm with you on the "on the left" thing too. They love to shout it as well and scare the crap out of me. It's always when I'm looking at some great bird too.
Add me to the unable-to-move-fast-enough-because-you-just-scared-the-poo-out-of-me-by-saying-"on the left" category.
Tip for ranching: be sure to approach from the left when saddlin' up those cats.
I think we need to form a support group for those of us traumatized by the "on the left"gang.
While stuck in the Mother Of All Traffic Jams today, while trying to not leap out of the car and pound the carp out of the guy behind me who kept nudging me to pull forward - onto an active railroad track - I noticed a clump of milkweed. I chuckled. I made it home, dragged my frazzled self to my desk and... NO NBB ENTRY YET! Oh! Wah! Where's my non-birding fix for the day?
PRIVATE MESSAGE FOR BILL. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS.
NBB,
I am very confused by these private messages to me. I am not on a trip, and even if I were my husband would be very distressed to see you calling me 'Dearest Heart.'
Warmest regards,
The Other Sharon
END PRIVATE MESSAGE
I hear you on the "on the left" issue. Nice of them to be nice and say something, but it is hard to process quickly. *g*
Also, my friend ranches a strain of swallowtail butterflies, and I am almost positive that she said that they try to camoflauge themselves. I'm pretty sure they only work in brown and green, but they do try to match the sticks or leaves around them when they're in their chrysalis. Pretty cool!
NBB - you are doing a great job, and I am joining the crowd that says you should seriously consider your own blog. I have thoroughly enjoyed your posts while Birdchick has been away. Thanks so much for the daily chuckles.
That is so cool! I'm monarch ranching too--I released 4 in the last two days, with 3 chrysalides on deck, 4 cats still munching away on milkweed, and 3 eggs ready to hatch.
"On the left." hehe.
As a biker who uses rail trails, I use both a bell and say "On *your* left." It might be a regional thing. But at least if you are in Western PA, you will know that I am approaching your left side when biking.
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