Our first bat...

Boy, was I surprised two mornings ago when I opened our back porch screened door. Something fell and hit my head, then plopped on the concrete porch. I looked down. At first, I thought it was mud. Then I thought frog. Then I looked closer.....BAT! It had been sleeping between the top of the door and door frame. I fetched a cloth napkin and picked him up gently. Then we put it in a large plastic critter box. I noticed a lot of ugly red insects on his legs. Definitely parasites. Could it be sick or injured? I called Wildlife Rescue in Kendalia, and Amber called me back. She assured me that the bugs were normal and to put the bat on a vertical tree or fence post. If he wasn't gone by in the morning, call her back.

So we took him out to a big live oak in our back yard. I set him above a little alcove with the napkin. He tucked into the alcove, snoozed there all day and was gone by dark. 

Then yesterday evening, James said, "Sweetheart, come see who's back!" It was our bat, sleeping behind the orange water bucket that we keep out to collect air conditioner condensation (bottom photo). Using a cloth napkin, I moved him back to his oak alcove. Of course, he was gone this morning. No sign of him yet today.

 

Naturally, I had to sleuth and find out what species of bat our friend is. Not to mention those ugly bugs. My first thought was Mexican free-tailed bat, but I was wrong. This is likely an evening bat (Nycticeius humeralis), a young male. And those ugly bugs? I counted legs...six. Probably a true bug....a bed bug? Close! Those are bat bugs in the same genus as bed bugs, Cimex. Who knew? Bat bugs! I got off as many as I could from our little friend.

 

Cicada calls NOT

A few days ago, my Blanco friend Irene Cage texted me the video above. I was surprised. For years, I've heard that rattling at night in the trees and always assumed they were cicadas. NOT. Those are indeed katydids in the trees, probably in the genus Paracyrtophyllus. Here are two iNaturalist recordings I made after Irene shared her cool video with me. With her permission, I've shared her video here.

From sad to glad

Earlier this month, our Texas native wedelia (Wedelia acapulcensis var. hispida) looked AWFUL. We had recently transplanted it from the back yard into a new bed in the front yard. Anyway, a closer look at the leaves will reveal why the wedelia looks so sad...

Caterpillars! Lots of hungry caterpillars. Which made me really, really happy. These are bordered patch larvae (Chlosyne lacinia). Plus I knew the plant would rebound from their skeletonizing of the leaves.

Adult

Look at how glad the wedelia is now!

I took this photo yesterday. Doesn't the wedelia look even better now? Isn't Nature amazing?

Purple leatherflower

Our purple leatherflower (Clematis pitcheri) is so beautiful right now!

 

Madrone update

Here's a photo update on our Texas madrone (Arbutus xalapensis), gifted to us in March 2017 by Mike Prochoroff at The Madrone Way. Doesn't she look great?! Mike thought so.

"Looking very, very healthy!" he texted me. "...you make me feel like I have accomplished to a certain extent what I never thought I could do. Thanks!"

 

Special recognition

 

 

 

Thank you, Mayor Mike Arnold and the Blanco City Council, for the proclamation presented to my husband James Hearn and me at last night's meeting. The recognition honors our work and education efforts that focuses on our Texas native plant gardens here on Ninth Street.

 

 

I didn't mean to....

I never even saw it. It was an accident. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.... A smattering of blood on our driveway marks the place where I ran over the rough green snake. I'd just gotten out of the car in our garage when I noticed a mockingbird standing statuesque in the driveway. 

 

"Why, hello, Mockingbird!" I sang out.

 

Then I saw what the mockingbird saw – a snake. Oh, a snake! 

 

My happy realization quickly turned awful.

 

I'd run over it.

 

I stood in the garage, shocked and grief stricken. I watched as its slim tail moved slowly back and forth on the concrete. I knew it wouldn't survive.

 

"Oh, I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to!" My soft wails turned to cries, then crying. I couldn't bear to look at it. But finally I walked out of the garage and gently used a spade to lift it onto newspaper. I carried the snake into our garage, where it passed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I cried.

 

Come on, it's just a snake, some may sneer. Who cares?

 

Yes, it was just a snake. But not just any snake. It was itself like none other. Like you are only yourself, and I am only me. There is no one else like you or me. That little green snake slept last night in our gardens. It opened its eyes this morning and slithered off to search for a meal. It was on its way across our driveway when my wheels crushed its smooth body.

 

When I was a girl of four, a kind Sunday school teacher gifted me with a baby anole in a jar. I adored that lizard. I'd take the lid off, reach in for it, and then rock it on my finger. But one time, I twisted the lid back with the anole inside. Sadly, I didn't see that it hadn't gone all the way back inside the jar.

 

I killed it.

 

I sobbed and sobbed. Mother laid its little body beneath her red geraniums in a flower bed. When I saw my lifeless friend covered in ants, I cried harder. 

 

I guess at the age of 65, I really haven't changed. I love and honor all creatures, great and small.

 

Rest in peace, little green snake.