For some time, friends have been suggesting I start a blog, and I have finally got around to trying. I live in two wild and beautiful places: Western Maine , USA, and the Cotswolds, England. I also travel to far-flung much wilder places.
I take photos with my trusted Panasonic Lumix, sometimes beautiful photos, more often photos that tell a story.
The blog will be erratic, depending on what catches my eye.
For my first post, from Maine, here are the tree swallows that nested in our old purple martin house and raised four young. They fledged two weeks ago.
Cruising along…She often fed them without touching down at allIt took a while to ram this down the throat of the largest chick
The Great Spangled Fritillary butterfly is every bit as spectacular as the monarch, and can also have a four-inch wingspan.
But they get much less attention, probably because they are not endangered, do not take part in a dramatic long-distance migration, and are not fussy milkweed eaters. Adults feed on all sorts of summer-flowering plants, including beebalm, hydrangea and black-eyed susan.
But they are still interesting. The two sexes are slightly different colors. When they mate, the difference in color between the darker female and the paler male is easy to see:
The copulation takes anything from one hour to several hours. The male uses his claspers to hold the female tightly, and if she flies off to a new flower he holds on for dear life and is carried along with her:
He delivers a package of sperm called a spermatophore:
The female is able to store this for months until she is ready to lay her eggs. This is not usually until late summer or early fall, near violet plants, which are the only plants the caterpillars eat. The tiny new caterpillars hatch that fall, but the violets are by now dormant, so the caterpillars hide in the leaf litter through the winter, and only emerge when the first violets put out their leaves in the spring. They are nocturnal and secretive, and I have never seen one.
This stunning butterfly shares its name with a small but charming flower, the Snake’s Head Fritillary, Fritillaria meleagris. What they have in common is a checkered appearance: here is the flower, growing near my front steps. (It is not native here; I planted these).
The word fritillary comes from the Latin word fritillus which means “dice-box” or a container for casting dice. The pattern on the top right section of the wing looks like a collection of dice.
The rest of the butterfly’s name, “spangled” comes from its underwing, adorned with silvery patches like a little girl’s party dress:
The past few weeks have been prime time for nesting birds and their young. No matter what the adults eat, the diet of a baby bird is pretty much entirely arthropods – insects, moths, caterpillars, spiders, and the like – foods that are high in protein, perfect for growing bones and muscles.
If a bird catches an insect for its own consumption, it usually eats it right away. So if it is carrying the insect around, the odds are high that it is on its way to feed its babies. A Common Yellowthroat male, with an unidentifiable insect:
A female Red-breasted Nuthatch, deep in the woods, has caught a Cranefly. (The adults eat conifer seeds in winter, but arboreal arthropods in the breeding season). Only the male actually has a red breast!
A Chickadee with a juicy caterpillar:
To see birds feeding the babies directly, you have to know where the nest is. The easiest way is to have a nesting box. These two Northern House Wrens came and went all day long with insects for the unseen young in the interior.
As they got bigger, they stuck their heads out in an importunate plea for food:
A sizable insect:
placed right in the baby’s mouth:
Occasionally, the two parents failed to coordinate, and arrived simultaneously, creating a traffic jam:
A polite dance ensued. ‘You first.’
‘I’ll wait’:
‘No, yours is bigger’:
‘All right, here I come’:
Eventually, the young will fledge, leaving the nest but staying nearby and still dependent on the adults for food.
Tufted Titmouse adults eat 2/3 insects, and 1/3 seeds and mast, but they feed their young with insects, including bees. This one is feeding its fledgling, about 30 feet up in the trees.
It is possible that the habits of this minuscule insect are the most disgusting I have yet encountered. You should not feel impelled to read on. *
The Golden Tortoise Beetle adult, Charidotella sexpunctata, is a small jewel of a creature, 6mm or 0.25 inch long:
But its larva does not display to advantage. The one I am about to show you was about 2mm long, and looked like a bird dropping.
Until it moved. Beneath this unprepossessing exterior is a small fringed caterpillar-like creature with six legs, that like the adult eats the leaves of convolvulus and morning glory. It is head up in this photo:
The lumpy mass on its back is a very effective camouflage, attached to the larva by two prongs at the tail end of its abdomen, which curves up and over its back like a sunshade.
The disgusting part is what gives the carapace its name: it is called a fecal shield, and it is made of the larva’s own droppings. But how is it made?
The larva has an extendable anus, rather like an elephant’s trunk in reverse:
The droppings are extruded through this, and carefully deposited on the shield:
The shield also includes the shed skins of the larva, which goes through five skin changes en route to pupation. One old skin is clearly visible in the photo above.
Who would have thought that the union of two gilded scarabs could produce such offspring. But “Where there’s muck there’s brass”, as they say in Yorkshire.
* I have occasionally shown you other insects with similar habits, but I have never managed to get closeup details of how it all works before, so I thought I’d return to the topic. If you’ve read this far, you may well feel this was a mistake!
PS A proctologist is another name for a colorectal surgeon!
I spent the last three weeks in England, and my first day back in Maine is always special. I settle down into this magical place with a sigh of delight and comfort. Here’s what I saw and heard that first June day: nothing dramatic, but the fabric of my world.
A chipmunk, grooming, not bothered by me so, long as I stayed in my chair and sipped my wine:
Sheep Laurel, Kalmia angustifolia, in flower by the beaver pond:
A minute scarlet jelly fungus, Tulasnella aurantiaca, on a rotting log:
Two garter snakes on my garden wall, a favorite place when the granite has been warmed by a day of sun. Only one was willing to pose:
with sleek bronzed scales:
As evening fell, there were fireflies by the small vernal pool in the field, impossible to photograph, but like having fairies in the garden. The flashes are made by this Say’s Firefly, Pyractomena angulata.
After dark an Eastern Whip-poor-will, Antrostomus vociferus, called from right outside my window. A sort of nightjar, their scientific name reflects the fact that they are very, very loud, but I was delighted to hear it because they have become quite rare, classified as Near Threatened.
It is in the same place every evening, and one dusk it started up while it was still light, so I went out to try and see it. It flew up, and away, and I was sorry I had disturbed it, but it was back the next night. They nest on the ground, and I have looked, to no avail.
And then, at about 4am, a fox barked, sharp and rasping, very close to the house.
A wild and savage sound to welcome me home.
PS In London, foxes wander round Brompton Cemetery in broad daylight:
But here in Maine they are usually wary and I have never heard one bark by the house before.
PPS Google AI produced this excellent summary of how the firefly’s light flash is made:
“Fireflies produce their signature glow through a chemical process called bioluminescence, which operates in a specialized organ called a lantern in their abdomen. This reaction is highly efficient, converting nearly 100% of its chemical energy into light without producing heat. [1, 2, 3]
The mechanism involves four key components mixing in the insect’s light cells (photocytes): [1, 2]
Luciferin: A light-emitting compound.
Luciferase: An enzyme that acts as a catalyst to speed up the reaction.
ATP (Adenosine Triphosphate): The fuel for cellular work.
When the firefly takes in oxygen, the luciferase enzyme facilitates the binding of luciferin and ATP. This oxidation process creates an unstable, high-energy molecule. As this molecule quickly drops back to a lower energy state, it releases the excess energy as a visible flash of light. [1, 2]”
Some orchids are flamboyant, like the Pink Lady’s Slipper or the Purple Fringed orchid, both of which I have shown you before. But here in Maine many orchids are small and/or subtle colored. They nonetheless repay a closer look; those tiny flowers are still seductive to a passing insect.
The Early Coral-root Orchid, Corallorhiza trifida, is an inconspicuous leafless orchid, typically 4-8″ tall, that depends on a close relationship with a fungus from which it gets most of its nutrients. But it does have chlorophyll, and can also make some of its own food via photosynthesis.
Excitingly, for a nature nerd like me, I was recently shown a secluded place where the Small Whorled Pogonia, Isotria medeoloides, grows.
This tiny orchid, only 4 inches high, pushes through the shady upland forest floor at the start of June:
It is classified as rare, so its locations are often kept secret to thwart orchid collectors.
Once fully open, you can see the two side sepals that frame the flower proper:
It cannot easily compete with other vegetation, so it likes a fairly bare forest floor.
Finally, in late summer, in boggy areas one can occasionally find the Yellow Nodding Ladies Tresses, Spiranthes ochroleuca:
or Nodding Ladies Tresses, Spiranthes cernua:
So next time you think of orchids, forget the tropical rain forests and remember the north woods instead.
I found a large garter snake in the woods the other day..
Unusually, it did not try to escape, so I moved very slowly and started to photograph it.
Eventually it moved off, very actively scenting the air with its tongue.
It was only when I got back and looked at my photos that I realized that right in front of the snake was a very well-camouflaged toad that I had not even noticed. It is in the left foreground.
The toad knows perfectly well that the snake is an existential threat, so its mode of defense is to inflate itself to look bigger. If you look closely at the toad you will see that it is bloated and shapeless, and very, very fat: that is why!
The toad is doing a second thing: its legs are stuck rigidly out at right angles from its body, not a normal toad stance. This too makes it much harder for the snake to swallow it.
Snakes can eat toads, despite their poisonous parotid glands, the big puffy areas just behind the eyes. Garter snakes are immune to the poison (whereas dogs are not). You can see the parotid glands clearly on this other toad below, which is uninflated, and with its legs tucked in a standard stance.
The garter snake either decided the toad was too big (i.e. the defense ploy worked), or it was distracted by my presence, but after a while it moved past looking for fresh prospects. Here is my video clearly showing in closeup how it scents the air: https://youtu.be/kYGlzlPzqd0
You will notice that it moves its head from side to side as it flicks out its tongue. This allows it to “smell in stereo”, detecting and locating exactly where the strongest smells are coming from. It also probably helps with visual location, since its eyes are on the sides of its head. BTW, you can also see the toad breathing, proof of life!
PS I have been having trouble getting my videos to play to readers. This time, I uploaded it to YouTube and have given you the link to watch it there. I do hope it works, and I’d very much appreciate feedback in the comments.
PPS I found this video online of a garter snake trying to actually swallow an inflated and rigid toad. This is not for the faint-hearted: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGpN0ibEp9U
A good AI summary of exactly how the toad inflates itself says: “This behavior—known as body inflation or lung inflation—is primarily accomplished through a rapid, forceful contraction of the buccal (mouth) pump. By keeping the glottis open and closing their nostrils, toads force air into their lungs until their body expands to appear larger and significantly harder to swallow.”
[My final Costa Rica blog post, I think.! Then back to Maine.]
On the Pacific side of Costa Rica, we saw two juvenile White Ibises (or if you prefer, ibes (Latin), ibides (Greek)!), Eudocimus albus. They were hunting for crustaceans in the shallows of a small river:
Their eyes focus on the tip of their beak, but they mostly forage by touch. The left-hand one found something:
and a tussle ensued:
The original finder hung on, and brought up a crayfish:
Drifting around the canals on the Caribbean side, in Tortugero National Park, there was a diverse heron population. My favorite was the Boat-Billed Heron, Cochlearius cochlearius. It has large eyes, and is mainly nocturnal:
It gets its name from the keeled bill:
The unusual bill is used as a scoop: the bill is lowered partly underwater and the bird walks forward, thrusting it in front. No other heron species does this.
We saw many Little Blue Herons, Egretta caerulea. As juveniles, they’re purest white:
poking around on a fallen tree amongst the bromeliad plants:
but more skittish that the Boat-billed Herons:
As they get older, their virginal white becomes splotchy:
until it is entirely displaced by the adult purplish slaty blue grey:
The Bare-throated Tiger Heron, Tigrisoma mexicanum, hung around the dock. This is not a wall-painting, but a real live heron:
From time to time it lifted its head, and gave forth its call:
They sing especially at dusk or dawn, and in the breeding season: listen to this video, which I’ve placed on YouTube in the hope that works (let me know if it doesn’t): https://youtu.be/pwoeHLOaHwM
Perhaps the most technicolor bird was this denizen of the littoral vegetation, the Purple Gallinule, Porphyrio martinica:
Like its drabber cousin, the Gray-cowled Wood Rail, Aramides cajaneus, it walks on floating vegetation and overhanging bushes:
PS Costa Rica’s location means it often serves as the southernmost part of the range for North American Species, like the White Ibis, and the northernmost part of the range for South American species, like the Gray-cowled Wood Rail. But yet other species are limited to Mexico and Central America, like the Bare-throated Tiger heron.
Regular readers have seen many photos of the large beaver pond on our land, home to otters, waterfowl, turtles and more. Here the beavers return year after year, swimming straight towards me, full speed ahead.
In a different corner of our land flows Andrews Brook:
Over the years, beavers have dammed the brook from time to time, stayed a year or two, then moved on. The dams then eventually collapse from lack of maintenance, and the small ponds drain. (The remains of the dam are in the background, at right.)
Wildflowers flourish, like this ladyslipper orchid.
This spring, I noticed that one of the ponds had refilled:
I saw signs of beavers snacking, and ducks moving in. A female Hooded Merganser:
and a pair of mallards.
(If mallards were rare and only found in Africa, we would pay more attention to their stunning plumage. Familiarity, as always, breeds contempt.)
I explored downstream, and found this dam, photographed from below with the mallard’s pond at eye-level:
So yesterday I followed the stream for a while, further downstream, and I found a total of three more dams over a stretch of 0.5Km. Here they are, in order, from upstream on down:
Just as rice farmers terrace the hillsides, beavers terrace the streams, creating a string of small ponds deep enough to hide in, build bank lodges, and float branches around. These four dams handled a drop of about 8 metres between them.
The energy of these animals is remarkable. He has earned a rest.
PS On this stretch of this particular stream, the undammed stretches were either fast-flowing, narrow steep drops, or the opposite: very slow moving, placid and wider with no visible drop. They seem to know which parts are worth damming!
[Today, some encounters with smaller Costa Rican creatures, mostly cold-blooded.]
We were watching a stick insect climb up a railing, when from nowhere this anole lizard pounced! A small but effective predator.
On the same walk, in Tortuguero National Park on the Caribbean coast, we saw a Middle American Ameiva Lizard, Holcosus festivus, named for its stylish neon-colored stripes:
and a Golden Silk Orb-weaver spider, Triconephila clavipes,
The silk of these spiders is now used in neurosurgery, to provide a structure for nerves to regenerate. This one caught an insect, and very quickly wrapped it up into a neat package. I took a video:
We walked at night once or twice, and saw the iconic Red-eyed Tree Frog, Agalychnis callidryas:
Costa Rica has over 150 species of frogs and toads, including the Masked Tree Frog, Smilisca phaeota, with its strange flat body:
A couple of times we saw small groups of Sac-winged Bats, sheltering for the day under rocky overhangs:
I started this post with a small lizard, and I’ll end with a giant one. The good lizard of my title is a Green Iguana, actually called Iguana iguana, which can be as much as six feet long, including tail. This one was around three feet. They’re arboreal in nature :
but… our lodge had a small swimming pool, with a bridge over one section. An arrogant iguana sauntered out to the poolside, disdainfully ignoring the sunbathers, then casually walked over the bridge. I was in the water below the bridge.
Take a close look at the array of different scales that ornament and defend him, some spiky or bumpy, some decorative, all mathematically tessellated:
The cravat is a dewlap that helps to regulate temperature, but it is also used in courtship and territorial displays.
* My title comes from the poem The Good Lizard, by Federico García Lorca, 1898 – 1936. Here is the first verse.
In the parched path I have seen the good lizard (one drop of crocodile) meditating. With his green frock-coat of an abbot of the devil, his correct bearing and his stiff collar, he has the sad air of an old professor. Those faded eyes of a broken artist, how they watch the afternoon in dismay
I tend to think of chipmunks as seed eaters, whether from my bird feeder, or straight off the plant. I’ve also posted in the past about them eating my flower buds (grrr..), and adult beetles. The other day (spring here in Maine, after a long hard winter), I saw one sniffing the lawn at the edge of my flower bed:
Then it began to dig, enthusiastically, until its head was underground:
Success. It came up with a grub, which it seemed to find tasty:
The earth on its whiskers, and the hole at its feet, are evidence of the excavation:
In early spring, they’re desperate for protein after a diet of nothing but seeds and nuts all winter. The beetle grubs are beginning to move, and the chipmunks use smell, hearing, and tactile cues via their sensitive noses, to find these grubs. Just so long as it chooses to remove the kind of grub that gardeners dislike, it’s a win-win situation.
So one poor grub didn’t get the chance to grow into a beetle of some kind, but the same day, getting my vegetable beds ready for planting, I disturbed this emerald Six-spotted Green Tiger Beetle, Cicindela sexguttata:
It has large white mandibles, visible here, and hunts for tinier insects and spiders. You’d think that dazzling coloring would be dysfunctional for a carnivorous predator like this, but apparently not. It is quite common, about 1/2″ long, and is easy to see because it likes sunny patches, but it moves fast and rarely stays still, so it’s hard to photograph.
Eyes on the Wild 