The Arachnophile: hunting the wolf

Rabidosa

A wolf in the genus Rabidosa (photo by Sean McCann)

 

Hunting the wolf

 

In summer’s forest.

Armed with hand lens,

Forceps, vials, eyes and field book.

Up. Down. Under rocks, leaves, rotten logs.

Just look.

Behold! Scurry, pause, dash, dart.

Find that dark place.

All in eights: all is right.

Pedipalps and spinnerets; chelicerae and pedicel.

Chevrons? Eye shine? Perhaps a sac of treasures?

Pardosa, Trochosa, or Rabidosa?

Envisioning authors, keys, maps, habitus.

Line drawings come alive.

A marvelous wolf, hunted.

What a find! The Arachnophile’s delight!

Into the vial, destined for deep freeze.

Wait, think, imagine.

It is precious.

Not Tolkien’s monsters, or a reclusive terror.

It is Anansi, Charlotte, and Darwin’s gossamer.

Nature and natural.

History beyond our own.

Preserve? Conserve? Observe?

Catch, release, smile.

 

Agelenopsis webs

A hot, humid summer forest, with evidence of spiders.

 

 Notes:

1) The Lycosidae are impressive spiders, and go by the common name of “wolf spiders”. Here are some facts about wolf spiders.

2) This was inspired by daydreaming. Winter can be long and I’ve been thinking a lot about summer field work, and collecting arachnids in a hot, humid forest. I’ve been thinking about observing, collecting, preserving specimens. Bringing specimens back to a lab isn’t always necessarily. Sometimes watching is enough.

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Homage to the squished mosquito

This work comes from a student* in my field biology class. Part of the course includes students keeping a “field journal“, and that assignment allows an opportunity for students to express their thoughts and observations about nature in many different ways, from writing, to art, and poetry.

 

A mosquito, before the squish. (photo by Alex Wild, reproduced here with permission)

A mosquito, before the squish. (photo by Alex Wild, reproduced here with permission)

 

O squished mosquito, you omnivorous parasite,

Why could nectar not quench your hunger, like your male counterpart?

Why must you thirst for my blood?

 

Of course, you need blood for egg production,

But to what lengths will you go to continue your lineage?

Was it my personality that drew you in? Or simply my CO2 expulsion?

 

Your ultimate death has left me with no answers;

Only a bump on my skin filled with histamine and regret.

 

Your short life makes me itch to know more about who you were

…or perhaps that’s just the anticoagulant in your saliva.

 

While the swelling in my arm may decrease,

My pining for you never will.

 

R.I.P., mosquito

2014-2014

Mosquito

 

What does this poem tell me, as an instructor?

It tells me that students can express natural history and biology in many different ways.

It makes me think that the student will remember the basics of mosquito biology a lot more than had this been on a multiple choice or short-answer examination.

It shows the power of allowing emotion to find its tendrils into science. We ought to embrace this a lot more.

 

*the student shall remain nameless until after the course is finished, but will eventually be credited appropriately

Quiet Ocean

My tweets and photos about the Arctic caught the attention of the super-talented, all-around great biologist/naturalist (& musician) Nash Turley, and he wrote a poem. It’s lovely.

QUIET OCEAN

White ice is broken by incessant glow

Sea comes alive, to sing, so grow

Anadromous fins fled winter extremes

Return to dance in shimmering streams

Churning chilled seas offer brief respite

Inviting colored stones to reflect light

Crystalline plane is dazzling effect

Shaken silhouette as I stop and reflect

Here’s one of the photos that inspired this poetry.

Good fishing place

(Thank you, Nash, for the discussions, the poem, and for allowing me to post it here.)