photography – Natural Views

Fall Colors

A crisp sunny day in late October, just before the rains return, seemed the perfect window to visit Kubota Garden, a short drive from my home. Almost a year to the date, I returned to this Japanese style garden, created by Fujitaro Kubota in the 1920s.

Kubota’s Legacy

Kubota emigrated from Japan and started his own gardening business. His notable projects included Seattle University and Bloedel Reserve, among many others. He initially purchased five acres to begin his lifelong work, and expanded it to 30 acres a few years later. Sadly, as with others of Japanese descent, he had to leave his business and garden during World War II, when he was sent to in internment camp in Minidoka, Idaho. I drove by a sign for Minidoka, on a recent road trip. I immediately recognized the name as a camp site. I had visited a similar camp at Manzanar, California years ago.

Kubota was lucky. Many Japanese lost everything when sent to the camps. Kubota was able to return to his land and rebuild his business with his sons.

Today the garden is owned and managed by the Seattle Parks department and the Kubota Garden Foundation. Admission is free. The high seasons are spring and fall, when the colors lure visitors in droves.

Here are some of the delights I found.

A Bear You Can Hold in Your Hand

The Isabella Tiger Moth Caterpillar – AKA Woolly Bear

Covered in fuzzy bristles, some are more black or more orange, but all have both colors. The one I found today was a beautifully dressed banded woolly bear, with black at each end and orange in the middle. Better known than its adult form – the Isabella tiger moth, the woolly bear elicits more pleasant reactions from people of all ages than most other caterpillars. They are cute and harmless, and don’t seem to mind being picked up.

There are similar caterpillars that are solid black or brown or other colors, and they can be called woolly bears, but they are different species. Only the larva of Pyrrharctia Isabella, the Isabella tiger moth, is the familiar black and orange banded woolly bear. Their bodies have 13 segments covered in stiff hairs.

First named in 1797, it’s not clear who this moth was named for. I know there was Queen Isabella of Spain. But these moths are found only in North and Central America.

The folklore of the woolly bear is said to stretch back to the American colonial days. The lore suggests that the width of the color bands relate to the upcoming winter. The thought is, if the orange band is shorter than the black, its means a snowy winter.

How could this be? People have tried to prove this notion, to no solid evidence. Researchers have crunched the weather data over periods of time and compared it to the markings of the caterpillars, finding no scientific evidence to support the folk tales.

We typically see the caterpillars in fall simply because that’s when the eggs hatch, though some do hatch in summer. They spend the summer munching on a wide variety of plants, getting ready for winter hibernation. When fall comes, they find a sheltered place, under a stone or log, or even underground. They have a kind of antifreeze that helps them survive very cold temperatures.

As soon as it warms up the next year, they emerge and begin to feed. Soon after, they make their cocoon, and within two weeks, the adult moth emerges, to begin the cycle again.

Like other moths, the Isabella tiger moths don’t live very long. They live simply to mate and lay eggs.

The moths don’t eat. I have never seen one, but they are attractive, with yellow-orange body and wings, and little black spots. The wingspan is about two inches wide.

If you see one, you’ll know winter is coming. The question is, what kind of winter?

One Million Tulips Can’t Be Wrong

I must have flowers, always, and always.
― Claude Monet

What is the value of a flower? Can you quantify the visual and psychological impact of a field of neon blossoms? Do you base it on the number of wows, or Holy cows, or assorted verbalizations, or the number of persons standing seemingly dazed and dumbfounded in the presence of such manmade, yet breathtaking beauty?

Suddenly, each spring like clockwork, thousands of men, women and children who, normally, don’t pay much attention to plants, flock like zombies called to the task, to behold fields of red, yellow, purple, pink and orange flowers, all arranged like soldiers in orderly rows.

In this particular case, the astonishing sight of more than one million tulips peaking in precisely planted rows is what draws visitors with magical magnetism.

A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in–what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.
― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

This year, the tulips did not disappoint. Right on schedule with the Skagit Tulip Festival, the flowers beamed their enchanting vibes to the crowds. Daffodils led the pack, with colors ranging from deep yellow to white with orange centers.

Beyond the daffodils, the stars of the show, Tulipa, obediently performed, knit together with the other colors into a vivid but orderly counterpane.

Renegade

Here and there, couples and families and friends posed for photos among the blooms. Children delighted in the hues. To walk fields saturated with color, under a sunny sky, was like being in a painting.

Even though the incredible floral display was not planted merely for our pleasure, but for a bulb-growing business, the impact was not lessened. We walked away happy, content to witness the renewal, the continuance of the seasons, the affirmation of life. Perhaps that is the value of a flower.

Flowers always make people better, happier, and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine to the mind.
― Luther Burbank

The Nest Box

Nesting season is over. I went out to clean out my chickadee box. I had seen Bewick’s wrens in the spring, bringing nest material to it. I got so excited, I figured wrens had beaten chickadees to prime real estate. I watched and watched. But after a while did not see any wren activity at the box. I assumed they had abandoned it.

I also watched for chickadees, but never saw any going in or out.

But opening the box just now, I got such a surprise! A beautiful little nest. There must have been a clutch! But whose?

Here’s the nest. You can see moss, twigs, feathers and other materials.