Nature Photography

It’s been ages since I’ve written any kind of blog entry. Mostly because, as I mentioned in the last blog post, I’ve been focusing on my photography and my Etsy Shop. And, OC devotee that I am, I really only have time for one obsession at a time.

Which is also because nature photography can be a pain.

Why?

Because the subjects are notorious drama queens and often completely uncooperative.

Take ladybugs for example…you might think this is an easy or fun picture to capture:

And I am kind of proud of it.  But that overlooks the fact that I have waaayyyy more pictures like this in which the Ladybug decides if it can’t see me, then I can’t see it and it scampers to the underside of the flower stalk to hide:

And, seriously, who wants a picture of the bottom of a ladybug? No one, that’s who.

 Or you stalk a gorgeous Tiger Swallowtail all through your lily garden, braving mosquitoes and loudly complaining dogs, to get the perfect shot and the butterfly is so hopped up on pollen, that it basically flings itself head first into the flower like some sort of addict having a fit.

Even worse is the problem that the places you go are often populated by creatures that you weren’t actually wanting to photograph. Like, when you are trying with all your might to get a shot of a monarch butterfly dancing around a button bush and all of a sudden you shout “Holy crap, is that a SNAKE?”

Or—far worst of all—you go someplace called the Osage Forest of Peace only to find that it should be called the Osage Bastion of Bloodsucking Beasts. Or the Horrendous Hideout of Horrifying Hematomaniacs. Or the Pernicious Purview of Pustulating Parasites.

Basically, what I’m saying is that the name should mention the fact that teeming hordes of TICKS roam this allegedly peaceful forest in a decidedly unpeaceful manner.

A fact we sadly became aware of as we were hiking the trails, looking for wildlife to photograph, when out of nowhere Opie said “There’s a tick on my leg.” Which is upsetting in any circumstance but was quickly compounded by the fact that there were multiple ticks on his legs…and his shoes and his shirt. I wanted to be sympathetic but this was impossible because I was very busy brushing ticks off my own clothes with reckless abandon.

“What the heck is going on?” I shouted (in the interest of keeping this blog family friendly, we’ll pretend I actually said heck). “We need to get the heck out of here!”

So we ran for it as best we could over narrow trails and uneven ground…but part of the problem with these insect infestations is that as soon as you notice one on your body, you instantly imagine a teeming horde of the monsters, scampering through your hair, running up and down your back, baring their fangs and clamping on like miniscule pitbulls.

So the running was punctuated by us slapping ourselves hysterically, shaking our arms and legs like we were in some forest-inspired dance ritual, and shouting like maniacs.

It is interesting to note that the Forest of Peace clearly does NOT have security cameras on their trails or we would have been apprehended at the trail head and taken in for psychiatric evaluation.

After we made it out of the forest and drove home, we decided,  in the interest of the continued good health of the ridiculous mongrels that share our home, to get undressed in the washroom and throw our clothes immediately in the washing machine.

“I’ve got one embedded in my leg.” Opie said ruefully.

And I would again have been sympathetic except, at just that moment, I slipped out of my yoga pants and watched 2 humongous, monster-sized tick beasts dart across the front of my underwear.

Let me repeat that for maximum effect:

I HAD TICKS IN MY UNDERWEAR.

I would like to report what happened then but, I’m not going to lie, the next few minutes are a bit of a blur of screams, tears, and hysterical stripping.

And just in case anyone is worried that this story is about to take a weird erotic turn, let me assure you there is NOTHING appealing about a slightly chubby middle aged woman jumping around naked and checking her body for ticks!

Especially when she finds not one, not two, not even three or four, but NINE, that’s right NINE freaking ticks embedded in her body.

Pretty much the WORST HIKE EVER.

So, the long and the short of it is, nature photography is fraught with peril, I can feel Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever coursing through my tick-scarred veins, and the only good shot I got that day was the whipped cream vodka Opie very wisely added to my coffee.

Not the Wisest Wabbit in the Warren

You know what SHOULD be better than a snake in the yard?

A bunny.

You know what, oddly, ISN’T better than a snake in the yard?

A bunny.

You know why?

The Bub:

Here’s what happened:

This morning I went out to check on the flowers that I planted on the outside of our fence when I saw, right smack in the middle of the flowers, a bunny:

A cute little baby bunny reminiscent of the bunnies I used to get in my yard back in St. Louis when all they had to fear was a fat Chihuahua with a bad heart. The kind of bunny we never get in our yard here because woodland animals far and wide point their paws at our fence and talk in hushed whispers about the squirderer behind the walls.

Unfortunately, this bunny either didn’t get the memo or he is not the wisest wabbit in the warren.

It is interesting to note that "wabbit" is NOT a typo. I’m just a helpless slave to alliteration…but I digress…

The point is, the bunny decided that our yard is eight kinds of awesome and sometime this morning wandered his way inside.

Which I didn’t realize until I opened the door to let The Bub outside.

Luckily, the lawn guy had just mowed so Bubba was intent on running out and rolling in as much dried grass as caninely possible and he didn’t immediately notice the bunny.

Unluckily, the lawn guy had just mowed so Bubba—clearly still miffed that I hadn’t let him out earlier to eat the lawn guy—decided to pretend he couldn’t hear me calling his name and ordering him back into the house.

Seriously, he is turning into the worst lying liar of a dog.

Anyway, that’s when I decided to unpack the big guns and run out to the yard while offering him a treat. And the stupid bunny says to himself "Treat? I could go for a treat.” And hops closer.

Which is when Bubba saw him.

I will now pause and let you imagine all the things that could go horribly wrong with that scenario.

Now try to imagine Bub and I engaged in a little game called “Bunny Ball.” In which Bubba is tearing around the yard after the bunny and I—clearly playing defense—am flinging myself between him and the bunny, screaming his name, cursing and literally physically blocking him at every turn.

How I did this in flip-flops without breaking a leg is a mystery for the ages.

Meanwhile the stupid bunny didn’t realize that he wasn’t just playing ball, he WAS the ball, and instead of looking for a way to escape was scampering around the yard like the dumbest bunny to ever draw breath.

And it was only through the divine intervention of some guardian angel of bunnies that I somehow managed to grab The Bub around the waist and wrestle him in the house.

I went back outside and tried to convince the bunny that he is, in the eyes of big dogs everywhere, food. And he should scurry along for safer pastures.

The bunny was unimpressed.

Then I tried to explain to the bunny that not only was the carrot section of the garden a poor hiding place but also reinforced the worst bunny stereotypes and that in the interest of species sensitivity, he should go somewhere else.

Unfortunately, that particular bunny is incredibly self-involved and could not care less about species stereotypes.

I even went so far as to get the hose and spray the bunny with a little water…I mean, I didn’t put it on jet because it really is a tiny bunny and I didn’t want to practically waterboard it after all the trouble I went to to rescue it from Bubba but come on! Even a little water should have sent any reasonable bunny packing.

Not this bunny.

This stupid bunny decided he had discovered the best bunny bath of all times and is EVEN NOW still in the garden.

And in case you think I’m exaggerating the ridiculous overconfidence of the bunny in question, please note that I have not only sent a picture of the bunny in the garden, I have included a picture of the bunny GROOMING ITSELF even AFTER it was chased all over the yard by the Bub.

So, I had to come in to work, the bunny is still in the garden and Bubba is not speaking to me.

The Universe is Evil

Here's the thing: I thought it was going to be a calm day.

The bathroom remodel is still in progress but Toby the handyman called first thing this morning and said he wouldn't be here until this afternoon. Which, combined with the unseasonably warm weather, meant this should have been the perfect time to go out and do a little work in the front yard. See, when Toby's here, I take the dogs out back with me and if I try to go out front without them, they spend every minute barking hysterically as if to reassure me that they have not mysteriously disappeared or been dognapped or the like.

So, cheerfully leaving the dogs inside, I went out front and began raking, straightening the brick landscaping and weeding the lilies.

This is when the universe decided to smack me in the face. By which I, of course, mean "send a snake to kill me."

That's right, there was a snake in the lilies.

When did I see it, you might be wondering?

WHEN I PICKED IT UP!!!

That's right, I picked up a SNAKE.

WITH MY HAND!!!

Luckily, I was wearing garden gloves or Opie would have gotten a phone call from the emergency room in which the nurse said things like "seems to be in a catatonic state"  and/or "may have had a heart attack."

In any case, the evil beast was apparently lurking under the dead leaves and when I grabbed a huge handful to put in the compost, I felt it wriggle.

What did I do?

The only thing anyone could do in such a situation....screamed profanity and flung the whole pile as far away from me as humanly possible.

Which was, apparently, a little shocking for the guy who lives across the street and just happened to be in his yard...which is upsetting for me because, although Opie and I can't ever seem to remember his name, he is the one guy in the neighborhood who has said we can take cover in his tornado shelter should the need arise.

With this in mind, I waved, pointed in the general direction of the flung about pile, and said "Sorry....snake."

Note to self: We might not be welcome in the shelter this spring.

But I digress...at this point, ever the devoted spouse, I decided to email Opie about my near death experience.  And, in the interest of continued marital bliss, kindly gave him a list of things that he definitely should NOT say when he got home.

1.  "It was probably just a little garter snake."  Inaccurate.  From what I saw,  it was a cobra.

2.  "I'm sure it wasn't poisonous."  Cobras are poisonous. Plus I'm pretty sure I saw three inch fangs, dripping venom.

3. "Snakes are more scared of you then you are of them." First of all, that's not possible. Second, how could anyone possibly know the level of fear that a snake experiences? Did a scientist hook a snake up to some heart monitor and put it face-to-face with various humans?  Did some parsel-mouth go out and interview a snake to test the veracity of the theory? Of course not.

Then I advised Opie that it would be wiser to say things like "That sounds like the worst thing to happen to anybody EVER." Or "What a rough day you've had...I brought you some candy." (I also mentioned he could feel free to substitute wine or diamonds for candy) or "How about a back rub?"

So, to clarify, it was NOT a calm morning, I did not spend any more time clearing the lilies and might never try to again, the universe is clearly conspiring against me and it's entirely possible we'll have to move.

Motivation to Move

We have to move.

I understand that this may seem sudden but once I have relayed the events of my day to you all, I think you will agree that it is time to drop everything and start researching realtors.

Here's what happened:

After a few days of rain, today was finally clear and since the ground is very soft at the moment, I decided that this would be the perfect time to go out and transplant this enormous shasta daisy that is taking over the rock garden. After moving it, I went back to smooth everything over etc. Unfortunately, while doing this I accidentally flipped over a rock and guess what was under it?

Another freaking snake, that's what!

One of those small snakes that for a hopeful minute I thought might just be the King Kong Godzilla Monster of earthworms but then, just like our last snake adventure, realized it was all coiled up, snake-like and evil.

And, of course, it had six inch fangs that were dripping blood and venom in copious amounts.

At this point, I screamed a very offensive curse word loudly enough that I'm pretty sure they could hear me at the church down the street.

My normal reaction would, obviously, be to run shrieking into the house....but Bubba was outside with me.  And because my life is one giant catastrophic coincidence after another, it was at this exact moment that a stray dog decided to meander up and bark at the dog next door.  Which means that Bubba ran over in a frenzy, jumping all over the exact same garden that had just given rise to the serpent from hell.

Therefore, I couldn't run inside because:

A. The snake could go slinking and sliming and slithering to some other spot in the yard, just waiting to jump out and attack another time.

B. I'm a firm believer in "No Dog Left Behind" and, since there is no calming Bubba when there is a stray dog in the vicinity and he was jumping around in a manner that just begged an evil predator to notice and attack, I knew I wouldn't get him in the house with me.

But I also couldn't just go into a frenzy of my own and started chopping the snake to pieces with my shovel like some whacked out snake serial killer because that's bad for my karma..

So, fueled by adrenaline and maternal instinct for the ridiculous dog next to me, I scooped up a huge shovelful of dirt with the snake on top, scurried to the other gate like a maniac, ran out to the front and flung the dirt and snake and rocks and whatnot into the street.

I'm not too proud to say I was crying and screaming all the curse words I've ever heard as I was running.

What the neighbors thought of this display is anyone's guess...but I suspect their opinion of me is none too flattering.

In summary, I have become the lunatic of the neighborhood, our rock garden is, apparently, a teeming hotbed of serpent activity, and I don't think I can live in these kind of conditions.

Firsts This Spring

I can’t believe I haven’t posted yet about the fabulous new camera lens Opie got me for Christmas. 

It’s a lens for extreme close ups and portraits; in professional photography jargon it’s best described as “very zoom-y” and “wicked cool!”

I hope that’s not too technical for you lay people.

In any case, we’ve taken it on a few of our morning hikes/walks and the pics it takes are simply amazing…as evidenced by this picture I like to call Duck Berries:

(Duck Berries...hope that's not too abstract for you non-English teachers!)

But, best of all, I was able to capture some awesome shots of a few firsts of the spring.

Like the first toad of spring who was hiding in the garden:

And the first iris of spring that popped up a few weeks ago.

I did not, obviously, capture a picture of the first snake of spring that slithered sneakily out from under a rock a few days ago because it is very difficult to take good pictures while running away screaming.

Opie maintains that this is “over-reacting” and that “you’re going to see snakes outside” and that “it’s a tiny little snake, you should be able to deal with a tiny little snake.”

Which just goes to show you that, once again, Opie is very lucky my fear of snakes is only topped by my fear of prison.

Though, I will admit, it was a small snake.  And while I didn’t get my own pic, I found a representative pic on Google images:

Small but obviously an inherently vicious creature that would kill you as soon as look at you!

It is interesting to note that, when telling our friends Fred and Susan about our snake adventures, Susan mentioned that she had found a snake in their pantry a while ago (It is further interesting to note that I was sitting within FEET of the alleged pantry when this revelation was made.  The fact that I didn’t immediately dash from the home is a testament to my strength of character). In any case, snake in the pantry is the clearest argument for moving I have ever heard, even if this is their dream house that they designed and had built.

So, in summary, the new camera lens is awesome, snakes are evil, Susan is one of the bravest women alive and if we get a snake in this house we’re putting it on the market within the hour.

Contest?

Opie and I are having a little contest this morning that I like to call: “Who’s having a worse morning?”

It started like any other day.  We got up, he started to get ready for work and I fed the dogs and took them outside. With the fabulous new fence (more on that later), I could just let them out on their own but there are places that a really industrious 7 pound dog could wriggle under so I always go with them.

So, the two of them shot through the dog door and as I headed for the human door, I stepped on something soft and squishy. Soft, squishy and hard to see because I hadn’t turned on the porch light and the sun wasn’t all the way up.

And, no, it wasn’t dog doo…it was worse.

“Oh, gross,” I thought, leaning down and peering at the mat. “One of those rotten dogs dragged a huge earthworm in here last night.”

Except when I got my face right there next to it, I realized it was way too big to be an earthworm, even a really big nightcrawler type of earthworm.  And it was coiled up.

Coiled up like a snake.

A SNAKE!

At which point I was torn…run inside and get Opie or run outside, screaming for Opie, while keeping the dogs off the porch. I actually even did this weird cartoon-ish hopping back and forth, saying “Snake!” over and over again, while my body and mind struggled with the decision.

In the end, I elected to go inside and get Opie…largely because he was in the shower and probably wouldn’t hear me screaming from outside.

He did, however, hear me shouting from the living room and came running downstairs as soon as he had thrown on some underwear.

“It’s a snake,” he agreed. “It’s just a little one.”

“It’s probably a baby,” I agreed. “A baby snake and the mama is probably lurking right outside the dog door, waiting to pounce when we least expect it!  We might need to move.”

He shook his head and started wrapping it up in the welcome mat. 

“Where are you going with that?” I demanded as he headed for the door. “Don’t even think about throwing that snake in the backyard where I’ll have to think about it hiding in the garden all day.”

But I also didn’t want him to kill it because I don’t like killing things…even evil vermin, until it's had a chance to contemplate its behavior and change its porch-lurking ways. “You have to take it somewhere else,” I said.

“I’m in my underwear,” he pointed out.

I didn’t exactly say “underwear shmunderwear!” but I thought it and I stared at him in horror until he sighed, carried the mat-wrapped snake off the porch, snuck out the gate between our house and the neighbors, tiptoed to the front and flung the snake far, far away.

Ever have that moment when you realize that you might not HAVE annoying neighbors, but you ARE the annoying neighbors?

In any case, the snake is gone (for now!) and I am planning to follow my friend Kelly’s advice and stomp whenever I’m in the yard today to scare other snakes away.

But we are still left with a debate…Opie maintains that being ripped from the shower and forced to wander around outside in his underwear makes his morning worse.  But I STEPPED ON A SNAKE. A small snake, yes.  But a SNAKE.

I totally win, right?