Our buggy 4th

We brought our collection of Red Admiral chrysalises to the lake:
a. to keep the kids entertained on the three-hour drive.
b. because I heard it was the cool new thing to do.
c. to show my Dad the evidence that I had identified the caterpillars wrong. (oh, the shame... they're Red Admirals, not Buckeyes)
d. because I was too chicken to ask my neighbor to babysit them for me after I'd already asked him to keep an eye on my chickens, and you certainly can't have butterflies flitting around the house unsupervised.

e. all of the above.

The Bean was ecstatic about:
a. Daddy and you and me and the boys and me and you and Daddy going to the lake? And Daddy? And ALL of us!!!
b. stealing tomatoes.
c. helping her Mom get an abandoned Project 52 back on track.
d. fishing during the day...

and at night...

e. all except choice "c", of course.

The boys found a toad that:
a. peed a lot!

b. made them laugh and squeal and climb up a cliff and run ALL the way back up the hill to show the Grandmas in the cabin.
c. did not amuse the Grandmas.
d. was gigantic! (at least by North Dakota standards)
e. ALL of the above.

The porch was a great place to find:
a. Great Grandpa Gus talking in German!
b. bare feet.
c. numerous Mayflies that stuck like velcro anywhere we put them!

d. a rogue cactus, which ended up stuck in someone's poor little foot!?
e. all of the above.

Perhaps the best part of shooting off fireworks when we got home was:
a. The Bean's very first sparkler!

b. scaring the living daylights out of our curious chickens with that first "boom".
c. Daddy tossing a firecracker into the septic tank.
d. playing with fire and making smoke.

e. every single bit of it.

This "4th of July Week" multiple choice fun is brought to you:
a. at least a few days too late.
b. just to freshen up this crusty old moldy lonely blog.
c. for the third time, which officially makes it an annual tradition. (2011 and 2010)
d. by a procrastinating Mom who should be doing dishes and folding laundry.
e. all of the (cough, cough) above.

The Mystery of the Multiplying Caterpillar

If a man jogs all the way down the road and happens to see that his neighbors are home, he'll stop for an evening chat. If the discussion turns to wondering about the battalion of fascinating black caterpillars that are marching through their yard, he'll say he doesn't know what they are, but he knows someone who does. If he gently picks one up and safely carries it a full mile back the way he came, he'll deposit the bewildered spiky insect in his wife's hands. If she has never seen one before and hasn't got a clue what type of butterfly larva it is, she'll click around online. If she finds the perfect match, it will be a species that lives in Europe.

Europe?

Wrong answer.

But if the online images of that butterfly's wings look vaguely similar (in pattern, but not color) to one that does live on the windswept North American plains, all that sleuthing might not have been in vain. And if I'm fresh out of Snapdragons but the apparently somewhat-slightly-related European critter likes Nettles, you know I grabbed a scissors, a jar, and a flashlight, and ran straight out past the barn, through the corral, and behind one of the gardens to a big old patch of Stinging Nettle.

Not literally, I mean.

Don't run with scissors. Ever. Especially in the dark, when half-grown cats are liable to come creeping along the darkest shadows of the garden path and ambush innocent seekers of Stinging Nettle. Stranger things have happened, believe me.

If the caterpillar happily munches away on that nasty stuff, I might mutter "Homeostasis is at ninety-five percent".

If a Bio-Dome quote randomly surfaces, there must be a former Pauly Shore fan in the house.

If that's embarrassing, let's pretend it didn't happen.

The critter seemed happy enough so I tossed the jar on a shelf for a day or three.

Welcome to the The Old Nichols Farm... where the wackiness level fluctuates between "coconut" and "fruitcake" depending on whether we had oatmeal for breakfast, the Earth's geomagnetic activity (honestly - I've tracked it long enough to know), and how many fireflies are loose in the house.

Fruitcake:

I have no idea what that thing is. She found it in the yard. I caught her just in time to save a very trusting cat (please don't ask).

So I know you won't be surprised. In the least. I mean, I wasn't. What? When I casually mention that we popped the lid off that jar a perfectly responsible amount of time later (cough, cough) to give our captive some fresh food. We carefully dumped the jar upside down and found...

Two?

What? What!

Yes, in our jar.

Exactly identical.

What on earth!?



My first thought was that someone had played a great joke on us. However, my awareness of our household having entered The Fruitcake Zone told me that much more fantastic options had the possibility of being true. Anything, people. Anything is possible.

Sure enough, that patch of Stinging Nettle had been attacked. Eaten up. We found a swarm of spikey black caterpillars all over the remaining plants. I somehow managed to identify our caterpillar so perfectly that I had inadvertently collected another one a few nights prior. And strangely enough, as many times as we had inspected that jar we had only ever seen one.

If you tell me something that bizarre can happen in The Coconut Zone, I'll tell you you're crazy.

Fruitcake Queen. I'm putting it on my resume.

Not a unicorn

Accepting my fate of having lost my blogging mojo, with a stocking cap firmly on my head, unaware I was out of hot coca mix... I headed out the door determined to fill a bucket to the brim. Last time it was spinach. This time I was after the peas. A week ago I composed an Ode to the Glory of Home Grown Spinach in my head. But I dare not publish such a thing here lest it make me sound weird.

First, I managed to tangle myself in the no-chickens-allowed-on-the-greener-side fence. I mean like really, the toe of my rain boot got hopelessly caught in one of the square space thingies as I tried to step over it, and the whole wretched thing collapsed with me attached. I'm not a cowgirl (which I guess is obvious when I say "like really" and other hippie phrases) so I have to wear rain boots. But I did buy them from the farm store. So maybe I'm an imposter?

Anyway, that kind of fence doesn't stop adolescent cats. Well, no fence does. But that and the fact that the wild little beasties are almost as destructive in my garden as the goofy feathered rototillers are topics for another day. Okay. So I crashed to the ground, minus a boot (rain, not cow), and was instantly wearing a black and white cat on my hat.

Glory be. I had arrived.

There were the peas.

The belligerent things should have been ready to harvest weeks ago.



I found which way was up and extracted the cat from my head.

And a brisk forty-mile-an-hour fifty-degree North Dakota wind went straight down, as my little girl would say, "mine butt track".

Coincidentally, we washed sand out of hers yesterday.

Likely these new jeans don't fit me around the waist as well as I thought they did. The jeans that have these funny scratches on the thighs that made nervously interrogate the sales lady as to whether they were designed to fray, even though I already knew the answer. She looked me straight in the eye and lied to me. I bought them anyway because even once-a-year clothes shopping is complete ridiculousness and I'd had enough of it... and (I thought) they fit amazingly well - no small victory when you have the figure of Popeye's Olive Oyl.


From Wikipedia

However, that daring blast of wind proved it was much too miraculous to be true. I bet cowgirls don't wear their brand new jeans to the garden. They wear belts too. Don't they? To keep the wind and sand out?

The dog howled.

The cold wind blew.

The peas were harvested.

And then it happened...



Not a unicorn. Let me repeat. Not. A. Unicorn.

And don't any of you leave a comment saying, "Wow. A Monarch!". Not a Monarch. A Viceroy. They're a less celebrated butterfly designed to fool birds, kind of similar to how sales ladies are designed to tell customers exactly what they want to hear.

Now I'm going to make up a new batch of hot cocoa mix, because it's June in North Dakota and I'm cold. I'm going to outwit that sales lady and iron a patch onto the inside of my new Jeans, because I'm clever like that and not a bit stylish. And I'm going to insist the peas are delicious, but the spinach was better.

Love,
Olive

Finished hibernating

I walk back into our house, with sun-kissed skin and wind-whipped hair, and a basket overflowing with outdoor scented shirts and pants fresh off the line. That comforting old-farmhouse-wood smell has returned in our front entryway. There is green grass beginning to grow around the yard. If my windows weren't all caulked shut, I'd have every one of them wide open. Barefoot mud-splattered kids shriek as their bikes whiz down the driveway. I convinced one boy to take his training wheels off yesterday and he is proud.

It hardly seems worth mentioning this weather anymore. These oddly warm days that feel like May (or even June?) have become such a fixture that they almost feel normal. February, really, was the only month that looked and felt like winter. It's easy to endure one month. It's easy to forget that this weather is an unusual gift.

The frost is already out of the ground, and with it, a gigantic beetle that had had enough of hibernating.


I have no fear (unless spiders are involved).

Those of you who live in more... ahem, tropical climates, may not agree that this is a large beetle. It's all relative, I guess. Around here, they don't come much bigger than this. We were sufficiently impressed.

We proceeded in the way my Dad always did with me. He gets the credit for my love of small critters. Ye Olde Insect Identification Book failed to deliver what we were looking for, though. Thank goodness for The Great Internet.

It's a Large Diving Beetle, we decided. Not to be confused with the Small Diving Beetle. Yes, we measured him. With a florescent yellow ruler that didn't make it into the picture. And yes, we're pretty sure he's a boy. And these pictures look like they could use a bit more red or something, no? Oh well, I'm not gonna fix them now.



All the kids held it (even if one held it very briefly and screamed - it still counts).

We even had a bit of drama. It was swimming around in our tub (you don't let gigantic beetles swim in your tub?) until somebody pulled the plug. Luckily one of the boys was quick to snatch it out of the water, although I have my doubts that it would have fit down the drain anyway.

A lot of the bugs from my childhood ended up pinned in a display box.

Not this one.

Sister was concerned that the stinky slough wasn't a good home for him.

The boys convinced her it was okay.



It's mid-March, people. In North Dakota. I looked a year back in my blog just to remind myself of what we have. I should be close to going stir-crazy, exhausted with this frozen tundra. Instead? We're soaking up an amazing early Spring.

Tapatoes

The week 11 KinderGARDEN assignment was to capture macro (close-up) images of the garden. I don't have a macro lens, but I do know a few tricks.

We're having a blast growin' baby birds.



This year's crop of dragonflies was incredible.



On our cranberry bush? We found ants tending herds of aphids. Great science lesson right there. And then we blasted them with soapy water. Darn aphids.



This is all so confusing for me. KinderSWAMPS, KinderCRITTERS...

Let me try again. The KinderGARDEN:

Tomatoes and potatoes. You'd be very entertained to hear the little brother talk about them.





"Mommy, do tomatoes grow underneath the ground?"

"Ummm... the roots do.

"MOM. Tomatoes grow under the ground."

"Sure! The ROOTS grow underneath the ground."

"No."

"You mean potatoes?"

"Yeah! Tapatoes!"

"Right."

Moving along...

It looks like we are gonna have an insane amount of raspberries. Finally.



But only three apples, which is a whole lot better than last year. How to split three apples peacefully among a five-person family, that is what we have yet to figure out.



KinderGARDENS week 11

4th of July random

My multiple choice 4th of July post last year was an awful lot of fun to write. I entertained the thought of making it a tradition. I'm aware that the 4th was well over a week ago. Don't worry, I won't let that stop me.

If you can't handle a heap of random awesomeness, run far and fast.

Drumroll please...

Some of us fantasize about the lake all winter, and once again it didn't disappoint...
a. because the weather was perfect and our sunblock did it's job.
b. even though there was a dead cow floating around the bend.

c. because the boys took swimming lessons a few weeks ago, and although the instructor just tossed the hesitant kids into the water and let them bawl, our boys are now fish.
d. because we convinced the little brother it was okay to pee in the lake.
e. all of the above.

A camel cricket pooped on the little brother, which caused...

a. him to scream like a little girl.
b. his cousin to be a hero. (I laughed out loud at that ridiculous thought as I typed it)
c. it to escape.
d. his mother to... ummm, I've completely forgotten where I'm going with this.

How about that dead cow!

I took one picture in full automatic mode...
a. just to see what would happen.
b. to prove that I'm not a photo snot. Or, because I couldn't reach the focus button on the backside of my camera. Ah... ah... ah... Ah-chooo!

c. even though I knew it would need some hefty correcting before it was worthy to be processed to a jpg.
d. because my Bean moves at the speed of light, and it's a crying shame how few pictures I have of myself with her.
e. all of the above.

I managed to get myself out of kitchen duty by sticking my arm into the toilet, which was a direct result of...
a. The Bean.
b. simple physics.
c. the previous bathroom occupant not changing the toilet paper.
d. too much alcohol.

This picture is brought to you by...

a. my uncle telling me exactly where I should park my tripod for the best view, and me telling him I had other plans. (Hi Dave!)
b. a cactus that just happened to be precisely where I kneeled, which felt strangely familiar.
c. that darn flag mocking me to get this photo, all the live long day.
d. an eight second exposure.
e. all of the above.

One of those dreams

Have you ever had one of those dreams where you find yourself in the middle of a field...

You accidentally kneel on a dragonfly.



And then you sit on a thistle.

You let your hair down for a few self portraits.

Then you step on two of your hair clips. This frustrates you immensely not because they're broken, but because it means you're leaving more than footprints behind. It's impossible to get all those little smashed bits of plastic out of the earth.

The next morning, your two year old Bean greets you with a look of horror while pointing at your face and squealing, "Mommy! Owie!"

Sure enough, you look in the mirror and find a wood tick attached to the side of your face. You think to yourself, "Really? On my face? Am I still dreaming?"

But you know how dreams go.



Sometimes they're weird, but perfect.



Sometimes you remember the details.



And sometimes you don't.

Ladybugs

I bought a gorgeous Hibiscus tree last summer. It's a magnificent thing.

It's the kind of potted lovely you put outside to soak up summer and then rescue when the days get colder. Maybe you wouldn't have to invite it in the house where you live. But here, well, it wouldn't be magnificent at all if I had left it to fend for itself. Not a chance.

Did I mention it was all of twelve dollars?

There may have been a reason for that.

From the day I promised to love it forever, and brought it home, it's been infested with aphids. Impressively so. But the strange thing is, it doesn't seem to mind.

At one point I stuck it inside our barn when a severe thunderstorm rolled over our farm. It was safe from the hail but not the wind. After my beautiful beautiful Hibiscus fell over, someone's dang chickens ate every bloom, every leaf, every bit of green they could find on it. And by default, they ate the aphids too.

Chickens are nothing but trouble. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise.

It appeared to be a horribly tragic ending.

The Hibiscus grew back prettier than ever.

So did the aphids.

I've washed the dumb thing with soapy water. At least three times. These aphids are impressive too.

But the good news!

We keep finding ladybugs in the house!



Oh wait. That one doesn't eat aphids. At least to the best of my knowledge.

The other ones, we relocate them to ladybug paradise.



Where do they come from? Honestly, as long as they're not boxelder bugs or gigantic furry spiders, I really don't care.

These are the happiest ladybugs on the face of the earth.



It's really something to watch them create aphid-free zones. Although it's an uphill battle for them, they don't complain.



Linking up with Macro Monday

I cannot explain

Did it spontaneously combust? Or die of a horrific fly-sneeze?



There it was. Clinging to the glass of our bedroom window. Stiff and crusty.

I've seen it happen before. All summer I find them, dead, hanging from my clothesline... from leaves on tomato plants... from the kids swingset. But only when they're attached to windows do they really fascinate me. Part of them vaporizes from beneath and splatters all over the window. I don't get it.

Best of all, if I don't get it cleaned up right away, I have to use a razor to scrape it off. And I swear it's true.

But the real question is, do I have nothing better to blog about than dead flies?

Barnyard Bokeh:



1. Barn.
2. Leaky barn roof.
3. The other even more crappy barn.
4. Another little leaky falling down shed where I get to keep my gardening stuff. Lucky me.
5. The windmill almost made it into the picture. Actually it's not falling down one bit and is really quite cool. (and good for climbing)
6. Horny rooster crowing and a bunch of annoyed hens scratching around under an orchard that isn't impressive at all yet.
7. Green grass where hoses and pipes are intricately assembled by a six year old plumber.
8. Sneaky hidden chicken nest back in the pasture. What the heck. When they quit laying eggs in both the coop and the doghouse, I know there is funny business going on. They can't fool me.
9. Dirt. I'm surprised there is any left outside anymore.
10. More dirt which circles the entire house, which is certainly better than the moat which was there before, which was a result of our drain-tile project this summer, which means our basement is sort of dry now.

Have I mentioned we have frogs in the basement?

The end.

PS. This post is my husband's fault, because he insisted I take a picture of the remains of that exploding fly.

PPS. If you're subscribed by email, this post is brought to you twice, courtesy (again) of my husband who was being a pest and somehow caused me to "publish post" when this was only half-written. Awesome.

It's a boy

Of the four that survived, two went to school.

Two stayed home. One of them hatched yesterday. One hatched today.

Hatched. I can't imagine that's the proper term for it. Emerged?

Whatever.



It's crazy stuff. Their bodies get broken down and rearranged.

Remember these?



Rearranged.

And yes, it's definitely a boy.



It's easy to tell, you just have to know where to look.

No, not there.

Here.



The two black spots along the veins in the hind wings are scent glands. No question about it, he's a boy.

And he can fly.



Unless something got him already, he's on his way to Mexico right now. It's quite a journey. He's not likely to make it. But he might.

The one that hatched emerged today was a girl. Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures of her.

The Bean wanted to hold it, so I restrained her and gently set it on the back of her hand. Her laughter turned to dismay when it suddenly flew up and landed on her head.

She would have squashed it if I had released my grip on her to reach for my camera. You'll just have to trust me, the whole package was pretty darn cute.

She's headed to Mexico now too. Not my Bean. The butterfly.

Wandering in the evening

If we can make it just a few more weeks without frost, our raspberries will be perfectly ripe. Fresh and new and yummy. They've been teasing us, one here... one there... but now we've begun to find them a handful at a time.

I had to chase the dog out of there yesterday. She gets all kinds of good things, she doesn't need every last one of the raspberries too.

This little damselfly was about to go hunting for mosquitoes. Yet its own life is nearly over. I can feel that hint of crisp change in the evening air. I wonder if the little creatures are aware of it.



The day is complete when everything is saturated with that fabulous golden light, it is brief but magical.

I chase the diminishing light with my lens, forced to change my camera's settings almost constantly. Finally I admit that I just can't collect enough light with the tools I have. My tripod is in the house. I'm not running back in for it, not tonight anyway. The mosquitoes are terrible.

But until those blood-thirsty demons send me racing for the safety of the house, I sit alone with my camera... quietly observing, listening, feeling, seeing.

Well, okay, so I'm not technically alone. This big sharp-clawed rumbling orange beast loves to tag along.



And I don't mind.



He's good company.



More Summer's Simple Things at

Hidden treasure

After we got our big kindergartner on his bus yesterday, and watched that cloud of dust go down the gravel road for the very first time, it seemed strange with him gone. We needed something different to do. So I grabbed my two younger ones and we set off in search of something special.

I figured the chance of us finding it was actually quite good, since the adults have been migrating through our yard by hundreds and hundreds, these the last two days.

It didn't take long before we were immersed in the magic. We found one!



We got up close and inspected it thoroughly.


{See the hovering fly?}

Then we collected it. Someone giggled because it left a trail of tickles on his hand.



Next we found a super-tiny itty bitty one. So, so small. You may not believe it, but we even found one tinier than this.



But there were plenty of big ones too.



We built a little cardboard mansion and gathered a banquet of milkweed for them. Now we watch and wait.

For me, personally, this is something really special. My Dad got me interested in insects when I was little. I searched year after year looking for Monarch caterpillars. I never found a single one.

You Capture - "Outside"

All photos on this post were shot with the lensbaby 2.0 and the super-wide angle accessory.

Also, yes I have a bunch of pictures of the Monarchs migrating through our backyard, and I did use a real lens for that. I'll get some of those pictures up soon.