A carpenter ant wrestled with a wood chip.
She pushed, pulled, and flipped the chip, sometimes sinking her jaws into the wood. I could not imagine why.
Continue reading An Ant MysteryImage Credits: Carol Doeringer.
She pushed, pulled, and flipped the chip, sometimes sinking her jaws into the wood. I could not imagine why.
Continue reading An Ant MysteryImage Credits: Carol Doeringer.
Image Credits: Carol Doeringer.
It stood upright, balanced not on its legs but on its wingtips. I leaned in for a closer look.
The fly wasn’t standing. It wasn’t even alive.
The poor creature had been stabbed.
Continue reading Call CSI: It’s an Insect Murder MysteryImage Credits: Carol Doeringer.
The foliage feasters are out in force these days. I don’t begrudge the insects’ leafy meals. But their bloom banquets are another story.
Continue reading Petal PuzzleImage Credits: Carol Doeringer.
A wasp nest, I repeated. The one over the sliding glass door.
We went outside for a look. Bert’s look said, you’re nuts.
I didn’t notice the nest until early August, when a wasp walking up the glass caught my eye. I grabbed a ladder and was mesmerized.
Continue reading Wasp Watching
Image Credits: Carol Doeringer.
Not to feed any under-nourished squirrels. My acorns are for the University of Kentucky’s multi-year, genetic study of white oaks. Foresters believe the white oak is in decline, and the project’s goal is to identify trees with traits suggesting a higher likelihood of success in the forest. The research team hopes to acquire acorns from every county in every state in the white oak’s range.
What will they do with my (and everyone else’s) acorns?
Continue reading Pop! Goes the Weevil (Larva)
Image Credits: Carol Doeringer.
It had bitty wings on a loooong body. Too many legs. And a big, see-through something that looked like a tail. I leaned in for a closer look.
A tree cricket was molting.
Continue reading From Petticoat to Ball Gown
Image Credits: Carol Doeringer.
She was scaling our home’s vinyl siding. Slowly and deliberately, she would lift a leg. Sometimes, she waved it in the air. Then her foot patted the siding several times before committing to a landing spot. She seemed to be checking for obstacles like a sight-impaired person might use a cane to survey the sidewalk.
I peered closer. Then I saw the reason for her wary walking.
It couldn’t swim, but not for lack of trying. The moth pushed and pulled its wings, as though doing the breaststroke. Bert pulled the creature from the water. The soaked moth flapped its wings, turning quarter circles on the pool deck.
But the hot concrete was scorching my bare feet. I thought the insect might fry before it had a chance to dry out and fly.