Bugging You From San Juan Island

And just for the record, I had to add this……

I hope the ranger knows this is all just in jest

Because I don’t want him to put me under arrest

It’s all in good fun and no harm intended

The dog isn’t dead, so that’s not how things ended!

***Text and photographs copyright 2011 by Cynthia Brast.  No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without the expressed written consent of the author.

Last night I couldn’t fall asleep.  Maybe it was the almost full moon outside  There was a glow on the trees that cast shadows in my room.  I believe that’s when the Sandman snuck in and sprinkled rhyming dust on my head.  Whatever the case, it got the verse going and the words started flowing.

So this verse is in jest, as you all might have guessed. Not meant for offense, just good humor at best.  The sandman has gone, so maybe now I can rest 🙂

Enjoy!  xx

 

Be wary of Barry
He’s out on patrol,
Looking for people
With their dogs on a stroll.

You better have leashes
Attached to your pet,
Or he’ll give you a ticket
But that’s not all you’ll get.

Hands up in the air
Face down on the ground,
You better not move
And don’t make a sound!

Or out come those handcuffs
He’ll take you to jail.
You’ll have to call up your friends
To get you out on bail.

But the al-ter-na-tive
Is much worse you know,
He has a gun on his hip
And it’t not just for show.

If you make Barry mad
And you argue instead,
He might pull the trigger
And shoot your dog dead.

My daughter, Amanda gave me my birthday present today…about a whole month early!  Not complaining here at all though…I LOVE it!  This is what I worked on this evening to incorporate into my Wildlife Management Plan I have to write for my graduate class.  It was a perfect evening to stay indoors and doodle and with this headache I’ve had for about 4 days and counting now, everything rhymes, so I wrote a poem to go with my picture.  Enjoy!

There was a bird dressed in feathers of blue

That sang in the morn when the day was new

It feasted on insects

that ate the weeds

or pollinated flowers

so they’d have seeds

~

But that day they sprayed

The weeds all died

The insects went hungry

And the bluebirds tried

~

To find food for their young

But there was none to be had

They searched high and low

But the outcome was bad.

~

The foodchain was altered

With herbicide

The insects left

And the baby birds died.

~

The birds of blue

Didn’t come the next year

For fear that their food

Would all disappear.

~

Improving the prairie

Is a very good goal

But the point here to learn

Is that all things have a role

~

To play in the food web

They all interact

Survival of species

Depends on that fact.

***Text and photographs copyright 2011 by Cynthia Brast.  No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without the expressed written consent of the author.

The goblins came, the witches too

And all the little spooks

They danced around the graves that night

Like crazy island kooks.

~

Cow and pig down underground

Got tired of all the scream’in

It was giving them a headache –

 They were missing trick or treat’in.

~

The fairies came and sprinkled dust

o’er the graves of our fair friends

and cow and pig were uninterred

to rise and feel the wind.

~

The wind did blow away the goblins,

The witches and the spooks.

All Cow and Pig have to deal with now

are all those island kooks!

 ~ 

 ***Text and photographs copyright 2011 by Cynthia Brast.  No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without the expressed written consent of the author.

 

Here lies Cow & Pig

Underneath a mound

Of blackest dirt piled up so high

O’er their bodies upside down.

~

It’s Halloween tonight and all

The spooks come out they’ve said,

To dance ‘round under the moon

And celebrate the Dead.

~

Check back tomorrow to find out

For this is what I’ve heard…

That Cow & Pig will rise again

From where they’ve been interred!

~

Happy Halloween San Juan Island!                  

~~~

~

  ***Text and photographs copyright 2011 by Cynthia Brast.  No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without the expressed written consent of the author.

                                                                                     

They came to get him in the night

When everything was black

A lantern cast an eerie glow

Down from the horse’s back

~

They said he was a wanted man

Guilty of the crime

The rope they held for all to see

He had but little time.

~

No judge or jury to advocate

Against the angry mob

There was nowhere for him to run

His wife began to sob.

~

The man he kneeled to pray to God

“Save my eternal soul…

Help my family when I’m gone

It’s all in your control.”

~

He kissed his wife and son goodbye

And then he stepped outside

To face his fate from the angry men

About him who had lied.

~

They led him to the rounded knoll

Where the gallows stood

The rope was slipped around his neck

Over his head they placed a hood.

~

That night he left the home he’d known

And the family he had loved.

But God had heard his prayers that night

From heaven up above.

~

His family was provided for

God watched over them for him.

And promised that they would one day be

Together once again.                                      

 

 ***Text and photographs copyright 2011 by Cynthia Brast.  No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without the expressed written consent of the author.

 

 

   

The Empty Barrels…a Halloween Poem

Have you ever seen this really interesting beetle that scavenges for carrion and buries it underground?  Here’s one I photographed at San Juan Island National Historical Park’s American Camp.  Traveling with a load of phoretic mites  (phoresy means to hitch a ride), he was following his fine-tuned chemo-sensors (located on his antennae) on the trail of a dead animal.

If he was lucky that day and found rotting “Vinny vole”, he’d dance around with his tail up in the air to attract a mate.  Lucky twice? The dance worked.  She was interested!  He’d then have her work to help him bury the “road-kill” underground.  Once interred, they’d shape the carcass into a brood ball (looks like a bird nest) and the female beetle would lay her eggs in it.

Even more fascinating, the happy couple stick around to feed the larvae after they hatch.  The parent beetles even play them lullabies!  They stridulate (visualize a violin with a bow) to call the young in order to regurgitate food into their mouths.  Curious to know more?  Read my graduate literature review and see how fascinating these insects can be.

A Literature Based Key to Silphidae-Nicrophorinae in Washington State-1

 

Iggy and Ivey

the Island Marble Butterflies

by Cynthia Brast

That spring on San Juan Island, the life of one special little butterfly named Iggy began.  Out on the prairie, at a place called American Camp, little Iggy was hidden inside a tiny green egg on the bud of a mustard plant.   Under the sun’s warming rays, everything began waking up from a long winter’s sleep.  It wasn’t long before Iggy began to grow.

With a blanket of colorful wildflowers surrounding it, Iggy’s egg changed colors.  First it turned red, and then an earthy shade of brown.  It was almost time for Iggy to hatch.  That night with only the stars twinkling in the sky, and the moon reflecting its yellow light on the sea, little Iggy chewed his way out of the egg.

The next morning, dewdrops sparkled across the prairie, glittering in the sunshine.   Iggy was hidden in the tall grass, but if you looked carefully you might see him on the mustard plant.   Surprise!  Little Iggy was a caterpillar, not a butterfly….at least not yet.

Wiggling and stretching his many stubby legs, little Iggy caterpillar realized he was hungry!  Starting right there, he had his very first meal.  Iggy took a bite of the mustard leaf where he had just hatched.  Nibble! Nibble! Munch! Munch! Munch!   It tasted so good.  Iggy kept eating, and eating…and eating!  He ate every leaf and flower on that little mustard plant.  And then he ate the leaves and flowers on another one.

While Iggy was chewing a bite of leaf, he heard a little voice ask him,  “Who are you?”  Right there next to Iggy was another little caterpillar just like him.  Her name was Ivey.  She and Iggy became friends.  All summer long, Iggy and Ivey ate lots and lots of mustard plants.

As the days began to change and grow shorter, Iggy and Ivey knew they had to get ready for winter.  Finding tall stems of Velvet Grass, they hid themselves near the bottom, each making a hardened covering over their bodies called a chrysalis (chrys·a·lis) to protect them and keep them warm until spring.

That year when winter came it covered the ground with a blanket of snow, but Iggy and Ivey were snug and safe while the winds blew salty sea spray across the prairie.  Eventually, the snow melted and rains came.  The days were dark and most of the time, all was quiet.    Eagles flew overhead searching for food.  Once a hungry fox hunting a small, mouse-like creature called a vole for his dinner, dug and sniffed near Iggy’s and Ivey’s hidden homes on the stalks.  Another day a cottontail rabbit munched grasses right next to them until the shadow of the hungry hawk frightened it into its burrow.

Finally the day came in May when Iggy and Ivey felt the warm sun again.  Spring was here and it was time to come out of their woven winter blankets.  Chewing open their chrysalis coverings, first Iggy then Ivey peeked out.   Something had happened!

Iggy and Ivey weren’t caterpillars anymore.  Unfolding behind them in the sun were beautiful wings.  Wet at first, Iggy and Ivey slowly stretched, then angled their new wings to dry as they basked in the rays of the warm sun.

Iggy tried opening his and looking over his shoulder, he saw them.  Fragile, creamy-white wings dappled with beautiful dark marble coloring.  Ivey’s wings were beautiful too.  Hers were yellowish-white, with the same marble patterns.  “Let’s see if they work,” said Iggy.   Off they went, fluttering straight across the prairie faster than they could have imagined!  “Look at me!”  Ivey called to Iggy.

That evening, the sun began to sink in the horizon.  Iggy and Ivey flew over to watch the sunset over the ocean as the day came to an end.  They didn’t see any other butterflies like them that day, or the next, or even the next after that.    Iggy told Ivey they were “rare.”  “That means we might be the last two Island Marble butterflies on the prairie, “ he said.   BUT…

Before long, there were tiny little green eggs dotting the leaves and buds on the mustard plants.  And do you know what? Next year, even though Iggy and Ivey were gone, hidden at the bottom of the stems on some Velvet grass, there were eight chrysalides (chry·sal·i·des) about to open and when they did….Iggy and Ivey’s children emerged with beautiful creamy white and yellow marbled wings.

 *******

While not endangered, the Island marble butterfly (Euchloe ausonides insulanus) is ranked as critically imperiled.  Thought to be extinct, the Island Marble butterfly was historically found on Gabriola Island and Vancouver Island, B.C. and had not been sighted since 1908.  However, in 1998, a population was found at San Juan Island National Historical Park ~ American Camp on San Juan Island, WA.  Surveys conducted indicated that Island Marble butterflies had a few other scattered populations on both San Juan Island and Lopez Island, but with no more than 5 individuals found at each location.  The only viable population existing is found at American Camp.  Conservation and recovery of the species is critical if it is to be preserved for future generations to appreciate.  Management of prairie habitats without use of harmful chemicals, protection of mustard plants on which Island Marble larvae feed, along with support of the Garry Oak ecosystems are vital to facilitate a recovery of the population.

New words for you to learn:

 

• Chrysalis – The hardened form of a developing butterfly that provides a protective covering (like a winter blanket).
• Vole – A small, rodent-like mammal that resembles a mouse and is sometimes called a field mouse or a meadow mouse

Text and photographs copyright 2011 by Cynthia Brast.  No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without the expressed written consent of the author.