Eating breakfast out(side)

SIMPLY LIVING
I did something the other morning I don’t ordinarily do.  I ate breakfast out.  

You’re probably thinking I went to a restaurant, but I didn’t.  I ate my bowl of fruit and (hot) oatmeal outside at a park in downtown Clermont. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t my first choice but it turned out surprisingly well. 

As usual, the night before I prepared my next-day breakfast mix of cut-up fresh fruit to eat with the steel-cut oats and ground chia seeds Ralph cooks each morning.  The two of us have enjoyed the same basic breakfast for years varying the fruits with the seasons.  It’s a meal I love and look forward to every morning.

Cut up fruit awaiting the addition of hot oatmeal

    

On that morning, however, I had routine blood work scheduled.  I’d forgotten all about the appointment, remembering only after slicing the last piece of fruit into my bowl the night before.  The test required fasting - no food, tea or even water until after the visit. 

“So, should I make oatmeal for you, anyway?”  Ralph asked.  “You can have it when you come home.”

I told him to go ahead but that instead of eating it afterwards, I’d take it with me.

When morning came, I packed my white ceramic bowl of cut-up fruit and hot oatmeal into an insulated bag together with a small towel, a cloth napkin and my favorite spoon.  I made up two steaming travel mugs of jasmine green tea and took it all out to the car.  I wouldn’t be able to eat breakfast at home but I could still start the day at a pretty table eating food I enjoy.

“I might be a little while,” I told Ralph.  “After the appointment, I’m going to find a quiet place to have breakfast then do a few errands.”

I kissed him goodbye and went on my way, stopping at the mailbox to pick up the newspaper.

At the doctor’s office, the blood work was quick, over before hunger pangs had even begun.  I was soon back in my car driving around downtown Clermont in search of a little park I remembered noticing in an older residential neighborhood along Lakeshore Drive.

It took a while to find, but was worth the effort.  Park of Indian Hills encompasses a narrow stretch of shady ground beneath several ancient oaks along Lake Minnehaha.  The park’s limited amenities include three wooden picnic tables, a lake-facing bench and a few trash receptacles.  A woman walking a dog was just leaving as I pulled in.  No one else was there.

The Park of Indian Hills

 

“Perfect,” I thought.  “Privacy and beauty.” 

I settled in at one of the tables, unpacked my breakfast, tea and napkin and folded the paper to the comic page.  By the time I’d finished eating, I’d perused most of the news, been scolded by a squirrel and searched an oak’s uppermost boughs for a woodpecker that I heard but never found.

Unlike the one in the park, this squirrel is too preoccupied with its treasure to scold me

“How lovely this was,” I mused while repacking my bag.  “A quiet breakfast in a pretty spot, outdoors in the breeze.  Why don’t I do this more often?”

Lake County has well over 100 parks from tiny residential retreats like Park of Indian Hills to rambling state and national parks like Lake Louisa in Clermont, Lake Griffin in Leesburg and Alexander Springs in Altoona.  Although I appreciate the many public spaces (two of my favorites are Sara Maude Mason Nature Preserve in Howey-in-the-Hills and Pear Park in south Leesburg), I seldom take advantage of them. 

A family enjoys Dixie Lake in Lake Louisa State Park

I don’t because I’m lazy when it comes to things like this.  It’s easier to stick with the norm; to not alter routines, even the pleasant ones.  I’d like to think I’d do it again – purposely go “out” to breakfast in a public (albeit minimally populated) venue - but the reality is, I probably won’t.  What I can do, however, is appreciate the moment, inadvertent though it was.

A little imagination turned a pre-breakfast appointment to the medical center into a mini-vacation.  Not a bad way to start the day.

To find a park near you, visit Lake County’s Park Finder Website at http://gis.lakecountyfl.gov/ParkFinder/ 

Lovebugs and hempweed

A Simply Extra
Ever wonder where lovebugs hang out when they're not smashing themselves against the front end of your car or flying into your face when you're outside?

Lovebugs on car...time for the hose and scrub brush

At least some spend time in the twining vines of climbing hempweed (Mikania scandis), a Florida native plant that likes wetland locations.

Climbing hempweed blooms in mid-September around the same time that lovebugs appear.  The insects, which don't bite or sting, could be seeking nectar as nourishment for their short (3 to 5-day long) lives or laying eggs on the plant leaves.

Climbing hempweed (with lovebugs) winding its way around dog fennel

I'm not a fan of dog fennel so I'm glad to see this pretty vine encircle it. As for lovebugs...well, no one is really a fan of them but I'm glad to know they have other places to spend time besides the hood of my car, the windshield or in my face.

A butterfly bonanza

SIMPLY LIVING

Butterflies are everywhere! 

A clouded sulphur approaching a cassia 

A pair of clouded sulphurs flits around the cassia bush, their yellow wings in sharp contrast to the plant’s green foliage.  Nearby, a zebra longwing, the Florida state butterfly, has lit upon the firespike, a late season bloomer with clusters of tubular red flowers.

Zebra longwing on firespike

 

Strolling around the house, I notice two Gulf fritillaries on echinaceas and a painted lady on bush sunflowers.  

I follow a small Florida white butterfly as it weaves its way through a patch of overgrown grass, lighting at last on a slender blade.  I squat down to get a closer look.  Is it laying eggs?  Absorbing moisture?  Or is it simply resting, preparing to fly off again moments later?

Florida white on blades of grass

Although my knowledge of the order Lepidoptera has expanded over the years, new questions arise with every sighting.  Is it a male or female and of which species?  Am I seeing a monarch or a viceroy?  Has a palamedes swallowtail landed on the leaf or a spicebush swallowtail?  

Not only do many butterfly and moth species share similar features, their quick, erratic movements make close inspections tricky.  Nonetheless, I’m having fun learning.  There are worse ways to spend time than wandering through flower gardens in pursuit of winged beauties. 

Tiger swallowtail on bush sunflowers

Books and websites provide a wealth of facts and aid identification but everything I’ve learned began first by paying attention.  Simple observation sparks curiosity.  By watching, I realized that clouded sulphur butterflies are in constant motion, while others like the tiger swallowtail pause long enough on a leaf or flower for me to snap off numerous pictures.

 

Zebra longwings like to congregate at night in amongst the pine trees.  They form colonies, roosting in clusters on single branch.  I didn’t realize butterflies did this until I chanced upon such a grouping one evening at dusk when Ralph and I were walking through the woods.  What a surprise it was to discover dozens of zebra longwings resting in the same spot.

Zebra longwings roosting

 

Puddling is another butterfly behavior I hadn’t thought much about until recently.  Every now and then, I noticed butterflies lighting upon the ground.  Sometimes they landed on concrete, other times in muddy or sandy locations.  

Painted lady puddling on concrete

I knew butterflies depend on flowers for nectar but I wondered why they sometimes landed on surfaces with no nectar in sight.  It turns out they do so to absorb water and essential minerals like salt.  In most species, only male butterflies do puddling.  The males then transfer those life-sustaining nutrients to females when they mate.

I haven’t seen butterflies mating very often but I’ve frequently caught them doing an aerial dance.  Because butterflies have poor eyesight, the male must swoop close to a potential mate for a better look.  If he correctly identifies another butterfly of the right species and sex, a courting ritual might ensue in which the two flutterers spiral upward until they eventually join forces in an amorous embrace. 

Sometimes, however, the male encounters a butterfly of the same sex.  When that happens, the two might engage in a territorial display.  These displays look similar to the male-female courtship except they end with the butterflies parting ways instead of coming together. 

A couple months ago, I chanced upon several monarch butterflies in a mating tumble.  What began with two soon evolved into a mass entanglement.  Butterflies engaging in group sex?  I had no idea!  After doing research, I learned the period of sexual arousal for butterflies is brief – sometimes lasting just minutes to hours.

Multiple monarchs in a mating tumble

  

During that time, the male releases powerful pheromones to attract a female.  Apparently, the strong scent sends messages to other males as well.  Sometimes the message says, “This is my territory.  Stay away.”  Other times it’s more a signal to “battle it out.”  The tumble I saw probably involved several male butterflies participating in what scientists call “contest behavior” vying for the favor of a single female.  In the end, only one pair remained.  Mission accomplished, I presumed.

Of the 100 or so moth and butterfly species in Florida, I’ve probably identified just over a dozen and of those, I’d be hard-pressed to differentiate between the sexes.  Such a disparity of knowledge could be seen as a huge task yet to accomplish or as the beginning of an exciting journey of discovery.  Without hesitation, I choose the latter. 

On the web

SIMPLY LIVING

“Don’t use that door,” I told my husband as he was about to go outside.  “You’ll break the spider’s web.”

“What web?” he asked absentmindedly, adding that he’d already gone out and come back through the same door earlier today.

“Well, I guess I mean the web I saw there yesterday,” I said with a twinge of sadness.

I felt bad, but not too bad because I knew the spider that lives by the door rebuilds its web on a daily basis.

The Black and Yellow Argiope as seen from its underside

The Black and Yellow Argiope (Argiope aurantia) is a beautiful orb-weaving spider with bright yellow and black markings on its oblong body and long orange and black legs.  It’s also huge, about the size of an infant’s hand.  Although big, it’s harmless to people.  But bugs…well, it’s far from harmless to them.  Like other orb weavers, this carnivorous hunter makes fast work of pesky insects like flies, wasps, aphids, gnats, mosquitoes, moths, grasshoppers and palmetto bugs.  It catches them in its distinctive web.

Argiope with captured prey (a moth?) as seen from the its topside

  

Do you remember the message-writing spider in Charlotte’s Web, E.B. White’s classic book?  Well, Charlotte was a Black and Yellow Argiope, also known as a writing spider.  She is easy to identify because in the middle of her web she weaves a series of thick white zigzags that look like writing, hence the nickname. 

Lately, I’ve been seeing Argiope aurantias everywhere.  They’re in the vegetable and flower gardens and under the house eaves.  

Hanging out in the basil

In the rose bushes, they’ve stretched their nets from one stem to another.  In the crepe myrtles, they wait for prey to land on sticky silk strung between branches.  

This spider built its attractive web in among the bamboo

When I take a walk in the woods, I have to be careful not to run into a web.  The center part has a diameter of about two feet held in place by five or six anchors stretching up to three-feet away.  Often when I’m out rowing, I spot a Black and Yellow Argiope glistening in the sun as its web, suspended from trees along the shoreline, sways in the breeze.

I took this picture of an argiope while rowing.  If you look closely, you'll see hundreds of tiny insects caught in its web.

The spider, whose web anchors blocked the side entry, had been living under the eaves next to the door for most of the summer.  That’s typical of this species.  Once a female finds a suitable site, she stays put unless the food supply diminishes or the web is destroyed.  I say female because in the arachnid world, females rule.  It’s the female who decides where she’ll live and with whom she’ll mate. 

This is the female whose web anchor (the strand she is climbing) blocked the door

The male, who only mates once, is about a third of the size of the female and lacks her colorful markings.  Once a potential partner is located, the male weaves a small web next to hers where he may have to compete with other spiders vying for her attention.  

Look closely and you'll see the male, much smaller and less colorful than his female counterpart

Males woo by plucking a taut strand in the female’s web in the hope that his potential mate will respond positively to his good vibrations.  If she doesn’t, she may eat him instead.  She might do that anyway even if she does accept his musical overture.  After mating, females sometimes consume the male, a process known as monogyny or sexual cannibalism.

Because of monogyny, the male spider’s lifespan is short, usually under a year.  Female golden orb weavers, however, can live for several years in warm climates like Florida.  After mating in late summer, the female will produce a brown, papery egg sac about the size and shape of a fig that she attaches to her web.  

Hundreds of baby spiders await hatching inside the brown, papery egg sac

Inside the sac are 300 to 1400 eggs that will hatch in the spring.  Many of the young will not survive predation by parasitic insects, birds and lizards.  Those that do, venture off to build new webs, find mates and continue the cycle of life.

Even young "writing spiders" make beautiful web designs

 

As regular readers of this column know, I’m quite fond of spiders.  I appreciate the way they control pest populations and consider their webs to be works of art.  I find their individual behaviors and markings to be just as fascinating and special as those of birds or other wildlife. 

Although Ralph may have been unaware of the Black and Yellow Argiope’s presence outside the entry to our house, I’d had my eye on her for months.  I realized she’d made a mistake when she decided to anchor her web in front of our doorway but was confident she’d recover if some of the anchors were broken.

“Come see the spider,” I said to Ralph a few days later.  This time he knew which spider I meant.

“That’s quite a web,” he admitted as he looked at the zigzag design in the web’s center upon which the Black and Yellow Argiope sat.  

Nearby, a much smaller, less colorful spider awaited his fate. 

I gave my husband a hug. 

“Let’s go inside,” I said.

Peek-a-boo! I see you!

There is no house spider I like more than the Huntsman spider (Heteropoda venatoria).

Big spider!

Naturally shy and harmless to people, these large (3" to 5" long) arachnids are aggressive cockroach killers.  Their preferred time to stalk prey is at night.  During daylight hours they tend to seek out dark, quiet places to hang out and hide.

Most of the time I've discovered their hiding spots inadvertently while dusting picture frames or reaching for a container of something seldom used in the pantry.  When the picture or container is moved and the spider is exposed, it usually freezes for a moment as if to say, "What happened?" then scurries off to find another place to hide.

Occasionally, however, there have been times when daytime hangouts have not been nearly as secretive as the spider may have hoped. Below are a few of the less than appropriate places where our beloved Huntsman spiders have chosen to reside...

Hunstman:  "If I stand real still when that human is wiping his face with the towel, maybe he won't see me..."

"I'm hiding...behind the towel"
(Not exactly what you want to see when you're about to dry your face)

"Kiss My Face"...I don't think so!

"You can't see me!"
(Oh, yes, I can)

A close up of the Huntsman in it paper towel hangout

A couple days ago we discovered a Huntsman in what it probably thought was a safe, dark and soft hiding place...With my allergies, I guess the spider didn't realize how often I reach into that box for a tissue.

And finally...

Just last night my husband called me into the bathroom for the latest sighting of a Huntsman hangout:  In Ralph's waterpik!
Not the best place to hide, Mr. Huntsman.  Please find a new spot

An "ap-peeling" rain

SIMPLY LIVING

Dogs may run and hide and toddlers cover their ears, but when I hear thunder followed by a sudden rush of rain, I head for the porch to enjoy the show.

 

The other day, rain was coming down in torrents, a pounding tattoo on the metal roof.  I settled in on the porch floor to listen to the rain while preparing Florida sand pears for pear sauce.  It was the perfect combination of activities.  

A box of sand pears awaits peeling

Unlike commercial bosc or Bartlett pears, which soften as they ripen, mature sand pears remain hard with a tough outer skin that, if left intact, gives the sauce an unappealing gritty consistency.  Removing that skin with a sharp knife is tedious work but cutting off the skin while listening to the sound of the storm passing through eases the tedium. 

I didn’t have an iPod with me.  I wasn’t listening to NPR.  The computer was in the other room as was my phone.  I was just me and the pears, a sharp paring knife, the rain and a misty breeze blowing through the screens.  Delightful.

As I sat there on the floor peeling fruit, my mind wandered back to our early years in Florida when our children were little and used to play in the rain.  What fun we had (all of us!), running outside and splashing in puddles.  We scooped up rainwater in buckets to throw at each other.  We poured it on our hair.  We laughed as we played.  We didn’t care how wet we got because the warm air made the rain refreshing.  

Summer downpours in Florida are quite different from their northern counterparts.  They don’t chill or cause shivers.  They’re fun to play in, to listen to and observe. 

That difference was reinforced last month when Ralph and I exited the airport in Hartford.  As we stepped out of the air-conditioned terminal, we walked into a chilling rush of summer rain.  Until that moment, I had forgotten how unpleasant it could be to stand outside in rain.  It was August, for heaven’s sake, we were in Connecticut not Canada.  We had not anticipated, packed or worn appropriate clothing for cold weather but, nonetheless, that’s what we got.  Cold, rainy, shiver-inducing weather – at least that’s how it seemed to a couple of spoiled southern transplants who had come to rely on the comfort of warm precipitation.

Back on the porch with the sand pears, I smiled at the thought of how dependent I’ve become on summer downpours being experiences to enjoy not dread.  I like the way the raindrop’s loud percussive beat drowns out otherwise omnipresent swirl of digital sounds.  I appreciate the way the wind blows a refreshing wet mist through the screens.  I enjoy anticipating the likelihood (very strong!) of a rainbow soon to follow.

Before long, the pears were all peeled and cut into small pieces.  I poured them into the crockpot to cook together with a little lemon juice and ginger.  The rain too had ended, or at least abated.  There was a softer sound on the metal roof as fewer drops landed with less intensity than they had before.

That’s something else I like about summer rainstorms in Florida – they come on strong and end quickly.  Before long, it’s sunny again, hot, humid and sticky.  But that’s okay, I don’t mind the heat.  It will rain again soon and since I have more sand pears to peel (my hands get tired if I peel too many at once), I know where I’ll be when it does.  I’ll be out in the porch, on the floor, unplugged from technology savoring the sound of rain falling down.

Two different parts of the country...many differences

SIMPLY LIVING

We recently returned from visiting Jenny and her family in Northampton Massachusetts and - as I do every time we travel north to our daughter’s adopted hometown - I can’t help but notice how different Western Massachusetts is from Central Florida.  Far more than miles separate these two culturally, demographically, topographically and physically diverse parts of the country. 

Of the many physical differences between Central Florida and Western Massachusetts, one of the most obvious is the radically different styles of residential architecture.  Homes in Northampton are mainly wood-framed structures sided with painted clapboard or shingles intermingled with fieldstone or red brick buildings.  

Even in a downtown Northampton brick building, residents' make room for flowers 

The stucco-covered concrete block buildings that line the streets in most Florida developments are non-existent in Jenny’s quaint New England community.  Actually, planned developments, in general, are practically a non-entity as are the cookie-cutter type houses we Floridians have come to accept as a given.

Instead of sprawling one-story structures like most Floridian abodes, homes in Northampton tend to be multi-story structures.  While some have garages (often detached) many houses are without a covered parking space.  One thing they don’t lack, however, is a working fireplace.  Chimneys are omnipresent – houses might even have more than one - yet air conditioning, if present at all, seems like an annoying afterthought.  Freestanding units protrude precariously from double-hung windows like stuck-out tongues registering disgust at the very thought of hot weather.

Home’s ages differ too.  In Florida (which became a state in 1845), a house built in the 1950s is considered OLD while in Western Massachusetts (statehood: 1788), houses that have sheltered families for well over a century are commonplace.  Entire neighborhoods in Northampton consist of winding, tree-lined streets flanked by a stately assortment of just such highly functional wood-framed antiques.

Large, boxy homes, often without garages (but with chimneys) line most Pioneer Valley streets

My daughter’s house, built in the early 1900s, sits in such a neighborhood.  Its small lot is dotted with tall trees and colorful perennials.  Flower-filled yards are as much a fixture in the Pioneer Valley (the area along the Massachusetts border of the Connecticut River) as the old-time, wood-framed homes they adorn. 

On this most recent visit, the late summer blooms – or more specifically, the bees that constantly buzzed in and out among the late summer blooms – became the focus of my attention.  I couldn’t help but wonder why I saw so many more bees there than I usually see back home in Florida, a state named for its floral displays.  In a period when bee populations around the country have being inexplicably decimated by CCD (Colony Collapse Disorder) why were the Western Massachusetts honey bees and bumblebees so active?

Bee on unidentified pink flower

I wondered if it could be because of all the flowers.  Everywhere I looked, I saw blossoming plants.  They filled up tiny front yards, backyards and the sides of houses.  They grew out of planters, raised beds and in rock gardens.  Bright pink, white, yellow and blue wildflowers flanked roadsides and spread across unplowed fields.  In Jenny’s yard alone, bees buzzed about her pink phlox flowers, slender gooseneck blooms and several other pollen-filled flowers I was unable to identify.

Bee on chive flower

    

Could the healthy bee population be a result of so many yards filled with flowering plants or was the explanation more complex? 

The Pioneer Valley is a youthful, dynamic region home to five colleges.  Farmer’s Markets and CSAs are plentiful, recycling is routine and a plethora of Subarus, Priuses and Toyota Matrixes boast bumper stickers pronouncing “Be Green,” “Coexist” and “Every Day is Earth Day.”

   

With so much visible evidence of an environmental consciousness, I wouldn’t be surprised if organic gardening was also widely practiced.  If so, a reduced usage of herbicides, pesticides and other potent chemicals might contribute to the health of bee populations.  Although it’s not definitive, research suggests that many common garden chemicals can prove fatal to bees. 

I don’t know for sure why I saw so many more bees in Western Massachusetts than I usually see around my own flower-filled, unsprayed yard but I accepted the fact with pleasure.  I took many pictures of both flowers and bumblebees and enjoyed the phenomenon along with the many other contrasts between my southern abode and this quaint New England community.

Bee on another unidentified pink flower

It’s good to go away and see other sights.  It’s interesting to make comparisons, note different styles of architecture, cultural diversities and topographical differences.  It’s fun to challenge the mind to explore new ideas and ponder the “I wonder why’s” but it’s even better to come back home to the old familiar.  We may not have as many bees in my own adopted hometown, yet it remains the place I want to be.

Fishing is for the birds

An osprey with freshly caught fish in its talons

SIMPLY LIVING

When people see our lake for the first time they usually ask two questions: “Are there alligators in that lake?” and “Are there fish?”

The first question is easy.  I always answer, “Yes.  In Florida, there’s at least one alligator in just about any body of water.”

The second question is more difficult to tackle. 

Our lake does have fish but we don’t catch them.  However, if I say that, it elicits a completely baffled response.  The person asking is obviously an angler who’s looking at our lake - our pristine, secluded pond – like he’s stumbled upon Paradise Found.

So instead, I offer up an ambiguous, “Yup.  Sure are.” 

My answer is honest because there are fish in our lake.  There are enough bass, minnows and assorted other species to satisfy the needs of herons, ospreys, egrets and other water birds.   

Although it sounds like blasphemy to admit, in our lake fishing is taboo - at least by humans.  Fishing is for the birds and the occasional raccoon, bobcat, gator or hungry otter.  I love looking out the window as a great blue heron patiently stalks its prey but it would spoil my view to see a human doing the same.

I realize my attitude is hypocritical.  After all, I’m not opposed to eating fish.  I fill my shopping cart with packages of flash-frozen wild salmon and flounder.  I’m well aware that catching my own fish would be fresher, healthier and a more honest endeavor.  I don’t do it because I don’t want to kill fish any more than I want to kill the rabbits that hop through the tall grasses, the wild turkeys that strut by or the bobcat that occasionally appears.  I don’t want to hunt the animals that share my surroundings and the way I see it, fishing is just another form of hunting.  I don’t need to eat the fish in my lake and I have no desire to catch fish for sport.

On the occasions when I allow myself to be lured into discussions with anglers, the issue of ‘catch and release’ inevitably arises.  “Oh, I don’t kill them,” the fisherman proudly insists.  “I catch and release.” 

If this is supposed to be comforting and reassuring, it’s not. 

No one knows for sure if fish feel pain when hooks puncture their skin or if they suffer when forced into an alien atmosphere after being reeled in and yanked out of water.  A 2009 study by a Purdue University professor and his Norwegian graduate student concludes that they do feel pain but other studies disagree. 

However, I don’t need scientists to tell me what seems obvious to anyone who has even seen a fish flopping around in the bottom of a boat gasping for oxygen while an angler tries to remove a hook from its mouth.  Of course it hurts!

The question isn’t whether fish feel pain but what reason is there to fish?  If done strictly for food, fishing makes sense.  If done for sport, fun or to while away the hours… not so much. 

My feelings are personal and only concern the lake surrounded by our property.  I don’t have a problem with people fishing elsewhere.  I just don’t want it done here on property I consider a nature sanctuary. 

In discussing this with my husband, he offers a challenge:  “What happens when one of the grandkids wants to fish?  How are you going to deal with that?” 

Ralph, who’d gladly dine on fish from our lake if they would only jump into the frying pan pre-cleaned and filleted, doesn’t share my strong feelings on the topic.  He harbors no desire to do the actual catching but he’s not opposed to looking out at other people reeling in their supper. 

None of our kids or their spouses ever expressed an interest in angling but another generation is on the way.  I can see how someday the question, “Can we go fishing, Grandma?” might well come up.  If it does, I’ll probably say, “Fine.”  I’d try to be flexible and understanding. 

Until that time, as unpopular as my position might be with the hook and line crowd, our lake remains a no-fishing zone.  Sometimes you just have to go with what feels right even if your position elicits blank-eyed stares of bewilderment from eager anglers. 

The way I see it, if fish can swim against the tide, surely I can too. 

My neighbors are wasps

SIMPLY LIVING

Although I’ve lived next to lakes with sandy beaches for most of my life, I had no idea sand wasps existed until this summer. 

I became aware of them one day while sitting on a chair near the water.  When I gazed down, I noticed numerous wasps buzzing around the beach.  As I looked more closely, I realized the wasps weren’t flying randomly.  They seemed focused on precise locations.  A single wasp would land on a specific sandy spot and madly begin digging its way underground.  After a furious effort, it would disappear completely only to reappear moments later, fly away and then return to begin the process again.

The more I watched, the more fascinated I became.

A black and white striped sand wasp prepares to excavate its sandy burrow

My fascination increased when I saw one wasp return to the site with a caterpillar in its clutches.  The wasp inserted the caterpillar (which was almost as large as the wasp itself) into the tunnel.  It then proceeded to spread sand over the entry hole until it was impossible for me to tell where the tunnel had been.

Immediately, I thought of the potter wasps that I had learned about in July.  Potter wasps are solitary wasps.  The female builds a marble-shaped nest attached to a stick, wall or other surface.  When the nest is complete, she lays a single egg inside the nest and then drags in numerous paralyzed but still alive caterpillars for her larva to feed upon as it develops.  Once she has laid an egg and inserted a sufficient number of caterpillars into the nest, the adult wasp seals up the hole and lets nature take its course.  If all goes well, the developing wasp will dine on the inert caterpillars until it is ready to drill its way out of its single-celled home to begin the cycle anew.

A potter wasp in the process of building a nest

Because of what I knew about potter wasps, I figured I was observing a similar cycle with a different species of solitary wasps that nested on sand.  Eager to know more, I left the beach behind to seek information online.

What I discovered is that the insect I’d been watching is indeed a solitary type of wasp called Bembix speciosis, better known as a sand wasp.  Although I observed a sand wasp carrying a caterpillar, it mainly catches flies, stuffing its dugout nest with dozens of houseflies, deer flies and other annoying pests. 

Although the female is capable of stinging people (the male isn’t), she rarely does.  Like potter wasps, sand wasps are beneficial insects.  Not only do the adult wasps capture caterpillars and flies to feed to their young, they themselves feed on nectar, which helps pollinate flowering plants. 

Bembix speciosis is just under an inch long with large eyes, transparent tan wings and a black-and-white banded body and bright yellow legs.  Its elongated mouth doubles as a digging tool, which comes in quite handy when excavating a burrow, an occupation that takes up a considerable part of a sand wasp’s life.

Sand wasps don’t linger long in one spot.  These industrious insects are constantly coming and going as they build one nest after another (often close together).  Each deeply tunneled home – a tunnel can be 10 to 20 inches long - contains a single egg.  When the female wasp is not busy enlarging her burrow, she’s out hunting for food to fill it.  After each visit to her underground lair, the wasp seals the hole tightly to deter predators from finding her undeveloped offspring and its stash of food.

Despite her valiant efforts, most wasp larvae never make it to maturity.  Grub-seeking armadillos eat some and I’m sure I’ve inadvertently destroyed quite a few developing sand wasps myself when I’ve weeded the beach or dug holes in the sand with my grandchildren.  It’s not easy being a sand wasp.

Armadillos disturb many sand wasp nests in their search for grubs

Most of us could care less about wasps.  We lump together all potentially stinging creatures in one category:  Bad Bug!  Armed with cans of insecticide, we kill indiscriminately without hesitation, remorse or a sense of wrongdoing. 

But not all bugs that look scary are bad. 

In fact, insects like the sand wasp and potter wasp are among the good guys working hard to make our lives better.  If you see a large black-and-white striped wasp zooming around the beach sand this summer, don’t freak out, run away or reach for the Raid.  Sit back instead and watch the show.  You are privy to a flying marvel of maternal instinct, determination and indefatigable effort.   

The only sting you’re likely to get from this wasp is the sting of regret for all the times you’ve overlooked observing one of nature’s small wonders.