Category Archives: Nature

Family, Friendship, Nature

Biggie Beetle (Eastern Hercules)

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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.

The beetle is about 2.5 inches long. The AA battery is there for scale.

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.

The beetle has two smaller horn-like protrusions on each side of the central horns.

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.

The beetle’s large compound eyes are visible in this photo.

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!

Community, Nature

Rain? Rain! Welcome Rain!

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When I awoke yesterday and looked out my bedroom window, as I do most mornings, I was, very briefly, confused. The front walkway appeared to be wet. But that couldn’t be. Here in Northern Virginia, our version of extreme weather this summer has been fixed and unchanging: exceedingly hot, and absolutely dry. By mid-morning, the sunshine is so relentlessly intense, so adamantly bright, that it takes on a sort of menacing quality. Plants are shriveling and lawns are browning. Squirrels splay their little gray bodies out flat on tree branches, attempting to cool off. They resemble the stuffing-free toys we used to buy our dog. The neighborhood fox family trudges by slowly, mouths agape, panting. Even the birds look miserable, as if their feathers were burdened by the heat. After about three weeks without a drop of rain, we were at last gifted with a pounding evening storm three nights ago. But rain in the morning? That just doesn’t happen.

Water droplets, though, were visible on the hydrangeas.

And on the leaves of the red maples and climbing roses. The impatiens were bowing their heads, as in grateful prayer for the healing moisture.

The temperature dropped from the high 90s to the 70s. Furry and feathery friends appeared newly invigorated. The rain continued, off and on, all day long.

It continues today, as well. Normally, I’d be disappointed to wake up to another rainy day.

But these are not normal times.

The sky is crying, the streets are full of tears
Rain come down, wash away my fears
And all this writing on the wall
Oh, I can read between the lines

Rain come down, forgive this dirty town
Rain come down, and give this dirty town
A drink of water, a drink of wine

–Hand in Hand, by Dire Straits

Art and Architecture, Community, Family, Nature, Travel

Spencerport, the Picturesque

Over the Memorial Day weekend, my husband and I drove up to New York state to visit his family in the Rochester area.

We watched our young nephews play hockey, of course, in a very cold, very old-school ice arena.

But there was time for me to indulge in a favorite activity, walking interesting historic neighborhoods. H’s sister and her family live in Spencerport, that picturesque Eerie Canal village bedecked with Hometown Heroes banners. A charming, pedestrian-friendly town, it’s filled with comfortable old homes and well-tended gardens. Spring had truly sprung, at last, in the Rochester area. Lawns were lush, trees were leafy, and flowers were flourishing in the bright sunshine. After a brisk morning walk with my sister-in-law, I retraced our footsteps so I could linger and take many photos.

Spencerport may win the prize for the greatest number of Little Free Libraries per square mile. Their repeated presence is one expression of the town’s gracious, welcoming attitude.

Another is the multitude of cute rock critters peeking out from their dwelling places, to be discovered if one pays attention.

We missed the lilacs, for which the area is famous, but rhododendron, irises and peonies were near their peak.

It’s a town of lovely old churches. Above, from top to bottom, are the First Congregational Church of the United Church of Christ, the United Methodist Church, and St. John the Evangelist Catholic Church.

Above, just a few of the village’s cheery old homes.

The stately edifice above, on South Union Street in the heart of town, next to the old Masonic Temple, now houses professional offices. Because of its Neo-Classical appearance, typical of bank buildings on the main streets of American small towns, I had assumed it was built as a bank. But its facade originally belonged to a grand home at 25 State Street, in what is now downtown Rochester. The house was demolished in 1923, and the bank, fronted by the saved facade, was erected two years later. Spencerport’s central district retains a variety of businesses that serve practical needs. In addition to a grocery store (with a handy parking lot), it has quite a few thriving restaurants, as well as a dog-friendly brewery which we’ve enjoyed, in the past, with our family and Kiko.

The town is dotted with verdant pockets of greenery, and two swift-running creeks wind through yards and between homes.

And then, further enhancing the town’s quaint aspect and running through its midst, there’s the Eerie Canal itself, to be discussed in an upcoming post.

For an earlier post on Spencerport, see here.

Family, Nature

May, the Magnificent

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Of all the warm-weather months, May is to me the most beautiful here in our little pocket of Northern Virginia. For our family, it’s the month of roses. All around our back courtyard, they burst into glorious bloom.

The profusion of flowers and foliage appears all the more fabulous to us, because we remember too well the area when it looked strikingly different.

Our “back yard,” before, c. 2005.

Twenty-four years ago, when we bought our house, there was no real back yard, only an expanse of concrete leading to an ugly garage. In the spring of 2009, after years of idle talk and months of actual planning, we embarked on a major renovation, which included landscaping, a flagstone patio, a wrought iron fence, and a screened porch. (See Up from the Concrete, Roses, May 2021.) With every year that passes, we enjoy our back yard refuge even more.

May is the most fragrant month here, as well. Throughout our neighborhood, there are patches of undeveloped land, property of Fairfax County, which remain pleasantly unkempt. In May, these spots teem with wild roses and honeysuckle. All year long, they offer sanctuary and shelter to wildlife. I’m grateful to live in a place where every last bit of acreage is not overly manicured.

Peonies add their perfume to the rose-scented atmosphere of May.

A new addition to my mother’s back yard is a Teddy Bear Southern Magnolia, which we planted in November. As its cuddly name suggests, it’s a smaller variety. Its creamy white blossoms should be sending forth their luxuriant fragrance well into June.

This May has been marked by dramatic, sudden shifts from clear blue skies to fierce storms, and right back again, just as quickly. On Mother’s Day, after a heavy downpour, we were gifted with a lovely double rainbow.

As spring turns to summer, as May cedes the ground to June, may you push through all your cloudbursts to find the rainbows!

Community, Faith and Spirituality, Nature

Spring, in Full Swing

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We’re in the midst of a gorgeous, lush spring here in Northern Virginia. Despite the perhaps more than unusually erratic temperature fluctuations, the season’s progress has been moving along at a consistent, stately pace. A fair number of rainy days have no doubt contributed to the luxuriance of flowers and foliage, and in contrast, the periods of sunshine have been all the more glorious.

Our Appalachian Red redbuds, marked by their brilliant fuchsia buds, were in peak bloom toward the end of April.

The lilac in our courtyard generously shares its delightful fragrance, so that we sense its presence even when it’s out of sight.

I love these mayapples, a gift from a garden-wise neighbor. Soon after sprouting, the plants resemble closed umbrellas. The leaves then unfurl, forming a flat canopy. A single white blossom grows beneath the foliage. After blooming, a small apple-like fruit forms, and its weight causes the plant to bow down toward the ground. Box turtles are attracted by the scent, and they spread the seeds (in their poop) along the forest floor. Like other native spring ephemerals, the mayapple is a humble beauty that may be easily overlooked.

Our azaleas, on the other hand, have been boldly emphatic in color and bloom.

Local Kwanzan cherry trees, past their peak, shower the ground below with their pink petals.

This towering jacaranda tree is an unusual one for our neighborhood. A native of South America, it bursts forth in late April with big clusters of fragrant lavender flowers, trumpet-shaped. Its seed pods break into neat halves, each resembling a small boat.

The edges of our courtyard and walkway abound with purple and white violets, bunched together like small, perfect bouquets.

So many of nature’s spring treasures, high above and on the ground below, are there for the seeking. I try to let each one remind me that even when so much of the world is caught up in conflict, animosity and division for its own sake, there is goodness, all around.

Let’s remember to search for, and to savor that goodness. And, when we can’t find it, maybe we need to embody it, to be and share that goodness. It abides with us, no matter what.

Nature, Walking the Dog

On a Snowy Morning, Pleasantly Dog-less

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This morning started off snowy, just as the Capital Weather Gang had predicted.  It wasn’t the kind of peacefully falling snow that gently whispers “Winter Wonderland.”  It was the heavy, wet, swirling kind, powered by gusting winds.  The kind against which no hat, scarf, hood or umbrella offers any buffer.  It’s everywhere at once, especially in eyes, boot tops and inside jacket cuffs.  

And so it was a good morning to appreciate being without a dog requiring an extensive walk, no matter the weather.  I’m still up and out most mornings, but by necessity only briefly, to replenish the seed smorgasbord I offer the birds and squirrels.  And then, from the warm comfort of our playroom, I can watch the ongoing parade of wildlife, both feathered and furry, that flourishes just beyond our windows. 

Every once in a while I glance out and think I see Kiko. Occasionally there’s the briefest moment of panic, as I mistake one of the bold neighborhood foxes for our dear departed dog. There’s that lush red fur, those eternally pointy ears, the fixed, focused stare, the poised stance.

It’s as though he never left, but simply moved outside.

A welcome thought on this cold, blustery morning, when I can happily remain indoors.

Faith and Spirituality, Holiday, Nature

Moon Glow (on the Second-to-Longest Night)

Yesterday, as I was anticipating tonight’s longest night of the year, I thought about our deep-seated human need for light and warmth. Scarcity drives demand, and the short, dark, cold days of winter require us to feed the need through creative means. We devise inventive ways to kindle the fire indoors, to bring the comfort of light and heat into our homes. And possibly, we hope, into our hearts.

For some reason, I stepped outside. I saw the moon. And it was spectacular. Against a dark blue backdrop dotted with small white puffy clouds, the bright half-moon was encircled by a halo of iridescent rings. It looked rather like a glowing opal hovering in the sky. Late last month, during a chilly night walk, my daughter and I marveled at a wide pearly circle around the moon. It was lovely, but it lacked the dazzling colors that I witnessed last night.

What causes a ring around the moon? I’ve often wondered, but never sought out the answer. Now I know. To put it very simply, in terms I can comprehend, it’s produced by light shining through ice crystals high up in the atmosphere, and therefore more likely to occur in colder months.

I almost didn’t attempt a photo. I knew it wouldn’t come close to capturing the beauty I saw firsthand. But I gave it a try, and the resulting images were better than I had expected.

As winter descends and night falls way too early, I’m grateful that many rooms in our old farmhouse will soon be glowing softly with strands of miniature white lights. The day has become cloudy; the sky looks like a white sheet. It’s doubtful that a magical, rainbow-ringed moon will be visible tonight, on this longest night. But, as the old year ends and a new one begins, the vision of that strikingly haloed moon will remind me to look up and out on clear nights. It will prompt me to be ever thankful for a message I treasure always, but especially during these short, cold days. It’s the hope and promise of Christmas:

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can not overcome it.

Gospel of John, 1:5

Holiday, Nature

Snow? Yes, Snow!

After a mild day of rain, Northern Virginians awoke this morning to a sight not seen in over a year: snow! There wasn’t much, just enough to coat grassy areas, branches and foliage. But it’s more than we received during all of last winter.

The slushy layer of ice on stone and pavement made me appreciate not having a dog to walk.

The abundant fallen black walnuts in our yard were topped with little snow domes.

By now it’s been two weeks since we began decorating for Christmas. As usual, it doesn’t seem like the holidays should be almost upon us. But the snow provided an undeniable note of seasonal authenticity.

Against the snowy backdrop, in the gray dimness of early morning, the sparkling lights of the small tree on our back porch seemed to declare: It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

I guess it really is that time of year!

Holiday, Nature

Return of the Skeleton Crew, 2023

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Our dear family friend Slim awakened earlier this month, as is his habit, from his annual semi-hibernation. An ardent nature lover, he was delighted to greet the brilliant colors and balmy breezes of this alluring October. He spent his first few days wandering the garden and grounds, enjoying the unique botanical mix of summer and fall that has defined these recent days.

He and his pack of loyal pups lazed by the fountain on pleasantly mild afternoons, glorying in pumpkins, bumpy gourds, bright impatiens and fall foliage.

While stretched out on the sun-warmed flagstones, he and little Rocky appreciated the self-seeded petunia patch and squirrel-planted sunflowers.

He congratulated my husband on his near-complete triumph over the stiltgrass in the lawn of the back courtyard.

He marveled at this fall’s striking abundance of black walnuts and acorns. While walking across our yard toward our neighbor’s house, Slim remarked that he was reminded of the ball pit at Chucky Cheese.

After soaking up such a bounty of October sunshine, he was grateful for the shade of the screened porch.

Slim accompanied me to our church’s Trunk or Treat, as he has for the past several years. Never at a loss for the encouraging word, he bantered wittily with every small superhero and Barbie who came along for candy.

Slim brushed away a tear as he spoke of expecting his good buddy Kiko to emerge from a playroom nap in his leisurely, sedate manner. “I sure do miss the old boy!,” he declared. “He wasn’t a big talker, but he had a quiet integrity that I so admired.”

As usual, Slim, with his discerning eye for character, hit the nail on the head.

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I’ve been writing about our Skeleton Crew since 2014. For some earlier posts, see here, here, and here.