What Patience Finds in the Garden

Scarlet-bodied wasp moth

On two occasions in the past week, I have caught glimpses of unidentified, brightly colored winged creatures in our mountain mint patch. On one of those occasions I managed to capture one slightly out of focus photo of one of the pollinators; on the second occasion I took several not very good photos of another pollinator. And so I waited, returning again and again to the mountain mint patch at various times of the day, taking photos of other butterflies and bugs until I was finally rewarded: the mysterious pollinators returned, and this time I was prepared. I moved quietly. I observed. I stealthily took photo after photo. Then I would take a break, walking around the yard or going inside for a cup of tea or to read the latest news or to finish a craft project or other task. After a while, I would return to the garden with my camera.

The first brightly colored pollinator I identified as a Scarlet-bodied wasp moth, a very beautiful and vividly-colored pollinator, with a bright red thorax and abdomen and metallic blue dots. (See: Butterflies and Moths of North America: Attributes of Cosmosoma myrodora.)

Scarlet-bodied wasp moth (Cosmosoma myrodora)

Scarlet-bodied wasp moth

What a beautiful surprise this creature was among the gray-green leaves of the mountain mint. After a few minutes of stalking this colorful pollinator, I was excited to see another Scarlet-bodied wasp moth settling on a mint flower. I turned my attention to this second moth, and was so intent that  I almost overlooked a second surprise, a close encounter between one of the moths and a green spider, which I think is a kind of crab spider.

close encounter

The photo above captures the beginning of the encounter, as the wasp approached the leaf on which the spider was sitting. The two creatures actually made contact, but that photo didn't turn out so well--there was fluttering, reacting, retreating, and a blur of tiny limbs. The spider won the encounter; the moth flew to another flower.

The next day, I got a closer look at the second unidentified, brightly-colored pollinator.  It looked like a wasp, but also had characteristics of a moth. I think that this one, too, is in the wasp moth category. The bright colors are probably a kind of camouflage to warn away predators.

another wasp moth

Patience has yet to reward me with the successful attainment of another goal: to get a good photo of every pollinator that visits the mountain mint patch. The smaller waspy-type bees fly very quickly, in a zig-zag pattern. They are easily startled, and I'm working with a point and shoot camera with an automatic focus. The little bee below is an example of these flighty pollinators. In my many attempts to get an in-focus photograph of this bee, I managed just this one.

Am I anthropomorphizing if I suggest that some bugs just seem to have more settled or less-fearful personalities than others? I can get lots of shots of one butterfly and none of another. After two days of trying to get a good photo of a yellow and black swallowtail, I finally managed to do so, while succeeding in shot after shot of a blue and black swallowtail.

This morning I chased (very quietly and as sneakily as possible) a red dragonfly all over the back yard and failed to get one good photograph, while a green and yellow-tan dragonfly posed peacefully on a bamboo stake as I depressed the snapshot button again and again. If I startled him, he (or she) would fly away and then come right back to perch on the bamboo stake. I spoke to him. He moved his little mouth in return.

The mountain mint patch buzzes with bees at mid-day. Most of those are large bumblebees and smaller honey bees, but among those more familiar bees, the large black bee stands out. This is, I think, a species of carpenter bee: Xylocopa tabaniformis
.

black bee-- Xylocopa

black bee--Xylocopa

But occasionally, in the middle of all that activity, I will catch sight of a bee, perhaps half-hidden under a leaf, taking a break from its duties of collecting pollen. All the other bees seem so frantic, buzzing from flower to flower, sometimes almost flying into one another, that a resting bee at first appears ill, out of sorts. But after a few minutes, it will fly away, restored.  I have come to care about the lives of bees.

resting bee

After the Rain

rain-soaked bee recovering after a storm

Yesterday afternoon a tremendous thunderstorm swept through the area, with numerous lightening strikes very close to our house and over an inch of rain. After the storm was over, I wandered around  the yard, assessing the damage, staking with bamboo poles eight- and ten-foot tall Maximilian sunflower plants and four-foot zinnia plants which had toppled in the rain and wind. While doing this, I spied a drenched bee clinging to the back of a zinnia flower. At first, I thought it was dead, perhaps killed by large rain drops, but over the next hour, as I checked periodically, it began to groom itself, and finally, after about an hour, it disappeared. I hope it made its way safely back to its hive.

Where do bees go when it rains?, I wondered. I turned to Google for the answer. The best answers I could find were provided by bee keepers in bee and garden forums. Most of the replies suggested that bees remain in or near their hives when it rains, and if they are out and about during a storm, they are in danger of being killed by raindrops that can overwhelm and drown them. What impressed me most about this bee was that as soon as he could move, he immediately went about trying to collect pollen. The instinctual drive to do their work must be very strong in bees.

drenched bee trying to collect pollen

another drenched bee drying out in the mountain mint patch after a storm

I then became interested in seeing the actions of other garden visitors after this rather severe storm, and I noticed that not long after the rain ceased falling and the sun started showing through the clouds, pollinators had returned to the garden. My mountain mint patch continues to provide opportunities for seeing the most creatures going about their business of survival. The tiny anole was out catching bugs. I have yet to catch him in the act, but I saw him smacking his chops as if ruminating over a fine meal.

tiny anole peeking out from under a mountain mint leaf

I also noticed other tiny bugs that I would not have seen had I not been looking more closely for storm effects: a tiny red and black grasshopper- or cricket-like creature, a black shield bug with white markings, another Delta Flower Scarab that flew away before I could take a photo, several wasp-like bees, a very tiny iridescent blue fly, and the rather odd behavior of a large bee that clung for some time on the side of my garden shed. This bee kept sticking out its proboscis, as if it were tasting the side of the shed--or testing its tongue in some way. The repetitive nature of the bee's sticking out its proboscis suggested some kind of damage to me, but then the bee flew away and acted quite normally. But, really, what do I know is normal to a bee?

a tiny cricket-like bug on a mountain mint leaf

extremely tiny iridescent fly on a mountain mint leaf

bee on garden shed, sticking out its proboscis

It's not just the presence of these creatures that I find amazing; I have an artistic and scientific interest as well. I am enthralled with their beauty, with the color and variation of their markings and with how those markings have evolved as protection or warning. For instance, I often see in the mountain mint a fly with bee-like markings. Is this a bee or a fly? Do the colors warn or fool predators?

fly with bee-like orange and black markings

bee-like fly collecting pollen

As the afternoon faded into evening, I had more questions than answers, and I could hear Tom rattling around in the kitchen, preparing a dinner of tomato and cucumber salad, with vegetables fresh from our garden. But as I took one last turn around the garden, I noticed a bee either settling in for the night or resting before a long flight back to its hive or hole. Or maybe it was just trying to avoid me and my camera.

bee under an althea leaf

Then, while walking up the sidewalk to our patio, I noticed something buzzing around a lily bloom. Of course, I leaned closer to inspect and thus saw for the first time another interesting pollinator, a multi-colored fly-like bee or wasp.

fly-like bee or wasp on a lily

fly-like bee or wasp on lily (taken with a flash)

fly-like wasp or bee on lily (taken with a flash)

Until I started paying attention to pollinators, I had little idea of the diversity of creatures so small we barely notice their existence--unless we deliberately pay attention. Too often our attention is caught only after we begin to suffer the consequences of their diminishing presence.

A Bug and its Shadow

the only snapshot I could get of a Monarch butterfly in the backyard yesterday

It's one of those days in southeast Louisiana when just standing still outside causes one to sweat profusely. I know... because sweat poured down my face as I cut the branches from some bamboo poles I planned to use as stakes for some large, flopped-over zinnia plants and an eight-foot tall Maximilian sunflower. Here in mid-afternoon, the temperature is at 92^oF, and the humidity is 73%. Soon Tom will be delivering a truckload of horse manure for me to amend the soil in several new flower beds I'm working on.

Meanwhile, I've been thinking of how important our backyard visitors--such as bees, butterflies, and other pollinators--are to the health of our gardens and to the continuation of life as we know it. These little creatures cast a long shadow. According to Sam Droege, with the Patuxent Wildlife Research Center, without bees, "somewhere between 30 percent and 60 percent of our plants would ultimately disappear because they require bees or other kinds of insects, but primarily bees, to do their pollination" (interview with Sam Droege, at "Bees are not Optional," USGS website). As of today, there are "4,500 species [of bees] in North America."

Many bees, especially honeybees, are finally showing up in our garden.  I have seen perhaps 4 or 5 species of bees on the mountain mint at various times of the day. I suspect there is a honeybee colony somewhere near by. The flowers of our herbs (especially the basil) and vegetables (such as the tomatillos and tomatoes) attract pollinators, too. Butterflies home in on the lantana and zinnias. Maybe the word is finally getting around that there is food in the Dugat-Greene garden for the diligent pollinator.

I was especially pleased to get a couple of halfway decent photos of this very tiny wasp-like bee on a portulaca flower. The creature is so tiny that most likely I would have never noticed it if I hadn't been stalking the pollinators in this particular flower and herb bed. The flower is about an inch and a bit in diameter, and from a sight distance of five-and-a-half feet, the bee seems to be just a little speck. The close-up photo below provides a better view of this very tiny bee.

It is amazing to me that the beauty (and food) I take for granted is made possible by the work of such overlooked and underestimated creatures. We are seduced by the beauty of butterflies, not knowing that a tiny Cyrano is there, too, translating all the glory of flowers for the next generation of seed.

The swallowtail butterflies love lantana.

Other creatures hang out in the mountain mint patch as well as bees. A couple of Carolina anoles hide there among the leaves, the tiniest one being just a little over two inches long from nose to tail. 

Some weeks ago I took a photo there of an assassin bug nymph; that nymph is now an adult and can occasionally be seen in the mountain mint patch, scuttling quickly under a leaf at the slightest threat, such as an obtrusive camera lens. After several days of trying to get a photo of him, I was finally successful this morning.

adult assassin bug and its shadow

 

adult assassin bug

Another bug I've tried several times unsuccessfully to photograph is a tiny iridescent fly, one of several that I see among the mountain mint and other herbs. Yesterday I managed to get about three decent snapshots. The one below is the best of them, I think. Doesn't he seem to have a tiny goatee?

a very tiny fly and its shadow on a mountain mint leaf

skipper butterfly on mountain mint

My garden is a source of endless amusement. . . . and hard work.

Beetle and Flower

Every day I check our patch of mountain mint to see if any unusual pollinators are visiting the area. As I have mentioned in previous posts, our first encounter with mountain mint was with a pot of the native plant given to us by our friend and horticultural professor, Mack Thetford, when we were living in Waverly Hall, Georgia. We planted the stuff, which spread quickly. To our amazement, the plants attracted the most diverse pollinators, various colored wasps that we had never encountered before. When we moved back to Georgia (after a three-year sojourn in our home state of Texas) in 2007, I bought a pot of mountain mint from Georgia Perimeter College's Native Plant Botanical Garden and planted it in the back yard of our new home in Decatur, GA. I brought some of that plant to southeast Louisiana, where we live now.

So far, the plant seems to attract bees primarily, though occasionally I will see an unusual spider or an assassin beetle hiding among the foliage. Yesterday, I saw what I first thought was a very large mosquito and then thought must be some kind of crane fly.

may be a crane fly

 I wanted to get another, and perhaps better photo of it, but it disappeared after my first snap.

Tom then came home and noticed a beautiful little beetle on one of the mountain mint plants, and I began taking photos. One of the most interesting details about this beetle is how it used its two hind legs. Sometimes the beetle would lift them high in the air, and as it plunged its head into a tiny flower, I was reminded of an overly refined lady lifting her pinkie as she takes a sip of tea from a china tea cup. Those hind legs also helped steady it as it moved from flower to flower.

Here are a series of photos in which I tried to capture the beautiful coloration of the beetle. To get an idea of the size of the beetle, the entire flower head of the mountain mint, with all its tiny inflorescences, is only about 1/2-inch across. Notice, also, the heart-shaped design on its pronotum. The beetle, I discovered, is a Delta Flower Scarab. It gets its name from that delta-shaped design on its pronotum, a design which on this beetle is more heart-shaped.

Here are some links that might provide more useful information on beetles:

• North American Beetles at www.insectidentification.org

•  "Insects: Introduction to Beetle", at Animal Planet.

 And here is some more information on Delta Flower Scarabs:

• Species Trigonopeltastes delta--Delta Flower Scarab, at bugguide.net

The Midsummer Garden

This little spider was on a zinnia flower in a bouquet I had set out on the patio.

Because we have been traveling back and forth between Louisiana, Georgia, and Texas during the month of June, we have somewhat neglected our gardens. Between trips, I've managed to mow the grass but have not stayed home long enough to enjoy its neat appearance. Each time we returned home, the grass was in need of mowing again. After this last five-day trip, there were waist-high weeds in one of my 8'X8' herb beds (pigweed that had been hiding among the basil). I quickly pulled them and began the process of cleaning up the midsummer garden.

One of the weeds I hate the most, Phyllanthus urinaria, took full advantage of our absence from the gardens. With just a little neglect, this plant can blanket a once well-weeded area. My emotional response to this weed, however, illustrates the complexity of our relationships to plants. Evidently, Phyllanthus urinaria has medicinal uses.  Also known as chamber bitter or gripe weed (the latter being my favorite, as it perfectly captures my attitude toward the plant), this plant "is an important medicinal herb in tropical Asia, where it is used to treat kidney stones, gallstones, liver diseases, and viral infections. Modern clinical studies have found it to be promising in the treatment of various tumors." Online at the U. S. Library of Medicine, one can find a number of research publications suggesting the possible medicinal capabilities of the plant. Nonetheless, I try diligently to eradicate Phyllanthus urinaria from my gardens. Its prolific growth will provide researchers with enough material without my help.

Yesterday I dug some forgotten garlic out of one of my 8'X8' foot raised beds. By the time I thought of doing this, the leaves of the plants had turned brown and disappeared into the soil or on the grass which I had mowed recently, so with my garden-gloved hand, I had to poke deeply into the soil to find the bulbs of garlic. I left some cloves behind for resprouting. In early June, Tom and I harvested the garlic which Tom had planted in the big garden, and we hung the garlic in our garden shed to dry.

immediately after harvest in early June

garlic drying in our garden shed

Yesterday I was happy to see many honeybees buzzing and collecting nectar from our mountain mint. I counted at least twenty bees on the plants. Because there were so few pollinators early in the summer, I was particularly glad to see these bees, though I am disappointed over the lack of diversity among the pollinators. A few swallowtail butterflies and a little skipper or two have shown up briefly to check out the flowering zinnias.

All the basil is in full bloom and setting seed, the tomatillo plants are full of their papery green balloons, and the heirloom tomato plants are heavy with tomatoes. These indeterminate heirlooms ripen slowly, so we plan to can a few pints at a time, as we gather the ripening tomatoes, trying to beat the bugs and birds to the succulent flesh.

I finally decided to pull up all the strawberry plants we had planted in a bed along our patio. Although I hated to compost the plants, we just don't have another garden area ready for planting strawberries. In addition, this particular variety did not deliver the strawberries we had hoped. Quinault strawberries are evidently a popular variety; Tom bought the original plants at a local hardware store, the only variety available there. However, the plants did not produce many berries, and the berries they did produce were few, small and disfigured. As I dug up the plants, however, I noticed that the ground was hard and dry, even though we had added compost to the area when we planted the berries. Previous owners of this house and property parked their vehicles immediately behind this house, near the edge of the patio. The former driveway came in from a paved road to the back of the house where we have created herb and flower beds. We have tried to overcome the consequences of that vehicular traffic by digging deep and adding lots of compost to the garden areas, but I think the patio area needs more work.

And so I have my work cut out for the rest of the week and into next week as I dig up the soil around the aloe veras I have already planted there and add a lot more composted horse manure. Eventually, we will create a raised bed just for strawberries, in an area away from the house. I am thinking of planting verbenas in the area vacated by the strawberries. Those flowers require little care, and I won't care so much that the cats love to bed down in that area among the plants. Also, verbenas remind me of my childhood, especially the purple ones. I remember my mother had one little round bed of  purple verbenas at a rent house we lived in until I was about five years old. My grandmother Margaret Cole Dugat also grew verbenas in her flower beds in Old River, Texas. Purple verbenas and purple-globed amaranths--these are plants I particularly associate with my grandmother--those and red cockscombs.

We have much to do in our midsummer garden.

This variegated ginger plant is thriving where I have transplanted it.

One Tomato, Two Tomato...

We're finally harvesting some ripe tomatoes, but the numbers are disappointing. I wrote earlier that pollinators are curiously absent from our garden this year, and we were hitting the tomato stakes to loosen the pollen so our 56 tomatoes could self-pollinate. A few bees have arrived since but not enough to make a big difference to our garden, so we continue to try imitating the vibrations of wind or of bees by tapping those tomato poles. 

The tomato in the photo is probably from one of our German Johnson plants. We ate two tomatoes last night--our first harvest--sliced and lightly salted. Tom also picked some lemon basil for the marinara sauce I made to serve with pasta. I had to use canned tomatoes and tomato paste for the marinara sauce, as we don't have enough ripened tomatoes for more than a sandwich or two.

But the garden delivers other delights, as the photos below illustrate.

Green spider with prey--This is probably the same spider I photographed previously on the mountain mint.

I think this is an assassin bug. It was trying to hide from me, with its catch, under a leaf. I've turned the photo horizontally.

Purple hyacinth beans and morning glories now cover the bamboo trellis I built.

The blue-black salvia is blooming profusely.