How To (Almost) Walk To The Garden.

Sunday emergence...ahhhhhhh. Plenty of time to grab camera accoutrements and write up a right proper post all in one shot.

Sunny high of 81 degrees, and Fauna...

(How did I decide it's Fauna...let me explain, no...let me sum up...when one says such names, and just like they say in The Addams Family movie, it usually comes out Flora and Fauna, hence Flora first, Fauna second. Of the two cats this round, one pupated high on the ceiling and emerged first, so Flora she is. Today's bfly, she's Fauna, which works well for her, too, in that I got to hold her like a sweet pet, as you shall see.)

So, sunny high of 81, and upon my return from yoga class, Fauna was resting on the cat house floor, all emerged and dry and flit-ty with her polydamas gold-rimmed swallowtail self.

I'd no intention of holding her - all I wanted was for her to pose for a pretty side-view portrait. But when I poked at her, she lifted one tiny foot to my finger...

then all the rest...

...so here I am stuck trying to get decent pix with one hand.

Soooo, one-handed bulky SLR video, could it be done!?

Well, I managed it, well, we both managed it. Later, while editing the video on my computer, Pandora music player sung in the background. As you watch, it's the same song that happened to play while I edited the almost-walk to the garden:

Slacker.

There comes a time in every blogger's life where one of your readers says to your face and at your person, "Hey, when's the next post? Slacker!"

My moment was in Miami, just after a Social D concert in the most gorgeous decay of an Art Deco theater, just after asking a bountiful, beautiful hug of a friend, "So, really, WHY does Mike Ness hate Orlando so much?" And she says, "Who knows?! He'll go to Orlando tomorrow night and rag Miami! So when the h#!! is your next butterfly blog??"

After my lame "uh, er, I dunno, there's nuthin' goin' on...," there is, finally, after nearly two months of eggs, cats, and a lengthy pupation, something goin' on. My slacker of a pupating polydamas gold-rimmed tail-less swallowtail butterfly made an appearance today.

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I found her empty chrysalis...

...and her-herself basking in afternoon sun on a wall of the cat house - Flora? Fauna? Who knows?!

But she was plump, pretty, and fully ready to get the h#!! out of the cat house. She posed for a few pics, then tolerated a few pokes of her wings - she wouldn't open up, but adjusted for a scenic side pose.



Within moments, she took off past my lens and rounded the porch a few times. Then high in the sky, landing in the neighbor's queen palm.

As dry as it's been weather-wise, there's plenty a'bloom in the garden, so maybe she'll make her way back for a few sips of nectar.

In the meantime, Flora, er, Fauna, stays cozy in her chrysalis hanging from the stick that is part of the cat house decor.


C'mon slacker, emerge already!

Taking Forever.

Fourteen days into life in the cat house.

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Fourteen.

And Flora and Fauna are about half-grown.

Well, maybe bigger than that, but still far from pupation plumpness. That's what I get for raising cats from eggs to butterflies rather than plucking a mature cat off the vine as a house guest.

The past weeks and days-to-come consist of daily shakes of the paper towel lining to remove the pepper-like frass, fresh vine clippings now and again, and wonderment at the cats daily increase in size. Though I complain of taking forever, it truly is a visible day-by-day growth, an awesome measure of short time and quick maturation in a creature that lives a span of months from egg to death.

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Once they pupate into chrysalises, they may take forever to emerge. They are fall season cats, and unless this warmish South Florida weather soothes them into a wintertime emergence, these two may wait 'til spring before showing off their gold-rimmed swallowtail butterfly selves.

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So, this Sunday afternoon, whether you are doing chores or watching the game, 'round here, it's time to check on the cats again, maybe lounge on the back porch in this cool, part-sun, part-cloud weather - it won't last forever!

Pint-Sized Mess.

I confess it's been since May since I used the cat house.

Which means it went all summer without a cleaning.

There truly is a sober reason for the pint glass in the cat house, though I've no recollection of the variety of dried-up sprigs. I suspect it's maypop vine or sunflowers that sprung up in the lawn (PLEASE let it be sunflowers - if it's maypop, that means I never tucked the stray sprigs into the large vine in the garden.)

And that pale shell of a sulphur chrysalis dangling from the stick - Absalom from the previous round of Confessions, um, last MAY. Shedded skin of a gulf fritillary caterpillar in the jelly jar, frass-y paper towel, and a seashell come un-glued round out the mess.

Shedded skin...wha..? I didn't raise a cat past Absalom.

Uh-oh.

Guess it was maypop in the glass. And I failed at egg-leaf inspection, then never bothered to clean out the glass.

RIP, little frit fella.

All this house drama called for bleach (and a pint.)

The cat house litter was first to go, then the house moved to the lawn for a hose-down and a spray-bleach bath.

It dried within the hour. I glued shells back into place and arranged the stick. The clean scene just begged for cats.

So, I tracked down my husband somewhere in his house-work (that's house WORK, not housework), and put it to him to choose the next cat house guest.

"Honey, pick black, yellow, or orange."

Reticently, he said, "uh...black...?"

And black it is - a cluster of pipevine swallowtail eggs that will grow and emerge into lovely black butterflies.

They won't all live in the cat house. Most will repair to the garden pipevine.

Two will stay, their future monikers being Flora and Fauna.

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For you Addams Family fans, you might recognize the names Flora and Fauna (the movie aired this cat house cleaning day - October is Chiller Month on cable.)

Which brings about the choice of pint. Shipyard Pumpkinhead ale would be an ideal pint this time of year. But Stone IPA will do nicely (it's logo being a charming gargoyle, so very...October.)

Cats Ready. House Not.

Rain and sun. Rain and sun. Sometimes all in the same day. 'Cept for tropical storm Nicole on this past last day of September; she grayed out the sky for a couple days, drenching the garden better than any hose watering.

As of this morning, the garden is lush green and its inhabitants lounge in full sun.

These guys are the swallowtail and sulphur varieties. The green and yellow sulphurs are near ready for pupation, but until the caterpillar house gets a cleaning, they are free to roam the yard for their own hanging spots.

The cat house, ugh. Loose shells, bits of hair from my husband's back porch haircut, and old clear wrap on dusty jelly jars. Somehow the cat house missed out on garden prep in time for the first day of fall.

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After yoga class this morning, strolling to our cars on this sunny fall day, we pondered the rest of our Sunday. "House cleaning," one friend said, "I'm opening up my windows and cleaning." Me, too. 'Cept I'll be opening a little hinged screen door.

Did the 'butterfly' and the 'cat curl' in this morning's class.

Now for the 'clean the cat house' pose!

Gorey On My Mind.

Fall firsts.

First day of school. First cool breeze. First game of the season.

First day of fall and the first chapter in the next round of Confessions.

Fall also (there's that word...also), for the first time in Florida, hosted an Edward Gorey art exhibit at the Orlando Museum of Art. At summer's august tag-end, the OMA displayed nearly 180 of Gorey's original drawings, first edition prints, magazine and book covers, envelope doodles and Gorey-esque stuffed dolls.

Joined by three friends-slash-Gorey fans (I advise against going to a Gorey exhibit with any company less than 'fan') and one buttercup of a very patient baby, we quoted, pointed, omg'd, c'mere'd, and generally absorbed every elegantly framed print and glass case of the display. Took us approximately two hours, another forty-five minutes in the gift shop, and days of post-discussion about the deep meaning in the reproduction prints we carefully chose for purchase or the grateful display of a cherished Gorey drawing at the exhibit.

Over the next month, I took a renewed interest in my Gorey library of 'weird little books' as my husband calls them. When it came time for fall Confessions, no title came to me (Thirdflysacharm just didn't cut it.) So, with Gorey on my mind, I wondered "WWGD?" The man had four published volumes of collected works, and rather than 'more' and 'further' at the beginning of his subsequent titles, he looked toward the end, and by his third collection, he had used 'also'. Shortening my title to 'Butterfly Confessions', I added the 'Also.' Butterfly Confessions Also. Has a ring, eh? But would anyone get it? And what did it have to do with my garden really? I hadn't looked at Gorey's Amphigorey Also in ages, so I browsed my bookshelf for it, and on the cover...

Butterflies. Twelve darkly glorious drawings of the weirdest little butterflies put to pen-and-ink paper. They are all of the same caterpillar body, rather like a Scottish terrier with no ears, each with full-flight wings, even one looking suspicously like a monarch butterfly. The cover, the back, the spine, the endpapers, all illustrated with bflies from the mind of Gorey.

And I got it. Really.

So now you have it. The third round - that being Butterfly Confessions Also.

Here's a look at the the butterfly garden in a fall state of mind...

...a close-up of the bundle of yellow at left in the above picture...

A lone monarch visited this quiet, tropical September morn.

Happy Fall to her, and to Confessions readers also!