THE BURYING BEETLE

The Burying Beetle

Copyright 2021 by Lori-Ann Willey

The Burying Beetle (a carrion beetle) is over an inch long with orange and black coloration.  I grew up seeing these beetles throughout my lifetime.  It is quite similar to the controversial American Burying Beetle.  Due to my own color deficiency, I mislabeled this beetle as the threatened species, and was corrected by a man named Chase Gagne, and rightfully so.  

The Burying Beetle is about an inch or so long with black and orange sections that appear jagged in coloration.  Their protruding antennae are black with a little reddish-orange “ball” at each tip that is also called knobs or clubs.

Their habits are one that may seem straight from a horror movie to some, and on the contrary, very fascinating to others.  The adults bury dead carcasses so the female can lay her eggs in/on the somewhat balled-up dead remains of some small animal.  

Then, the beetle covers it all up to help hide it from other predators.  Kinda ingenious if you think about it.  I mean, dogs bury their bones for the same reason, right?  Only, in this case, when the eggs hatch, the larvae feast upon what remains of the decaying carcass.  Nature’s own recycle method.

If you take a closer look at these pictures, you’ll see other insects upon the beetle.  Those are not baby beetles, those are mites, which have a symbiotic relationship with the beetles.  A symbiotic relationship is kinda like the phrase, “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours”.  Meaning though different, they work together to help each other, which in turn helps themselves.  Lemme explain.

Mites climb onto the beetle (all carrion beetles, I believe) and hitch a ride to the next/new food source -another rotting carcass.  There, the mites eat the eggs of the fly maggots that fight to compete for the food source of the beetle larvae after they hatch. This is their symbiotic relationship -Mites receive help from the ride to feast on the newly hatched maggots, so the beetle larvae have a better chance at survival.  Isn’t that cool? 

So, next time you smell or see a carcass, take a stick and poke around a bit.  Look for this Burying beetle. 

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A LITTLE BIT ABOUT MOOSE

A LITTLE BIT ABOUT MOOSE

Copyright 2021 by Lori-Ann Willey

Did know that moose can hold their breath underwater for a minute due to flaps in their nostrils?  That those same flaps allow them to dive to a depth of about 20 feet? Or, that moose can swim for 10-15 miles or more?

A moose is a large beastly critter that captures the hearts of many. Some people think they are adorably cute, while others consider them hideously ugly, and most will put up a playful banter on each side. However, their vast size is one topic that most will agree upon.

According to Maine statistics, the largest moose harvested in the state (on record) weighed 1,767 pounds (live weight).  Moose can be nine feet long with hooves five inches across.  The leg length of each varies, as does their girth, horns, etc.  We’ve seen a moose with such short legs, you’d swear it was a farmer’s cow.  The body was boxy like one, too, but rest assured, it was a moose. I've had a huge bull moose walk past me as I sat hunting one fall.  I swear, it was the size of a train!  Of course, I sat upon the ground, so that just magnified its size even more.   Younger moose tend to “be all legs” and have that lanky look about them.  As they mature, their bodies become more proportionate, they fill out and have a more rugged appearance. Even so, those long legs are notable at any age.   Their size, too, and you can't miss that muzzle of theirs either.

The difference between male (bull) and female (cow) is more than just the obvious antlers (male), or lack their of (female). Their size, shape, and coloration give clues during the months after the bulls drop their antlers.  Bulls tend to have darker faces, while the cow face is lighter and brownish.  The rest of their body is black or a deep brown.  During the spring months,  before/as they shed their hair, they are often brown and shabby looking.  Their babies are creamy beige to help them blend in with their surroundings and as they age, their hair darkens.  Both male and female moose have bells on their neck, though the male skin flap is more pronounced. 

Moose shed their antlers each fall after the mating season called, “the rut”.  Once on the ground a few wild critters, including rodents, will gnaw away at them.  This is not only a source of calcium and other nutrients, but a good tooth conditioner, too, as chewing the hard bone wears down tooth growth for rodents, especially. The baby moose (called calves) stay with the mother until the mother is ready to deliver another baby.  It is then that she’ll drive away the existing yearling and focus on the baby-to-be.   

Moose eat vegetation such as pondweeds, grasses, and leaves.  They also nibble tender limb tips. From my observation, moose seem partial to young maple and willow saplings.  Watching a moose eat a dozen or so leaves in a single swipe is an impressive watch for anyone at any age.  Moose clench a limb with their mouth/teeth (they have 32 teeth) and move their head in such a way to strip the leaves in one swift motion leaving the green twig barren.  Those stripped tips usually die and dry up by fall. Why the tops of maple saplings are often seen plucked of their leaves.  Because of this motion of stripping the trees Native American’s gave these big beasts the name Moosu, which means stripper of leaves.  During the winter, moose nibble on tree twigs, bushes, and shrubs of the hardwood type with willow taking a special interest. 

Because moose are large beasts, they need to keep an adequate diet to remain strong, disease-free, and healthy.  They can easily eat 50 or more pounds of food each day.  That’s a lot!  Cow moose, especially, need to go into the fall and winter months as hardy as possible.  Once pregnant, she’ll be feeding “for two”.  If she is carrying twins, nutrition is extremely important, so please try not to disturb her, or any other moose, while feeding.  Let them eat without stress.

Though moose are big and bulky, you must not dismiss their power or speed.  They CAN outrun you by about 30 mph.  If you find yourself in a situation around an agitated moose, especially during the fall months known as, “the rut” (their mating season), leave the area.  Otherwise, put a decent size tree between you and the beast, and do not dismiss their long legs that easily thrash about in all directions, and their antlers that can do some serious harm, too.  Do not chase them, follow them with a snowmobile or a vehicle.  Don't harass them by boat either.  Stop.  Let them pass, walk by, or cross the road before you continue movement.  Give them distance.  They already must be on the lookout for predators of the four-legged kind as it is.  No need to add a noisy moving vehicle, too.   If you see photos of a moose running down a road, more than likely, in pursuit is a vehicle wanting to capture a few moose photos. For the sake of the moose, do them a favor and discourage such acts, or they are liable to repeat the process.

Moose give subtle warning signs at first, then more obvious signs that they are displeased with a situation.  However, during "the rut" all bets are off.

1.  Ears back. 2. Hair on neck/back stand.  3. Head down.  4.  Stops eating.  5.  Clacking of the teeth/lips, and small grunts.  6.  They'll turn to face you.  7.  The whites of their eyes will be prominent.

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MAINE WILD ROSES

Blossom (click to enlarge)

Maine Wild Roses
Copyright 2021 by Lori-Ann Willey

Maine wild roses (Rugosa) are not only beautiful, fragrant, and wild, they are also tasty!  Though we consider them a native to the Maine landscape, they came from Asia (China, Japan, and Korea) where they not only enjoyed their beauty as we do, but they also used the roses for their medicinal value.

Petals (click to enlarge)

Though there are over 100 different wild rose varieties in North America, this little piece will be focusing on the Rugosa Rose that is pink and widespread in Maine.  However, these roses are better known by coastal Maine residents and tourists than those who live in the countryside where the roses are scattered and often go unseen. With that said, wild roses are commonly seen around old homesteads that may or may not still be an obvious dwelling.

Butter (click to enlarge)

Roses spread via a shallow root system that creeps along the landscape.  Their growing conditions aren’t very picky as they will grow in the sun or full shade.  The plants don’t even mind the water spray along the coast.  In fact, they almost seem to prefer poor, well-drained soils.  I say that while I’ll say that the roots float and if they break off or become dislodged from land, they will simply float until their roots can settle in and attach themselves to land.  As you can imagine that sets themselves up as a reliable transport system of their own.

Hips (click to enlarge)

Though roses spread via their roots “by land or by sea”, they also spread via humans who brought the roses to North America for ornamental purposes as well as for culinary, herbal, and medicinal uses.  Other than floating and human transport, birds and smaller animals eat and disperse the seeds to new locations as well. 

Like with most herbs, harvesting the buds and flowers during the morning hours is best.  I harvest to mince and add to homemade butter, wrap, and let sit for a day or so before use so not only will their flavor infuse with the butter, so will their scent.  The flowers can be infused with water or oils, be made into a honey, tea, etc. Their nutrients are mostly calcium, iron, and vitamin C.

Hips (click to enlarge)

Along the coast, after the roses have spent their blossoms, the rose hips can be the size of a quarter (and larger).  In more rural areas the hips are much smaller.  The size I collect is about the size of a pea, which makes harvesting any amount a tedious task, especially since the easiest way to access them is via swimming along the shoreline that is impassible by foot otherwise.  Anyone interested in harvesting the hips will find them more palatable after at least one hard fall frost when the hips are a rusty reddish-purple color. Then, is the best time to harvest and use as a vitamin booster or teas, jellies, jams, spreads, etc.   

Harvesting (click to enlarge)

Medicinally, Asian’s used roses to help reduce the bad cholesterol and increase the good one.  They also used it to reduce pain and inflammation, to heal broken skin anything from scratches, rashes, to stings, and bites, using specifically to increase both heat and cold as an extreme cooling remedy for rashes that are considered “hot” such as a heat rash and hives.  That includes the previously mentioned bites and stings.  I know of people who infuse rose petals with water and then use the “wash” to rinse the face daily.  Rosewater is also in some facial mask recipes.

In Maine, June is the month to collect the blossoms, and the end of September or early October is the time to collect the hips.   Personally, I’d recommend a trip to the coast where those rose hips are quick and easy to harvest.

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FIRST EVENING ON THE BOAT 2021

FIRST EVENING ON THE BOAT 2021

Copyright 2021 by Lori-Ann Willey

Though still aching from a hard fall over the trailer tongue, I insisted we stick with our plans to spend the evening upon the boat.  It is a warm day with light winds that helped to create waves quite daunting for my injured torso.  We agreed that we’d anchor where there were no biting insects of the blackfly or mosquito kind, and where the waves were less bouncy.  I had used Paul’s stairlift to the dock to help me “carry” stuff down to the boat. Boy!  Was I ever thankful for that neat rig!

Once upon the boat, my “job” is simple.  I unhook from the dock and give us a push.  Today, that push was nothing but a nudge from the dock versus my typical, “lemme see how far my leg will stretch without falling into the water”.  Yup, Something I’ve always done.  Not sure why, especially, with the winds blowing away from the dock, there was no need to do anything but step onto the boat.

My other “job” is to drop and pull up the anchor, ready the fishing poles, and snap photos from my comfy custom-made chair of the Paul Willey design.  Due to a problematic back and the jarring of the waves at times, my sit upon the boat must be catering or I end up laying on the bench instead.

Paul rode the waves, so it was a gentle ride for us both.  We ended up dropping anchor in an inlet just far enough from the shore to avoid the bugs.  I put a red and white dardevle on my pole and gave my first cast of the season.  My hope was a decent white perch, but I’d take a pickerel for a recipe of the hydrolysate kind – garden fertilizer.  In that spot, if there was no strike or fish within the first 10 minutes, it was too early for them to be there.  I had not a nibble.

After setting my pole aside, I marveled at our surroundings – quiet as a mouse.  Millions of trees, but not a squeak heard.  Ah!  My kind of Heaven on Earth.  After tending to the meal on the grill, Paul picked up my pole and cast a few times, but he came up empty-handed, too.  He agreed with me, “Still a bit early”. 

The jagged shoreline showed promise of the brilliant pink coloring of the Rhodora shrubbery kind.  Here and there a spot of pink, but mostly, that dull muddy pink color of buds waiting to open for full exposure, where the large gray granite boulders interrupted the Rhodora-lined shoreline.  “Glacial deposits,” I said to myself.  We were but a few days too early to see the pink flowers in full bloom.  The many logs along the shoreline are always fun to look at as they take on a personality of their own, and of course, I always “humanize” them when I can.  Fun stuff.

Here, the softwood and hardwood trees mixed and mingled.  They are one forest living together in perfect harmony.  We humans can learn a lot from nature, but no.  Most are too busy to look past their own nose or think beyond their own thoughts.  It is a shame, really, how much of the real world is passed by without being recognized, seen, or missed.  The new, young leaves of the maple, birch, alders, beech, and poplar species are still a bright, light-colored green that is in vast contrast to the deep, dark, forest green of the many pines, fir, cedar, spruce, and hemlock.  Then, there is my favorite softwood, the tamarack tree that is lighter in color and distinguished from the cedar in shape, but at a distance, their coloration is nearly the same.

One always hopes to see a deer, bear, or moose, however, none were seen today.  We did see a few eagles soaring with one that was chased by a smaller bird who apparently felt threatened and feared for the safety of nesting eggs or young chicks on one of the islands.  We were greeted by a few seagulls, but none were our “Rainbow” or “Deux”.  We saw a few loons briefly surface both near and far, but they remained silent.

After a while, the waves picked up at our location, so I pulled anchor, being very thankful we have a capstan that did all the work for me so as not to feel my injury pulling it up hand over hand until it rested upon the floor of the boat.  Phew!  By the time we ducked behind an island, our suppah was ready to eat – ribs, potatoes, and Pak Choy did the bodies right!

Not long after eating while soaking in the view around us, we slowly made our way toward camp.  What a beautiful evening had.

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FLS: FINICKY LITTLE SHIT (1 YEAR LATER C19)

FLS: Finicky Little Shit (1 year later C19)
Copyright 2021 by Lori-Ann Willey

ORIGINAL NOTE:   https://www.fa
cebook.com/notes/10224164434679714/

This past year and a half have been a blur to the entire world, but none more so than by those who suffered the loss of loved ones to Covid-19, or to those who were so extremely sick for weeks and months on end.  This is not to leave out those who have “long haul” C19 symptoms.  This does not diminish the struggles of us all throughout the world -a change of life that happened overnight, and to this day as I sit here in a hospital with Paul while he receives his monthly infusion.  We sit here for hours on end wearing masks as mandated.

Today marks the day that I published my SNL – Sneaky Little Shit as a Facebook a year ago.  The Note that gained worldwide attention and for me to become a subject in a Covid-19 study to learn more.  Did I have C19?  I think I did and so did the research team that interviewed me for over 1 ½ hours, who took my “journal” and used it, for all those who read it and thanked me for writing it.  It’s been an exceptionally long haul.

Only after my body started to feel better was when it “hit” me like a ton of bricks just how sick I was and for so long.  Honestly, I felt like I had mild PTSD due to it all.  I know that may sound crazy, but it was truly how I felt.  Though I was very weak, pacing myself, slowly (ever-so) I gained strength over time.  My endurance also grew.  My “PTSD” only lasted for about three weeks.  Thankfully.

Though I struggled from Jan-April 2020 and though every questionnaire I took told me to go straight to the Emergency Room without delay for immediate attention, I didn’t.  I did not once think my life was near its end despite the exhausting struggle for each breath or the sheer exhaustion to walk across a small room, never mind simply sitting in a chair and trying to stay upright either.  However, once my body decided it was time to heal, I knew I was not going to have yet another setback.  My body knew it, too.  I thank Mr. Sun for that.  You know that bright-bright orb in the sky?

Come about the end of March 2021, it was like my body went into an emotional memory recall to when it struggled the most.  I tried to write a blog and I couldn’t.   As I prepared to write a bit in a book that I’m working on our lifestyle, I skimmed through my garden 2020 folder and I sat weeping, “How in the hell did I do all that while so weak?”  I asked that of myself, but I already knew the answer.  “I had to.”  It was my way of fighting back.  That sun was important to my body.  It reacted to it.  It craved it, and I gave it as much as I could.

Our return to camp was a slow one.  It took us forever to pack and unpack.  Just to walk from the camp to my garden beds was slow. I had to keep stopping to rest.  It took me forever to do anything, yet each day I felt stronger.  Just as my mind knew, my body knew my setbacks were over with for good, but that didn’t stop my body from screaming at me.  Every time I tried to push through, the fatigue found me wondering why and how I was still standing or even able to sit before passing out.  Many times, my eyes went black.  Sometimes, I fell and found myself on the ground.  Other times, I was able to clumsily plop before I landed on the ground otherwise.  Each time, my stomach felt lodged in my throat and I found myself unable to call out.  There were times when I just laid on the ground and hoped I’d stay “with it” enough not to pass out. All resulted because I continued working only a few seconds past the point when my body told me to stop and rest.  Call me a bit stubborn, and you are right 100%.  At the same time, I felt the need to push the limits, too.

A YEAR LATER

A few days ago, as I walked around the camp yard, I saw all that I was able to do last summer while trying to gain my strength and stamina. The year before, I measured my weeks in a percentage rating of full recovery until I felt 100%.  Each time I felt I reached 100%, the following week told me I hadn’t because I claimed that week 100%, too.  Finally, I concluded that I had been sicker than I thought all along and each % seemed like 100% achieved. 

The other day, as I walked along two large Hügelkultur beds that I made last summer, I became emotional yet again.  I stopped and found it difficult to believe I made them while still so weak.  Making them is a daunting task for any ambitious person, but while still recovering?  I had gone through the woods and dragged trees to that location before puzzling them together to make the garden bed.  Two of the logs, I had to use the truck and tow strap and dragged those in place, just because I did not have the strength to move them otherwise. 

Then, I walked along the longest Hügelkultur bed and though those logs were smaller in diameter, I had lugged and dragged a few hundred downed trees to make that bed, too.  That was a lot of work, but those trees were smaller so though many more trees, the task was easier by far…despite dragging them through the woods to get them there. 

Each log, no matter the size, was important to me.  It was important to my heart, mind, and soul. Each tree meant building not only a garden bed but building up every part of me as well.  I was recovering and the more work I did, the more logs I dragged, carried, cut up meant building me back up to where I was the year before.  It was important…each log was important.  It was me fighting back with more determination than I had ever known in my life.   It was a long, hard struggle in many ways, both physically and emotionally that even now, writing this, I’ve had to wipe tears away twice now. 

By summer’s end, I felt as if my strength and stamina had returned fully.  The only glitch I still had was a few minutes of a trembling heart after I rested from doing physical work.  That lasted right up until November.  November is when my foggy brain left me, too.  I was finally able to think beyond my nose, problem-solve, and write …. I could finally write again! 

A switch turned on at the same time the trembling heart went away.  It wasn’t long after that, that my creativity returned, as did my think-ability.  I spent the next few months reworking my books into a different program so they could be distributed worldwide.  My brain had turned on and I was anxious to make up for lost time. 

During this entire process, I’ve known personally of a few deaths due to C19 to include the spouses of a few friends, parents of friends, and of my own aunt and uncle who succumbed to the awful virus.  It has been a hell of a year and a half.  

Honest and truly, I feel that I am a survivor of C19, though I was not tested, nor was I confirmed that I had it via antibody tests, I strongly-strongly feel that I did.  I’d say that I’d bet my life on it, but I won’t, because one’s life is not bet-on-able.  Though I’m not a superstitious person, I simply appreciate where I am today and how far I’ve come, and I am so very thankful.

Recently Paul and I received our second Moderna shots.  I know some who opt against them, but I had to.  If I can prevent from getting that sick again, I’ll be first in line to get more if needed …. annually, even.  This from someone who rarely got her flu shots.  I think the only time I did was when I worked within the school system and one other time via the VA for Paul’s health.  For C19, “Ima-Believer” in that one.  Yup. 

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STALKING A TICK - Jeepahs Creepahs!

STALKING A TICK
Copyright 2021 by Lori-Ann Willey

Unfortunately, at the house (on-grid) we have a lot of ticks, and they are nasty little things. If Velcro or a burdock bract could walk, that is what they feel like upon the skin ...just less subtle. This morning, I went out for a nice walk-about the area. My goal was the stay in the open and not walk through the dead stalks of plant life, tall dead grass, under trees, or into the woods. Well, I should've known better, 'cause I can't just walk outside and not investigate or observe something, can't just not touch something, and I just can't not step into the woods either. I did all the above just as I knew I would.

With my tall boots, I knew no tick would crawl up the leg. With a sweatshirt and a snug tank top underneath, I knew a tick wouldn't crawl under there. I pulled my sweatshirt sleeves up, so they were snug around the forearm, so all good there, too. What I didn't do was put on a hat .... I’m always wearing hats, but not this morning. So, as I walked around, I was mindful of that. Yes, ticks will walk on clothing, but I wasn't much worried about them there. Of course, when you are thinking about such awful insects, is when you are more mindful, and "feel" that single strand of hair catch the slightest air current, too. Right? You all know what I'm talking about -hypersensitivity- you notice EVERYTHING.

Once inside, I didn't bother to look for ticks though I should've. I did go into the woods, brushed against trees, limbs, bushes, grass, etc. Ticks are tiny this time of year, so I should've looked about my body, 'cause ideally, that is protocol, but I didn't. After about an hour inside, I felt that all-too-familiar feeling inside my shirt along my bra strap. I had already pulled up my shirt a couple of times as if the tick would somehow magically disappear before I could see it...nothing except for a piece of grass, bark, or a sprill. All false alarms.

So, when I felt that prickly movement at the edge of my bra strap, I stalked that area, too. Knew it had to be a tick that time, cause it felt like it was trying to get under the strap itself. Well, I am wearing a spandex-like bra. I have a few of those I'm all for comfort these days. The one I threw on this morning was at the bottom of the stack. Why that one stood out to me this morning, I don't know 'cause in dim lighting, that gray shouldn't've caught my attention, but it did. I grabbed it in passing and threw it on as I navigated to another room.

After returning from my walk, and after being clothed for several hours, when I felt that prickly walk, I knew it was a tick. Slowly, I pulled back my top so I could sneak upon and stalk the tick. Well, I saw no tick. Huh? Illusive little shit! Just to be sure it wasn’t playing Hide n’ Seek, I pulled back my strap. Not there either. I pulled at this and that, tucked and pushed things around. Nothing. Figured it was, as Paul calls it, "A Frigment of My Imagination".

Of course, after all were put back in place, shirt straightened, another cup of coffee poured, etc. I felt it again. No way was I going to miss it this time. Went through the same process all over again. I found the elusive little friggah!

How was I supposed to know I grabbed a bra I hadn't worn yet? Ever stalk one of those plastic fasteners before? You know, the same kind that they use to fasten socks together with? That was my “tick”. Today was the first time one of those plastic pokes was appreciated by me.

New meaning for "Jeepahs Creepahs"? 

My Daily Life

WHEN THE GRASS IS GREEN - A promise to My Granddaughter Not Yet Three

 When the Grass IS Green

A Promise to My Granddaughter Not Yet Three

Copyright 2021 by Lori-Ann Willey

Now that Paul and I received our first Covid Vaccine, we can see the light at the end of the long, dark tunnel that started over a year ago.  We long for the day we can visit, give hugs & kisses again. 

This morning, I could only see our granddaughter, not yet three years old through a car window.  We talked, giggled, and I blew my breath onto the window and drew a heart for her.  Little Rozzy, started to get out of her car seat but was stopped.  We needed to keep our distance (for now), but I made her a promise.  At about the time the grass is green we’ll have had both Moderna shots.  After that shot takes effect, the grass should be green.  It was a good visual for our granddaughter to remember.

WHEN THE GRASS IS GREEN...AGAIN

When the grass is green, we can hold hands again.

When the grass is green, we can give hugs again.

When the grass is green, we can give kisses again.

When the grass is green, we can go for walks again.

When the grass is green, we can visit each other’s houses again.

When the grass is green, we can cook together again.

When the grass is green, we can color again.

When the grass is green, we can draw again.

When the grass is green, we can go swimming again.

When the grass is green, we can find pretty rocks again.

When the grass is green, we can play together again.

When the grass is green, we can do everything again.

When the grass is green, Grammy and Grampy’s shots will allow us to be with you again.

I can't wait until the grass is green so I can hold you again.

When the grass is green...

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