Woolly-bear caterpillar

I finished feeding the cows late one afternoon. Walking back through the barn, I almost stepped on a woolly-bear caterpillar on the concrete floor. These are the larvae of the Isabella tiger moth.

I scooped it up and brought it outside. It had curled into a ball at this indignity and refused to uncurl.

The reason I was interested in having it uncurl was because I wanted to see the proportion of black to red.

Legend has it woolly bears can predict the winter. If their rusty band is wide, it will be a mild winter. The more black there is, the more severe the winter will be. While there are some data to back up this folklore, it's by no means definitive, and may in fact reflect the conditions of the previous winter (which frankly makes more sense).

In any case, my particular woolly bear refused to uncurl, so I finally scooped it up and placed it in a less vulnerable spot than the barn's concrete floor. It will find a place to overwinter, then emerge in the spring to spin a cocoon and transform into an adult moth.

Since we can't depend on the woolly-bear caterpillars to predict the weather, I guess we'll do what we've always done as winter approaches: Prepare to be snowed in for three months. That's the tactic we've taken each year since we moved to Idaho. In the 20+ years we've lived in this state, that philosophy only paid off during two winters (2006/7 and 2007/8, if I recall), and then it paid off in spades because those were very harsh winters. While we weren't snowed in for three months, it got close.

Got firewood?

A very BIG beetle

The other night, after I'd gone to bed, Don was up late working on his computer. The deck doors were open, but the screens were shut. Note these screens are hanging magnetized screen panels, the kind you push through.

In the three years we've used these screen panels, nothing has ever come through them except around gaps (at the bottom, or if the center strips aren't properly together).

Anyway, all was quiet and peaceful in the house. Suddenly Don heard what sounded like a helicopter, except close by. Something punched through the screen panels into the house and flew over his head. He honestly thought it was a bat or a small bird. Mr. Darcy, brave dog that he is, headed for the hills.

Whatever it was landed on the window near Don's computer. It turned out to be a massive, massive beetle. Don was able to scoot it onto a broom, take it outside, and toss it off the balcony.

He told me about this incident the next morning. That very afternoon, while coming in from outside, I saw a massive, massive beetle scurrying across the washroom floor, heading for under the washing machine. I scooped it up with the only thing I had nearby, which happened to be an empty egg carton.

This was a BIG beetle, perhaps four inches long (not counting antennae).

It wasn't cooperating for the camera, so the shots are rather blurred.

After snapping pictures, I released it outside, where it scurried away.

I looked up "large Idaho beetles" and came across this chart.

So I'm thinking this is a Ponderosa Borer Beetle. Correct me if I'm wrong.

At any rate, Don's mystery critter appears to be solved. It's no wonder Darcy headed for the hills when it punched through the screen into the house. These are very BIG beetles.

Gotta admire those beetles

From a biological standpoint, beetles are pretty amazing creatures.

For one thing, there are a kazillion different kinds – at least 400,000 described species, with by some estimates another 3 million waiting to be classified and named.

Beetles are the universal animal. If anything is edible, there's a beetle out there that will eat it ... and a lot of stuff that doesn't seem edible is often eaten by beetles too (strychnine? fiber insulators on telegraph cables?).

They can also fill a remarkably precise niche. A species called Zonocopris gibbicolis feeds only on the droppings of large land snails, hitching a ride inside the shell. Other beetles specialize in eating carpets and furniture.

My favorite quote about beetles is by British journalist A.A. Gill: "Beetles are not aristocratic, vain esoterics, like butterflies and moths, or communists, like ants and bees. They're not filthy, opportunistic carpetbaggers like flies. They are professional, with a skill. There is nowhere that doesn't, sooner or later, call in a beetle to set up shop and get things done."

This is a long-winded introduction to a new kind of beetle we've been seeing everywhere lately. They're about a third of an inch long and have brown and black markings on its back. We never saw these before moving to our new (to us) home, so we figured they were just an example of a new regional species to get used to.

But it turns out there's a bit more to these beetles than meets the eye. You see, they're an invasive species called the elm seed bug. According to this link, "The elm seed bug is a relatively new introduced pest species in the United States that originates from the Mediterranean region of Europe. This pest was first discovered in the United States in Idaho in 2012 but has since been found in several states in the Western U.S., including Colorado, Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming and Washington, as well as farther east in Michigan."

Whee! Idaho is at the forefront of an invasive species infestation! 

Rather charmingly, though, there is no effort being made to eradicate this beetle because it's, well, harmless. It doesn't seem to do damage to humans, crops, or native species. It's just ... there, everywhere, going about its business and bothering no one.

About the most authorities are saying about this critter is it's a "nuisance" pest since it often overwinters indoors. And sure enough, we had lots of them indoors over the winter (still do), probably brought in with firewood. But they're harmless. They don't sting, bite, fly, startle, or bother us.

As far as pests go, I'd rather have elm seed bugs than lots of other things I could mention.

Eggs in odd places

The other day I noticed an oddity outside our screen door flap.

Looks strange, no?

Closer examination proved it to be a lovely white moth, a bit over an inch long. Anyone know the species?

Spread out near the moth was a series of yellow blobs.

Are those ... eggs?

Shortly thereafter, the moth died.

I guess it was a last-gasp attempt to pass on her legacy. Unfortunately it's not likely the eggs will hatch.

Or so I thought.

While putting up this blog post, I glanced down and saw the yellow blobs were gone. In their place were translucent white blobs.

Well, will wonders never cease. I guess the moth's legacy continues after all.

What on earth IS this thing?

Last week as I was splitting firewood, I glanced down at the ground and saw a revolting creature.

It was about an inch and a quarter in length, and as you can see, had a big oversized head which "pulsated" in a manner reminiscent of a miniature Star Trek monster -- you know, one of those predators from Planet Zortog or whatever.

You can see its mandibles which open and shut in a suitably fearsome manner, making me glad I was a zillion times bigger.

I haven't the faintest clue what this thing is. Anyone have any ideas?

Real-life zombies: Fascinatingly creepy

Found this guy (gal? -- probably) on our woodpile last week.

Notice how well she blends in with her surroundings.

Praying mantises are fascinatingly creepy. Everything about them -- from their lightening-fast, powerful arms to their propensity to eat their mates to their opportunistic grabbing of prey even as big as hummingbirds -- makes me glad they're only a few inches long.

You know all those zombie movies that are so popular? Well, to me mantises are the zombies of the insect world. They want brains, man. They're slow and fast at the same time. They're relentless in their stalking.

Yep, zombies. "Braaaaaiiiiinnnnnssssss....."

Close-up creepies

With the advent of autumn, we're seeing a lot of last-ditch activities by a lot of insects and arachnids. It's like they know their days are limited and their time is short. Yellow-jackets are everywhere, clustering frantically on the last of the cantaloup in the garden.

I found the dogs staring intently at this orb weaver clinging to a window frame on our front porch. Doubtless it's the same lady who graced our front porch all summer. Why she would leave her web and venture onto the more exposed portions of the house, I have no idea.

She was sluggish, displaying nothing of the deadly and nimble action shown on her web during warmer days. It did, however, allow me the opportunity for some close-up shots.

Then there's these unnamed critters. We only see them in the fall, and some years we see more than others. We've seen more this year than we have for the past ten years -- the first year we lived in Idaho, we were positively infested with them. I have no idea what they're called and would welcome anyone's positive identification.

But while they look and sound unnervingly like yellow-jackets on their surprisingly nimble flights, on the ground they're slow and bumbling and harmless.

We tend to call them "prehistoric beetles" (since we have to call them something) and are rather fond of them. If we find them in the house, and we always do, we scoop them up and toss them outside.

Prehistoric beetles are a sure sign winter is on its way. The busy season for our woodcraft business is drawing to its close which will give us the opportunity to embark on some of the projects we need to do before the snow flies. But for insects and spiders, unless they have a way of overwintering underground, their days are numbered.