The cherry trees are abuzz with insect activity. As one of the earliest flowers around my house, the cherry trees offer an early source of nectar to pollinating insects.
Insects represent 80% of the world’s species. There are over 900,000 species of insects. Worldwide, many scientists agree there are more unnamed insects than named. There may be 200 million insects for every human on the planet.1 Another way to look at that is 300 pounds of insect for every person!2
While pollination is a well known relationship between plant and animal, insect herbivory on plants might be overlooked (unless you are fighting earwigs, or some other insect in your garden), but insects may account for up to 80% of plant herbivory in terrestrial ecosystems. Only 10-35% is consumed by the grazing vertebrates we most often think of such as, cattle, sheep, deer, elk, moose, mice, rabbits, turtles, rhinos, elephants, giraffes, birds, etc.3
1 New York Times http://www.nytimes.com/1991/02/18/movies/what-s-creepy-crawly-and-big-in-movies-bugs.html
2 Smithsonian Institute http://www.si.edu/encyclopedia_si/nmnh/buginfo/bugnos.htm
3 Price, P.W. 1979. Insect Ecology, 3rd Ed. John Wiley and Sons, New York, NY.
Regardless of the dry, dry weather. Spring is here. The first birds to return to my locale are the Mountain Bluebirds. They’ve been here for almost a month. Their cheerful deep blue and sky blue feathers are a treat to behold.As the summer progresses, we watch them dart and dive after insects. It’s satisfying to watch them feast on the mosquito population!
The real harbinger of spring for many Wyomingites, however, is the state bird, the Western Meadowlark. It’s distinct song is the hallmark of warmer weather.
In honor of the changing seasons, I have replaced my header image with a photo of Phlox (multiflora?) the lowland version, Phlox hoodii, is one of the first native wild flowers to bloom.
It seemed like March was really dry, but I’m in a new place, so I don’t have years of personal experience regarding March weather in this location. According to the maps below, my impression was correct. We had good snow cover all winter, then it was as if someone just turned the clouds off. Almost no discernible moisture in March.
Sometimes I’m a little miffed at the way people describe Wyoming. Words like barren, desolate, and god-forsaken have been used. I recently read a best seller where the protagonist walks through Wyoming and dismisses it with a few sentences as ugly and trashy. The author then goes on to spend pages and pages describing a well known Midwestern city, so I’m guessing we just don’t see eye to eye on what constitutes beautiful landscapes.
After my first burst of defensiveness, I realized I should be glad. If Wyoming was full of manicured parks with trees evenly spaced, bucolic ponds, and rolling lawns, multitudes would flock here. Then it wouldn’t be Wyoming. Lack of humans is one of Wyoming’s best features as far as I’m concerned. Not that I dislike humans, I happen to be one after all, but with humans come human endeavors in the form of roads, buildings, internal combustion engines and NOISE.
Noise is what I try to get away from as much as possible. Quiet is what I crave.
In the past I might have said I crave silence, but I’ve discovered there is no such thing, but a few times I’ve experienced something very close. Like the time my family and I were sleeping in the open air, not so much as a tree branch to obstruct my view of the half moon sky. I’d fallen asleep gazing at the stars, but a sound had stirred me awake. As my foggy mind cleared, I realized it was my son’s deep breathing a few yards away. It was the only sound, so it woke me up.
Another time I was out looking for arrowheads. I heard some unfamiliar, enchanting birdsong. It wasn’t loud, but it was very clear. I followed the song up the hillside to find the source. As I topped the ridge, I found myself looking down into a drainage 500 feet deep and the birdsong coming from a wide, tree shaded spot on the creek about 200 yards away. Wonderful Wyoming quiet.
So, yeah, Wyoming is barren and desolate if by that you mean 360 degrees of horizon can be seen; or you can spend a whole day and not see another person, or hear an engine; if your cell phone or iPad’s wifi doesn’t work on every square inch of land, or you have to plan ahead because if you have a problem, it might be a long time before help comes.
God bless Wyoming and keep it wild.1
He’s been enjoying the faux spring of Wyoming: day time temperatures in the 50’s, the grass is turning green, and the robins are singing. He’s feeling the sun on his hide. He’s feeling the green grass. A renewed, jaunty zing in his step. A renewed sense of energy and power.
He’s no “dead head.” He’s “touchy” by nature, but I can’t resist. You couldn’t knock him off his feet if you tried. His hooves are black hard and up to any rocky terrain. His legs are straight and strong. He’s quick and confident. He’s aloof, but curious.
He’s full of himself, and he’s got me a little worried.
It’s not that he doesn’t like humans, it’s just that he’s not sure he can trust me.
“I’m not the bad guy who made you distrust humans. Really. I’m for you, not against you.”
He doesn’t believe me, yet. If he let’s me in, if I can prove myself to him, it will be a forever bond. I’ve had that bond in the past. It was a partnership in the truest sense. I want that again.
I hope I’m up to the task.
I’m always looking for recommendations for good reads about early explorers, outdoor adventures, survival tales, naturalists and pioneers which have an authentic voice. I stumbled onto this list compiled by National Geographic in 2004. Top 100 Greatest Adventure Books of All Times.
I’m pleasantly surprised at how many I have already read, and looking forward to referring to the list to expand my library.
Here’s a good video from the Wyoming Office of Tourism highlighting some of the uniqueness of Wyoming and the west. There is a tall, lanky, pale palomino in that horse herd, reminding me of a horse I once knew. The story follows below.
We were working on a very large cattle ranch. The lanky palomino was in my husband’s string of ranch horses. We called him High Yeller. He was a veteran of cow horse work. He was getting up in years, long rides were too hard on him, so he found is way into my string of one.
I was new to cow work and I learned a lot from High Yeller, not the least of which is that even old horses can buck. High Yeller seemed to think it was part of his big-sky-cow-horse persona to buck; even at his ripe old age of 26. You could almost see him smile a smart aleck’s smile when he pitched and bucked.
I learned how to ride through a bunch of expectant heifers on that yellow horse. Anyone who does a respectable job riding the drop pen knows you have two goals in mind: One, get the heifer to the calving shed before she starts calving, and second, don’t get her riled up. Get her there at a walk if you can.
Reaching those two goals simultaneously is a practice in patience, perseverance, and skill.
I was mostly lacking that third quality, but High Yeller had it in spades. If you watched closely you’d see High Yeller never made eye contact with the heifers as we slowly walked through the herd looking for the tell tale signs a heifer was soon to give birth, but the instant I let him know I had one I wanted to take, he was on that soon-to-be mama like glue.
From the second High Yeller put his eye on a cow, she was his. I swear he was dominating her by the look he gave her. If she looked left she saw High Yeller, if she looked right, he was there! I never had to do anything more as we took the heifer to the shed. I just sat there and watched Yeller do his thing. The heifer never thought about running or darting off. She knew it was pointless. So there we were, taking her to the shed at a nice slow walk.
High Yeller made it look like I knew what I was doing. I’ll always thank him for that.