Late summer musings . . .
Think positive!
As easy as it would be to succumb to my fellow Iowans’ “hot enough for you?” or “blame the corn sweat!” grumblings about our recent heat indices, late August reminds me to appreciate the delights of the lingering growing season.
Although “delights” may not be the best way to describe our relationship with the proliferation of cottontail rabbits. The cute (?) bunnies nibble their way around our yard, snipping off petunia blossoms and trying to sneak through the garden fence for a taste of OUR vegetables.
“Delightful” more accurately fits the antics of birds cooling off in our water feature. Cardinals, catbirds, orioles, titmice, bluebirds, and field sparrows wait patiently – or not so patiently! – for a turn to perch on a submerged rock to splash away their troubles. The show reminds us of toddlers dancing through a splash pad.
I also savor late-summer sunrises, which are a little easier to experience than the too-early dawning in June. Fog often hangs in our northeast Iowa valleys, and dew spangles the spider webs.
As native plants mature, some birds no longer rely on our sunflower seed handouts. The goldfinches prefer to pluck the ripening seeds from the cup plant flowers.
Iowa’s state birds (Dad called them “wild canaries”) also take advantage another Iowa plant coming into bloom right now. Goldfinches prefer thistle down to line their nests, which is one reason they breed later than many other species. And one reason we now happily tolerate the thistles that Dad called “weeds.”
Those blooming thistles accent the fading green of summer – as do the first yellowing leaves on the cottonwoods and walnuts. Red-orange sumac and crimson Virginia creepers signal the approach of fall. Bittersweet berries are still orange clusters, but it won’t be long before they split open to reveal the bright-red seed inside.
In our reconstructed prairie, pale cream gentians, purple New England aster, lavender blazing star, and golden (!) goldrenrods stand out among the subtler, mauve hues of the Indiangrass and big and little bluestem.
We call it a prairie – but the few dozen plant varieties we humans have managed to reestablish are dwarfed in comparison by the scores or hundreds of species in an unplowed prairie relict. What a thrill to visit a boggy native prairie remnant where, hidden down among dozens of other species, the spiral spike of a pure-white ladies tresses orchid pokes upward through the green.
Most goldenrods aren’t so picky that they require a virgin prairie, so the flowers grow in gardens, roadsides, and disturbed areas. Some goldenrod patches attract goldenrod gall flies - Eurosta solidagnis – whose entire life cycle depends on goldenrod. Different races of the fly prefer different species of goldenrod, which the female seeks out using chemical sensors on her feet and antennae. The female then lays eggs in the stem tissue of the plant. When the eggs hatch and the larvae begin feeding, the maggots’ saliva stimulates the plant to grow a gall that encases each larva.
The larvae eat all summer, molting twice and growing to about ¼ inch long. Before preparing to overwinter, the larvae chew a future escape tunnel from the gall, but leave a thin plant layer at the gall surface. Next spring, the larva pupates into a fly, which pushes its way out of the tunnel. Then the cycle is repeated, as female flies search out their preferred goldenrod in which to lay more eggs.
What could go wrong? Well, a downy woodpecker or black-capped chickadee might peck into the gall to eat the tasty grub. Or a parasitic wasp might stick its ovipositor into the grub to lay its own eggs. Or an ice fisherman might collect the gall and cut it open in search of bluegill bait. It’s a tough world out there!
I pondered that world one mid-August night, when something in addition to my bladder lured me out of bed and out of doors. Lounging sleepily in a lawn chair, I was struck by how insignificant we humans are in the context of the Universe. The vastness of what seems like billions of stars, billions of miles away, is simply incomprehensible. As I contemplated the infinity of Space, occasional Perseid meteors concurred with exclamation point streaks through in the northern sky.
A few nights later, with katydids and crickets providing background music, I pondered the Super Moon which, compared to the stars that are light years away, seemed almost within arm’s reach. So many miracles to reach out and touch and see and hear and experience in our wonderful world.
My friend Bob Leonard shares some of HIS experiences here:
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Amazing photography and I always learn so much. My grandpa called goldfinches "wild canaries" too.
Marvellous (and I use the word in its whole meaning) observations, Larry! You communicate the awe of the natural world, which sustains us.