Each year we get a few tiger swallowtails. They glide over the ivy, and if I get lucky, they land. It was very breezy this afternoon, and this one managed to cling to leaves despite being buffeted about. I don’t know how they do it.

The ones that stick around generally have flaws of some sort. This one had a chunk out of a wing. Some lack a tail. Still, they breed and produce larvae that chew big holes out of my petunias. I forgive them because they look so magnificent.

The chickadee pair has stepped up their visits to the feeder, and taking mealworms as fast as I can get them out there. Their habit has been to land in the nandina bushes about a foot from my desk, then look for the feeder location, which has been changing due to all the rains. I forgot to bring in the cornmeal suet last night, which got completely soaked.

Just now, a chickadee shows up, chirping more than usual, then starts flapping its wings vigorously, pleadingly, with its mouth open. Aha! That was quick!

I have a large order of mealworms on order since the 50 I bought the other day are almost gone.

Of course I had to learn more about her after seeing her work elsewhere. She is a scientific illustrator who traveled to areas near Chernobyl to see firsthand the results on insect life in the fallout zone. Here is that portion of her site.

How could I not buy this book after reading this? Illustrations by Cornelia Hesse-Honegger, whose work can be seen here.

As ever, go here to get into the NYT if you’re not registered.

Gmail can’t access my contacts. iStock has 60 staff members working on their problems, and their site is up and down. And the market is tumbling due to weak housing data. The squirrels sent an email saying they’ve eaten all the baby zucchinis off the plants, what else is on the menu. I expect a message from the ants pointing out the difficulties of ingesting the Terro granules, and could I please put out the liquid form instead.

Dear Mass of Teeming Insect Life,

My lone brain is obviously inferior to your collective genius. Despite my peppering the ground below with a potent ant poison, you have managed to sidestep this formidable obstacle, and once again reach the holy grail of hummingbird nectar. You have gathered those among you who have mastered the art of swimming, and breached the defenses of the double moats.

The grail of endless sweetness has been temporarily moved to its original position under the roof overhang. Where you will no doubt send your mighty armies in the stealth of night.

Meanwhile, the hummingbird and I are pondering possible solutions. It has nixed the vaseline. But is probably grateful for the protection of the overhang, although I don’t think the average hawk will go for a hummer. See next post.

A few posts back, I was gloating about ant-proofing the hummingbird feeder. Apparently, the ants keep up with the blog.

As I sit here eating toast, deep in work, the hummingbird shows up. Instead of landing, it hovers from one opening to another, then disappears. I peer at the liquid in the feeder about ten feet away. Hmmm, this calls for a closer inspection. I had just changed the nectar on Monday, and it was still clear. Except for a speck or two, which could have been some debris from the tip of the hummer’s beak. But no. Maybe half a dozen ants were hanging in little straight lines, back legs somehow attached to the sides, heads in the nectar. A few more elsewhere, floating.

Unlike before, there was no line of marching ants heading up and down the wire of the tomato cage to which the feeder is hanging. However, there was a parade and field show going on underneath where I’d forgotten to hose down the patio.

Out come the Terro granules. When I first bought this economy-sized bag, the smell was so pervasive that I hesitated using it. But about this time each year, war is declared, and I don’t have any of the little packets of liquid left. The key to the granules is that they have to be wet to be effective. No problem today.

Ideally, the feeder would be suspended over a small pond. Lacking that, this will have to do.

It has resided in the pimento jar on my desk for several days. I haven’t been anxious to take a photo, thank to the vivid memory of a family member’s experience as he leaned in to shoot one years ago. His subject made a sudden move, prompting him to drop his camera.

As I was setting up, there was a loud buzzing on the window. A crane fly had somehow gotten in, and for a moment, I contemplated the obvious. But I took the fly outside. Which is where I will put this jar. Right now. (Now if it had been a housefly, that would have been different.)

I go to give the hummingbird feeder a close-up check for ants, as in ‘Is that an ant in there or a shadow of something’, and the hummingbird decides to fly in at the same time. Jeez.

As if the ants have that much of a chance. The feeder is still hanging from a tomato cage in a pot with a struggling tomato plant. However, I took the trouble to put the pot in the pot bottom that my giant fern arrived in. This is filled with water. There is this moat and the moat built into the feeder itself.

Some days I spend 8 - 10 hours tweaking my photos with PhotoShop. By the end of the day I have lots of floaters, and the eyes are on the dry side.

Several times a day I move to another room where the light is good for taking photos. Last week, I was shooting an old suitcase full of vintage clothing from my mom’s house. I thought my eye fatigue had at last produced blurry spots at the edge of my vision. I would reararrange things, set up the tripod and there they were again, big dark things. I blinked. And blinked again. Wait a minute.

They were moths. Somehow they had gotten into the suitcase, and were rapidly vacating the premises with surprising speed. I started killing the ones in the case, but they left such a mess that I gave up.

I seem to have a bigger moth problem than originally thought. But less of an eye problem.

It was wriggling in the dish this morning. After a bit of cleanup, there was another photo session, during which I decided it must be some form of June bug, both due to its appearance and the remarkable ability to navigate on its back.

After taking the photos, I went into another room to see if these turned out better than the ones yesterday. When I returned a few minutes later, it was nowhere to be found. Oh no! A fat larva almost two inches long lost in the living room.

But happily, there it was on the carpet, some three feet from where I left it. For all its dormant appearance, it can really move when the need arises.

The pot had not been moved for at least a year. Underneath was quite a surprise. After a brief photo session, I put it in the bowl reserved for the cornmeal/peanut butter mix that the birds at the feeder are addicted to.

Usually, the grubs I find are perhaps 1/2″ long. Once a live thing is in the bowl, I turn around, and something has seized it. However, the birds came by for a look and shunned this offering. Why, they could cut it up into a few steaks, a couple of roasts and maybe some spareribs and a ham or two. (I only show a portion of this beast to stay within the constraints of decency.)

Curiously, it seemed the first chickadee that happened by buried it in the cornmeal. I pulled it back to the top. Later, a family member came home, noticed that it was once again covered, and excavated it. It took a while, but I finally realized that the grub was doing the burying.

By nighttime, it was still trying very hard to cover itself.

Tomorrow I will try to find out just what it is, or what it will become. Don’t worry, I will share.

Meanwhile, here are some similar-looking brethren. The ones on the top row appear to have been bathed, compared to my specimen in its unwashed glory.

The orange oil was only a temporary fix, sadly. Believing it would do the trick, confident the ants were banished, I took off with a family member to shop in SF.

When I returned, the ants had sent out word that they were in a citrus-scented tropical paradise. It was time to bring out the heavy salvo: the boric acid solution. However, this solution has been aging since last year when I mixed up a large batch. Whether it will have its usual deadly effects will be obvious when I check tomorrow morning.

How cold does it have to be before the ants decide to move in? Early this morning, a bunch of ice cubes from a big cooler were tossed onto the driveway. Most of them were still there at 1 p.m. When we returned from the city after 6 p.m., there they were, diminished but recognizable.

Shopping was abbreviated, but successful. I found a few places rumored to be THE sites for the objects I hunted. There was parking very close by, surprisingly. For all practical purposes, I am done with the shopping.

Just what I need at Christmas time, 36,000 guests, hungry and clamoring to be seated at my huge container of photogenic candies.

Luckily, I have a large bottle of orange oil concentrate, which has dispersed the bulk of them rather quickly, and makes the house smell good as well. But it also means going out in the 36° temps to saturate the house perimeter, which is not that much fun.

When I asked a family member to put up Christmas lights in the tree out front, he reminded me about the hornets’ nest at the base of the tree. Ground covers of vinca minor and honeysuckle grow underneath. Another family member was stung several times when he ventured near a few weeks ago.

The suggestions here sound doable without too much fuss, and while the torch of flaming rags sounds wonderful, visually speaking, it would give my elderly neighbors chest pains if they happened to see.

There might or might not be an update.

Some images from finalists in the 4th Annual Photo Contest.

It is named Martialis heureka after Edward O. Wilson exclaimed, ‘Wow, this ant might as well be from Mars, it’s so different.’

Termites in the ceiling have gained the upper hand, so to speak. But today is not such a great day for them, now that the microwaving machine has been turned on, and will remain on for over an hour. Thankfully, it is only a smallish area. The machine has a high-pitched sound that is very annoying. Perhaps the termites will find it even more so.

I saw it lurch by the window, and ran out with my camera. It’s not the most graceful of insects, and indeed its wings are a vivid blue/green. Loud too. It headed for a tomato bed. I got one shot off, but missed it. It looks like a shield bug, but unlike ones I can find online. After sloppily landing in a few other places near the ground, it disappeared once again.

It appears to be over an inch long, possibly an inch and a half.

At last, the exterminator arrived. We’ve had the microwaving done before, but at my request, they didn’t inject the beams with as much toxic stuff as they wanted. So now the termites are back. Small wood-colored bits fell onto an area usually reserved for my indoor photography, and we left it so the exterminators could see.

With temps in the upper range lately, there’s been swarming in many homes, he reported. Obviously, we had a problem, plus he found a few more areas of lesser infestation. This was pretty good news, we were concerned we’d have to tent the place. He kept scooping up the round bits and exclaiming at the quantity.

Exterminator: Gee, this is quite a lot of termite poop.
Me: It’s poop? I thought it was my chewed up house.
E: Well, yes and no. This is how they tell you they’re active. You’re lucky not to have an attic where it wouldn’t be so easy to tell where they are.
Me: Will you be doing the whole ceiling in here?
E: No. Just this area, but we’ll have to put in more of the poison. Did you know termite poop has a smell? (grins)
Me: Uh, no. I never really thought about it.
E: I know the smell real well.
Me: What’s it smell like?
E: Here, take a whiff.
Me (not moving) Uh, I have stopped up sinuses.
E: It’s not so bad.
Me: Stinky?
E: No, no. It’s not. (has some in his hand) Here. Smell.
Me: (seeing the stuff going up my nostrils in my mind’s horrified eye) That’s okay. Just tell me what it smells like.
E: (laughs) Actually, it smells like processed wood.
Me: That’s understandable.

In the parade of happy service people we’ve had through here, he had to rank up there in the top five most cheery. Maybe it’s from all that deep inhalation of a fine brown substance.

The photo is, of course, low-res. If you need a high quality image, please let me know. Few termites are cooperative enough to dump out their poop right onto a white photo table.

Work was unspeakably dull this morning, and in an attempt to wake up, I went out to water the tomato plants around noon. I heard a bumblebee.

Next thing I knew, it was buzzing around my head so I had to duck. It didn’t look like the usual yellow and black bees that show up in the yard. This was much bigger, and the snapshot my brain got was iridescent, as in blue and greens. It disappeared into the tomatoes.

Was it a tomato hawkmoth?

Don’t think so, hawkmoths tend to be nocturnal. Perhaps a hummingbird hawkmoth?

It’s not bluish-green.

My tomatoes are doing well this year, unlike the last 15. The last thing they need is an influx of hornworms.

The insect went over the fence, but maybe I’ll be taking a noon walk around the garden for the next few days. I’ll try to get a photo.

One day this strange, but aesthetically appealing vessel appeared in one of my plum trees. No one knocked on the door to ask permission to put it there. It has liquid and a few dead insects inside.

When I remember to look again, it is usually in another spot. One of the branches was broken off one day.

Is it an experiment? I never hear a truck or vehicle stopping by, and have yet to see anyone with a ladder. I could call the city and ask. But that would kinda take the fun out of it.

Not too long ago, we had microwaving of termites. The fellow that came out seemed very thorough, and the only ones he found were in fairly isolated areas in the ceiling.

A few weeks ago, a swarm of flying insects appeared near the kitchen door. Soon after, another swarm showed up at the same spot. Today, a guy from the same company checked it out. These, he said, were of the subterranean variety.

My work gets frantic just before 1:00 p.m., and today, it was unusually crazy. Luckily, a family member left work to deal with the matter. When I emerged later, I learned that the soil around the door was treated, a substance sprayed around the door.

But even though the warranty on the previous work had expired, they didn’t charge anything. Nice people.

Me: How far away do I have to be while you’re doing the microwaving?
Guy: Oh, maybe in the next room.
Me: Really? Not necessarily the farthest room back?
Guy: No. About five feet is safe.
Me: What does it feel like if you’re too close.
Guy: Me, I get a funny feeling in my chest. My partner, he gets a headache. That’s when we know to back off.
Me: Like a numbness?
Guy: Nah, more like a tightness right here (puts hand over heart).
Me: Now is this going to affect my internet connection?
Guy: You on wireless? It does funny stuff to wireless.
Me: No. But I gotta work.
Guy: Should be okay. (It was, except when a family member accidentally unplugged the modem when moving desks out of the way.)

Droppings have been steadily falling directly over the table where I work. I had visions of insect masses in the infrastructure slowly and methodically eating the house.

He was due between 11 and noon, and being a veteran of such promises, I was stepping into the shower at 10-ish, allowing plenty of time before his arrival. There was a knock on the door.

This is the first time a service person has been early. His highly scented deodorant followed his every move, and when he ventured outside to check the eaves, he was very easy to find.

A friend had reported the results of her termite work not too long ago, so I was expecting the estimate to be in the four-figure range, and the dreaded tenting. Surprise! The infestation is not severe, limited to a few areas, and subterranean evidence is minimal.

Now if I can just get through the dental work at 8 a.m. tomorrow.

If you thought the choices in toothpaste, for example, were daunting, you might visit the hardware store and check out the caulk section (aisle 18 at the local Orchard Supply). In paint, not plumbing.

A new tool in my arsenal against the continuing ant battles. Over time I will seal every possible entry point, because I’m really tired of writing about ants. Especially after a family member reached up for the shower head only to find his hand covered with a multitude.

If you’re in need of aquarium sealant, which I needed a few weeks ago to patch a fountain, the hardware store is a better choice than the pet store. The sealant is hanging there alongside the 30 kinds of caulk, and you’ll save at least $5.

I miss my old dog, who always managed to tell me in no uncertain terms that it was going to rain. It wasn’t a conscious act, he didn’t come up, put his paw on my foot, and whine while looking up at the sky. That would have been kind of cool, actually.

No, he just did his usual, leaned his weather-sensitive fur against the door and then sink into a daily torpor broken up by the postman’s visit and regular trips to my various flowerpots. But there was never a mistake, even on an otherwise brilliantly sunny day. Brutie and I knew it was going to rain.

Now that he’s gone, the Argentine ants are trying to take up the slack. I’m not quite on their wavelength, and their collective attempts over the past six weeks have failed. (It did rain yesterday, but I had no idea it was coming.) I couldn’t help but notice their insistence at every crevice in my bathrooms, and their improved resistance to Terro ant poison. Stomping them didn’t work, as it seems every pair of shoes I own has soles designed to protect small insects. My fly swatter didn’t work either because the bathroom tiles have small indentations that provided just enough shelter for a fleeing ant.

Am I going to seek out another golden retriever? Oh yes. Not just yet though.

You probably thought I killed it after taking pictures last week. That’s what any sensible tomato grower would have done.

None of the pictures came out well because it never stopped moving its mouth parts. It was late afternoon, and where I was shooting, it was not very bright. I didn’t want to turn on the lights, which might have made it twitch. Not only did it move more than I thought it would, it produced an enormous amount of droppings. No doubt because of its nonstop eating. Didn’t the plant-eating dinosaurs do this?

So I put it under a plastic dome, actually the lid of a spindle of CD-Rs. Left it with plenty of fresh tomato leaves, courtesy of a lush patch of cherry tomatoes. Plus the half-eaten green tomato.

The next day, I didn’t want to face the subject, which seemed quite active, moving around its pen on top of an outdoor table. I could see it out of the corner of my eye as I worked. The leaves were wilted.

I still wasn’t up to it the following day, or the next. But I kept feeding it. It kept crawling around the perimeter, kind of like a fat green train.

Before I knew it, almost a week had passed. Normally tomato worms don’t bother me, although they must be one of the most repulsive-looking creatures, especially when you find them on your healthiest tomato plant. But my previous episode with the pistachios left me a little more squeamish than usual. Perhaps there is a little pistachio left in my system still.

A family member remarked that the worm looked less than happy. Perhaps, I suggested, it was preparing for its next stage of development. He couldn’t find a suitable container for it (although he didn’t look very hard).

I am very relieved. Sometime I will discuss the writhing mass of larvae in the compost heap, but not today.

Word has gotten out over the past few years among the pest community that my tomato patch is nothing to get excited about. This year is a little different, and the plants are still producing a surprising amount. This afternoon, I noticed that the tiny dog from a neighbor’s yard must have gotten in the garden and left its droppings on the tomato leaves. They were that big.

I had hoped that the hornworm had matured and gone away, but no. It had eaten most of one tomato and started on this one. But what I actually had was a free model.

Albeit a messy one, and noisy on top of that. Try putting one on a clean sheet of white paper. When it moves around, it makes a rasping sound, which could be the mouthparts trying to ingest the paper. Who knows. It will remain under cover till tomorrow when the light is better. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of tomato worm food.

We were only gone a few days. The squirrels removed the rocks from all the pots and planted their oak tree crop. In the kitchen sink, the Argentine ants set up camp, extending their reach to the dishwasher. The yippy yappy that lives behind us learned to enter the yard via a loose fence board.

It met my eye when I glanced out the window this afternoon. This triggered a huge startle reflex on both our parts, because the only eyes I meet in the yard are those of birds. In the case of this animal, its standard bark is the one that sounds as if someone jabbed a rusty but sharp, barbed spear into its rear end. It continued to bark as I coaxed it toward the opening in the fence, hesitant as I was to simply fling it over. From the safety of its own property, it kept up a steady racket.

A few minutes later, it taxed our hospitality again, announcing its whereabouts to all. I dispatched another family member, who decided to take the flashlight that is as long as a human leg. He reported that the guest departed in all due haste without encouragement. Another family member came home and patched up the opening. If the animal tries again, it will encounter a board with a nail.

Another day or so and deer would no doubt have come into the picture, starting with the bougainvillea and moving into the vegetables.

For awhile, I had four or five kinds of pears waiting to be photographed. Then the holidays came and went, and I honestly don’t recall eating these. But I bet the fruit flies have fond memories.

Or should I say, a whiter shade of white. Scientists are amazed at the unusual brightness of the white beetle, whose secret is a shell covered with ultra-thin scales.

When one of my kids calls out ‘Hey, Mom, come here’ in a cautious voice these days, it usually has to do with a live creature of some kind. Normally, he would have taken care of this with one of his many cameras, but he was on his way to catch the train.

Thanks, Jeff!

At the Conservatory of Flowers’ Butterfly Zone last weekend, a young girl was taking pictures with one hand while holding this with the other, and kindly allowed me to take a shot of this eastern swallowtail as well.

Some were in better shape.

At the Conservatory of Flowers in SF yesterday, butterflies were clinging to the windows as visitors streamed in and out of their controlled environment. Many of the insects had beaten-up wings.

It has been a long, racket-filled day of workers repairing fences. After a quiet dinner, I settled down for some dessert (an orange, nothing to get excited about) when I heard what sounded like a team of roof rats with high heels walking around on the patio. After a bit, it sounded like a few had managed to get inside. Very soon, the phone would ring and I would hear a hollow but ominous squeaking at the other end.

But then something very large flew across the room to the lamp, bounced off and careened to a wall, bounced off, went to the window, bounced . . . well, you get the idea. I didn’t get a good look, but went outside, because it’s not everyday you see a bunch of rats wearing clackety heels. The insect came outside as well. When I went in the garage, it followed, throwing itself against surfaces.

Perhaps it was the gnome, angry that I’d written of its supposed theft of apricots.

Last year I tried to offer a katydid to my mantis, but it failed as a menu choice.

Dragonflies behave very much like birds when they migrate, according to a new study. They build up fat reserves before taking off, and seem to navigate in similar ways.

It’s a little-known fact that ants love to have their pictures taken. I don’t set out to shoot them especially, but lately, they wind up in many of the photos.

For 10 weeks, he was lost in the Outback. After about one week, he discovered a natural dam where the leeches resided. He ate those, along with grasshoppers and frogs.

Observers say he looked like a walking skeleton when found.

It lunges out of the water to catch insects. Scientists are amazed at its ability to angle its head toward food, and say the discovery sheds light on how fish made the transition from water to land.

From a visit to Steinhart Aquarium.

They follow the ants, which are able to catch large insects. When the birds see that a choice morsel is there for the taking, they seize the opportunity.

The microbes in a termite’s guts break down cellulose into sugars. These can be fermented into ethanol. Other ideas detailed here.

Wouldn’t it be neat if part of California’s energy needs were filled by the pest that is constantly eating our houses?

Scientists were puzzled when it was discovered that batrachotoxin was the poison in both the pitohuis and the frogs. The bird is found in New Guinea, the frogs in Colombia.

At the California Academy of Sciences, Dr. Jack Dumbacher reports that the source is a beetle of the genus Choresine. Researchers found the beetle when they asked New Guinea villagers which insects caused numbness. The beetle belongs to the Melyridae family, which is also found in Colombia.

It is now annoying New Zealanders, who are concerned that the pests are invading many regions of their country.

I would not be surprised if these ants swam from California to NZ. The endless lines of them across and up and down the driveway, and all along the house foundation have diminished. But I know they’ll be back.

Not all quails are toxic, of course, and those that are do not have the toxin at all times. Symptoms: vomiting, terrible pain, difficulty breathing, and paralysis. It’s not fatal, however.

No one knows what causes the quails to be poisonous. Some say certain seeds, others say insects.

Quail available in American supermarkets and restaurants are imported from Japan, and quite safe.

Ants teach each other to locate food through a process called ‘tandem running’. Mutual feedback lets the novice ant learn at its own speed.