I woke this morning with the urge to make an audio recording of frog song. Nature seldom cooperates, when my plans are that specific, and today was no exception. Yesterday, one of the park’s small ponds was a cacophony of harsh croaks and lyrical trills. Today it was mostly silent. Here’s why:
So I have no audio to share. Instead I have sunlight and woodpeckers…
First Landing State Park is beginning to feel the onset of fall. The osprey are migrating, leaving egrets and herons in charge. Grasshoppers carry on as if winter will never come, but the butterflies know better. They’ve disappeared, along with most of the bees. (I did see something that might have been a bee, but it also might have been a fly that wanted me to think it was a bee.)
Despite these changes, summer hasn’t abandoned the park entirely. Mosquitoes still bite and squirrels still play. Crabs forage while frogs sing a frantic final chorus. Turtles patrol the shallow ponds, their backs mounded with mud so that they look like curiously mobile islands.
And the sun is still strong enough to burn if you stay out too long. Like I did today. But I have a good excuse for my over-long walk and uncomfortable sunburn. I was chasing a kingfisher…
Another thread-waisted wasp. This time I got a few video clips as it dug and sealed its nesting burrow.
I found a frog in the ginger lilies today. (I believe it was a green tree frog.) Frogs are unusual in the yard, so I was thrilled to find my second one of the summer. My delight faded to itchy frustration when I began trying for pictures.
The frog retreated into the ginger lilies, stem by stem. I crept in after it as far as I could, but the ginger lilies are hostile this time of year. They are head-high, densely packed, and teem with bugs that bite and sting.
Even so, I managed to follow the frog with my lens until it tired of the chase and settled on a leaf. Then I looked away for a second, to adjust the camera’s settings, and lost sight of my subject. I never found it again.
Sometimes the yard is an extension of Wonderland, complete with animals that disappear at will.
I was trying to record a short video of the thread-waisted wasps when a flash of nearby movement distracted me. At first, I couldn’t find what had moved.
The spider and I recognized each other at the same time, and it’s hard to say which of us was more frightened. She dove back into her burrow as I fought off a wave of arachnophobia-panic. I took a few calming breaths, forced myself to sit next to the burrow, and readied my camera.
After several minutes, she emerged again. Covered with babies! She did a quick survey, decided I was still too close, and carried her children back to safety.
Even when it’s icky and strange, the yard is amazing.
Rae Spencer 