I haven’t a thing to say or share.

Rather, I have plenty to say and plenty to share, but I’ve been working all weekend and have little energy remaining.

For now, what I’m capable of belongs to The Kids and those chores I can address.

From dark green to bright red, the photinia bushes surrounding my patio offer colorful arrangements for the litany of wildlife that enjoys them, including me.

But now I have to warn people to stay away from the shrubs, to avoid touching them unless absolutely necessary.

Why?

They’re full of these enticing critters:

Cute and cuddly, what with all that soft hair styled so eloquently, who wouldn’t want to pick up such a beast, hold it and pet it like a kitten?

I mean: Aren’t faux-hawks in style right now?  If so, we certainly should appreciate an insect who displays such a hairdo.

But that would be a very bad mistake.  These caterpillars are the larvae of the southern flannel moth.

They go by many names: pussy moth and puss caterpillar^[1], southern flannel moth, Megalopyge opercularis and Bolivia bug.

In Texas they have an additional moniker that should clarify things a bit.  Residents of the Lone Star State call them asps^[2].

Tucked beneath all those curly locks^[3] rests an arsenal of poisonous spines.  The toxin released by simply brushing against the fur is of such potency that it can cause excruciating pain, shortness of breath, burning sensations, nausea and abdominal pain, blisters, rashes, headaches, numbness, chest pain, and a veritable smorgasbord of other symptoms.

In not so uncertain terms, the sting of this insect causes severe reactions upon contact, reactions seldom localized to the actual site of interaction.

To inflict pain, they don’t have to be alive and they can be pupating.  The toxin and delivery spines are equally dangerous under all circumstances.

In fact—and certainly in the most wise of evolutionary standards—this caterpillar does not spin a cocoon in order to become a moth.  On the contrary, it separates from its outer skin and pupates under the protection of its larval defenses.  Aren’t they clever?

They intentionally remain on the underside of a leaf while eating.  I’m sure this simple hiding mechanism helps protect them from predators.  It certainly protects them from my prying eyes and camera lens^[4].

I hope that abundant juveniles now means I can enjoy seeing the adults later.  Southern flannel moths are beautiful, mysterious creatures.

[Note] Let me reiterate once again what I’ve always said: People should not touch any plant or animal unless they know for certain that it’s safe^[6].  These caterpillars are a perfect example.  While intriguing, they pose a serious threat to anyone trying to handle them.

— — — — — — — — — —

[1] Both nicknames undoubtedly stem from the apparent likeness between this insect’s fur and that of a Persian cat: full and fluffy, curly, chic and sophisticated.

[2] An asp is a small venomous snake.  It is thought that such a viper caused the death of Cleopatra.

[3] A rigid bristle of hair on such creatures is called a seta.  Collectively, one could say this caterpillar is covered with setae.  This technically is not hair, but it’s still a respectable coif nonetheless.

[4] Due to their abundance and in no small part their intentionally remaining underneath the leaves while feeding, capturing images of these beauties has been difficult.  My best approach has been to push the camera into the shadows while keeping my hands free from contact.  Even holding the limb down to create a better view for that last photograph^[5] required serious inspection and careful handling.  The best pictures I could manage came from watching them maneuver from leaf to leaf by way of the limbs.

[5] If you look closely at the last photo (especially the largest size), you’ll see the underside of the leaf is covered with a layer of the caterpillar’s setae.  It’s likely that shedding also contains a number of toxic spines.  That’s yet another reason why I’ve not manhandled the photinias in order to get a better view for the camera.

[6] I had an e-mail several months ago from a gentleman here in Texas who was seeking guidance on a large caterpillar he found on an outside wall, a sizable beast with black spiny hair and red rings (sound familiar?).  Because he was unsure whether or not it was safe to handle, he used a stick to roll the large behemoth out of danger and away from people.  Afterward, he wanted to know what it was and if it posed a threat.  Luckily for him, his visitor was harmless.  Still, he used sound judgment when dealing it: Don’t touch what you don’t understand!

The scene is simple: Kako is lying next to the patio doors in the bedroom.  Vazra decides to lie down next to her.  Larenti sneaks in behind them to sit by the open windows.

The problem is equally simple: Kako hates all her siblings except Grendel.  In fact, she deplores Vazra only slightly less than she deplores Larenti, and that is unequal only to her hatred of al-Zill.  Oh, and she barely tolerates her own brother Kazon, let alone the devil incarnate, Loki.

So how did they all respond to this apparent conflict?  Each according to their gifts and dispositions of course!

Vazra pretended not to see Kako and instead looked out toward the patio, casting an intentionally disregarding look in her direction—but not at her, mind you, but instead over her.

Larenti decided it best not to get involved.  He pointed his attention out the open windows and put the potential ugliness behind him…both literally and figuratively.

Kako aimed her steely gaze at Vazra and never blinked, staring at him with a disdain that was palpable like a fog of evil intent filling the room and covering me from head to toe.  He knew it wise to make any motion a movement away from her.

I completed several updates yesterday that affect xenogere unseen far more than this blog.

Please feel free to comment here if you have problems or see issues.  Then again, if commenting is broken, either contact me or send an e-mail to jason <at> xenogere <dot> com.

There is a place where the sunrise shines despite storm clouds.

There is a place where Spanish moss drips from the trees.

There is a place where barbed wire restrains nothing more dangerous than bales of hay.

There is a place where water lilies contain the hope of every morning.

There is a place where hummingbirds throughout the day join an endless procession of their brethren in a waltz that blankets the sky.

There is a place where arachnids lie in wait to ambush innumerable interlopers.

There is a place where deer prance through the pastures as though they haven’t a care in the world.

There is a place where passion flowers bloom wild and offer their fruit to all who are interested in partaking of the bounty.

There is a place where alligators, beavers and otters bring life to tranquil waters.

There is a place where great horned owls, bald eagles and great blue herons join vultures in ruling the sky both day and night.

There is a place where gargantuan moths, beetles and spiders reign amongst endless foliage that stretches verdantly in all directions.

There is a place where the highway ends and the world begins.

There is a place where I want to live that becomes wonder regardless of how the word is defined.

This will be my home.

[all photos taken yesterday during my trip to the family farm in the Piney Woods of East Texas]

Life unfolds in great blossoms of being, petals touching and reaching as buzzing creatures visit to taste our essence, each one taking a bit of our life’s pollen before they journey to the next flower, the next being.

And all the while in lonely places we hope to be touched, to be noticed.

The world through eyes other than our own becomes a different thing.  When seen from someplace else, we become alien, different, unrecognizable.

That’s because we see things as we are, not as they happen.

Want to know what your life is like?  Ask those who observe it, participate in it yet do not own it.

We are what we do, not what we feel, not what we believe, not what we think.

Tinted by my own sense of self, life as I know it becomes unfamiliar when viewed from a perspective not defined by me.

Would that I might once see the world through the eyes of someone else, see the beauties they see that I miss, see the marvels they ponder that I ignore.

But I cannot refuse human nature.  I see things as I am, not as they are, and I must live with the difference.

The flowers of my soul never will appear to me in the same hues others see.

I can only hope the petals are as soft.

If dawn refuses to give up its golden rays because the hour is as yet too young, I recommend you look around to see if you can find your own sunshine.  Sometimes it works for me.

[a plains sunflower (a.k.a. petioled sunflower or prairie sunflower; Helianthus petiolaris) facing east before sunrise; I discovered it along with its friends on the northern shore of White Rock Lake near Pelican Island]

Fleeting and transient.  One by one the same yet vastly different each, days come and go like cannon fodder in a war.

Grasping to each of them with desperate intent are memories; perhaps ours, perhaps those belonging to someone else, but memories all the same.

As I recently perused a collection of photographs from Mom, many of them decades old, I realized there are faces within some of them that I will never see again, faces that contain the love of family and friends now lost to time.

I cherish moments spent dwelling on each of these images, moments defined by chills and tears, laughter and heartache.  I find it amazing how something as ubiquitous as photographs can contain such dramatic emotion, such lamentation and joy, such sorrow and mirth.

So in honor of days gone by yet memorialized within snapshots of living captured through the lens, I intend to share these photos, some along with the memories that accompany them.

Quality is lacking in many of these images due in no small part to the technologies and eras which define them.  Don’t expect art; do expect commemoration.

Hidden away in the Piney Woods of East Texas, the family farm can be exhausting at its worst and magical at its best.  Plenty of hard work awaits those who tend its chores and care for its animals, yet the surroundings provide ample nature in which to wallow, not to mention the resident population of family critters who offer up joys beyond compare.

Ruby-throated hummingbirds (Archilochus colubris) are ubiquitous around Big Cypress Bayou in all but the cold months.  Mom keeps several feeders available for them, each carefully and diligently supplied with sugar water, and so the hummingbirds come year after year, their antics providing hours of entertainment.

In fact, Mom often stands outside holding one of the feeders right next to her face.  As soon as the birds realize she’s not a threat, they begin visiting, buzzing around her head and brushing her cheeks with their wings.  It’s more than fantastic, more than beautiful; it’s divine to see.

Even the cows enjoy roaming from pasture to pasture, some fields cloaked by dense woodlands drawing a barrier around them and others set within those very same woodlands.  A serenity befalls the place no matter where one looks.

When calves are about, fun spills over the grass like so much rich honey.  Large enough to hurt you if they ran you down, these little guys spring and leap in ways that puppies and kittens would envy, and it doesn’t hurt that the mothers always have a fresh drink of milk with them at all times.  It can get pretty hot in Texas, so a bit of play is always followed by a rapid search for and happy reunion with mom—then a tasty bit of nourishment and energy for more play.

Gulf fritillaries (Agraulis vanillae) dance in the main yard, flitting about with abandon as though they had not a care in the world.  They appreciate this place.  At times the yard reminds me of a field of waltzing flames as a dozen or more of these butterflies converge.

The farm boasts a magnificent insect population that ranges from giant moths to giant beetles, from katydids and grasshoppers to spiders and wasps.  The air is often filled with dragonflies and butterflies, and with leaping grasshoppers and katydids, not to mention the chorus of a thousand species.  Only in winter do these sights and sounds disappear, a lonely echo creating a void they once filled and will fill again.

Purple bindweed (a.k.a. cotton morning glories; Ipomoea trichocarpa) offers up perfume and lavender beauty, flowers fully open in acceptance of morning sunshine.  Like so many other wildflowers, this stunning plant, considered a weed by so many, grows readily along paths and trails running throughout the farm.  There can never be too much life here.

Wild berries grow on the hillside in a pool of varied briers, grasses and flowers.  Dense woodlands stretch across rolling hills with pine, hickory, oak, ash, dogwood and magnolia trees defining the landscape, each skirted with an assortment of brush sometimes too thick for the average walk.  Cypress grows along the bayou and its tributaries.  Just north of the only natural lake in all of Texas, the area gives rise to springs and marshes that dot the landscape like a patchwork of wonders.  In fact, no one has been able to count the number of springs on the farm because they are so numerous.

Then there are the treats, the special goodies that deserve kisses—even if from a cow.  Always listening for Mom’s voice, these domestic giants lavish themselves in the affection and care they receive.  In fact, they call out to her—rather loudly, I might add—if they believe she’s late to visit.

But Mom is not the only one who enjoys such special attention.  Dad happens to be the person who gives them maple, a sweet, delectable goody for which they mob him like children begging for candy.  He’s forced to push and shove his way through a herd of drooling mouths and suppliant scroungers desperate to smell the scent and taste the flavor of nutritious yet obviously addictive syrup applied generously to hay.

And the looks of wanting mixed with cuteness as bovines beg and plead for just one more taste of heaven leaves us simple humans laughing with pure delight.  They know a good thing and waste no time putting on the Oliver act: “Please, may I have some more?”

Joining the various farm animals is a contingent of wildlife.  Nesting in an old can wired to the utility shed because their house had been invaded by wasps, eastern bluebirds (Sialia sialis) rear their young with a diligence all of us at the farm notice.  Both mother and father spend their days bringing food to always hungry, always talkative young hiding away until it’s their time to fledge.  One need only walk out the side door to see this spectacle across the main yard.

Meanwhile, male brown-headed cowbirds (Molothrus ater) gather atop a pine tree to plan their day.  Looking for mates and planning nest invasions undoubtedly requires a group effort.  Along with these avians can be found a litany of birdwatching gifts, from egrets to cardinals to flycatchers to hawks to owls to a plethora of winged beasts both great and small.  It’s not uncommon to see vultures flying low overhead as a hawk circles in the clouds.  The fact that Mom provides food for many bird species helps draw them in like clockwork, various groups and individuals visiting the feeders throughout the day as though scheduled in shifts to arrive and depart at preset times.

Those who don’t indulge in such handouts still surround the farm as they live out their lives in a vast wilderness that reaches through four states.  One need only stop, look and listen to enjoy a dynamic show of feathers.  And if the local population isn’t enough, my parents have a close friend who happens to lead the local bird banding efforts.  What might only be an unidentified shadow seen peripherally at other times suddenly rears up as large as life when a beautiful morning is spent identifying, cataloging, banding and enjoying the always surprising abundance of these creatures.

[To be continued...]

How many times have you heard the term “Excessive Heat Warning”?  I suppose it depends on where you live.

Here in Texas, that “h bomb” got dropped on us for the weekend.  Why?  Take a look at the forecast.

Noon hadn’t even rolled around and we already hit 92°F (33°C) with a heat index of 98°F (37°C).  Oh, and the hottest part of the day comes later.

According to NOAA:

THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN FORT WORTH HAS ISSUED AN EXCESSIVE HEAT WARNING…WHICH IS IN EFFECT FROM 7 AM THIS MORNING TO 7 PM CDT MONDAY. [...]

DANGEROUS SUMMER HEAT IS EXPECTED TO INTENSIFY THROUGH THE WEEKEND WITH HIGH TEMPERATURES RANGING BETWEEN 103 AND 107 DEGREES SATURDAY THROUGH MONDAY. THESE HOT TEMPERATURES WILL COMBINE WITH MODERATE HUMIDITY VALUES TO PRODUCE HEAT INDEX VALUES BETWEEN 105 AND 112 DEGREES. THE HOTTEST DAYS ARE EXPECTED TO BE SUNDAY AND MONDAY. IN ADDITION… OVERNIGHT LOW TEMPERATURES WILL ONLY DROP INTO THE UPPER 70S AND LOWER 80S…PROVIDING LITTLE RECOVERY TIME FROM THE HOT TEMPERATURES.

[...]

AN EXCESSIVE HEAT WARNING MEANS THAT A PROLONGED PERIOD OF DANGEROUSLY HOT TEMPERATURES WILL OCCUR. THE COMBINATION OF HOT TEMPERATURES AND HIGH HUMIDITY WILL COMBINE TO CREATE A DANGEROUS SITUATION IN WHICH HEAT ILLNESSES ARE LIKELY.

They go on to say:

DANGEROUS HEAT WILL CONTINUE TODAY AND TONIGHT. AN EXCESSIVE HEAT WARNING IS NOW IN EFFECT FOR LOCATIONS ALONG AND EAST OF A LINE FROM WHITESBORO TO BENBROOK TO EDOM. AFTERNOON HEAT INDEX VALUES IN THE WARNING AREA WILL REACH OVER 110 DEGREES IN THE AFTERNOON.

Truth be told, we’ve had actual temperatures well above the anticipated heat index.  Still, it’s painful and difficult on many people.  With 50% humidity at the current temperatures (dewpoint at 70°F/21°C), uncomfortable fails to describe the situation.

August is our hottest month, however, so I imagine we should expect more of this before we get a break.