When Animals Sort of Semi-Attack

2010-10-13T10:42:00.001-06:00

I was finishing up some field work a couple weeks ago, and decided to take a short-cut back to the truck. This short-cut involves a very steep slope, and it was tough to negotiate with all my gear. I slipped and stopped to readjust, when I noticed a large bumblebee hanging around my head. I waited for him to leave, but when he started to crawl inside my waders, I decided I’d had enough and swatted at the insect. I didn’t care if I got stung; I just preferred the stinging not happen inside my waders.

The bee didn’t leave or sting. Instead, it kept circling and was soon joined by a small swarm of more bees. They didn’t sting, either, but buzzed around my head insistently until I started flailing my arms like a crazy person. One got stuck in my hair and others crawled on my arms and face. I ran back to the river and frantically splashed water upwards until the bees left. After catching my breath, I ventured back to shore, where the bees were now swarming over my equipment. I approached hesitantly, and they immediately resumed their interest. So I ran back in the water, splashed again, and stood helplessly in the water.

Eventually they left. I gathered my equipment and returned to the truck (taking the long way around this time). I was completely unharmed but utterly confused. I’m sure I don’t smell like a flower, especially after a day of fieldwork. Perhaps I’d stepped on a bee, and they were responding to alarm pheromones. But if that were the case, wouldn’t they want to sting me?

A few days later, my animal confusion was compounded. I was sitting quietly on the couch with my cat in my lap. He was nearly asleep, when he suddenly leapt to the top of my head, and onto the floor. He paced around for a couple minutes, then jumped straight in the air, resumed pacing, and finally fell asleep under a chair.

Animals respond to stimuli that we cannot detect – cats have better hearing, smell, and sight than humans, and bees can see infrared light. But that’s not an entirely satisfactory explanation –there has to be some reason for them to exhibit these behaviors, and I cannot fathom how swarming around a human or jumping on her head achieves anything useful. I can only conclude that cats are weird, and the bee un-attack is simply a mystery.

Hotdish Weather

2010-08-25T12:16:00.001-06:00

In the sweltering August heat, I smell drying grass everywhere. Even after dark, warmth radiates from the earth, and open windows provide little relief from the heavy, persistent heat. It is hotdish weather.

I remember the wheat ripening silently beneath the brilliant blue sky. Farmers walked the fields, tested for moisture, checked the weather, and squinted at the horizon. The wait was interminable, but suddenly the entire countryside erupted; swathers and combines and grain trucks roared to life. The very air seemed to tremble with the energy and urgency of harvest.

Farm wives stopped canning tomatoes and started cooking hotdish. They baked large pans full of hamburger, potatoes, and vegetables, packed a box of plates and silverware and jugs of water, and drove an old pick-up into the field to feed the hungry farm crew.

For a moment, the noise stopped. The workers filled their plates and sat on the tailgate, scanning the sky for clouds and exchanging worries about clogged machinery and impending rain. They cleaned their plates quickly, said their thanks, and jogged back to their equipment; once again, harvest was in motion.

It’s been at least two decades since I ate hotdish on a tailgate. Many things have changed in those twenty years, but in every place I’ve lived, the dry, August grass smells like ripening wheat, and I recall running to the fields, barefoot, for a hotdish supper.

Frogtopia

When Animals Sort of Semi-Attack

Hotdish Weather