I’m not the only one who’s been busy observing the nesting box I built and placed on the patio.  This female green anole (a.k.a. Carolina anole; Anolis carolinensis) is just one of the critters who took an interest in the goings on by the various bee and wasp species using the box.  Interestingly enough, I’ve seen these lizards try to tackle bees and wasps before, including the giant eastern cicada-killer wasps (Sphecius speciosus).  Though I’ve never seen them successfully grab any bee or wasp species, it tickles me to watch, especially when it involves the cicada killers as those wasps are far too large for an anole to overpower, let alone consume.  But that doesn’t stop them from trying.

As for the nesting box, it’s proven to be one of the best ideas I’ve had.  It’s providing a breadth and depth of observational knowledge that I could never have attained otherwise.

For example, I never knew cuckoo wasps are able to drill holes in dried mud nests in order to lay their egg inside.  They start by chewing at the nest first, perhaps to soften up the dry mud, then they wedge the spines on their gaster against the soft spot and proceed to vibrate at an almost imperceptible speed.  Eventually they’re able to get their prehensile ovipositor into the nest through this tiny, nearly invisible hole.

Also, leafcutter bees (Megachile spp.) are bullies.  When one finished her first nesting tube, she decided to move to the tube next to it.  That tube was already in use by a mason wasp (Euodynerus hidalgo hidalgo).  This resulted in a 24-hour fight—No kidding!  Eventually the leafcutter bee pulled the mason wasp out of the nest and beat her up in midair.  The wasp moved on and the bee set about dislodging and ejecting the existing nest material from the tube.  I now have little piles of sand and a lot of paralyzed caterpillars spread around the patio (which has attracted hordes of acrobat ants [Crematogaster laeviuscula] to clean up the critters).  Meanwhile, the mason wasp has moved to a new tube where she’s already begun a new nest (technically it will be her third because she finished her first one a few days ago and her second one now has a leafcutter squatter).

Much to my surprise, the nesting critters sleep in the tube they’re working on.  I didn’t realize this until one morning around sunrise I knelt down and leaned in close to see what was what inside the tubes.  One of the mason wasps charged to the tube entrance.  I had no idea!  In the days since, I’ve seen that the leafcutter bees and both mason wasp species do this (the mason bee tubes are too small to see if anything’s moving inside them).  And though they’ll charge to the front of the tube in a show of defiance, it’s more bluster than anything else; as solitary stingers, they’re not particularly aggressive unless you manhandle them.

Finally, size really does matter.  The leafcutter bees are large; in fact, they’re too large for all but the largest nesting tubes.  The mason wasps and mason bees (Osmia sp.), on the other hand, are small and/or slender enough to use any of the tubes.  The first time I saw a mason wasp (Euodynerus megaera) land on one of the smallest holes, I quietly thought she’d soon learn she would need an upgrade.  But I was the one who would soon learn.  She promptly folded back her wings and slipped inside as though walking through double doors.  Impressive!  Euodynerus hidalgo hidalgo is also small enough to use those holes, and certainly the mason bees are small enough to do so.

When it comes to species seen, here’s what I can tell you:

• Mason wasps (Euodynerus hidalgo hidalgo)
• Mason wasps (Euodynerus megaera)
• Leafcutter bees (Megachile sp.)
• Mason bees (Osmia sp.)
• Cuckoo wasps (Chrysis coerulans), targeting dirt dauber nests and not the nest box
• One, if not two, other cuckoo wasp species targeting the wasps and bees in the box
• At least two species of chalcidoid wasp, though they’re too small and move around too quickly for a good look—at least thus far
• And the usual suspects: black and yellow mud daubers (a.k.a. mud wasp; Sceliphron caementarium) and common potter wasp (a.k.a. dirt dauber; Eumenes fraternus), not to mention the paper wasps I keep having to kick off the patio

Oh, and when it comes to the green anole’s fabulous colors, that show is courtesy of the “Oh no!” hue that filled the sky last Tuesday just before our tornado outbreak.  Yes, the sky took on that ominous color that just shouts danger is on its way.  In the end, that evening we had at least ten confirmed tornadoes in and around the DFW metroplex.  Rest assured we spent some of that time huddled in the bathroom during the overlapping tornado warnings that stretched on for two hours and were accompanied by three blasts of the warning sirens.  Still, just before it got ugly, the combination of threatening sky and deep shadows really made for some beautiful colors on otherwise ubiquitous objects, lizards included.

[male green anole (a.k.a. Carolina anole; Anolis carolinensis); it took a few minutes for me to realize he was challenging me; once I moved away, he met a lady friend who was hiding in the upper branches of the tree]

I’ve been taking a bit more artistic license with my photography.  That’s not to say I’m betraying my principle of only letting you see what I saw.  No, I won’t be Photoshopping out pieces of the image so you can enjoy a scene that never existed: if there were power lines stretched between the trees in an awesome view of autumnal foliage, you’ll either see the power lines or you’ll never see the photo.  I’m a purist in that sense.

What I mean by “artistic license” is that I’m spreading my wings a bit into different filters, different editing techniques, different presentations.  I’ll never give up on showing the majestic beauty of nature as it exists; there’s no need to since nature has such profound magic that one need never venture from the truth to find art.

But having said that, I’ve also grown to appreciate that nature can sometimes be viewed in a different light so to speak, such that it creates a whole new experience.  Infrared filters, cross-processing, over-exposing, black and white…  The list goes on.

Perhaps I’m engaging in a brief affair, a flirtation if you will.  No matter the source of this little adventure, I thought I’d show you some of what I’m referring to.

Take the ubiquitous green anole (Anolis carolinensis).  This species can change colors such that it never ceases to amaze me.  A group of them lives in the wall at one end of my patio (Mediterranean geckos live in the wall at the other end, hence I have diurnal and nocturnal insect protection when it’s warm enough for the reptiles).  Although I see these anoles when taking walks or when stepping out my back door, they entertain me and engage me at every turn.

But how many photos of them can I take before it becomes mundane?  Or worse, boring?

Not that I ever think green anoles are boring.  Hell, they show me gratuitous lizard sex at the drop of a hat.

Honestly, though, how often can you watch cold-blooded critters doing the dirty before it becomes unexceptional?  Okay, for me that’s never, but I’m not sure you’d want me showing those photos all the time as though they represent something new and exciting.

Mind you, the anoles create their own art without realizing it.  As I sat inside the fence watching them scamper and hunt and try to woo each other, this female stopped to look at me from a position on the outside of the fence.  She hung effortlessly on the wall as I looked through the slats and marveled at her beauty.  The scene of her through the fence opening made her all the more beguiling.

Still, is it new and exciting?  Is it even interesting?

On the other hand…  Take a little baby anole sitting on a leaf carefully watching me, a sea of green awash in sunlight, an unremarkable scene if ever there was one.  On its own, it looks like every other green anole sitting on every other leaf.  But give it a wee boost by cross-processing the color image as though it’s negative film, and something happens that makes it interesting, compelling even—if I were inclined to say as much.

Then there’s the failed close-up of an anole hanging from a tree.  She sat there for quite some time waiting for lunch to walk by below.  Meanwhile, I kept trying to find a way to get a nice image while shooting through the fence—or from above, which I hate since it’s so anthropocentric and unnatural.  I regrettably never found the right spot that made the fence a friend rather than an enemy, so all the photos turned out poorly as she responded to my many thumps and scrapes against the wood slats.  Nonetheless, taking an unsatisfactory picture and turning it black and white followed by some newspaper aging seemed to offer something usable from something useless.

Amongst the endless parade of green anole pictures, however, I still have those that stand on their own.  This one offers the simplicity of a creature turned dark brown so it can absorb the morning sunshine and expedite its warming.  The contrast of dead leaves surrounding the vigor of a small life calls to me somehow.  That and I never cease to be amazed by the diverse range of colors this species can assume, and they do so for more reasons than we can imagine.

More importantly, I’ve learned over these many years that a state of mind—even an emotion—can rest beneath each color, from courtship to warning to camouflage to fear.  Over time I’ve gained a better understanding of certain hues that always mean the same thing, and I’ve also grown better able to discern intent and thought based on the colors the lizards assume.

Oh, but I digress…

Seeing this male in full display reminds me of what I was talking about: being a bit more creative.  He happens to be sitting in an image I initially threw away.  Something called me back to it, though, and after a bit of fiddling with it I discovered he had something to offer after all.

So rambling aside, I’m saying you can expect to see a bit more creativity in my images, although you will continue to see the vast majority as they have always existed: just as the scene was in front of the lens.  Adding a creative flavor to them will exist as nothing more than a neat experiment, perhaps something I do “on the side” for fun but that does not detract from my overall sense of naturalism.