Exuviae remind me that life transforms into something else.

Rain reminds me that rejuvenation lies just beyond every horizon.

Even the smallest of streams reminds me that everything is on its way to someplace else.

Sunsets remind me that all things end.

It is of endings that I wish to speak.

Temporary endings, but endings nonetheless.

Working a schedule of twelve days on, two days off, twelve days on, two days off, and so on ad nauseam…  That’s my life at the moment.

I need time to focus on other things.  Finding a new job, for instance, and relocating, not to mention The Kids and work on Dreamdarkers.

For at least the next two weeks I intend to step away from blogging in its totality so that I might seek those answers which escape me at present.

This is not permanent.  Consider it a furlough, a sabbatical.

More important matters require my attention.  They deserve as much.

Grendel

Loki

Kako

Kazon

Vazra

Larenti

al-Zill

Collectively taking their leave…

Tomorrow will be the end of blogging here at xenogere, and that includes xenogere unseen.

Stay tuned…

Afar and adrift, distant and mournful, a song familiar to me rests uncomfortably deep within, a lamentation tickling my ears until I can stand it no further.

Yet always I must listen still.

Always afar, always mournful, this sweet melody belongs to gentle souls who speak in tears from great distances both near and far.

Yet always afield do their voices sound.

Sweeter nonetheless when close afar, always afar, this soul betwixt sorrow and mine own soul, forever reaching into me to that place where memories live, regrets stand tall, sadness shines brightly, emotions run free.

Yet always I strain to hear one more chorus, one more refrain, for the essence within me needs as much.

Cooing as though life slips away or heart bleeds, what sad language passes betwixt such creatures to my soul rings of loss, of heartache, of mourning, and at all times these voices seem faraway, remote, removed, even more so in some strange way when standing within the same breath as I.

Yet always afar…

[mourning dove (Zenaida macroura)]

You shall no doubt think me insane…

Meet Buddy.

Buddy is a male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) who just this morning decided my patio fence made the perfect territorial perch from which to survey his kingdom and search for mates.

Buddy is a friend.

After just a few minutes of spending time with him, he began trusting me such that he would perch on me, rest on the fence right next to me, fly about in front of the camera as I moved it to and fro, and not flee when I moved around—including putting the camera within a breath of his position so I could try some very close macro shots.

Unfortunately for him, our relationship will only last another month or so at best, and much less than that if he’s already mated at least once or if he succumbs to a predator.

Chills ran up and down my spine the first time he landed on me.  Not because I feared he might sting me; males of this species have a false stinger that serves only one purpose: mating.

The moment of overwhelming emotion stemmed from two great truths.  First, such a moment might never happen again after I relocate since I know of no such colony near where I intend to live in the Piney Woods.  Second, having gone through this same trust-building process with this species, I know Buddy will not forget that he is safe with me, on me, around me, and now so long as he is alive he will continually demonstrate this same level of comfort and confidence while in my presence.

One interesting piece of this series is that it shows the moderately small size of this species’ males.  They are larger than the females of other wasp species (save that of the tarantula hawk), but now consider this: this male’s female counterparts are nearly twice as large as he is, something I tried to capture with this series of photos showing a mating pair of cicada killers.

I intend to visit with Buddy a few more times today before sunlight reaches the patio.  These wasps tend to vanish for a noon siesta and relocate to shadier spots as the sun heads toward the western horizon.  He will no doubt claim other territory later today, after which I might not see him again—at least knowingly, that is, as many dozens of males now encircle the house on three sides.

— — — — — — — — — —

Notes:

[1] While at first it was rather difficult to capture images of him on my hand, he quickly became tolerant of the camera and my shifting and moving.  Nevertheless, this kind of photography is complicated.  The camera could only be an arm’s length from my hand since I had to see what I was shooting and had to work the controls.  I’m thrilled some of the photos turned out to be presentable.

[2] These photos were all taken prior to 10 am, and all on the west side of the xenogere homestead (that’s where the patio is).  Therefore, the only light I had was indirect sunlight.  That’s why the photos aren’t of the best quality, and that’s also why I used the flash several times—something I’m oftentimes loathe to do.

[3] One thing this series demonstrates is what I have always maintained about these wasps: they are docile, gentle giants.  Even the females will perch upon me momentarily, although that happens maybe once per season as they spend their time mating, building nests, hunting and eating.  The responsibility for future generations rests entirely on their tireless labor, so it behooves them to remain busy throughout their short lives.  Even so, one would have to brutalize a female to invoke a sting.  They truly are even-tempered creatures who will treat us humans with the same respect with which we treat them.

[4] I am not advocating that you run outside and start manhandling every insect you see.  One should never touch an insect unless it’s already known to be safe or is understood well enough to be safe.  There are caterpillars that can deliver stings worse than any wasp; there are centipedes that cause death; there are beetles that can pass along disease as well as a painful bite, let alone burning the skin like flame; there are ants whose sting is said to feel like a gunshot (aptly named the bullet ant); and the list goes on.  While my love of insects constantly pushes me to understand them and appreciate them, I would never handle one without knowing it to be safe either because it has no defense or because its nature is understood well enough to render that defense non-threatening.

[5] As for navel-gazing, I wonder if I love this species so vehemently as part of facing my worst fear: being stung by ants or wasps, and bees to a lesser degree.  My allergy to the former outstrips the latter by orders of magnitude, yet all three represent an immediate and deadly threat to me should I be the subject of one or more stings (one is bad enough; more than that and exponentially I become less able to recover).  As one of the largest wasps in the world, this docile species grants me a tremendous reassurance that respect is the first step toward ensuring I am not victimized.  I might have chosen a smaller cousin, sure, but that’s like facing a fear of drowning by filling a sink and splashing a bit of that water on our faces.  I consider that cheating.  Then again, my love of insects is unequaled by the rest of nature (which I love greatly, so that says something); it is perhaps with a sense of irony that the most dangerous thing to me in the common world is also the dearest to my heart.

[6] Coaxing Buddy to land on me the first time was key to ensuring he would do it again and again.  That single act bridged the distance between us and allowed him to see me as something other than a threat.  I used the same method I’ve used year after year to accomplish the same thing; it relies on understanding the species, understanding their behavior, understanding why they do what they do, understanding at least partially how they see and face the world around them.  Five years of close study and interaction make this possible, not to mention a great deal of research.

[7] I named him because it seemed agreeable that I call him something after our comradeship burgeoned, developing from suspicion to trust in the short time I spent with him this morning.  After all, I did speak to him as he flitted about, darted after everything that moved, and time and again returned to perch on me somewhere (one time doing so on my cheek!).  If we’re to be friends, ‘hey you’ seems a rather unfriendly way to address each other.

[8] The title is not of my own making.  That’s another story I hope to share soon.  Let me just admit this: I was called a ‘wasp whisperer’ by two college kids who were terrified of these creatures.  Simply terrified…

[9] Again, thank Mom for my love of insects.  Plain and simple, she has been, is, and always will be the reason I find such joy and comfort in these animals.  Were it not for her, I’d probably run screaming like a child when one approached me, which would make me very much like most other people on the planet.

[Loki]

Induced to blog as often as possible by nothing less mundane than excuses heaped upon excuses slathered atop yet more excuses, I considered more often than not of late the immediate demise of this journal and its offspring.

Instead, like so many times before—but this time with far more fervency than previous considerations, I am committing myself to certain rules that must be adhered to if I am to finish Dreamdarkers, End of the Warm Season, the other novels I wish to write, and all while addressing my relocation away from Dallas to the Piney Woods of East Texas.

xenogere will be first and foremost a less frequent destination, fare being proffered every two or three days at most, more frequently from time to time if circumstances warrant.  This begins immediately.  (Keep in mind that I will be apt to post more often while on call for work since that task makes it impossible to focus on any serious writing efforts.)

With push technology (RSS) now defining the blogosphere and all other corners of Web 2.0, I doubt the change will impact many.

xenogere unseen will continue in the same spirit with which it began: I will post there when I have something to share.  That determination rests entirely on how much time I think is needed to tender something.

Another piece of this is a further reduction in the number of blogs I read.  I hate to leave behind any of them; doing so is necessary though, and will take place.  Basically, this is a subjective endeavor and cannot be defined by any set rules.  What goes will go and what stays will stay.

— — — — — — — — — —

The cicada killer numbers are greatly reduced this year.  I suspect this has much to do with the monsoon season we experienced last year.  So much rain for so many months diminished the number of cicadas, and that in turn reduced the number of wasp offspring buried for this summer’s spell.

They still swarm with great presence, just not as great as so many summers before.  Likewise, the song of cicadas appears drastically lessened now, a sign that the annual species suffered under the constant deluges that besieged our state throughout most of their usual period in 2007.

Climactic decreases notwithstanding, the wasp colony fully stretches around three sides of the house, from the north corner of the garage on the east side to the north corner of the patio on the west side, consuming three full quarters of the perimeter.  I intend to enjoy this marvel of nature as much as possible since I fear I may never wallow in their company again, what with my relocation taking me to places where I have never seen their kind.

— — — — — — — — — —

I don’t feel well again.  Or still.  It doesn’t help that I worked until three this morning and am so tired that I can barely stand.

What’s up with that?

— — — — — — — — — —

I shall miss this place, this magical realm wherein I lose myself all too easily, this fantastic oasis of nature so neatly contained by urban sprawl and city landscapes.

Memories immemorial surround it, memories new and old.  Too long have I dwelt here.  And too little time have I spent amongst the beauty that defines this space.

Yet right there, just beyond a stone’s throw rests that which I hope to escape.

Ah, how I shall miss this place.

— — — — — — — — — —

Many things must be left behind, like relatively short commutes to visit loved ones, quick jaunts to see those who care for The Kids, all a metropolitan area provides for those in need…  The list goes on.

— — — — — — — — — —

Can one truly survive when the nearest liquor store is 30 minutes away?

— — — — — — — — — —

No matter how many times I tell myself it pays the bills, I hate my job.  Too many times have I considered giving notice—or no notice—just to get out of there.

It won’t be missed.  At all.

The people?  Yes, at least some of them, but not the environment, not the work, not the hours, not the pay, not the callous disregard, not the token gestures, not any of it.

I despise it.  I intend to make that clear in my closing remarks.

— — — — — — — — — —

How will they deal with this?  The Kids, I mean.

How do I move then almost 200 miles?  How do I ensure their continued well-being given so many health concerns?  How do I provide the kind of home they deserve and need whilst tossing away the comforts of a now-life for the promise of a then-life?

If the title stands true, a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson, herein find a bouquet of laughter.

And because I took ill yesterday and failed to celebrate the birthday of my beloved LD, consider this the handful of flowers I took to her digitally in recognition of her special day.  She deserves at least that much…

Firewheel (a.k.a Indian blanket or blanket flower; Gaillardia pulchella)

Flower (unidentified)

Texas bindweed (Convolvulus equitans)

Western horsenettle (Solanum dimidiatum)

Mexican hat (Ratibida columnaris)

Musk thistle (a.k.a. nodding thistle; Carduus nutans)

I hope you enjoy the laughter as much as I…

Given how quickly I can kick the bucket from just one sting given by an ant or wasp, or a bee, let alone more than one of any of these, it leads me to think I have a mental incapacitation that prohibits me from seeing the dangers right in front of me as I stand there trying to snap photos of these creatures.

A mason wasp (Pseudodynerus quadrisectus), the very species whose lone member attempted to invade the carpenter bee nest outside my patio.  That individual undoubtedly was looking for a place to start a home and family as they nest in places similar to that of carpenter bees.

A different kind of mason wasp (Monobia quadridens) enjoying a bit to eat from this wild carrot bloom (a.k.a. bishop’s lace or Queen Anne’s lace; Daucus carota).

A metallic sweat bee (Augochloropsis metallica)^[1] who chanced into the purview of my camera even before I realized it had landed on the Engelmann daisy (Engelmannia pinnatifida) I was photographing from some distance away.

Small and stunning, it remained on that flower only briefly.

The ubiquitous western honey bee (a.k.a. European honey bee; Apis mellifera) also enjoying some wild carrot.

A cuckoo wasp (Chrysis angolensis)^[2].  It parasitizes mud dauber nests like the one it’s on that was built by a common potter wasp (a.k.a. dirt dauber; Eumenes fraternus).  The potter wasp never built more pots and never returned, undoubtedly because the cuckoo wasp had already discovered the burgeoning nest.

A sweat bee (Halictus farinosus) covered with pollen as it scrounges around the bloom of a musk thistle (a.k.a. nodding thistle; Carduus nutans).

And finally, my favorite: a male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) perched on the edge of the sidewalk leading from my front door.^[3]  Although technically he has a false stinger that is nothing more dangerous than a sex organ, it’s an impressive stinger nonetheless (albeit much smaller than the real stinger his female counterparts wield).

Let me finish with this:

As I knelt in the dirt and leaned in close to capture this image, my father asked, “What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture of this katydid,” I responded, then I added, “I absolutely love insects!”

“I know,” he remarked.

Most of my love of insects comes from my mother.  She lacks the usual fear of them and taught us kids—or at least me—to appreciate their diversity, their beauty, their lives.

Mud daubers dance around her ankles at the family farm (they nest under one set of outside steps), yet she barely notices, doesn’t flinch, assures others they’re not a danger.  She catches grasshoppers and katydids and other goodies to feed to the chickens (a treat the fowl thoroughly enjoy!).  When a massive dragonfly perches atop a fence post, she gets in close until she’s able to pet it—Yes!  Pet it, I said!—and she’s tickled pink at the opportunity to share that kind of moment with something too many fear.  Like me, she grabs her camera and gets in close to photograph the marvelous diversity and exquisite displays these creatures offer—a treat the family farm amplifies with its location in the middle of the Piney Woods of East Texas.

When the central light pole at the family farm comes alive with a skin of giant moths, she’s there to witness the event and appreciate its majesty.  When massive yellow garden spiders build webs and egg sacks a few steps outside the door, she watches with the enjoyment of a tourist on safari.  When cicadas recklessly crash into her or assassin bugs prance across the table where she’s working or a caterpillar inches its way around her feet, she stops to take notice and displays the truest, most profound spirit of a naturalist: “Would you look at that!  I wonder what that is…”

Thank you, Mom.

— — — — — — — — — —

[1] I originally thought this might be an orchid bee.  Only one has ever been seen in Texas, however, so it seemed far more likely to be a metallic sweat bee.  The photos don’t make identification simple as I wasn’t trying to take a picture of the insect (I barely realized it was there before it was gone); nevertheless, it seems more likely to be a sweat bee than the rarer tropical species.

[2] Most cuckoo wasp species are too similar to identify from such a poor photo (taken from across the patio with the camera on the wrong settings as I barely realized the wasp was there before it vanished; I swung around, snapped two pictures [the second of which was even worse], then it was gone…).  Despite that, the dark wings and its incessant visits to the potter wasp nest—then and later—makes it clear which species this is.  I also believe I might have additional photos of this species from an unfortunate individual who made it inside the house…and didn’t live to tell about it due to feline predators who found the darting prey and relentlessly pursued and attacked it.

[3] I continue to fight with my neighbors about these wasps.  If this is to be my last year in the middle of this enormous colony, the last summer during which I might enjoy the brief appearance of these giants, then let it be a year without interference, a year without the deadly machinations of uninformed humans bent on destroying that which they do not understand (and we all know people fear what they do not understand…).

After hoping to get more nature photos posted yesterday, I promptly fell asleep following the egret collection and spent the rest of the afternoon napping.  But I certainly feel better today, which leads me to…

No two mornings are alike, yet they are all the same in many ways.  Routine, for instance.

Being Monday, I started my routine early in preparation for work.  Shave.  Shower.  Time with The Kids.  Food and water for said felines.  Get dressed.  Spend more time with The Kids.  Make sure I have everything for the day.  Say goodbye to The Kids.  Open the garage door and prepare to depart.

I press the remote to unlock the car, wait for the telltale flash of the lights and the accompanying beep, open the door, put my laptop in the passenger seat and take my place behind the wheel.

Key in ignition and turn.

Nothing.  Well, there was this one little thing: the check engine light weakly appeared and seemed more a specter of itself than an actual indication of something.

Certain I had somehow bungled the whole process of starting the car, I remove the key, take a deep breath, put the key back in and turn.

Same thing.  Or rather, same nothing.

I retrieve the laptop and get out of the car, go back inside, have a drink of water, play with The Kids a bit more, and think happy thoughts.

Several minutes later when I return to the garage—thinking somehow circumstances had changed dramatically during my brief absence—I climb back in the car and try it all over again.  To which the car replies with stoic and deafening silence.

Knowing less than nothing about cars, I open the hood and take a look around.  I jiggle a wire here and push on some fuses there.  All the while, I keep thinking happy thoughts.

Despite my expert mechanical attention, my next try proffers the same results.  The doggone car won’t even cough or sputter.

For perhaps 30 minutes I walk through this procedure, each time changing one or two things in what I do to waste a few more minutes, and in response the car sits there like a rock making not one itty-bitty noise to let me know it’s still alive in there somewhere.

Jenny kindly explained the true sign of insanity is this silliness we do when our cars don’t act right.  We think happy thoughts, we give it a few minutes, and we hope something magical takes place in the interim so everything will be okay when we go back to the automobile.

I think she’s right.

Needless to say, I started my day with forced vacation.  My efforts notwithstanding, I finally broke down and called Lexus roadside assistance.  If the battery has indeed jumped off the electrical cliff overnight, they can replace it and be done with it.  If a fuse has blown and needs a proper burial, they can do that too.  Hoping it’s one of those two problems, the car will be resuscitated shortly after they arrive and I won’t be out significant amounts of cash.

On the other hand, anything more complicated and my beloved vehicle will have to be towed to the service center, I will have to fetch a loaner car, and both of us will have to wait and see what kind of drama and financial fiasco all of this will turn out to be.

But grace has blessed me with a much better outcome.  Roadside assistance just left after replacing the battery.  That in place, the car started right up and hummed like the day it was new.

Could have been worse, which leads me to this…

Many times while standing on the patio, whether or not the wind was blowing, I would hear a noise coming from one of the photinia bushes, a noise like dry paper rattling against parched wood.

When first I heard it I suspected an insect.  I looked and looked and looked, yet I couldn’t see anything that could be making the noise.

Then it kept happening.  Not always, but daily, and usually several times per day.

My keen observational skills seemed daunted by an invisible noisemaker.  Either that or I was hearing things.

And I don’t mean the voices.  They’ve always been here.  Once I realized they wouldn’t leave me alone, we made a pact to get along and not bother each other too much.  Now only five or six speak to me at one time.

That aside, however, the noise in the shrub vexed me.  Perhaps dry leaves rattling against dead wood?  Nope.  The noise happened even if the air was still.  An occasional insect sweeping through the hedgerow from time to time?  Nope.  The noise always came from the same general location and I never saw an insect in that area.

I should explain this particular photinia bush has some dead branches.  Several of them, in fact, all hidden on the back side of the bush and surrounded by livelier fare that shield it with foliage.

Well, on one recent occasion when I heard the noise, I saw a black-and-white wasp (as yet unidentified) flitting about the dead limbs.  Each time it landed on one, I would hear the noise.  Sometimes the insect didn’t have to land; it would skirt one of the limbs too closely and immediately that same parchment-against-wood vibration would fill the air.

I ran inside and put on a shirt (since I’d be standing in the sun and didn’t want to burn).  To keep me from getting too hot, I chose one made of bright red, blue and yellow, something that would reflect more sunlight than it absorbed.

I then grabbed my camera before stepping back out on the patio.

The wasp continued its investigation of the dead photinia branches.  The noise continued responding to its presence.

Then I spied the creatures who so carefully planned to make me insane with their incessant yet unidentifiable noise: carpenter bees.  Large, furry, dark bees, much like a bumblebee.  Only when I realized they lived in the dead branches did it occur to me I should have known as much.  I’ve seen their kind around that bush for years, usually one or two who magically appear or disappear behind the verdant greenery.

I always assumed they were bumblebees looking for food or some other staple needed by their nest.  Little did I know the bumblebee’s cousin in fact had occupied the bush and made a home within its ligneous arms.

Regrettably, I couldn’t get any photos since the entry holes are all in positions shielded by branches and leaves.  I tried, though.  I leaned over the fence, knelt next to it, and generally contorted my body in all sorts of uncomfortable positions trying to get more than a photo of a dead branch.

No luck.

I did have luck elsewhere, though.  It has to do with the shirt.

You see, bright yellows and reds and blues seem to attract certain insects.  You know, like the same insects who visit flowers of similar colors.

So there I stand like a beacon in the night, sunshine making the shirt’s hues even brighter and more appealing, and all the while I’m leaning into the territory of paper wasps, carpenter bees, cicaca-killer wasps, mason wasps, cuckoo wasps, honeybees, and a great many other creatures.

What do you suppose happened next?

Why, yes, you’re right!  I found myself the unwanted center of attention for several winged visitors, each adamant about sampling a bit of that enormous, brightly colored flower I had wrapped around my torso.

Needless to say, I beat a hasty retreat into the house as I swung my baseball cap madly at everything buzzing around me.  I then made a very permanent mental note that one should not wear bright colors when trying to photograph stinging insects in close quarters.

Thankfully I didn’t get stung, which leads me back to…

Because I didn’t fulfill my self-imposed obligation for Nature Photography Day 2008, I intend to see that plan to fruition today.  I’ll post a few goodies here and a few goodies at xenogere unseen.  Now that I have the rest of the day off and don’t have any life-threatening insect stings to address, the least I can do is offer some eye candy while I catch up on chores.