Dixie: Old Times there are not forgotten.

I'm not here to give a history lesson, though most of this nation could use one.


Three days a week, I drive nine miles beyond my beloved prairie to the "other" half of my job; a lush, beautiful road with mysterious creeks and even more mysterious people. Around the last bend is a normal-looking house with a flagpole impossible to miss. American flag on top, Confederate flag waving in the wind underneath.


Let me explain that though my political stance is way-left-of-progressive-liberal now, I was born in the south, and grew up under kind, honest, but politically conservative parents. (In their defense if they need one, a Barry Goldwaterian, Bill Buckley kind, not a Dubya kind.) "Respect" for the Confederate flag was a given as a child, and I remember even as late as high school, there was a Confederate flag painted upon the sidewalk, and everyone dutifully walked the edges, careful not to step upon it. Of course, in my graduating year, we may have had 3-5 black students. All very low key and unnoticeable except for the great football player.


Then things changed as they damn well should have. It was high time we faced the inequities of our own history, and lay to rest its symbols. Now it seems as if those college years were rarefied air, and I often see the totally irritating phrase "heritage, not hate." You can be as eloquent as you want to be in describing slavery, even thinking it was not hateful at all...but you would be wrong. It was hateful and barbarous and unacceptable no matter what era or what nation or why. Is it unfortunate that the Confederate flag has become synonymous with racism? How could it not? It was a symbol for people who were not willing to see their history change.


It doesn't make every southerner or dead confederate or white man evil, as we all have had our governments act outside of our control. What it does do is give the South a second chance to face some of the very same problems and deal with them differently. A start would be for this supposed citizen of a united states to take down that symbol of a lost and unjust cause, and to let go of an anger that only inspires an equal but opposing anger.

am I bugging you yet?

It's still BUG WEEK...

Teenager discards broken eyeshadow container without a second thought at prairie picnic area, where I find the next morning the tiniest of tiny winged things, stuck in the sticky stuff, feet up. It's so very little and I worry while I shakily put a thin reed next to his legs. He grasps but cannot pull out of the goo. Long story short, I did succeed and put him on a clean leaf, but who knows if he will survive with eyeshadow still on his wings? A possible death simply because a stupid girl cannot walk ten steps to the garbage pail.

Getting in my car one morning, something flutters in a diagonal line in front of my face---a captive mosquito or moth? No, it's The Fantastic Flying Green Spider! Not quite sure how she does it, but there she was, as delicate as a butterfly, as nimble and accurate as a trapeze artist, fluttering past my ear and landing upon my steering wheel. What a delight. I spoke to her, saying she must be still, then climb upon my offered piece of blue paper or be forever lost within the confines of my car...she did so, walking casually, and remained still until I pulled over and showed her a leafy new home. Okay, okay, I will admit I might not have been so charmed had it been a much larger variety and landed in my hair ;)

I hope our local famous naturalist does not mind my posting his marvelous homage:











A Nod to the Crawlies

If you ever find yourself wondering where all the wildlife is, I suggest you make a change - not in location, but in your mindset. Instead of looking for animals you hope to see, take a moment to consider the amazing little critters that are always close at hand, buzzing your head, crawling up your pant leg or merely hitching a ride on the front of your boat. With the help of a good insect field guide (preferably one which describes behaviors and life cycles, not just identification) your exploration will take on a new dimension.
Every month of the year, and on every river we explore, the alert paddler will see; dragonflies and damselflies redefining flight, often in tandem as the male clasps the females neck, flying her around until they mate and sometimes hovering low over the water while she deposits eggs in the water; whirligig beetles, whose two sets of eyes allow them to seek prey underwater, while watching the skies for predators, fishing spiders that dangle a leg in the water to detect passing fish upon which to pounce.
But a word of caution. Once you've gained an appreciation for your creepy-crawly brethren, you'll be the slowest roach stomper and fly swatter in your home.

Procrastination

is an ugly thing. And that's all I'm going to say about that!

So--I'm shampooing my hair in the shower, where I do my most profound thinking, by the way, and looking at the blue gum wall-stickon stuff I put over the tiny insect holes where caulk should have gone. Just days ago I waited as all the yet unidentified and much tinier than a pinhead bugs ran for their little lives back to the "main" entry into the wall, helped along by my soft blowing and a few nudges with fluffy cotton tips. All safely in, I plugged up the holes and they will have to march elsewhere now.

My connection with insects always seems strange to me. I don't know a lot about them, and I do not hesitate to kill a flea on dog or cat, or mosquito or tick on me. I do know that if I am not being attacked, I will do all I can to re-route a wasp, moth, ant, spider (ok, not technically an insect,) stickbug (carefully), even roach, plus a hundred others of colorful descriptions about which I know nothing. Every life is on a par with the other, and it always made sense that familiarity to me was not the gauge by which I measure something's wanting to exist. And yes, hitting them en masse with my car is extremely unsettling, but extricating automobiles from the world is a whole 'nuther subject.

Now working in the conditioner, I think about how long ago I came to know that my spirit animal is an anole, and it flashes through my mind that as many as I've seen and hung out with, I have rarely witnessed them actually eating insects, though of course they must. Then years later, a sunny, and I thought solitary, moment on a long prairie boardwalk and I felt eyes staring at me. Discarding, though not too quickly, the thought that I was crazy, I looked left to the railing to see a green anole quite fixated on me. Not afraid, looking and tilting his head one way, then the other. I stayed there for a couple of hours, and he never left; I chatted, not so sure about him. This scenario has happened much more than once, and I seem to attract them wherever I go, especially when alone.

As I rinse (but don't repeat) the inevitable thought came and I burst out laughing: Maybe I am a reincarnated bug and Mr. Anole was just sizing me up as food.