Sunflower Stitchery

Day 365: My birds are grand little gardeners. They've planted millet and milo throughout the flower beds, and I never know where sunflowers may pop up. Burdened by the recent rain, this one was nodding close to the ground, so I supported it with chrysanthemums for the photo which, as you can see, has been processed to give it the look of a piece of framed needlework. Now I find myself wishing I still had the old PC Stitch program on this machine so I could turn it into counted cross-stitch!

My regular readers will notice that the lead-in says that this is Day 365 of 365 Caws' Year Four, and I find myself having to make an admission of fault. 365 Caws began on October 14, 2010, and at the end of the second year (if memory serves), the count was off by ten days. I glossed over it at the time, figuring that nobody was really keeping track, but it bothered me. Somehow, though, I've managed to lose another four days. Therefore, from now through October 13, I will be posting "make-up" entries so I can start with a fresh slate on the 14th.

The Coffee Story

Day 364: Somehow I got up this morning without having heard that today is National Coffee Day. I am shocked to think that this event might have slipped by without my notice, and I am grateful to the friend who served up the jolt which wakened me to the fact. It certainly merited brewing another pot, even though I usually switch to tea in the afternoon. That said, now I must relate the Coffee Story since it is singularly appropriate to the day.

My friends will vouch for the fact that I will drink almost any coffee, good or bad, regardless of age. I draw the line at coffee with mold floating on the surface, although I have been known to pour it out of a thermos, week-old and room temperature, drinking it down without evincing any sign of distaste. I drink camp coffee, the kind which forces you to filter it between your clenched teeth to reduce the amount of grounds ingested, and it is not uncommon for me to take up the cup I left in the microwave yesterday to be drunk without reheating (or reheated, as the mood strikes me). I like it so strong that you can stand a spoon up in the cup, and I generally make a 12-cup pot and leave it on the counter until it's gone, whether that's in one day or three. You can't waste coffee.

There is, however, one way I will not drink coffee: sweetened. Add sugar, and it becomes a different drink. Cream or milk is okay, but sugar, never. Thus I set myself up to fall into a trap laid by my fishing buddy.

We'd been washing bait for several hours on Swofford Pond, and to have something to keep my hands busy while I waited for a bite, I'd eaten all my snacks and had drunk the last of the coffee I'd brought along. Bored and needing something else to do, I asked Sande if he had any coffee left. I failed to see the twinkle in his eye when he offered it to me, just as surely as I neglected to remember that he sweetens his brew rather lavishly. I took up his thermos and pulled a hearty swig directly from the neck. It hit my tongue with a cloying splash which caused my mouth to rebel with the same vehemence reserved for the aforementioned mold when it takes me by surprise. In other words, I spat and gagged, and when I regained my voice, I swore prodigiously.

Sande, with the demeanor he always reserved for people who fell for a prank said, calmly, "I thought you said you wanted some coffee." He'd known full well what my reaction was going to be.

"I did," I replied with as much equanimity as I could muster. "I wanted joe, but dammit, you gave me joanne!"

Retraction: Cross Orb Weaver Spider

After reviewing several resources last night, I jumped to the wrong conclusion. Further investigation this morning has given me a 99.99% positive identification of the Beast at the Door. It is Araneus diadematus, the Cross Orbweaver: http://www.spiders.us/species/araneus-diadematus/

Possible ID

I have received a suggestion from a reader that this may be a Cat-Face Spider (Araneus gemmoides), an Orb Weaver common in the Pacific Northwest. It appears that the next time I run into one of these (and I hope those words are not prophetic), I will need to make a more thorough evaluation since I cannot confirm the ID via the photograph. That's going to mean getting up close and personal. To "Anonymous" who made the suggestion, are you posing me a challenge to overcome my arachnophobia in the name of science? I would be a poor naturalist if I let it stand in my way. Challenge accepted!

Footnote only a few minutes later: I am reprieved. It is a Common Garden Spider, Argiope aurantia. My sincere thanks goes out to the friend from King County Parks who made the ID.

Autumn Hazards

Day 363: My readers, I ask your forgiveness. I cannot give you the Latin taxonomy for this beast, nor can I provide its common name. If I see it at a distance, I refer to it as "one of those big triangular garden spiders." If I become aware of it somewhat after the fact when it has spread its web across the width of my front door, its appellation is too profane to print in this history. I am to some small degree arachnophobic as the result of spending my early childhood in black-widow country with a mother who was terrified of even the tiniest spider, and I have worked very hard to overcome the Pavlovian responses which she inadvertently instilled in me. I can now pick a Daddy-longlegs up by one of its appendages and deliver it safely to the outdoors when I find it sharing my house, but those little sideways-walking crab spiders give me lingering heebie-jeebies even after I have mashed them flat and disposed of the remains.

In the wild, I react less violently when I take a web full in the face, perhaps because I feel I am an intruder into their territory. My home, however, is my sanctuary, and it should be spider-free. When Big Triangular Garden Spider laces my exit shut, I demount him with a stick (assuming he is detected first, of course) and remove him to some location where, I hope, it will be assured that we do not meet again. Some don't take the hint immediately, and have to be unhomed several times. But worst of all are the nests of hatchlings: thousands of tiny gold offspring strung like dewdrops in the spider-silk, nearly invisible to the eye. They are guaranteed to send me racing for the shower, clawing at my hair, my clothes, brushing myself off with the frenzy of a woman gone mad. In that circumstance, I cannot control arachnophobia. It claims me, and possesses me in the bonds of its web.

Amanita Muscaria

Day 362: Easily one of the most recognizable mushrooms in the world, Amanita muscaria's bright red cap has lent itself to countless cartoon representations of what a "toadstool" looks like. So what's the difference between a mushroom and a toadstool? Some people use "toadstool" to describe poisonous species like our little friend here, but you would be equally correct if you referred to A. muscaria as a "mushroom."

Freaky Fungus Foray

Day 361: As I walked out the door for my lunch break yesterday, I announced to selected colleagues that I was going on a Freaky Fungus Foray with the specific goal of seeing if Ramaria araiospora rubella had popped up under the encouragement of recent rains. This brilliant red version of Coral is uncommon, and the holotype (the specimen from which the species description was derived) was taken two miles south of Elbe, not far from Mount Rainier National Park. I have found it in only one location in the Park, and after first discovering it several years ago, I did not see it again until last year. On yesterday's walk, I was rewarded with two emerging specimens, each about three inches on the longest dimension, found in the same drainage where I had seen it previously. I patrolled further up the drainage, but found no other examples.