This Place Is Crawling With Snakes

Yesterday, my dog Huckleberry stepped blithely over this coiled up scrap of rope on our front walkway and...?!...it reared up at her. Closer inspection revealed that the rope was in fact, duh, a snake.

A skinny little squiggle of a snake. Like a scaly shoelace. Just a wisp of a thing. So cartoonishly cute that I wanted to tickle it under the chin. And this is why people think I'm a freak. Yes, when I find a snake in my yard, I am over the moon with the thrill of it all. When a snake visits my yard, I know my yard has something it wants: food, water, shelter, a place to lay eggs, or all of the above. This guy's mama laid as many as 25 (!) eggs last July. They hatched from late August through September, but most of his baby brothers and sisters didn't survive their first winter. This is typical, nature's way. I wonder if this plucky little survivor was born nearby.

I lie flat on the ground and snap pictures from every angle, trying to remember what I've been told about identifying copperheads, cottonmouths, and timber rattlesnakes--Virginia's only venomous snakes. Wasn't there something about the pupils? I sort of want my new pal to be of the venomous persuasion, because I'd like to tell everyone how intrepid and swashbuckling I'd been during my encounter. But my expert witnesses at Huntley Meadows pronounce him a harmless juvenile eastern ratsnake. The round pupils should've been a dead giveaway; his venomous kin typically have vertical, slit-like pupils. Besides, check out the widening of his head behind his eyes. This is a defensive posture; he's probably afraid of me.

Now let's be clear: Any snake can bite, so "harmless" is sort of in the eye of the beholder. And although I relish finding snakes in my yard, I keep my distance and count on my zoom lens to get up close and personal when my slithery friend is less shoelace and more garden hose. When I spotted this beauty this morning, I was inside at my desk talking to my mom on the phone, so these shots are all through a thick window.



This is an adult eastern ratsnake, quite transformed from the mottled coloration of its youth. I'm not sure why they undergo this color shift but it probably has to do with the need for camouflage; maybe the patchy pattern helps young ones hide from predators like raccoons, foxes, owls and hawks. Adults are typically all black by the time they reach two and a half feet or so, and they're the only snakes in Virginia that can reach lengths in excess of 6 feet! I watched it wind itself around the trunk, swing down into the bushes, and slip out of sight, probably in search of a snack: a little rodent, bird, or egg. Snakes help keep rodent and bird populations in check. Without them, I'd have even more mice in my house, and even more bird poop on my car.

       

You've Got Mail

Even in the suburbs, even in the most densely populated county in Virginia, even right outside your front door--literally--you just never know what wonders of nature you might be lucky enough to find. This amphibious leprechaun is an American green tree frog, which are pretty common in marshy areas (like the one in my backyard). They spend a lot of time loafing on lily pads, but they'll also hang out wherever there's food. Since their food is insects, and insects are attracted to light, it's no surprise that this guy picked a spot on our mailbox right underneath an outdoor lamp.

I like a cute, fuzzy mammal at least as much as the next person, but most wild mammals won't let you get right up in their face to snap a picture. They're much more wary and furtive. Little critters, like bugs and frogs, tend to be more obliging. Still, I was surprised by my visitor's willingness to let me get as close as I did, and to hang around as long as he did. My best guess is that since his main predators include fish and snakes, my form and movements just didn't trigger his instinctive flight response.

Eventually he did decide to get out of Dodge, but he didn't go very far--just to the railing by the front steps. Check out those ET-like fingers--that's some grip. A lot of research has gone into explaining the mechanics of these silicone-like toe pads and how they enable frogs to cling to and hang from the darnedest places. Apparently it has to do with mucous secretions and the unique structure of protrusions on the "soles" of the frogs' feet. According to Scientific American, "understanding the adhesive properties of tree frog feet could lead to better tire design, and perhaps even a nonslip shoe." I don't think all scientific research needs commercial applications to justify itself, but this is undeniably a pretty cool reason to study frog feet.

Apparently these hoppers have become popular pets, and I can sort of see the appeal. You're not going to scratch him under the chin, play fetch, or take him for a walk, but you'd have a chance to watch a fascinating creature in action--provided you like to stay up late, since American green tree frogs are nocturnal. Luckily the pet trade hasn't become a threat to this species' survival. Deforestation, drainage of marshes, and pollution are a fact of life across the species' range but for now anyway, populations appear stable.

I'm not tempted to catch this guy and coop him up in a terrarium, no matter how cute and cool I think he is. I like him just where he is, hopefully eating mosquitoes in my yard. I may never see him again, but I'll think of him every time I get the mail. I wonder who will visit next.

Macro Madness

Still no monarch eggs. But while hunting for eggs, I can sneak up on plenty of other buggy guests in the garden, so I pretend to be a National Geographic photographer--albeit one with an idiot camera and no training, or skill for that matter. I don't mean to insult my camera; I'M the idiot. I didn't even know what the "macro" setting was until last summer. I still don't know what any of the other buttons are for, but all you have to do for macro close-ups is get really really close to something, don't breathe, hold perfectly still, and use psychic mind control to make the thing you're taking a picture of hold perfectly still, too. I can appreciate the reluctance some people have about getting this personal with a bug. But how else are you going to get a proper look at the glossy sheen on this gorgeous creature?

This ladybug JUST transitioned from pupa to adult. That's
why it's still kind of wet and doesn't have its spots yet.

The ladybug's life cycle has 4 stages, like a butterfly: egg, larva, pupa, adult. You might've seen larvae around and not known what you were looking at. I didn't, till a wild Google chase finally led me to the answer. Aside from caterpillars, I'd always pictured most larvae as being blobby and squishy, like grubs (the larval stage of certain beetles) or maggots (fly larvae). But this barbed, scrappy-looking hooligan looks nothing like a grub. And its racing stripes and thuggish appearance don't exactly call to mind the polka-dotted ladybug it's about to become. 

The larval stage is about a month long. I found lots of
them on our azaleas and crape myrtles.

So this is how they go from brawny brute to fair maiden: in the pupal stage. It's kind of like the phone booth Clark Kent slips into so he can put on his slick Superman suit and fly. You can see some of those leftover bristles where our larva attached itself to the underside of this crape myrtle leaf before pupating. 

If you have nothing better to do in early summer
than go around lifting up every leaf  in your yard
(like I did), you'll probably find some, too.

This is the crispy leftover outer layer, or cuticle, of the pupa. At the butt end you can see where the adult cracked open the cuticle and shimmied out to dry off and then go test its new wings.

If you're a gardener, or even if you're not, you probably know that these guys eat aphids, which are basically ruthless sap vampires hell bent on sucking your plants dry. Even though a lot of ladybugs are actually alien intruders from Asia, it's still nice to have them around if you hate aphids as much as I do. If you're interested in learning more about protecting and restoring our native North American ladybugs, the Lost Ladybug Project has some great content and resources on its Web site.

Oops--this post was meant to be more about the awesomeness of macro photography of bugs, not so much the awesomeness of ladybugs. So here's another example of what's revealed to you when you get right up in bugs' faces with your camera lens. I thought I was just taking a picture of a dragonfly....

But upon closer--MUCH closer--inspection, it was actually a dragonfly EATING ANOTHER dragonfly:

See what you're missing if you're not following bugs around your yard with your camera set on macro?!

Waiting for the monarchs

First monarch of the season, slurping on joe pye weed.

We've been waiting and waiting and waiting for the monarchs to show up. Finally we spotted this guy, sipping on the joe pye weed in our backyard--but he's only going to help us indirectly to get what we're after: EGGS. We know he's a male by the pair of dots on his hind wings:

Tell-tale spots on lower (hind) wings.

Don't get me wrong--we greeted him with the kind of frenzied exuberance usually reserved for Justin Bieber or the Pope. But we won't be in business till somebody starts laying some eggs around here. That's because one of our favorite summer projects is raising monarch butterflies, not from a mail-order kit, but from eggs we collect from milkweed plants in our yard. We bring them into our kitchen to protect them from being eaten, or parasitized by certain flies and wasps--common fates for monarchs left to their own devices outside. (Normally I'd say that's just nature's way, so let it be. We step in because monarchs need a boost--see below.) We feed them milkweed leaves till they pupate (i.e. make their jewel-like chrysalis of pearly green flecked with gold), which we let them do pretty much wherever they choose. They've picked some weird places--the ceiling, the coffee maker, the bottom of the cereal cabinet...

And then after a week or so, they emerge, which is a spectacle as close to magic as anything I've ever seen.

Drying its wings, clinging to its now-empty
chrysalis on the wall by the kitchen sink.

Just about everything I know about raising monarchs, I learned from taking a class with one of my favorite grass-roots conservation groups, the Audubon Society of Northern Virginia. Check 'em out, or your own local Audubon chapter--they have lots of cool workshops and field trips to help you discover your friendly neighborhood wildlife. 

I never really understood what John Lennon meant by "instant karma"; it should mean immediate payoff for some good deed. Like THAT ever happens. But I came home from the Audubon monarch workshop and as I opened the door to let my dog out, what to my wondering eyes should appear but my very first monarch, in my very own yard, hovering around the milkweed I'd planted that spring. Like a complete freak, I tore over there and lay down on the ground and watched in a spellbound stupor as this exquisite creature squirted out 33 eggs (yes, I counted) right there in front of me.

an egg about to hatch...

The reason learning to raise monarchs qualifies as a "good deed" is that monarch populations are declining, and regular people like you and me (I almost said normal but I'm not sure *I* qualify) can do our small part to  give them a boost. For one thing, the oyamel fir forests where monarchs spend the winter are Mexico's most endangered forest type; only 2% of their original cover remains. But that's just part of the story. Monarch butterflies only lay eggs on milkweed, and monarch caterpillars only eat milkweed. And milkweed is disappearing because of herbicide use in agricultural areas, suburban sprawl, and other factors. People don't tend to think of it as a gardening gem--but look! It IS!

This is swamp milkweed.
Butterfly weed  is a more common species;
you can get seeds at Lowes or Home Depot.

So do the monarchs a favor and plant some milkweed in your yard. And then wait for the fun to begin. When we finally have eggs, I'll have more to say. I'm looking forward to more of THIS!

Just emerged--and some still chillin' in their chrysalises...

Getting up the nerve to fly away to Mexico.