BUTTERFLIES ON ZINNIAS

Black Swallowtail

It's been a while since I've posted a bunch of what I think of as "theme photos," images which share something in common—place, species, type, season, or some other particular of subject matter. These shots were all taken recently, and are all of butterflies I found fluttering around and posing on the zinnias bordering our graveled walkway.

(?) Skipper 

I'm pretty sure on the IDs of the ones I've named.

But I'm not sure about the elfin…even whether it is, in fact, an elfin. And when it comes to skippers, other than the Silver-Spotted and Fiery, I'm thoroughly confused—and I may be confused about those two as well—particularly the Fiery—and just too dumb to realize my mistake.

However, I have tried to sort things out. I've compared all my "unidentified" skipper images to a selection of online images of every one of the 47 species of skippers which appears on an up-to-date checklist of Ohio butterflies and skippers.

Orange Sulphur

Frankly, nothing looked right. At least to me. Which certainly does not mean these are rare species for my neck of woods.

Instead, it most likely indicates I'm being led astray by the lighting. Or possibly a bit of crossbreeding—say, between an Orange Sulphur and a Clouded Sulphur. It could also be a variant-marked individual. Though honestly, the best bet would be my overall ignorance of butterflies and skippers in general, and an inability from inexperience to understand what to look for and how to distinguish correct key field marks.

Someone who knows their butterflies can doubtless name—at a glance—what I couldn't.

Cabbage White

Therefore, seeking to hide my shortcomings behind a literary defense, I'll appropriate a line from Shakespeare, who said: "A rose by any other name would smell a sweet."

I say a butterfly unnamed is just as pretty.

Clouded Sulphur

[Should you wish to view them a bit larger, all images can, of course, be enlarged by double-clicking.]

Elfin (?)

Fiery Skipper 

Painted Lady

Pipevine Swallowtail

Silver-Spotted Skipper

(?) Skipper

(?) Skipper

(?) Skipper

(?) Skipper

(?) Skipper

(?) Skipper

Clouded Sulphur

HACKBERRY EMPEROR

I don't believe I've ever thought of any butterfly as being "pugnacious." Yet that's exactly how the Ohio Division of Wildlife's handy little field guide, Butterflies and Skippers of Ohio, characterizes the Hackberry Emperor—"very active and pugnacious." 

The very active part I wholeheartedly agree on—having chased the fellow whose portrait appears above around the yard for some half hour before he deigned to park momentarily in the grass, wings opened, long enough for me to focus and snap. 

As their name implies, Hackberry Emperors (Asterocampa celtis) are seldom found far from their namesake host tree. And since hackberry trees mainly occur along streams and adjacent moist bottoms, as well as overgrown field borders and the succession edges of drier woodlands, they're one of the more common species here along the riverbank. While the caterpillars feed on the various species of hackberry trees, the adult butterflies prefer sap, rotting fruit, carrion, and dung. Mummmmm! They're also fond of lighting on your arm and lapping up sweat salts. Double-mummmmm! 

I'm still not sure about that pugnacious business. But I am certain this friendly and seemingly curious butterfly is a subtle beauty, understated but classy, lively, and one of my favorites.

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LOOKING GOOD

I spent an hour or so yesterday morning making butterfly pictures at a prairie site just up the road from the cottage. Later, because I had a midday appointment to keep at the optometrist's, I adjourned to a small pond closer to his office, where I stalked dragonflies, damselflies, and several small butterflies along the cattail-fringed edge until time to head for the eye doc's.

The morning was pleasantly cool. Puffy white clouds sailed across an azure sky. The only minor drawback, from a photographic standpoint, was the rather stiff breeze, which blew almost constantly—bending and swaying the prairie's big bluestem and purple coneflowers, and the little pond's cattail and willows, turning the colorful insects I was trying to photograph into erratically moving targets.

That is definitely not a complaint. After enduring several sweltering weeks of 90˚F-plus weather, a bit of a photographic challenge is a small price to pay for such welcome comfort. I'll take 75˚F and a refreshing breeze over 97˚F and smothering calm every time!

My optometrist visit went well. I began wearing glasses as a child, and switched to contact lenses in my early teens. (Back then, hard contacts were made from plexiglass—the same material used for windowpanes in doors.) Of all the optometrists I've had over the years, the fellow I see now is far and away the most thorough in his examinations…and I also believe, the most competent. Yesterday's examination took nearly three hours—partly because of the doc's meticulous and exhaustive care, but also because of a family history of glaucoma, the fact that my eye health indicates that I may be heading in that direction, plus an incident which occurred a few days ago (again, I was out taking photos) that might be an early warning sign of a torn retina. What I appreciate the most about this guy is that he's not only conscientious and comprehensive, but straight-talking and firm in his opinions. As a hard-headed Irishman, who, believe me, is no easy patient, I find such behavior refreshing. 

By the time I got out of there—relieved if somewhat frayed from the assiduous nature of the exam, my eyes dilated to those resembling a great horned owl, vision a temporary mess—I needed at least a brief ramble outdoors to even my kilter. A small natural area on the way home offered the perfect panacea. 

A few minutes later I parked in the graveled lot and ambled along a narrow path across an old meadow white with Queen Anne's Lace. Patches of purple Ironweed hosted Tiger Swallowtail butterflies. A handful of goldfinches flitted atop the thistle heads. The breeze was still blowing and the whole field seemed to be alive, dancing a slow waltz beneath a sparking afternoon sky. And I thought—not for the first time—how I was so very grateful to be able to see this—thankful for the eyes and vision to take in the wonder of such a place, such a day. What would I do without sight? How would I read or write, make photos, prepare meals, look deep into the eyes of Myladylove and know she loves me back? Surely the gift of sight is among God's greatest blessings to mankind. 

Call this a public service announcement, Riverdaze style. If you're due for an eye exam, make the appointment and keep it. Find yourself a good optometrist. Take care of your eyes, your vision, your sight. What a wonderful, lovely world we have—a world where beauty surrounds us, if only we take the time to look…and have the ability to see. 

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BUTTERFLIES (I THINK!)

Cabbage White on leaf near the cottage.

Posts from the riverbank have lately been sparse. I blame it mostly on my ongoing contact lens issues, which still have not been resolved, though I've had several follow-up visits to the optometrist. New lenses—an entirely new prescription, design, and fitting, in fact—were ordered a week ago yesterday, and should have been in Wednesday, but failed to appear. They'll likely arrive this week and we'll begin round two.

I believe this an Orange Sulphur.

In the meantime, impaired vision makes good photography problematic, which is putting it mildly. Auto-focus stuff comes out okay, but a lot of the close-up work I so enjoy now depends on luck and numbers more than eye and skill. The other day I shot 78 images of the same grasshopper on a bluestem shaft and threw them all away once I uploaded the files to the computer and took a look. Not a single one was in focus. (Of course, one of those tossed shots might actually have been in acceptable focus, except I can't really see well enough to tell if the call is marginal—even on a 21 inch screen.)

A hairstreak, I think…but which one?

I know…I've whined about this before. But I'm frustrated and miss being able to see.

These recent butterfly shots may or may not be in pristine focus—but I like them and gave 'em a passing mark. They also may well be misidentified—only in part because of the handicapped eyesight. The truth is, my butterfly I.D.-ing skills are poor. I can usually fake my way with a good field guide and sufficient images (or a specimen in hand), presuming I can see whatever distinguishing features. So I'm now facing both technical ability and plain old incompetence.

One of the coppers?

Feel perfectly free to comment with a correction or any additional information. I won't be in the lest offended, and will welcome the feedback. I'd also like to hear recommendations on a favorite butterfly book or field guide; all I have currently is one put out by the Audubon Society: Field Guide to North American Butterflies.

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