the common milkweed: A Summer of Wonder

Thursday, October 2, 2025

A Summer of Wonder

The summer felt long, winding and delicious. We feel sated, like we captured it all. Last night when I couldn't sleep, I looked north and then to earth and saw a glow, then another, then another. I rubbed my eyes as clear as I could and realized we live communally with a constellation of glowing Photuris firefly larvae. What a shimmery cap to summer, to the onset of rain, to the end of drought, to stories of lives other than our own.

We find those stories everywhere:

in the beauty of a garter snake shed,

in the grape leaves patterned by a leaf miner unknown to us (but surely known by this guy),

in a pileated woodpecker feather,

in a wing of a polyphemus moth.

When fall migration began in late summer, that became one of our top priorities. "Don't be too busy or summer will go too fast," my very wise sister-in-law said. We never forgot those wise words and we live by the truth of that statement. Don't be too busy. Life will go too fast.

So, we lay on the ground; we lay in our chairs. We sky watch and we witness. Monarchs, darners, saddlebags, turkey vultures, black vultures, chimney swifts, bald eagles, accipiters. They all fly above us, living their nomadic existence. We aren't too busy to see it.

For weeks now we watch certain trees, mostly black walnuts, honey locusts, river birches and maples surrounded by shrubs and wildflowers that catch the sun first or last and we get daily migratory bird lists like this:

What is happening here is happening everywhere if there is habitat and you know where to look.

One of the challenges of our cherished and necessary long hikes is moving too fast to really look, but that fact has trained us to listen. We've learned many bird calls and songs because while hiking our eyes don't scan well at 2.5-3.0 mph, but our ears hear it all. Ceruleans, black-throated greens, blackburnians, hooded, Canada warblers, wood peewees, acadian flycatchers, rose-breasted grosbeaks, Louisiana waterthrushes...we know them all. We continue to untangle American redstart, magnolia, worm eating, dry chipping sparrow.

Even speed, though, can't blind us to the presence of black cohosh...

or the clymene haploa moth...

or the pandorus sphinx caterpillar crossing the road in front of our moving car, certain to be squashed by the car on our tail if we don't flip on the flashers, stop and move them to safety.

Hiking one mile and not twelve miles let's us take the time to look closely,

slowly, slurping up the beauty of all the autonomous beings around us.

Angelica:

Bottlebrush buckeye:

Giant eucosma moth on their host plant - cup plant:

Harvestman,

and a passel of unknown caterpillars on willow. Red-humped was suggested. What do you think?

The penitent caterpillar on our extension cord:

One of the grass vaneer moths on our downspout:

We've not turned our air conditioning on once this summer and I know for many, that is bonkers, but for us, hearing the songs of the insects and the birds is a can't miss moment. It's wondrous and rich and loud and giggly funny sometimes. It's the languages of other species, ones we don't speak, but which we appreciate and cannot live without.

Two-spotted tree cricket singing:

Steve's keen eyes spotted promethea moth caterpillars on a tulip tree we planted here a while back now. This rewilding work, well, it never fails to bring us into wonder. The interworkings of this planet are here for us to see, if we make the time. Slow down. Don't be too busy. Don't make it go too fast.

Dark-spotted palthis moth:

Pole borer beetle:

Carrion beetle:

Black walnut caterpillars had a great year around here and their business of piling on one another to molt and then head back up into the tree to feed is pretty neat to witness. A great predator diversion tactic for sure, but we can't help but wonder about the ones on the bottom? Are they the safest or the most annoyed at everyone climbing on them while they shed their skin?

Steve's keen eyes again noticed a caterpillar fall out of a tree, no doubt ready for a place to pupate, and I got to move them somewhere safe. A great picture I did not get, but a video...heck yeh. Lappet moth. WOW.

We savored this summer with each other and with family.

We spotted cool plants...

and spring peepers on cup plant...

and American toads in the garage...

and cicadas in the shrubs...

and one of the grays on the pit toilet shelter where we frequently hike...

We wandered tallgrass prairies and got swallowed up whole by plants.

We wandered short grass prairie, too, and found ourselves taller than most, but not cooler than most:

Cloudless sulphur caterpillar...

Spotted apatelodes caterpillar...

False aloe seed pod...

Skiff moth caterpillars weathered the rain and slugged along...

Abundance grew on American plums at our place in Morrow County, Ohio and in neighboring gardens so we ate well and gratefully.

Love came in from everywhere...

Virgin tiger moth caterpillar, black swallowtail, IO. What's a person to do other than smile? Feel hope? Feel power? Feel resolute in forward motion? Participate? Act? THIS is the world we live in!

So, stand strong, head up. Smile. Don't be too busy. Don't let life go too fast.

We listened to this message. Over and over again this summer. Live music awakened a dormant part of our spirits. Gathering with humans, outdoors, amidst human song is a good reminder of who we are and the beauty we can make.

To top off the summer of riches, Bibs and all 3 of her kittens talked about in our Summer Solstice blog post were adopted by 4 different households all connected by one open-hearted, generous woman. Her kindness touched us more than I can write or say or cry. The beginning of our summer was ruled by this gorgeous, Bibs, and she and her kittens taught us a lesson in acceptance and resiliency, which evolved into so many laughs and so much love.

Does this sound like a lot? It does as I write it and I know this is not even the half of it. This summer was full to the brim and so we end it with seed collecting and stowing them and sowing them for the future, knowing then is now.