Farm News 08-13-06
Sunday morning, after chores, 78°
Cicada Songs
The season of cicada singing has arrived. This year we have only the annual species, Tibicen canicularis, in some areas called the Dogday Harvestfly. The various periodical cicadas around here appear according to their cycles, but this isn't the year for any of them. In 1998 the 17 year cicada made its appearance and produced a good year for fattening ducks.
The periodical cicadas have different broods in different parts of the country. The 13 year cicadas in Ohio might appear in a different year than the 13 year cicadas in Kansas. The 17 year cicada is the species with the longest period. I don't think there is a two year cicada, but there is a three year. Interestingly, all the periods are prime numbers, so there are three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, and seventeen year cicadas. A while back we had two different periodicals happen to appear in the same year. If I remember correctly I figured it would be over 70 years before that particular pair would appear together again.
The annual cicada has dark eyes, whereas the periodical cicada has red eyes and isn't quite as large. They are all harmless, possessing neither stingers nor mouths. When they emerge they don't eat, they live only for sex, unlike adolescent male humans who live to eat and hope for sex.
Both males and females have structures called tymbals on their abdomens. Tymbals are, on the males, sort of loudspeaker type things. On females they are microphone type things. The males make the buzzing sound with their tymbals and the females hear the buzzing sound with their tymbals. Crickets and grasshoppers make noise by rubbing two body parts together, but cicadas have real sound systems.
Cicadas are arboreal ventriloquists. Stand under a tree with a cicada in it and try to find the insect. It is almost impossible to do it by tracking the source of the sound. Female cicadas can apparently locate the buzzing males, but not humans or ducks. Ducks locate cicadas by spotting them when, their ardor satiated, they fall from the tree.
Once a female cicada has located a male who gives the right kind of buzz, they mate and that is the end of the road for the male. He drops out of the tree to feed the ducks. The female cuts a little slit on the underneath side of a small twig and lays her eggs in it, then she, too, goes to feed the ducks.
When the larvae hatch they drop from the trees, burrow into the ground, and feed on the hair roots of trees for a prime number of years. Then the larvae emerge, climb a ways up a handy tree, and change into adults. Their skin splits down their backs and the adult emerges from the larval skin. When they emerge their wings are tightly folded and it usually takes several hours or more before they can fly. I watched the process some years ago with a friend and it took long enough for us to consume a bottle of scotch.
Once they can fly the head for the nearest tree, where the males get a buzz going and the females listen for for the male that sounds just right. Because cicada love is restricted to a single quickie on a tree limb, she doesn't bother to look for a keeper. The buzz is all she cares about.
Trusty, Ting, and the Coyote
Every morning Trusty has been in the habit of making a security tour of the place so that he could report that all was secure when I came out for morning chores. At the same time Ting would come out of the barn and catch a few bugs while they were still cool and slow. Wednesday morning started like most others, Trusty patrolling the yard and Ting catching bugs, when a coyote dashed out of the woods, snatched up Ting, and headed for the road.
Trusty, who was returning from his morning rounds, spotted they coyote with Ting in its mouth and gave chase. Morning traffic was starting to build but the coyote, with Ting, managed to make it across the road and into the ditch on the opposite side. Trusty didn't, and was clipped by a morning commuter and knocked back to our side of the road.
At about that time I came out to do chores and was surprised and concerned that Trusty wasn't there to give his morning security report. Then I heard him whimpering out by the road. As I walked out the drive a Sheriff's Patrol car pulled up and stopped by Trusty, who was lying just off the road about 50 feet east of the drive. I walked down to Trusty and saw that, although he wasn't bleeding, he was seriously injured, so I went back for the pickup truck.
I drove to where Trusty was lying by the road and parked the truck. The Sheriff's Patrolman had a carton of emergency paper blankets in his car and he spread one out to put Trusty on. I took Trusty's head and started to move him onto the blanket. Trusty snapped at me and sank a fang deep into the back of my right hand. So, the Patrolman brought a muzzle from his car and we muzzled Trusty, after which we were able to get him on the blanket and into the back of the truck. I hopped into the cab, spreading blood everywhere, and started driving to the veterinary clinic north of town.
It was about 7:45 am when we arrived at the clinic, and no one was there. At 8:00 a nice young woman showed up for work and told us that both vets were out of town for the day. After some telephone work the Patrolman found that the clinic in Meriden would have a vet available, so I turned around drove back home, which was on the way to Meriden, to pick up my billfold. I parked the truck and went around to the back to look at Trusty. I scratched his head and he took a last breath and died.
Damn! I liked that dog, even though he was way too enthusiastic about everything. I finished morning chores, noticing all the while that Trusty wasn't in the way and Ting wasn't there pecking at my ankles. Missing the dog was understandable, missing that damned chicken wasn't.
Butch, who lives a few miles down the road, now has two backhoes, a status in life that I could only dream about. He enjoys opportunities to show me just how helpless I can be at times just because I don't have even one backhoe. When I called him and asked him if he would dig a grave for my dog he was more than happy to bring his newer backhoe and do the job. We laid Trusty in his final resting place south of the pasture.
Finally, I was able to go into the house, wash all the blood off me, and put a bandage over the bite wound, which was still oozing quite a bit of blood. I knew Trusty had had his rabies shot, and I had received a tetanus shot within the last fifteen years or so, so I figured everything would be okay.
As the day went on, I sat around and felt sorry for myself because my dog was dead and a chicken I despised had been stolen by a coyote. Several times, I changed the bandage on my hand and each time noticed that my hand was swelling and turning red in the area of the wound. That seemed reasonable to me.
Paula came home at 5:00 pm, took a look at my hand, and said, “Oh, oh.”
She insisted I call the doc's office, even though it was after their normal business hours, and I knew that there wasn't anything wrong with my hand. Even so, I am well trained by now, so I called the doc's office. The phone rang a few times, and then someone picked it up and said, “Dr. S.”
I was in love. She had a voice that was like the fragrance of jasmine floating on the air. I started having visions of myself lying in bed while she caressed my forehead with her lovely fingertips. I tried to explain what had happened to my hand, feigning confusion and asking her to repeat everything two or three times so I could float on her lovely voice.
She seemed to be unaware of the true nature of my seeming confusion and simply prescribed a round of antibiotics. The local pharmacy was closed by that time, so I suggested that I would come into Lawrence the next morning to pick up the prescription. Dr. S. insisted that I start on the antibiotics that evening.
Paula insisted that she drive me to the pharmacy, and, well trained as I am, I acquiesced readily. By the time we reached the pharmacy I noticed that my hand was swollen much larger and the bright red area around the wound was now extending up my forearm. That didn't seem like a good sign to me, but, I was still in love, dreaming of oriental pleasures. By the time we returned home I couldn't pick up anything with my right hand, but I was still in love so everything was okay. I took the antibiotic and went to bed.
(The previous evening Paula and I had eaten Chinese and my fortune cookie said that I should be frugal for the next few days. The antibiotic cost $88.41. So much for frugality.)
It took a while for me to go to sleep but, finally, I drifted off. Thirty minutes later I woke up with a big bug crawling across my hand. I shook it off onto the floor and went back to sleep. Twenty minutes later I woke up to see a big bug, about four inches long, climbing up the window curtain. It disappeared and I went back to sleep, but every twenty minutes or so I would wake up and see another bug. Once I looked over the edge of the bed at a bug that had jumped off the curtain and saw a tiny bonfire burning far below. I unplugged the electric clock, which made the bonfire go away, and went back to sleep.
The next morning I got up early, still plagued with large bugs and occasional fleeting bonfires, and went out to do morning chores, but I couldn't find the barn so I went back into the house. Paula looked me over and said she would do chores.
By noon I was back to missing the dog and alternating between sorrow and glee that that stupid chicken was finally gone. My visions of languid oriental nights retreated and I again appreciated living with a woman who could both do chores and stroke my fevered brow. The redness had quit spreading and, although I still couldn't pick up anything with my right hand, the swelling was no worse. The only task left was to sit down and, mostly with one hand, type out the tale.
Dr. M. Goes Batty
The account of crossing the Continental Divide will continue next week.
Cicada Songs
The season of cicada singing has arrived. This year we have only the annual species, Tibicen canicularis, in some areas called the Dogday Harvestfly. The various periodical cicadas around here appear according to their cycles, but this isn't the year for any of them. In 1998 the 17 year cicada made its appearance and produced a good year for fattening ducks.
The periodical cicadas have different broods in different parts of the country. The 13 year cicadas in Ohio might appear in a different year than the 13 year cicadas in Kansas. The 17 year cicada is the species with the longest period. I don't think there is a two year cicada, but there is a three year. Interestingly, all the periods are prime numbers, so there are three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, and seventeen year cicadas. A while back we had two different periodicals happen to appear in the same year. If I remember correctly I figured it would be over 70 years before that particular pair would appear together again.
The annual cicada has dark eyes, whereas the periodical cicada has red eyes and isn't quite as large. They are all harmless, possessing neither stingers nor mouths. When they emerge they don't eat, they live only for sex, unlike adolescent male humans who live to eat and hope for sex.
Both males and females have structures called tymbals on their abdomens. Tymbals are, on the males, sort of loudspeaker type things. On females they are microphone type things. The males make the buzzing sound with their tymbals and the females hear the buzzing sound with their tymbals. Crickets and grasshoppers make noise by rubbing two body parts together, but cicadas have real sound systems.
Cicadas are arboreal ventriloquists. Stand under a tree with a cicada in it and try to find the insect. It is almost impossible to do it by tracking the source of the sound. Female cicadas can apparently locate the buzzing males, but not humans or ducks. Ducks locate cicadas by spotting them when, their ardor satiated, they fall from the tree.
Once a female cicada has located a male who gives the right kind of buzz, they mate and that is the end of the road for the male. He drops out of the tree to feed the ducks. The female cuts a little slit on the underneath side of a small twig and lays her eggs in it, then she, too, goes to feed the ducks.
When the larvae hatch they drop from the trees, burrow into the ground, and feed on the hair roots of trees for a prime number of years. Then the larvae emerge, climb a ways up a handy tree, and change into adults. Their skin splits down their backs and the adult emerges from the larval skin. When they emerge their wings are tightly folded and it usually takes several hours or more before they can fly. I watched the process some years ago with a friend and it took long enough for us to consume a bottle of scotch.
Once they can fly the head for the nearest tree, where the males get a buzz going and the females listen for for the male that sounds just right. Because cicada love is restricted to a single quickie on a tree limb, she doesn't bother to look for a keeper. The buzz is all she cares about.
Trusty, Ting, and the Coyote
Every morning Trusty has been in the habit of making a security tour of the place so that he could report that all was secure when I came out for morning chores. At the same time Ting would come out of the barn and catch a few bugs while they were still cool and slow. Wednesday morning started like most others, Trusty patrolling the yard and Ting catching bugs, when a coyote dashed out of the woods, snatched up Ting, and headed for the road.
Trusty, who was returning from his morning rounds, spotted they coyote with Ting in its mouth and gave chase. Morning traffic was starting to build but the coyote, with Ting, managed to make it across the road and into the ditch on the opposite side. Trusty didn't, and was clipped by a morning commuter and knocked back to our side of the road.
At about that time I came out to do chores and was surprised and concerned that Trusty wasn't there to give his morning security report. Then I heard him whimpering out by the road. As I walked out the drive a Sheriff's Patrol car pulled up and stopped by Trusty, who was lying just off the road about 50 feet east of the drive. I walked down to Trusty and saw that, although he wasn't bleeding, he was seriously injured, so I went back for the pickup truck.
I drove to where Trusty was lying by the road and parked the truck. The Sheriff's Patrolman had a carton of emergency paper blankets in his car and he spread one out to put Trusty on. I took Trusty's head and started to move him onto the blanket. Trusty snapped at me and sank a fang deep into the back of my right hand. So, the Patrolman brought a muzzle from his car and we muzzled Trusty, after which we were able to get him on the blanket and into the back of the truck. I hopped into the cab, spreading blood everywhere, and started driving to the veterinary clinic north of town.
It was about 7:45 am when we arrived at the clinic, and no one was there. At 8:00 a nice young woman showed up for work and told us that both vets were out of town for the day. After some telephone work the Patrolman found that the clinic in Meriden would have a vet available, so I turned around drove back home, which was on the way to Meriden, to pick up my billfold. I parked the truck and went around to the back to look at Trusty. I scratched his head and he took a last breath and died.
Damn! I liked that dog, even though he was way too enthusiastic about everything. I finished morning chores, noticing all the while that Trusty wasn't in the way and Ting wasn't there pecking at my ankles. Missing the dog was understandable, missing that damned chicken wasn't.
Butch, who lives a few miles down the road, now has two backhoes, a status in life that I could only dream about. He enjoys opportunities to show me just how helpless I can be at times just because I don't have even one backhoe. When I called him and asked him if he would dig a grave for my dog he was more than happy to bring his newer backhoe and do the job. We laid Trusty in his final resting place south of the pasture.
Finally, I was able to go into the house, wash all the blood off me, and put a bandage over the bite wound, which was still oozing quite a bit of blood. I knew Trusty had had his rabies shot, and I had received a tetanus shot within the last fifteen years or so, so I figured everything would be okay.
As the day went on, I sat around and felt sorry for myself because my dog was dead and a chicken I despised had been stolen by a coyote. Several times, I changed the bandage on my hand and each time noticed that my hand was swelling and turning red in the area of the wound. That seemed reasonable to me.
Paula came home at 5:00 pm, took a look at my hand, and said, “Oh, oh.”
She insisted I call the doc's office, even though it was after their normal business hours, and I knew that there wasn't anything wrong with my hand. Even so, I am well trained by now, so I called the doc's office. The phone rang a few times, and then someone picked it up and said, “Dr. S.”
I was in love. She had a voice that was like the fragrance of jasmine floating on the air. I started having visions of myself lying in bed while she caressed my forehead with her lovely fingertips. I tried to explain what had happened to my hand, feigning confusion and asking her to repeat everything two or three times so I could float on her lovely voice.
She seemed to be unaware of the true nature of my seeming confusion and simply prescribed a round of antibiotics. The local pharmacy was closed by that time, so I suggested that I would come into Lawrence the next morning to pick up the prescription. Dr. S. insisted that I start on the antibiotics that evening.
Paula insisted that she drive me to the pharmacy, and, well trained as I am, I acquiesced readily. By the time we reached the pharmacy I noticed that my hand was swollen much larger and the bright red area around the wound was now extending up my forearm. That didn't seem like a good sign to me, but, I was still in love, dreaming of oriental pleasures. By the time we returned home I couldn't pick up anything with my right hand, but I was still in love so everything was okay. I took the antibiotic and went to bed.
(The previous evening Paula and I had eaten Chinese and my fortune cookie said that I should be frugal for the next few days. The antibiotic cost $88.41. So much for frugality.)
It took a while for me to go to sleep but, finally, I drifted off. Thirty minutes later I woke up with a big bug crawling across my hand. I shook it off onto the floor and went back to sleep. Twenty minutes later I woke up to see a big bug, about four inches long, climbing up the window curtain. It disappeared and I went back to sleep, but every twenty minutes or so I would wake up and see another bug. Once I looked over the edge of the bed at a bug that had jumped off the curtain and saw a tiny bonfire burning far below. I unplugged the electric clock, which made the bonfire go away, and went back to sleep.
The next morning I got up early, still plagued with large bugs and occasional fleeting bonfires, and went out to do morning chores, but I couldn't find the barn so I went back into the house. Paula looked me over and said she would do chores.
By noon I was back to missing the dog and alternating between sorrow and glee that that stupid chicken was finally gone. My visions of languid oriental nights retreated and I again appreciated living with a woman who could both do chores and stroke my fevered brow. The redness had quit spreading and, although I still couldn't pick up anything with my right hand, the swelling was no worse. The only task left was to sit down and, mostly with one hand, type out the tale.
Dr. M. Goes Batty
Well, I’ve been in vet track for two weeks, and basically the Army has scared us silly of ever eating anything again. We spent the last two weeks in food safety and microbiology classes and for good measure a whole day of how food can deteriorate. That last class was in a lab, with examples. I’m surprised any of us are still eating.Over the Divide
So, with my newly free weekends, I have been exploring our local environs. This weekend, I made it up to Austin. Finally a place that I like! We had awesome Tex Mex, with killer Hurricanes. Then we explored the city and the very cool UT campus. But the best part was saved for last, the bats of the Congress Avenue Bridge in Austin, TX.
Bats, you say? Not just bats. 1.5 MILLION Mexican free-tailed bats (Tadarida brasiliensis). Only in August they have their pups with them so there are 3 million of them. This is the largest urban colony of bats in the world. The buzz is that the longways slits in the supports is the perfect home for them. At dusk they leave their concrete home and so many of them fly out that they can be seen on weather radar. They fly 100 miles round trip.
There are many places to view the bats. You can stand on the bridge, sit on the banks, or even sit in the parking lot of the Austin American Statesman building. But clearly the coolest way is to see them by kayak. The Texas Rowing Center rents kayaks, has a barbeque and leads you down the Colorado River to the bridge. Then you sit and wait. You can listen to some talented people play the banjo and the fiddle or talk to your fellow kayakers. Then the bats come out.
The bats sent out scouts first. I suspect these were the young whippersnappers that just couldn’t wait another minute to eat. They beeline down the river and then the rest follow making great long lines of flying mammals. The lines cross and make Xs then the bats break into clouds of darkness and fly off to eat 30 million pounds of mosquitoes. It’s amazing.
The account of crossing the Continental Divide will continue next week.
posted by The Geezer at 9:00 AM
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