Bumblefest.

 I think I have a new obsession--bug bottom photography. But how can I possibly resist when presented with the opportunity to capture two bumble butts together?

And here we have two bumbilicious beauties trying to hide their bottoms;

And again, two proudly displaying them;

And then, would you believe...there were three;

I did try to get a picture of four in one shot, but I was pushing my luck there, so let's just admire those three bees again;

The globe artichokes are very popular with the bumble crowd right now. Things have even been getting a bit competitive. Steady on, bumbles, there's plenty for everyone;

And there's still room for some alone time;

To focus on the task at hand;

On a perfect summer's day;

I think these photos have a Willy Wonkerish feel about them. Kinda like the bumbles are immersed in a sea of lilac candy fronds...which I suppose they sort of are...

 Such handsome creatures, wouldn't you agree. Purple is definitely their colour;

And they're such hard workers. Out of all the bugs I find in need of assistance, I reckon most of them are bumbles. They do tend to over exert themselves. Naughty fellows;

It's not just we humans that should remember to take the time to smell the roses;

Deep breath now;

Time for a well deserved rest;

Bottoms up!

What better way to kick off the new year than with a celebration of bug bottoms! I've seen some impressive ones lately. I've even taken a few photos. Introducing our first contender for BBOTY--Bug Butt of the Year Award;

I spotted this sticky a while ago in my back garden. I was a bit concerned that she may suffer from social isolation issues as the other stickys live in my front garden. The thought of a lonely stick insect troubles me. I am, however, very pleased to report that she found herself a "friend." I haven't seen either of them recently. I'm guessing they have eloped. How sweet is that.

Another noteworthy bottom of the stick insect variety;

Bit of a story behind this next...well...behind...

I was thinking about bugs one day, as I often do, or in particular, I was thinking about the bugs that make me a bit nervous. I usually say that I love bugs, but a more accurate statement would be, I love most bugs. Some still make me shudder. Like whitetail spiders, maggots and cockroaches.

I lived in Gisborne for a few years when I was a child, and lots of cockroaches lived there too. Big ones. They used to fall down from the ceiling onto my bed at night, when I was in it. And they would be waiting to greet my feet when I slid them into my slippers in the morning. They freaked me out. I was worried they might crawl into my ears.

I've always felt a bit mean for viewing them differently than other bugs. There is really no reason for me to do that. Just an irrational fear. I was thinking one day that I should overcome that fear, but this was after I had made the decision to shift further south, where it is frightfully cold, way too nippy to be cockroach country. I therefore concluded that I would never get the chance to make my peace with their kind. 

Naturally, I moved into a flat that is infested with them.

I counted about forty cockroaches in the first month or so that I was here, which is about seven times more than I saw in the entire eighteen years that I lived in Christchurch. Interesting. They are smaller than the Gisborne variety, at least I thought they were until I spied this not so little lady trekking up my bedroom wall;

Does my butt look big in this?

Isn't she a sassy mama...so staunch...showing off her spurs... I reckon she's about to reach for her holster... perhaps I should duck...

Apologies for it not being a very clear photo, but she is inside a BuRR (a Bug Relocation Receptacle), for obvious reasons. I was a bit worried she might be preggers...

I usually relocate the little ones too, but if they're hard to reach, which they often are, that high ceiling thing again, I just wave instead, ask them how their day has been, that sort of thing...politely request that they refrain from crawling into my ears while I'm sleeping...

So, there you go, I have made my peace with them after all. Sort off. What a strange world this is...

This next photo cracks me up...not a bottom, but closely related...it's bug poo, upside down doo...hilarious... And artistically deposited in a position no human could replicate;

This bumblilicious beauty stopped by for a photo shoot on the verandah;

And he posed for me too, tucking his wings out of sight and crossing his legs in a cutsy wutsy fashion, so I could get an even more flattering shot. What better way to conclude our bug bottom celebration than with a bumble butt!;

Or two even. This bumble was really enjoying his foray into the globe artichoke, and I was really enjoying watching him;

Which is why I have to post another picture of his butt from a different angle;

Last one...promise...for now, at least;

And finally, I would like to dedicate today's post to this exquisite creature whose ample bottom no longer tries to barge its way through my door. RIP,  Master G. It was a privilege to know you;

Rules to live by.

Identify what you're eating. That's the golden rule isn't it. When you're foraging for wild mushrooms, herbs and berries, don't stick anything in your mouth, no matter how appetising it looks, until you are sure it isn't poisonous. Good advice that. Note to self--remember it.

I ate some soap on Christmas day. Not on purpose, just in case you were wondering. If an image just flashed into your head (as it did into mine) of me skipping through a sun-baked meadow, basket in hand, stopping every now and then to pick blackberries, crab apples, and soap sprigs passing themselves off as edible fungi, well, it wasn't quite like that. Sadly. I didn't have to travel very far to find the soap. It was on my thumb. I thought it was yogurt, so I licked it up. 

In my own defence, I was dispersing yogurt through my muesli at the time, so it was an easy mistake to make. And my judgement was impaired by my pre-caffeination status, so everything was a bit blurry. Could've happened to anybody, right? At least, that's what I will continue to tell myself. 

Yogurt and soap actually look quite similar. From a distance. Don't taste the same though. Obviously, the distance decreased somewhat as I moved my thumb towards my face to ingest, but I still didn't pause to make a positive ID. Hmmmm. 

At least when people ask me what I got for Christmas, I can say, "my mouth washed out with soap."  That oughta catch them off guard. I can picture the raised eyebrows already.

Technically, one could argue that I got my mouth washed out with water to try and remove the soap that I stoopidly put into it, but I doubt the conversation will continue that far. If it does, I will report back.

The delightful creature in the above photograph is, I believe, a magpie moth, a grown up version of the shopping mall wriggler I mentioned in an earlier post. He/she was very camera shy, so tis lucky I managed to get any shots. Check out those cool belly stripes;

Assuming I have made a positive ID in this instance (please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong), the stripes of this NZ native are horizontal in the moth and vertical in the caterpillar. How neat is that.

Here are some more pictures of a magpie moth caterpillar that I took ages ago. Yet another bug that knows how to colour coordinate. I spotted this fellow about two weeks after I bought the stranded caterpillar home, so I did wonder if it was the same one, just chubbier, as would be expected, but he was quite a distance from where I put him;

He was motoring along though, so you never know... He did, after all, somehow hitch a ride into the middle of a shopping mall;

I thought he may have been frantically looking for food, so I offered him a smorgasbord of tasty morsels from the garden, but all of my suggestions were rejected. I now know they have a very selective diet. They clearly follow that "identify what you're eating" rule. Sensible fellows;

They don't seem to be quite so fond of the "look before you leap" rule though. But then, I'm not very good at applying that one either. Maybe they have velcro feet too, like the stickys. (You were waiting for me to mention them, weren't you.). Or poor eyesight, so they can't see that it's a looong way down. That ignorance is bliss thing;

He didn't fall though. Just in case you were wondering. Phew. Maybe he found a lucky clover;

It doesn't work, btw. That washing ones mouth out with soap thing. But I'm running Windows 2000 on my computer. I reckon that's enough to make anyone cuss...

Gymnasts in my garden.

Based on my own obsessive observations, I must conclude that the private lives of stick insects are far more energetic than we are led to believe. So far on this blog I have provided photographic evidence that they spend rather  a lot of time canoodling, that they are happy to strut their stuff for photo shoots, and they even dance with their own shadows. I strongly suspect that they are also in touch with their inner gymnasts. This sticky is clearly practising her ribbon routine;

And this lass looks like she's about to spiral down the flax pole, gracefully twirling her convolvulus ribbon, maybe finishing her performance with a double flip, or perhaps the splits;

As soon as my back was turned, I reckon this sticky resumed his trapeze act--swinging round and round the flax leaf. I hope he didn't make himself dizzy; 

And here we have another sticky doing star jumps. Or trying to;

Check out his back right foot. Looks like a bit of an awkward pose, doesn't it. His bottom resembles a musical instrument, imo. An in-built flute. Not sure what kind of tune it would play though...

This sticky is shedding its skin. And doing it in style--performing a balancing act in mid air. Don't know about you, but I'm impressed;

 

Can only speculate about the gymnastic content of this liaison. Look at all those legs;

And finally for today, let's have an RFP, or Random Fern Photo, not to be confused with an RFP, or Random Flower Photo, because they are, of course, two entirely different things.

This fern is clearly an interspecies hybrid--Fernis Elephantis;

 

Baby Bug Bounty

It's baby bug season! Hoorah!

My camera isn't posh enough to get a good close up of anything teeny weeny, but I still think these stickys are post worthy;

Easy does it, sticky. It's a long way down;

Just to prove that my obsession with stick insects has not dampened my adoration of other bugs, let's pause to  admire a newborn spider montage created in the corner of my lounge window;

But we can still go back to adoring stickys, whenever we feel the urge. There's no need to deprive ourselves;

I wonder how much they weigh...not very much, I'd say...

Tiny, delicate, and perfectly formed, just like the leaves they are showcasing themselves on;

And unbelievably photogenic, too. (As if I needed to say that out loud);

Perfection poised amongst the petioles;

They definitely deserve their place in the spotlight;

But back to other bugs...

I almost missed my photo opportunity here because this little fellow was a total speed freak. Caterpillars can really hoof it when they want to. Who would've thought;

Which reminds me...I was wandering through a shopping mall about a year ago when I just happened to look down, and what did I spy on the floor...in the middle of the walkway...but a caterpillar. True story. It looked just like this one. It's a miracle I spotted him as he was the same colour as the floor. I guess his enthusiastic wriggling caught my eye.

At the risk of sounding anthropomorphic, I'd have to say Mr Caterpillar looked a little troubled by his alien surroundings. I, for one, would really like to know his back story. How on earth did he get there? I didn't have time to ask though. With a herd of school children stampeding towards him, I had to take drastic action. I dropped to all fours and formed a protective cocoon around the first time shopper. (It was my first time in the mall too, coincidentally.)

It's quite possible that the people who stared at the strange woman who was kneeling down in the middle of a thoroughfare, had no idea my hands were cupped around a caterpillar. It's also quite possible they may have thought I was more of a freak if they had known what I was doing. I've learned to accept these things. I expect the mall security peeps watching me on camera may have also been perplexed--concerned even--by my activities. 

Anyway, trying to--safely--pick up a squirming caterpillar from the floor of a teeming shopping mall is not for the faint hearted. He resisted my rescue attempts. Eventually I managed to persuade him that my plan made more sense than his did. 

When we finally made it back out into the sunshine, a new problem revealed itself. My efforts to find him suitable accommodation nearby, failed. I had no choice but to bring him home with me. 

A nice woman in a shop found me a plastic cup to put him in for the bus ride, which was a relief. It's not easy extracting ones bus fare--or doing anything else, for that matter--when you're nursing a feisty caterpillar in the palm of your hand. I put a piece of paper over the cup, and secured it with a rubber band. 

Whenever I leave the house now I take a BRR--a Bug Relocation Receptacle--with me. (One of those cylindrical cotton bud containers, minus the cotton buds, in case you were wondering. Works a treat. As long as you don't forget to take it with you.)

I wonder if the fellow in this photo is one of Mr Caterpillar's descendants...

And just to show how unpredictable I can be, let's finish today's little nature excursion with something other than a sticky picky...introducing a shiny new feature of this blog, the RFP, or Random Flower Photo. 

A pansy in the process of unwrapping its gift to the world;

The Thing in my Basement

I don't have any dodgy connections. Other than my faulty dial-up modem, of course.

Perhaps you could argue that some of the synapses in my brain don't fire in a satisfactory way. And the follow on effect of synaptic sluggishness is that the brain--mouth connection sometimes goes pear-shaped.

But I'm derailing myself again, aren't I.

Before we get back on track, let's have an RBP, because every blog post should have one, and because this sticky is just soooo adorable, I cannot withhold its picture any longer;

Isn't she a cutie...

Now, what I was trying to say is that my only connection to the criminal underworld is that I keep moving into flats thugs have previously resided in. Not on purpose, just in case you were wondering. I just seem to have a talent for it.

Not the best skill to possess, admittedly. And while I'm happy to be a bug-magnet, unfortunately my spindly weakling/runt of the litter status has always made me a thug-magnet as well. Oh yay. Bullies are just drawn to me. I'm like some sort of homing beacon. They have a habit of moving in next door to me too. What fun.

And part of the problem is that because I got the shit kicked out of me while in the protective womb of the state school system (shin pads should be standard issue for all the short geeky kids on their first day, I reckon), I'm now soooo over bullies. I don't scare easily. I've noticed that bullies don't like it when they snarl at me like a rabid dog, and I respond with one of my deadpan, Is that all ya got? expressions. It makes them look a bit silly.

Probably a bit silly of me not to be afraid of them though, all things considered... I wonder if there's a name for that disorder... oh wait, I think I may have mentioned that I was born without a sense of self-preservation...

Waffle Interruptus;

Speaking of consequences, as a writer I know I'm always supposed to be on the lookout for morsels of information that can spawn my next story. I get that. I admit to it. I'm nosy. And imaginative.

But "inquisitive" and "creative" tis a dangerous combination. And when it comes to personal experiences with Thugs Incorporated, I've already got plenty of material to work with, thanks. I really, really don't need any more.

By now, you're probably thinking--if you haven't hit the back button yet--what on earth is this mad woman waffling on about? Where is all this leading?

Down into my basement, of course.

When I moved in I sort of poked my nose under there, but didn't look properly, because I can't see in the dark. I'm not sure eating more carrots would help. It's pitch black under there, folks. My groovy solar powered torch, bless it, just doesn't illuminate the landscape anymore. You could say it has synaptic issues of its own.

So what did I do then? Absolutely nothing. Even when the nice peeps at the power company sent me a free torch a few months later, I still didn't launch a basement expedition.

Not scared of the bogeyman or anything, or worried that the hawks might get me on route (haven't seen them for a while, actually), I just didn't need to go down there. Having dumped most of my possessions to get out of the swamp--formally known as Christchurch--it's not as if I'm desperate for storage space.

I did ask my landlord if there was anything interesting under there and she said no, and like the gullible fool that I am, I believed her. Every now and then the thought crossed my mind that I probably should take a peek, since it's my basement and all, but...well...I didn't.

Waffle interruptus;

In my own defence, the door to the basement sticks, and the bolt is rusty, and the only time I did prise it open I injured my thumb on it. Ouch. Not much of an incentive to repeat the performance.

And I know the neighbour's cat would follow me down there cos he's nosy too. It would be a mission to coax him out again. Cats are like that.

But curiosity got the better of me. Man, I hate it when that happens. It never ends well.

I finally ventured down into the basement the other day. Brave little me. I wore gardening gloves, a simple, and I'm pleased to report, effective way to protect my accident prone appendages. (The neighbour's cat was inside, just in case you were wondering.)

My new torch revealed an assortment of boxes and building maintenance paraphernalia...and something else. Something untoward. Something you would prefer not to see. Trust me. I saw the outline and thought, "Ooooh, if it's pretty, I might be able to use it upstairs." Then I shone my torch on it.  

OMFG. Pretty, it is not.

I can't tell you what it is. Sorry about that. I'd like to. Honest. Hell, I'd love to show ya all a picture. I'd love to tell ya what I'd really like to do with it, but it would be very, very unwise for me to elaborate. Google is just way too clever. If I told you, then google might tell someone else.

I feel mean withholding such vital details, but I guess I must have a smidgin of self-preservation, after all.

Anyway, now that I know The Thing is in my basement, I can't unknow it. Damn it. I can see it there. In my mind's eye. Directly below where I am currently sitting. It makes me think of Mr Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart. Not exactly an identical scenario, but my mind has made the association, and that's all there is to it. Who am I to argue.

Just get rid of it then, I hear you say. Ah, if only it were that easy. It's a tricky thing to dispose of. Very tricky indeed. Too heavy for my spindly little arms. And that's all I will say on the matter.

Curiously enough, I got some very odd looks from the proliferation of workmen who ventured down into the basement--with their heavy duty torches--recently. I reckon I know why now. They didn't look at me funny beforehand. OMFG, they probably thought "The Thing" belongs to me. I am, after all, the tenant who rents the flat that is attached to the basement.
 
The Thing isn't actually illegal, or dangerous, not directly, anyway, and I have mentioned it to the police (and no, I didn't have a laughing fit on the phone, just in case you were wondering), but it does indicate that someone who is dangerous, and who does illegal things, used to live here. Yippee.

The inevitable question is--does the thug brigade still have a key to this flat?

Given that my homing beacon appears to be in perfect working order--no synaptic sluggishness there--then the answer to that question is most likely affirmative.

After discovering that the previous--dodgy--tenants at my last abode took off, leaving the door wide open and the key in the lock, I decided not to bother changing the locks, which turned out to be a mistake. Hmmmm.

The moral of this story, a.k.a. Holly's Helpful Hint for the Week is; when you move into a new (but technically, secondhand) house, don't fart about, go and look in the basement, if it has one, straight away. Or better still, inspect the basement, before you sign a lease.

Either that, or make a conscious decision never to look. That works too. Ignorance is bliss as they say. I wish I had never gone down there.

And on that note, I think it's time for a morale booster...in the form of, you guessed it, another sticky picky!

Three cheers for my fantastic photogenic Phasmid family! They really know how to colour coordinate themselves, don't they;