Vote 2024
Say No to Mr. No Fair!
In my last post, I wrote about how the current Republican presidential candidate relies on a childish strategy to deflect and redirect attention from his own misdeeds. The “I didn’t do it! You did it!” strategy has served him well.
There’s another infantile tactic that he regularly employs, and that’s the claim of “No fair!”. You know this maneuver. You grew up with it, and chances are, if you ever used it, you grew out of it.
Remember playing childhood games in the neighborhood as a kid, and there was someone who yelled “NO FAIR!” at every loss? Usually there was at least one child who absolutely couldn’t abide losing. Not at High-Ho Cheerio, or Candy Land, or Freeze Tag, or Kickball. Not even Tic Tac Toe. No game was too trivial not to be contested. I recall gently asking one such wailing young acquaintance, “Do you really think it’s only fair if you win every single time? It wouldn’t be fair, see, if I won every single time, would it? ” My reasoning fell on deaf ears. The kid continued howling NO FAIR through the tears. Apparently the concept of fairness was created only for him; it did not extend to others.
The former president clearly continues to see the world this way. Things are only fair if he wins. When he lost the election in 2020, he cried NO FAIR.
He appealed to his followers. He repeated the claim, loudly and forcefully. Various media outlets amplified it. His base wanted to believe the lie, so they were hoodwinked. On January 6, 2021, they assembled at our Capitol in order to undo an election they had been told was illegitimate. Because Trump declared NO FAIR, some brought weapons, zip ties, and wore body armor. They broke through barricades, windows and doors. Most of them had been strident supporters of “law and order,” yet they viciously attacked the police who were there to defend our democratic systems. They roamed the hallways of the Capitol, chanting violent threats against duly elected representatives of both parties. They did it because their leader, their hero, had told them, and continued to tell them, over and over, that it was NO FAIR. They threatened to hang Mike Pence, their candidate’s own Vice President. What terrible vengeance would have taken place if our lawmakers had not been whisked to safety, with only a very few moments to spare?
Trump has never ceased claiming NO FAIR. His “unfair” election loss in 2020 has now morphed into his predicted “unfairness” of the 2024 election. In recent rallies, he’s heavily seeding the ground, telling his followers that if he doesn’t win by a landslide, it’s because of rampant “cheating” by Democrats. Yet again, the election is likely to be stolen from him, he maintains. And yet again, ominously, he’s suggesting that bad things may happen if he doesn’t win.
Why vote for an elderly version of that whiny kid who can’t stand to lose? Ironically a vote for that candidate is a vote for unfairness.
I urge you: vote for fairness for all. Vote for Kamala Harris.
*The Trump campaign filed over sixty lawsuits claiming election fraud in the 2020 election. According to the Campaign Legal Center, a nonpartisan legal organization founded by a Republican former Commissioner of the Federal Election Commission, “The various claims of evidence alleging a stolen 2020 election have been exhaustively investigated and litigated. Judges heard claims of illegal voting and found they were without merit.”
With our Vote, We Can Say, “Enough!”
Around this time four years ago, I made an appeal for voters not to re-elect then-President Trump. I remain astounded that it’s necessary to make the same plea again, as we face, unbelievably, a third election featuring this most unworthy candidate.
There were soooooooooo many reasons not to vote for this man in 2020. Of course, there were plenty in 2016, including the Access Hollywood tape that should have ended his campaign and political career. There are far more reasons now. The list is absolutely exhaustive. It includes, of course, his crucial role in the events of January 6, 2021. Another worth recalling is that he is now a convicted felon, found guilty by a jury of our peers. In most states he would be unable even to vote.
And then there are many reasons that can be wrapped up in his character, or lack thereof: he is childish in all the bad ways, and none of the good.
Like a spoiled, angry child, when faced with potential conflict, he follows a well-worn playbook. He declares, loudly and with vehemence: I didn’t do it! You did it! or I’m not! You are!
Most of us can remember at least one or two childhood acquaintances who made regular use of this old familiar taunt. It was, almost always, a blatant lie. I didn’t kick the dog! You did! I’m not a cheater! You are!
And for most of us, the absurdity of the tactic was always readily apparent. We knew, even as children, that we’d be called out immediately as a liar and a fraud. Many of those who relied on it in their youth have likely outgrown it with age.
But for bullies, who wield power through fear, and never, never, back down from the lie, it can be highly effective.
We watched as the former president brandished the strategy like a light saber, time and time again. Others remarked on it, referring to the practice as “projection,” a psychological coping mechanism in which one’s own shameful or unwelcome thoughts or hostile actions are projected onto another.
Whatever one calls it–whether projection or the I’m not, you are tactic, it’s one of his signature moves.
Remember when Hillary Clinton accused him, during a debate, of being Putin’s puppet? His reply: “I’m not a puppet. You’re the puppet.”
Take note of his repeated references to the “Biden crime family.”
Three generals who worked for the former president–his Joint Chiefs Chairman Mark Milley, his Defense Secretary James Mattis, and his former Chief of Staff, John Kelly, have all declared Trump to be unfit for office, a threat to the Constitution and to the institution of our military. What does Trump say? A Harris administration will be a threat to our democracy.
We should pay close attention to these projections. When he says he won’t do some terrible thing, but the other side will, watch out. A second Trump term will lack the responsible minders who babysat him during his previous term. There will be no one to reign in the whims of the whiny man-child, the elderly bully boy. The consequences could be dire.
But we, the people, we can stop him. Trump’s Republican colleagues didn’t have the guts to do so when they could, during one of his two impeachments, or after he was voted out of office. It’s up to us, the voters, to say, “Enough.” We can vote for the capable, responsible, intelligent candidate who will work for us. We can vote for Kamala Harris, former District Attorney, Attorney General, U.S. Senator and current Vice President. We can vote, not for the criminal, but for the candidate who seeks to uphold the law and make it work for the American people.
Halloween ’24 and its Prequels
Slim revels in the various lead-up events to the big day. His enthusiastic presence heightens the fun at our church’s annual Trunk or Treat. It’s a pleasure having him by my side, revving up the crowd from his usual perch at the back of my car.
It was Slim’s idea that the refurbished nativity animals accompany us to the event. By this time, he and the pups had gotten chummy with the foursome of ox, donkey, lamb and ram. He decided that their debut at Trunk or Treat should function as a preview in preparation for Advent. But they needed some Halloween flair, he insisted. He dug through boxes of fall decorations to find suitable ribbon for bows, which he carefully tied around each faux-furry neck.
We were all happy to see our daughter and her fiancé, who dropped by last weekend between Halloween parties. Slim heartily approved of their regal vampire costumes.
Slim loves a festive centerpiece, and he has an eye for detail. In our dining room, he toyed with the painted gourds, arranging them just so in the punch bowl.
The week before Halloween was warm and sunny here in Northern Virginia. Between decorating projects, Slim could often be found soaking up the October rays and basking in the balmy breezes. While sad to see that the impatiens had succumbed to a recent frost, he appreciated the persistence of our petunias.
He was surprised to discover some out-of-season blooms on our lilacs.
A birder from way back, Slim had for years been encouraging me to join the Feeder Watch program of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Now that I have, I understand. I’ve always appreciated the peace that comes from being immersed in nature, especially at times when the human world is a muddle of confounding conflict. And I’ve found that when I’m counting birds for Feeder Watch, I pay closer attention to each little creature that appears. I’m looking with greater concentration and intentionality, and the experience is more satisfying. Slim spent hours sitting motionless in a chair close to the feeders, gazing at the variety of birds that swooped around him, not troubled at all by his presence. I found some precious moments to settle myself in a chair just beyond, and savor the pleasant ambiance.
Before long, it was time for the annual pre-Halloween joyride. The dogs piled in, and Slim took the wheel. On an afternoon that epitomized convertible weather, they merrily cruised the neighborhood, looking for old friends and admiring the numerous ambitious Halloween displays.
Slim has claimed that he and his wide circle of influencers are largely responsible for the exponential growth of Halloween, from a quick one- day celebration, to a weekend, to its own extensive season. He’s been known to get a bit cocky, so I take his words with a grain of salt. Is it really a good thing, I wondered, for gargantuan blow-up spiders, demons and Disney villains to join us as early as August? I asked him why he and his colleagues, if they wielded such power, couldn’t turn their attention toward easing some of society’s ills. They were trying to do just that, he replied. The thinking was this: If we can unite for weeks over a love of candy, playing dress-up and poking fun at our fears, maybe we can realize that our points of commonality outnumber our differences.
Maybe there’s something to this. Even one day of Halloween is an amazing occasion. People across our country open their doors to hand out generous amounts of candy to children. Most of these are kids we hardly know, or have never met. We greet and give to strangers, simply because they show up, wear a costume, and say “Trick or Treat.” It seems that over the years on October 31, we’ve moved toward a greater emphasis on the treating than the tricking. That’s something to keep in mind and strive for, every day, whether it’s Halloween season, or not.
Skeleton Crew ’24
It’s that time again–time for our beloved family friend Slim and his pack of devoted pups to jump back wholeheartedly into the life of our household. For the past eleven months they’ve been keeping a low profile up in their attic hideaway. In years past, my mother’s basement has served as their quiet refuge during the non-October months. This changed last year when Slim made his acquaintance with the recently finished upper room at our house. He loved it so much he found no reason to leave, as long as I promised not to be overly intrusive. He has a good four weeks of chatty, jovial cordiality in him per year, but no more. I understand. I need my alone time, too.
Slim and the gang enjoyed tucking themselves into the attic’s odd and cozy spaces. When they were huddled silently behind the screen, as in the top photo, I sometimes forgot they were in the house. Other times they nestled into the dormers, where they could lounge with a pile of books and keep occasional watch on the neighborhood below.
As planned, Slim caught up on his reading, delving deep into some of his favorite periods in art history.
Inspired by our intention that the attic serve as a studio for my painting and craft projects, Slim had rekindled his interest in a variety of artistic pursuits. His building of a miniature medieval manor house turned out to be no more than a passing fancy, rather as I had expected. He offered advice as I fiddled with the restoration of an old family mantel clock. When I encouraged him to take on the task of gold-leafing the column bases and capitals, he claimed to be overtired. What can I say, he was off duty.
As fall approached, Slim’s energy increased. He painted a couple of dried gourds, delighting in their arresting shapes and textures.
And in early October, he offered encouragement, if not actual assistance, when I began repainting our church’s battered old nativity figures, those that spend Advent and Christmas in the outdoor manger.
There was considerable room for improvement, as these “before” photos of the lamb and donkey show. Slim was by my side as I worked on the animals. The human figures–the holy family, shepherd, angel and three kings–will be more challenging. I wish I could entrust their makeovers to Slim. But Halloween is upon us, and I know he will certainly be “overtired” in the days ahead.
I can hear Slim now, starting to make ready for the big day. He’s dragging out the orange and green lights. Onward, to Halloween!
Before Voting, Listen, and Remember January 6, 2021
For those of you who intend to cast your precious vote for the former president, I ask you first to do this: listen to him speak, in his own words. Pay attention to more than the carefully clipped sound bites offered by Fox News. Like other conservative media outlets, they do their best to sanitize him. They pick out the strongest snippets of a Trump speech or interview, repeatedly emphasizing those that make him sound “presidential.” Take some time away from the pundits who tell you how to think.
If you listen to the former president for more than ten minutes or so, you’ll likely hear incoherencies, bizarre claims and convoluted ramblings. You may hear cringeworthy references to his own and others’ physical appearance: he could be sunning his “beautiful body” on a Riviera beach instead of toiling away on the campaign trail; his many super rich friends are unattractive in their bathing suits; he’s much better looking than Harris, etc. There’s the continuing preoccupation with crowd size. There are anecdotes about groveling sycophants who approach him to kiss the ring, begging him, “Sir, sir.” You may hear him refer to himself, inexplicably, as the “father of IVF.” He may mention that a Harris administration will outlaw cows and windows.
You’ll almost certainly hear petty, school-boy insults: demeaning nicknames (he often reminds the crowd that he’s good with names), and mocking taunts. You may hear him refer to those he dislikes as “human scum.” You’ll likely hear him demonize certain marginalized groups, a practice which has had very real and serious consequences.
You’ll hear many empty promises, impossible to fulfill, and blatant, outright lies.
But perhaps most significantly, you’ll hear some frightening, dangerous assertions.
In a recent interview with Bloomberg News, Trump referred to January 6 as a day “of peace and love.”
In a Univision Town Hall on October16, he claimed that during the January 6 attack on the Capitol, “no one on the other side was killed.” And by “the other side,” he means the police. Five police officers died from injuries they sustained defending the Capitol. It’s an odd and alarming construct from someone professing to be the “law and order candidate.” He claimed, falsely, “There were no guns down there; we didn’t have guns.” Then he doubled down in aligning himself with those fighting the police: “The others had guns, but we didn’t have guns.” Note the use of “we.” He is no longer separating himself from that day’s violent mob.
Listen to him discuss plans for a second term. He needs to win the election, or the consequences of his many illegal actions may finally catch up to him. He intends to persecute those who disagree with him. He plans to fill the Department of Justice with his lackeys and root out “the enemy within,” by whom he means duly elected representatives, among others. You may hear him make barely veiled allusions to the threat of violence if he does not win the upcoming election. You’ll hear him speak highly of dictators, whom he sees as role models. Remember that in a second term, his administration will consist of only the most extreme Trump loyalists. There will be no “adults in the room.” No guardrails will remain. The prospect is truly chilling.
Did you watch the terrible events of January 6, 2021 as they unfolded? If so, you know what you saw. Don’t forget. Don’t let Trump persuade you that his version is the true one.
Ask yourself this: How can it possibly be in the country’s best interests for this man to be president again?
And after you listen to the former president speak, unfiltered, for a while, I urge you to do this: give some time to Kamala Harris, our current Vice President, former Attorney General of California, a prosecutor whose job was to enforce the law. Maybe you’ll see that there are plenty of good reasons to cast your vote for her.
Still With Us, Still Masking, the Raccoons
For many years, we rarely glimpsed a raccoon in our immediate area. I wrote about young Kiko’s only encounter with a raccoon inside his fenced domain back in 2013. During our Covid home confinement in 2020, we began to notice them more often, and they provided much-needed entertainment. They were the ideal visitors for that era: always masked, always outside. Our family would gather eagerly at the windows to watch these unexpectedly agile athletes perform acrobatic feats. They persisted, and persisted, and managed, somehow, to feast on seed from the hanging feeders. These days, raccoons are ever-present.
This winter, a pair of small, absolutely adorable raccoons began appearing regularly as dusk approached. We’d see them working patiently, using their delicate, long-fingered hands to comb the ground for sunflower seeds beneath the feeders. I’d learned that it’s an easy task for a raccoon to remove a feeder from its hook, so I’d started securing them to the branches with carabiners. For a while they seemed to work. But raccoons clearly persevere. I’d awaken to find both feeders on the ground, their components scattered across a wide area, the seed long gone. Now I remove the feeders at night, after the last of the late-feeding cardinals has retired. A slight delay, though, and I’ll find a feeder already on the ground. These little guys work quickly now that they’ve mastered the carabiner.
Once they realized that the feeders disappear after dark, the raccoons are more likely to show up during the day. Early morning, mid-day, late afternoon, whenever. Hearing a louder than expected rustling in the weeds one recent day, I watched as a raccoon vigorously dragged a feeder toward a more private dining spot, behind the garage. And I know, from the gifts they leave, that they check for the feeders every night. I still think the raccoons are very cute. But I wouldn’t object strenuously to fewer visits from these furry friends.
Back Home (With the Local Foxes)
My childhood neighborhood in urban Atlanta was full of large, mature trees and pockets of densely wooded areas. I grew up amidst plenty of small wildlife. Squirrels, chipmunks and birds were, and are, plentiful. For some reason, we often saw an opossum sitting placidly on the roof of our next-door neighbor’s home, easily visible from our kitchen window. Friends tell me that foxes, coyotes and deer all make the occasional appearance these days, but I never spotted any in all my years there. So I wasn’t prepared to be surrounded by the larger wild creatures we see every day here in Northern Virginia.
We had been in our present home just a few months when my husband and I awakened to a horrific screeching sound. My first thought was that our daughter, then about eighteen months old, was crying out, in a most terrible way.
“She’s OK! She’s OK! It’s not her!,” my husband assured me. “It’s coming from outside.” It was spring, and the windows were open.
The screeching continued. It still sounded like a child suffering a brutal attack.
It wasn’t until the next day that we determined the source of the noise: a fox. Just a little red fox.
Over the last twenty years we’ve come to be aware of the many foxes around us. Now that we know where to look, we see them as they go about their typically quiet everyday lives. We consider it a privilege to share our space with them. Their middle-of-the-night screeches no longer frighten us. Sometimes I’ve looked out and watched with interest as a fox stands in the center of our yard and yells out, repeatedly. During daylight hours, our local foxes regularly follow certain routes, from one patch of wooded county land to another, crossing yards, or following paved paths like driveways and walkways. Occasionally we’ll spot them curled up and snoozing in a patch of sun.
When our dog Kiko was alive, his favorite look-out spot was by the fence in our side yard, where he could watch the foxes on their rounds. They frequently passed within a few yards of the boundary. But neither Kiko nor the foxes made a sound. They eyed one another with intense scrutiny, as if wondering if they might be related. The Shiba Inu is sometimes called the “little fox dog,” and the two are similar in size and appearance, with their thick red fur and pointed ears. The fox’s long bushy tail, though, contrasts with Kiko’s shorter, curly one. In a post from last winter, I remarked that a glimpse of a fox in the front yard sometimes prompts a moment of panic when I think it’s Kiko, still with us, but alarmingly beyond the safety of the fence. The foxes have become a sort of stand-in for our beloved dog, and I find their presence comforting. In their mannerisms, they also remind me of Kiko. They look at humans with a calm, steady gaze in their golden-amber eyes, then glance away coolly, as if to say, “I’m fine without you.” Their black-tipped ears twitch at the slightest sound. And like my dog in his agile prime, they can jump up, turn on a dime, and dash away speedily.
After our return from Cape Cod, I was glad that the fox I’ve come to see most often hadn’t moved on to new territory. I call him Freddie, and he’s evidently the senior male, the group patriarch, father to three cubs. Early on sunny mornings, he’s often curled up in front of his favorite tree in my mother’s yard. In the winter, he was frequently accompanied by his mate, a nursing female. I dubbed her Frankie, short for Francesca. She was dainty and skittish, slightly smaller than Freddie, and lighter in color, with a narrower face. I haven’t seen her for a couple of months. But their youngsters are everywhere: long, lanky adolescents, lean and big-eared. The sibling in charge is a spirited, fearless female. I dubbed her Snowball for the prominent bob of white at the end of her tail. She’s a skilled and patient hunter, often lying flat in the mulch, blending in, motionless, waiting to pounce. And sometimes she and the other young ones venture inside our fenced area. They’re small enough to pop easily in and out through the wrought-iron bars. Now that Kiko’s nearly fifteen-year tenure as guard is over, the area has become even more of a safe sanctuary for birds, squirrels and chipmunks. But with his absence, his foxy look-a-likes have become bolder. When I’m at my desk and spot Snowball inside the fence, I raise the window, and she flees immediately. Foxes are intelligent, and they seem to learn quickly the limits of human hospitality. But they’re also persistent and sneaky.
Just the other day I happened to witness Snowball flying across the front yard with a bushy-tailed squirrel in her jaws. It’s a wild kingdom out there. I’d prefer that all our neighborhood critters were vegetarians, but it’s not up to me.
I wonder about little Frankie. I’d like to think she’s moved on, by choice. It’ unlikely, I know, but I hope she’s living her best life in another welcoming enclave, relishing the absence of familial responsibilities. After all, she knows her teenagers can take care of themselves.
Home Again (with our Feathered and Furry Friends)
Our family recently returned from our summer vacation in Cape Cod. As we’d hoped, it was a lovely, fun-filled, restful get-away. We’re very grateful to escape from the ordinary in a beautiful, beloved spot, doing as much, or as little, as we please.
And what a delight it is, at the end of that time, to be home.
Compared with our little rental cottage, our house feels immense. There is no sparkling view of Cape Cod Bay, but I can gaze out from every window on scenes I find satisfying in a different way: the muted green and gold landscapes of home.
Since our dog departed this earthly life in July 2022, I’ve become more attuned to the other creatures that share our home turf. Now that Kiko no longer patrols the territory, they’re clearly more at ease. Upon returning after time away, I eagerly look for the non-human friends I’m getting to know.
Among the first sounds of my Northern Virginia morning are those of a couple of wrens. One typically calls out boldly from the railing above our front porch. As he tweet-tweets, he looks to be filled with gusto, bursting with boldness, jumping abruptly this was and that. From a nearby tree comes a buzzing, warbling response. In our side yard under the pines, the mourning doves are foraging quietly below the feeders. All pearl-gray patience and propriety, they glide along like demure, hoop-skirted ladies, unexpectedly clad in sassy, fuchsia-colored shoes. I hate to catch them by surprise, because they fly off with such a loud commotion of fluttering feathers. At the feeders, there’s a constant coming and going of house finches, sparrows, chickadees and titmice. The red-bellied woodpecker swoops in periodically with a flourish and a squawk. A congregation of cardinals is always present, from just before dawn to well past dusk. They cluster at the feeders, perch in the pine branches, and amble along the ground, like convivial regulars in their local pub. Touches of bright yellow flash in the sunlight, as goldfinches feast merrily on the heads of Black-Eyed Susans by the back porch. Crows survey their domain from atop the highest branches of our old maples.
The gray squirrels are the most numerous and omnipresent of the furry creatures. Rarely do I peer out any window and not see at least one or two. We have so many squirrels. I noticed a bunch of slightly smaller, younger ones, for the first time this spring. (Mama squirrels are doting mothers, and they keep their young well sheltered until they’ve grown nearly to adult size.) They clatter round and round the tree trunks in frenzied games of chase, they leap heroically from branch to branch. In a group of exuberant acrobats, one little guy stands out like an Olympic gymnast. We often see him twirling his little body around a branch as though mastering a routine on the parallel bars. He hangs by his toes like a trapeze artist. He back-flips off a tree trunk and sticks the landing.
For a couple of months or so now, we have not seen Bobbie, the bob-tailed squirrel we began noticing in 2020. (I first dubbed her Bob, then noticed later that she was a nursing mother.) Where her tail should be, she had only a fuzzy stump; it appeared that it had been pulled off, either by a predator or in an accident. But Bobbie didn’t let it bother her. She made up for her lack of tail with an extra doze of chutzpa, and my goodness, could she jump. She became a local celebrity, a familiar sight to all our nearby neighbors. We’re sad to think she’s no longer with us. But the squirrel community may feel otherwise, as Bobbie was one fiery gal. Often, when we saw a squirrel making a fast exit from the feeding grounds, it was likely because Bobbie was in determined and aggressive pursuit. I expect she lives on through her progeny, as she apparently was a mother to several broods.
Bobbie will certainly live on, vividly, in our memories, as well as in neighborhood lore.
Next up: Deer, Foxes and Raccoons
Biggie Beetle (Eastern Hercules)
While spreading seed for the birds and squirrels during Saturday’s soothing morning rain, I spotted an unidentified object in the wet grass. It appeared to be made of black patent leather. What is that? I wondered. I bent down to look. I gasped. Wow! It was the biggest beetle I’ve ever seen.
It was easily the size of a small mouse. After observing the beetle for a while, and judging it to be deceased, I gingerly picked it up. When I showed the find to my husband, he suspected that I was trying to fool him. He recalled a similar episode from our past.
We hadn’t been seeing each other very long when my housemate at the time played an unforgettable prank on me. Inside the oatmeal carton that I opened every morning, she had placed a gargantuan black rubber cockroach. Upon discovering it, I was horrified. It sure looked like the real thing. If my memory surrounding the event is correct (and it may well not be), I ran into H soon afterward on the Princeton campus. The route to my carrel at Marquand Library intersected with his path to the Engineering Quad. I told him about the traumatic oatmeal event, and he came back with me to see for himself. “Is it real?” he asked. I replied that I thought so. I’d left the beast on the kitchen counter where it fell. I can still see its dark, looming form against the slightly glittery surface of turquoise Formica. It looked frightening, still. But maybe not quite as authentic as I’d previously thought. I took a knife from the drawer and pushed the side of the blade gently down on the back of the insect. It didn’t crunch, but smooshed down quietly, as if it were made of rubber. “Lauren!,” I exclaimed. My roommate had pulled a good one on me.
I appreciated her prank, as she expected I would. I kept the huge rubber roach. Occasionally, I’d wear it, for shock value, like a brooch on a fancy dress, or set like a barrette in my hair. I even wore it, briefly, during my wedding reception, as in the photo above. I still have the creature somewhere. When I find it again, I’ll probably scream, just as I did upon our first encounter.
It took a while for H to be convinced that the beetle wasn’t a clever prop I’d surreptitiously obtained. When we first began trying to identify it, we kept coming up short. In size and color, it looked like a rhinoceros beetle, found in Australia and elsewhere, but not native to the U.S. Before long, we noticed that as the beetle’s shell dried in the sun, it was fading to pale gray-green, with a splattering of dark spots. This coloring identified it as an Eastern Hercules beetle, a type of rhinoceros beetle that’s native to our country. They’re fairly uncommon, which explains why I’ve lived my life to this point without ever meeting one. The two long, curved horns identify our critter as a male, and earn that rhino name. The horns are not used to injure humans or predators, but only in battle with other male competitors to win a mate. The spotted shell over the abdomen is actually a pair of hardened wings, known as the elytra. They protect another pair of wings beneath. These beetles do, indeed, fly occasionally, despite their large size. Yikes!
I’m reminded of the time I first saw one of our Southern “palmetto bugs” take flight, and I shudder. As I remember the incident (and again, some details may be incorrect) my mother, my high school boyfriend and I were watching the opening sketch of Saturday Night Live in our Atlanta family room when we noticed an enormous roach inching its way high up along the wall. My boyfriend sprang into action. He grabbed a yardstick and stood on a chair, poised to swat the giant insect. Mama commented, “I’ve heard that some of these can fly.” “I don’t believe that,” he replied. As he prepared to strike, the huge bug flew directly at his head. And with great speed, the three of us fled the room.
But back to our Eastern Hercules beetle. His appearance is fierce, but he was not a threat to most living creatures. In his larval stage, he lived underground as a greenish white grub, chewing away on rotting wood, turning decaying tree material into soil. As an adult, he was active primarily at night, where he kept close to the ground, foraging among the leaves for fallen fruits and berries. Given the opportunity, he may have dined on ash tree sap, but he was not a pest. Despite his commanding presence, bulky armor and body ammo, he was a quiet, solitary vegetarian, doing admirable environmental work. He rarely used his well-protected wings to fly. His adult life may have lasted two to three years. I’m glad his final steps led him to a spot in our yard where I could discover him.
Thank you, Big Beetle. You’re a remarkable character. You’ve broadened my perspective, and reminded me of the richness and diversity of creation that surrounds us, often unnoticed and unseen, every day. You will be remembered!