Natural Connections

Just back from leading a “Boundary Waters with a Naturalist” trip for the Museum, I’m turning over memories in my mind. Each one has a unique sparkle or hue; some edges are rough, others liquid; some are common and numerous, while others are one of a kind.

Pelecinid wasps are similar to ichneumon wasps in that adults drink nectar, and they have long ovipositors for depositing eggs directly in the larva of another species. They just happen to be in their own family – Pelecinidae. And, while scientists estimate that there might be 100,000 species of ichneumon wasps worldwide, the Pelecinidae family contains only three species, with only one occurring north of Mexico. This was it: Pelecinus polyturator, the American Pelecinid Wasp.

The 20-foot high cliff was window into the Superior Craton, one of the very first land masses to form when the planet was young. The original rocks likely included basalt from the ocean floor and volcanoes; granite from some of the first-ever continental crust; and mudstones formed as early Earth weather eroded rocks into smaller pieces and re-deposited them. Then, they were all buried deeply by more rocks being piled on top and the actions of plate tectonics, heated to 600-700 degrees Celsius, and metamorphosed. 

“This rock has experienced a LOT of Earth’s history,” said Tom, in a bit of an understatement.

This week I discovered nine places to find delight.

A light breeze brushed through the pollinator gardens surrounding the Museum. Happy children and singing birds filled the Museum courtyard with sound. All this noise didn’t bother me; I zoned into the pollinator garden. I was completing my weekly butterfly survey as a participant in the Wisconsin Statewide Community Science Project.

Jillian Finucane is from Madison, Wisconsin, and is currently studying Geological Engineering at University of Wisconsin – Madison. As a lover of the outdoors, she spends her summers hiking, camping, and rock climbing; she adores Wisconsin’s Northwoods. Jillian is a Summer Naturalist/Geology Intern at the Cable Natural History Museum.

Why does kale get to just sit there and grow, doing the only thing it really wants to do, while I have to toil away, tilling the soil, planting the seeds, watering the garden, and weeding away any competitors? By offering up its tasty, nutritious leaves, the kale has seduced me into catering to its every whim.

“…the garden suddenly appeared before me in a whole new light, the manifold delights it offered to the eye and nose and tongue no longer quite so innocent or passive. All these plants, which I’d always regarded as the objects of my desire, were also, I realized, subjects, acting on me, getting me to do things for them they couldn’t do for themselves,” Michael Pollan wrote in his excellent book, The Botany of Desire.

It wasn’t a long message, just a note to correct a typo in an earlier text. “That should have said I love how you quote Mary Oliver! Not…I love how you Mary Oliver!”

I chuckled—my brain’s own autocorrect had skipped right over the phone’s autocorrect fail. So often, even when someone’s words come out in a funny order, we still know exactly what they mean. But now I re-read the original typo and felt a little fizz of joy. Leaving out a single word had essentially turned Mary Oliver into a verb. I mulled this over. What would it mean “to mary oliver”?

I wasn’t quite sure what I was getting into when my cousin Meggan decided that this was the summer her crew would come to the Northwoods on vacation. Born just six weeks apart, we’d spent our childhood together with a pack of 13 cousins running wild around Grandpa’s house in southern Iowa during most holidays and school breaks. Now Meggan has six kids of her own. How would I entertain them for a few days? This same crew was part of the family reunion I attended last summer, where we caught a shimmering young spider and named her Princess Entelegyne. As it turns out, I didn’t need to worry.

By the end, they’d also taught me to find beauty in the spongy moth, empathy for a horse fly, and wonder in a trickle of water. Now that’s a productive vacation. 

I glanced out my second-floor window and then did a double-take. On the grass below was a doe. The sight of deer in my yard usually just makes me fear for my garden, but as the doe shifted slightly, her tiny, spotted fawn came into view beneath her belly. The cuteness of baby animals is irresistible, even if they do grow into broccoli thieves.