Old Yowler

          Sometimes I have a clear idea of where I want to start a letter blog, and other times, like this time, I have no idea where to begin. And that in and of itself is a beginning.

          Sometimes I can get an idea from the pictures I took through the week; see if anything pops out at me. One thing that is 'popping' out at me this week is this picture of a water fountain for your cats — and dogs too I suppose. And the reason it's popping out at me is because I've been carrying it forward for weeks now, meaning to tell you about it. Truth be known, I was hoping to have a good ending to the story but it just isn't happening.

          Molly, our old (and stinky) calico loves to drink water from Mike's bathroom sink. I'm glad it's Mike's sink and not mine because she always leaves a mess. Dirty paws, snotty sneezes, that kind of stuff. We turn the tap on so the water trickles, she puts her little face under it, lets it run down her cheek, and drinks. Does Molly have to get water from the sink? No! There's a water dish in the kitchen that I refresh several times every day. And when she wants a drink she sits on the sink and yowls. It's annoying. Especially at 5:30 in the morning. Molly takes a long time to get her drink. I have other things to do besides stand there. I found myself walking away thinking, I'll leave the bathroom light on and come back in a few minutes and turn it off. Because we have two little windows near the ceiling in the bathroom for borrowed light, I assumed I'd see the light and that would alert me to the fact that I left the water on for Molly. I guess I don't look up enough because I don't notice the bathroom light is on and invariably I'll get busy and forget to go back and shut the water off until I hear the pump run or see Molly in the kitchen.

          "I'm not turning the water on for her anymore," I told Mike. "I keep forgetting to shut it off."

          Now the war was on! Molly's yowling, my ignoring, and poor Mike caught in the middle. He doesn't like his sink dirty either and he would rather she drank from the bowl in the kitchen. At the same time, he has a soft heart and gave in, giving her drinks from his sink whenever he went in there.

          I heard, read, saw, somewhere that cats will drink more water if it's running water and they were promoting this water fountain. If I'd have had this when Rascal was alive maybe he'd have drunk more water and wouldn't've died from a urinary blockage. I ordered the fountain. It came with the floral mat to set it on and an extra filter, all for twenty bucks. A trip to the vet is way more than that.

          We set the fountain on Mike's sink and refused to turn the tap on for Molly.

          The war was on — again!

          And again, Molly wore us down. After a few days of not seeing her drink anything, we gave in. She wouldn't drink from the fountain. I don't know how or why we ever started giving her water from the tap but sure do regret it now!  

          The fountain sits in the kitchen and I've seen the other cats using it so it wasn't a complete and total waste of money.

          Sometimes, when you're outside, you may notice a bit of fluff floating past you. Sometimes it's just that. A bit of fluff. Sometimes that bit of fluff has wings! Like this guy. This is a Woolly Aphid. They secrete a waxy white covering that looks like cotton or wool. It helps make them unpalatable to predators as well as help them move easily around plant hairs.

          How about some aphid facts?

          Females can reproduce without mating. They have so many predators that their very survival depends on numbers. A quick and easy way to boost the population is to dispense with the nonsense of mating. Just like Russian nesting dolls, a female aphid may carry developing young which themselves are already carrying developing young.

          Aphids give birth to live young.

          Aphids sound an alarm when they're in trouble. The aphid under attack will release a chemical signal and all nearby aphids run for cover. Unfortunately, ladybugs have learned aphid language and will follow the alarm pheromones to an easy meal.

          Although aphids look defenseless, they don't go down without a fight. They're expert kickboxers and will pummel their attackers with their hind feet. They'll also 'stab' the eggs of their enemies to kill them before they hatch. If all else fails they'll stop, drop, and roll off the plant to get away.

          Aphids poop sugar. They even have ants that will farm and protect them in exchange for the honeydew.

          One more? Aphids have tailpipes. It's a pair of tubular structures on their hind ends which release a sticky substance to gum up the mouth of their predators.

          Founded in 1681, Pennsylvania is an old state and there's a lot of history here — and a lot of historical markers. This past week I took pictures of two of them for you. The one in Dushore is dedicated to the soldiers and sailors of 'The World War' 1917-1918. The one under it is for the Korean War, 1950-1955.

           I've only been past this other one a couple of times because it's on a little side road before you get on 220 just outside of North Towanda. It's dedicated to Oscalui, a village that was known for living on the juice of the maple tree, aka maple syrup. General John Sullivan was ordered to destroy the village, which was regarded as the last Native American attempt at occupation in the Susquehanna Valley.

          After we got home from that shopping trip, I did what I always do, empty the bags and drop them on the floor until I'm done putting groceries away. It's Smudge's job to make sure I didn't miss anything. As you can see, he takes his job seriously.

          The lens on my camera doesn't stay in like it should and as I walk, the zoom often extends and it gets in my way. So I've taken to locking it shut.

          Ginger and I went to the pond one day and as we approach, I see a Great Blue Heron take flight. I raised my camera and couldn't get the zoom out because it was locked. Sigh. So this is all I got.

          This is what I get when cropped.

          Pokeweed. The berries are coming on.

          Who hasn't heard the song Poke Salad Annie? It was written and performed by Tony Joe White in 1968 and describes the lifestyle of a poor rural Southern girl and her family. Yes, you can eat the young leaves of the pokeweed, but only after careful cooking otherwise, you could poison yourself.

          Birds aren't affected by the toxins in pokeweed but animals don't find it palatable and won't eat it unless nothing else is available. I've seen the tops eaten off the pokeweed when it's young and there's plenty of other food sources for the deer when the poke comes on, so maybe they like it after all. Even pokeweed had its uses in folk medicine. The Indians and early settlers used the root in poultices for skin diseases and rheumatism.

          Look at all the Elderberries!

          I was worried about my Bittersweet. Things change from year to year. Other plants invade and make it inhospitable for something else to grow. I was worried the Bittersweet was getting crowded out, but here it is. I just love the Bittersweet. 

          The Bergamot is blooming! I just love the Bergamot — and I can't wait to see my first Hummingbird Moth of the year. Sometimes I see them on my Lilacs, which bloom in the spring, but like I told you before, my Lilacs didn't produce many blooms this year.

          Someday I'll have my drying room set up where I can collect and dry many of the things I talk about. Bergamot makes a nice tea and aids in digestion.

          There are a few wild raspberries growing on the edges of where Mike mows. I usually pick a few for Ginger because she likes them but there aren't enough for me to fool with.

          This is a little butterfly known as a Pearl Crescent. They're only an inch to an inch and a half across. She looks pretty beat up to me.  

          A little further on in our walk, I see another one who's wings are in better shape.

          Speaking of beat-up wings, check out this Blue Dasher! It makes you wonder how this poor guy can keep flying!

          This guy's wings look whole and healthy. He's a Widow Skimmer. I just love the dragonflies.

          Mike's birthday was this week. The Lycoming County Fair falls at the same time. Michael loves fair food so we drove down to Hughesville to get some.

          Road pictures anyone?

          And then we were there.

          The fairgrounds opened at 10, the vendors open at 12, and the rides wouldn't operate until 5. That's okay with us because we weren't going for the rides. We got there around 11:30 and a few of the vendors were open. We walked around and were impressed because of the size of this place. Mike got to talking to a gal in one of the lemonade stands and she said there were 30 vendors selling lemonade. We were there until one and still not a lot of vendors were open.

          I have to tell you that these guys captivated my attention. They were all over the place and that surprised me. I never expected to see so many in one place at one time.

          Mike, on a mission to get his Italian sausage sandwich, wasn't very patient with me trying to get a picture. Despite that, I did manage to get one — just one! But it's a pretty good one. It looks like he has his head cocked sideways as he's looking at me.

          "Peg, what is it?" you ask. "A Yellow Jacket?"

          I know that's what they look like but if you saw the size of them, you'd say it's a Yellow Jacket on steroids. These guys are huge! Way bigger than a Yellow Jacket, which is about a half-inch long and aggressive whereas these guys weren't bothering anyone.

          "Peg! What are they!"

          Well, at first I thought they might be male Ichneumon wasps because I know they're not aggressive. But after comparing pictures I realized they weren't. That's when I remembered my handsome brother, Paul on a picnic four years ago saw a giant bee and told me what it was. We chased it for a long time to no avail. I never did get to see it. What did he call it? A Bee Eater? I Googled it and all I got was a bunch of pictures of birds. I texted my brother.

          "They're Cicada Killers," he told me.

          Fascinating! They're fascinating critters. As I said earlier, they're not aggressive toward people. The males don't even have stingers but will jab you with a sharp spine on the end of their abdomen if you handle him too roughly. The females sting to paralyze a cicada then carry it back to a burrow in the ground where she'll lay an egg on it and entomb it. Food for her young, doncha know. I found it interesting that she knows the sex of her egg. She has to. It takes more females to create new generations than it does males but also because future females get two cicadas! Females have to be larger in order to carry the cicadas so need more food. Often times the female will drag a paralyzed cicada to a tree, climb up, and launch herself.

          Cicada Killers or Cicada Hawks can be as much as two inches long. Two inches! Check out his size in this picture I swiped from the internet. They're some of the largest bees in the Eastern United States.

          Males will hang out in groups, competing for a female. I wonder if that's what I was seeing, a bunch of males. I'm also going to venture a guess that there's an abundance of food in the area for them. Not for the adults, they feed on nectar, but for the hatchlings.

          Mike had one Italian sausage and it wasn't that great. We went in search of a better one.

           Mike in jail.

          We walked through the tractor display but skipped the animals. We sat and sipped a chocolate milkshake while Mike rested his back. Too bad there weren't any scooter rentals. It would have made the fair much more enjoyable for Mike and we would've done more.

          Mike tried an Italian sausage from another vendor but it wasn't much better than the first and now he was too full to try anymore.

          As we sat and people watched, I was surprised to see this guy wearing a sweatshirt and leather jacket in 80+ degree heat.

          "I guess he didn't want to leave it on his motorcycle," was what I told Mike. My over-active imagination reminded me that people who wear jackets in the heat of summer sometimes conceal things underneath. Guns. Bombs. In this day and age, you gotta be ever vigilant.

          I said we skipped the critters but that isn't strictly true. We skipped the chicken, horse, cow, pig, sheep, and rabbit barns. We walked past the camel rides and I felt sorry for them. It was hot, really hot, but being desert animals, I didn't think the heat would bother them. Being chained and giving people rides all day doesn't seem like much of a life for a camel, but what do I know! They may be treated well and be perfectly content.

          We also checked out the reindeer. Clarice has her head in the trough, her daughter Kneezey is to the right and Ginger is the third one.

          "We call her Kneezey because every time she'd lay down, Clarice would push her around on her knees. So she didn't have any hair on her knees," the guy told us.

          "How long do they live?" I asked.

          "About 20 years."

          "Do they mind the heat?"

          "They don't mind the heat as much as the humidity. They're from an arid climate and their lungs aren't equipped to process the moisture in the air. I'm constantly monitoring them for pneumonia."

          The lady next to us asked, "How many reindeer did Santa have?"

          "Ten," the man answered.

          "I don't think I can even name them all," she said.

          Who doesn't know the song! "There's Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid, Donner and Blitzen," I said. "I looked at her kid and asked, "And who's the most famous reindeer of all?"

          "Rudolph!" the kid answered.

          "You missed one," the man said.

          "Who'd I miss," I asked.

          "Olive." I'm sure I looked puzzled because he went on to add, "And Olive the other reindeer..."

          I laughed. I guess that's how he got ten.

          Storm clouds gathering as we left the fair.

          On the way home, more road pictures.

          This guy just kina sauntered off the road, not in any hurry at all.

          "I had a friend that would run down in a ditch to kill those things," Mike reminisced. "He wrecked his brand new Thunderbird that way."

          Who doesn't enjoy toilet art?

          "Me!" I hear Mike saying.

          At least they keep it interesting by changing out the toilet sitter.

  

          Can you see the old mailbox back among the lilies?

          They're replacing a bridge just outside of Dushore. There were at least two other opportunities to turn off before you get to this point. 

          Some trucker wiped out this poor guys brick wall trying to make the turn.

        

 

          Smudge. That darn cat. I'm glad he's still around and that mean old mama fox didn't get him to feed her babies... OH! That reminds me of a story, but first, Smudge.

          Mike got the ladder out so he could wash Big Red, his big red truck. No matter where Smudge sees a ladder, he cannot resist.

          Up he went, old pro that he is.

          And triumphantly sat on the top.

          I've not been leaving Itsy and Ginger out in the dog run by themselves much anymore. For one thing, Ginger won't do her business if I'm not there to protect her from the giant buzzing things at the hummingbird feeder. For another, I'd never forgive myself if the fox got them due to my negligence. I don't know if she's still in the area or not, but I'm not taking any chances. But the other day I did. I came back in, left the door open, and sat at the 'puter, intending to be only a minute or so, then I'd go back out. All of a sudden, Itsy starts yelping like something's hurting her. My heart jumped into my throat and I went running. Did the fox jump the fence or did Itsy find a way out? In my mind's eye, I see Pepe Le Pew scooting under the fence. The occasional possum or coon and the cats always go over. The girls have never once tried the fence. Never once tried to go over or under.

          Reaching the door, I burst through, taking in the whole yard at once. I don't see anything and scan the area beyond. The yipping continues and I'm getting ready to panic when I see Itsy coming back across the yard. It wasn't her, but it was something. I listened to the dying yips of what sounded like a pup. I didn't have any shoes on so I couldn't go investigate, but I don't have any right to interfere anyway. If a coyote or hawk got a fox pup, it's the chain of life. I did investigate later but whatever happened, didn't happen where I could see.

          Check this out. Yep. Mike is helping me cook. 

           Now don't go getting all excited thinking you can get your man in the kitchen to help you with the cooking too. It's only taken me 24 years to get him to this point. A couple of months ago he started helping me cook scrambled eggs. Since he doesn't want anything in his and I like broccoli and onions in mine, I asked him to mind his while I worked on mine. That way they'd be done the way he likes them and about the same time mine would be done and we could eat together. This week we were having tacos and I love homemade tortillas. They're easy to make and I usually make (and freeze) them for my little homemade pizzas. Since Mike helps with the eggs, would he help me with the tortillas? I took a chance. "Mike, would you help me with these?" I asked. "You could cook them while I rolled them out." I tried not to show shock and awe when he agreed.

          Our neighbors, whom I love, got a Karcher pressure washer this week just like Mike's. It's a good pressure washer and easy to use. Mike and I went down to help Lamar put it together and show him how to use it. No instructions required since we've had two of them. Our first one started leaking after just a few months and Karcher sent us a replacement, no questions asked.

          Ginger and I went for a walk while the guys worked on the pressure washer. I found these bright yellow sunflowers growing along the creek. A Woodland Sunflower maybe. The leaves are too wide to be a Narrow Leaf Sunflower. But I'm sure it's one of the sunflowers.

          I got back just in time to see Mike hand the wand off to Lamar and he washed the road dust from the front porch. 

           Mike and I took a golf cart ride out to Vernon's. We saw these adult turkeys with only one baby.

          "I think the fox got the rest of them," Vernon told Mike.

          We were headed home when I yell. "Wait wait. Stop." Mike stopped. "I think I see a different flower. Would you back up? Or I can walk."

          Mike backed up and I got off and took pictures. This is one I've never seen before. This, my dears, is a Monkey Flower. 

         It's supposed to resemble the face of a monkey when you squeeze it. Since I didn't know what it was, I didn't squeeze it — but I might have to go back and try it just to see. There are very few insects strong enough to push through the partially closed throat. This is a wetland wildflower and likes to be kept moist.

          Oh my gosh! Going out across the yard to the pond I kept hearing loud buzzing. I have to confess that my first thought was, where's the dead animal. Turns out the white clover is just thick with honey bees!

          Here's another shot of the Bergamot with a bumbler.

          It seems like I don't have any trouble getting pictures of Skippers ...

... or Red Admirals.

Grasshoppers...

... or even a bitty toad with orange on the bottom of his feet.

           But the Swallowtails and Monarchs have been more elusive this year. However, I did manage to get two shots of a Monarch before he flitted away.

  

          How do I know it's a Monarch and not his look-alike the Viceroy? Because he has two complete rows of white dots on his wings. A Viceroy will only have a row and a half.

          The only food of the Monarch caterpillar is the milkweed plant. It makes them bitter tasting to the birds. The Viceroy rides on the reputation of the Monarch and the birds can't count spots so they leave both of them alone.

          Mike and I don't go out Paradise Road much unless we're going for a ride on the golf cart. Someone told us they tore down several beautiful houses out that way and we went to look. Sure enough, the houses were gone and there was little evidence there were ever houses there.

          "Who's they?" you wonder.

          'They' is the gas company. There were three, maybe four houses involved in a lawsuit against the gas company for ruining their water wells with all the fracking going on in our area. Fracking is a process where they use high-pressure injecting of 'fracking fluid' to create cracks in the deep rock to allow the natural gas to flow more freely.

          Even though the gas company was supplying them with 'buffalos' full of all the fresh water they could use, they still sued — and won, sort of. They didn't get the settlement they wanted and the gas company got their properties. I have to tell you that a couple of those houses were just beautiful and now they're gone.

          While we were out there I saw a couple of wildflowers blooming that I don't have here on our property so the next morning I took Ginger and we walked out that way. She knows how to walk on the solid side piece to cross the open-grate bridge.

          She even knows how to transition to the skinner rail on the center part. I hold tight to her leash in case she slips and I don't rush her.

          I found the Swamp Milkweed.

          And Spotted Knapweed.

          Then we turned around and went home.

         

          They've finished one section of the bridge and were moving the tarps to the next section the last time Mike and I went to town.

          "They should have painted it a different color than green," Mike observed. "It is the Rainbow Bridge."

          It took us over an hour to get a gallon of milk. It's only four miles into town but besides the bridgework, there was road work going on too. We couldn't cross the fresh tar and had to take a long detour to enter the shopping center from the back to get our milk.

          I know you wanna know this stuff!

          But besides that, know that I love you all and you're in my heart.

          Let's call this one done!