Butterfly Bandwagon

I jumped on the butterfly bandwagon this afternoon. Folks are commenting on all the Monarchs this year, and there are a LOT of them around here. I finally went out with the camera, just down the road from our house, and found dozens feasting on a patch of thistles. I took over 200 photos in less thirty minutes or so! The butterflies were very cooperative and seemed to get more and more comfortable with my presence. Here are a few pretty pictures of these fluttery creatures that are delicate, tough, and beautiful, all at the same time.

I count at least 18 butterflies in this photo. I love how

the orange glows among the greens and browns.

There are many things I could say about what these photos show: spindly legs, graceful wings, stained glass patterns, those white dots! But they don't need my words. Their message is loud and clear: our God is an awesome God!

Don't Bug Me

I don't like bugs. Never have. I can barely tolerate a butterfly. Just about anything with six legs makes me recoil in disgust, and a praying mantis could give me nightmares. Needless to say, I don't normally look close enough to appreciate their intricacies, and insects aren't usually the subject of my photographic adventures.

Once in a while, however, I can get past my dislike and see the wonder in a bug. Such was the case Sunday afternoon. Down by the river, where we were enjoying a beautiful afternoon, Robin pointed out this pretty thing flying around.

There were several of them. When they landed, they were perfect subjects, sitting still long enough for me to compose a shot, focus, and click away. Almost entirely iridescent, they are tiny things, only about two inches long.

I have to admit, it was fascinating to see this fellow up close. I got some nice photos, and it wasn't too awfully creepy-crawly, either.

But, just for the record, I still don't like bugs.

Good Friday Visitor

We had a special visitor on the Guest House pond this morning. Once again, Robin called while I was still a-snooze, to tell me to bring my camera and hurry. And once again, I threw on some clothes, grabbed the camera bag, and this time, headed for the car. When I arrived at the pond a few minutes later, Robin had gone to feed the cattle and the surface of the pond was empty. Or so I thought. I watched and looked for a few minutes and saw nothing but the fish swishing and a few raindrops making ripples. Robin came back and didn't see anything either, but kept insisting that it was still there. Finally, we saw it: a grebe paddling around near the water's edge.

 My Birds of Virginia Field Guide (by Stan Tekiela) gives the bird's proper name: a Pied-Billed Grebe and describes what we were looking at perfectly.

Although the book says grebes are "common residents," they are not common around here, at least not anymore. Robin's father could remember when, decades ago, there were a lot of grebes on the river. They called them "dive dippers" because they dove under the surface of the water. I tried to capture our little fella as he dove, but this is all I got:

They stay under water for several minutes sometimes, and usually surface in a completely different place from where they went down. 

Robin walked to the other side of the pond, which caused the grebe to swim toward me.

He (or she!) finally got close enough that I could get some decent pictures. 

Years ago, when a school faculty meeting got hot and stuffy, I slipped out of the library to open the front door for some fresh air. A few minutes later, a little bird (which turned out to be a grebe) hobbled in and started down the hall! With the custodian's help, I got it into a box and brought it home. When we put it into a small tub of water, it was so happy! It paddled and paddled with its one good leg, sending it around in circles. Apparently, it had mistaken a puddle on the parking lot for water deep enough to land on and broken its leg as a result. We sent it to the wildlife rehab center where it could be properly cared for. Luckily, this morning's visitor didn't make the same mistake.

I watched him dive and resurface for almost an hour. He stayed in the middle of the pond as long as Robin and I were on either side. When Robin joined me, the grebe headed to the other side, away from us pesky humans.

How blessed I am when God lets me peek inside the wonders of his creation! And how sweet it is to have a husband who gets up early enough to make sure I don't miss them.

Cold Frosty Morning

Nighttime temperatures have been in the 20s here lately. This makes for some chilly mornings, during which I usually stay snug indoors. This morning, Robin called at 8:00, telling me to get my camera and hurry because the frost and fog ought to make some pretty pictures. "Dress warm," he said.

I quickly swallowed the remainder of my breakfast and threw on some clothes. Then I bundled up in my heavy coat, along with a scarf, hat, and gloves. The car thermometer said 25 degrees. Brrr! But it was worth it. The frost was indeed photo-worthy. Here are the best of about 135 images.

There's an old-time fiddle tune called "Cold Frosty Morning." Maybe the long-ago fiddler who composed it was out doing chores on just such a morning as this. Not only was it cold and frosty, it was magical, too.