Ugly is as Ugly Does--Yellow-Necked Caterpillars Turn Beauty on Its Head

Ugly is as ugly does. Now where have I heard that expression before? Not many days after I encouraged those citrus-loving orange dogs to visit and feed freely in my garden, these strange creatures--yellow-necked caterpillars--reared their yellow-collared heads on our blueberry bushes. Oh, dear! What have I done to deserve this kind of attention? I wouldn't say these youngsters are as ugly as the orange dogs. They look rather dapper actually, as if they're dressed to impress. Those are pin-striped suits covered with a hair shirt worn outwards: "Trust me! I can do penance and look good at the same time." Okay, so maybe that interpretation is a little far out. I lay the credit for awakening my curiosity as to why we attach such abstract ideas as beauty or ugliness to things not human at blogger/writer/artist Sarah Laurence's feet. She directed me to a recent article in the New York Times that takes a stab in the dark at explaining our tendency to anthropomorphize. I do agree that I have some "aesthetic prejudices" toward some things in nature, but I don't agree with the article's overall premise that evolution brought me to this point. What would be the point of evolving so far as to see complex human characteristics in something as simple as a lowly caterpillar, if it is indeed "lowly"? There has to be more to it. Literature, perhaps? Reading too much into things? Or maybe just reading too much. If it's a sin, then I am unrepentant. Take Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, for example. Or maybe you shouldn't. It asks a lot soul-searching questions, and they come from the most unlikely of characters like the hookah-smoking Caterpillar: "'Who are you?'" And "So you think you're changed, do you?" he asks Alice. If you would ask me, I'd say, why yes. I'm not the same person I was in 1960, yesterday, or even 5 minutes ago, in a manner of speaking. And this cute caterpillar won't be as adorable when it grows up. It will look completely different, a plain Jane moth--handmaiden moth. Remember the ugly orange dog? If it survives to become what it's meant to be, it will be nothing short of beautiful, a giant swallowtail butterfly. And there goes that idea of aesthetic prejudice up in smoke. Another blogger, Britta, who is new to me but not to blogging, has recently experienced some prejudice regarding age and beauty, and she has found a creative way to vent her frustration. Hey, if you still got 'em, flaunt 'em. I like her style.

What I don't like is this caterpillar's style. It brings friends to join in the feast. Lots of them. I'll be honest with you. When I spotted these furry critters, of course I had to run and get my camera, tell SAM so he could see for himself, and then quickly find out what they are. Thank goodness for great websites! I wanted to know what kind of damage they could inflict and if it would be fatal to the blueberry bushes. These are still young shrubs and don't have a lot of foliage to spare just yet. I could not get over how many of those pin-striped caterpillars there were! SAM must have picked off at least three dozen of them. Yes, I couldn't stand to see the bushes I've tended so carefully be destroyed. We put the critters on the brush pile in the farthest corner of the backyard. Out of sight, out of mind. Let them fend for themselves, away from the heart of the garden(er). Okay, so I'm a little over-protective when it comes to something I've spent a lot of time on. These bushes have a long way to go before they're finally ready to bear a good crop of berries. Especially now. 

As you can see, they have been robbed--or have they?

Pied Piping through Arcadia Mill, 'A Pleasanter Spot You Never Spied'

Flora and fauna like azaleas and bees easily win favor with me at this time of year in Florida. They both seem to understand their places in a delicate dance of beauty and utility.


Last week, the Secret Aging Man, Daughter, and I took some time out from our busy (or not, as the case may be) schedules to visit a fabulous tribute to Florida's history located quite near our home. The name of the place stops you in your tracks. Arcadia Mill. It evokes images of Pan cavorting about the rivers and forests, having a fine old time chasing nymphs and exploring nature. That is, until he meets up with a woodcutter, intent on having his own way with the trees and rivers.

The University of West Florida, Division of Anthropology and Archaeology, has done a fine job of coordinating the preservation of Florida's first industrial complex. You can tell that a lot of thoughtful interpretation and hard work have gone into building this place, for which "no maps, drawings, or photographs that would provide clues about the site layout or methods of operation are known to exist." The preserved site exists as a bridge--tenuous at best in this land of hurricanes and shrinking budgets--to span that fluid river which connects the past and the present.

Swaying bridges will keep generations of visitors like us intent on maintaining their balance. I can't wait until Micah comes of age to join us on this trail. When he is old enough to be trusted to follow the path without constant redirection, his voice will be heard ringing through the woods, just like ours were last week. Residents of a nearby posh neighborhood might not be too happy about the whole noisy business. The road to the site passes by a whole slew of fancy dwellings.

As for me, I prefer a fancy slough, complete with blooming shrubs like this wild blueberry bush. I hope I can return in mid-May to find a few berries left on it. The ones I planted in our garden a month ago have a few blooms too, but they aren't old enough to provide very many berries yet.

You don't have to worry about getting stuck in the muck at Arcadia Mill. Brand-new boardwalks keep you high and dry, unless you prefer straying from the main path like we do to find blooming bushes.

Timelines like this one fascinate me. I do wish, though, that they would start at the end (present) and work backwards (past). Robert Browning, it seems, favored a similar approach in his poem "The Pied Piper of Hamelin." In his travels, he came across the German town of Hameln by the river Weser and found some artifacts around which he constructed his elaborate poem. I suppose that he found something significant in the fact that Germans refer to a town-council chamber as a "Rathaus." The thought of politicians gnawing away at citizens' hard-won earnings (a common scenario in any society) must have inspired lines like these:

"Rats!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats..."

I find beauty even in things that have chewed up our resources in the past. The UWF experts have had to contend with the fact that "very little of the site complex is above ground," precisely because of the chewing and gnawing that has taken place in Arcadia. Termites know their purpose in the scheme of things. Nothing goes to waste where they thrive, and it's a good thing that they do. Otherwise, all of us would be buried under a mountain of carefully constructed and contrived mistakes and regrets.

"...At last the people in a body

To the Town Hall came flocking:

'Tis clear,' cried they, 'our Mayor's a noddy;

And as for our Corporation--shocking

To think we buy gowns lined with ermine

For dolts that can't or won't determine

What's best to rid us of our vermin!

You hope, because you're old and obese,

To find in the furry civic robe ease?

Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking

To find the remedy we're lacking,

Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!'

At this the Mayor and Corporation

Quaked with a mighty consternation...."

Heaven in The Symmetry

Do you see heaven in the symmetry of a spider's web? The spider I found inside the screen the other day found its way outside the screen and back on my blog today. Shameless orchard spider!

Today, after checking in with my new orchard specialist, I found a lot of fives around the garden and wondered about the significance of that particular number.

I found this site in my search, and it has a few interesting things to say on the subject.



I recently planted some Pentas in pots and in the flower beds to add some color and butterfly attraction to my world at the moment. For some reason, I have never grown these flowers before in my garden. I was curious about them so I did a bit of looking on the Web. I learned a few tips from another site I found.


Even the common Vinca, which self-sows freely in my garden, wants to count, by fives.


Mexican petunias are giving me something to smile about. They are filling in the bare spots where other, fussier plants have failed to perform. Other gardeners may not like them for what might be considered invasive behavior, but I give them free rein in my garden. I like their five-petaled flowers too. The hummingbirds like to pay them a visit and take a sip from their trumpet-like blossoms now and then.


We went bowling last night after supper, and Micah wanted to run about freely. Unfortunately for him, there are rules in place that do not allow that sort of behavior. He is so young, energetic, and curious about everything, he cannot help but defy those rules and orders to be obeyed and keeps us busy running after him. Luckily, there were five of us adults present to watch him and scoop him up when he just could not sit still any longer.

When I was searching on the Web for the significance of five, I came across some other nuggets of wisdom. One of the sites explores a book with which I am intimately familiar and what it has to say about the significance of numbers. Plato was another fellow who decided the number five was pretty special. He wondered a lot about divine subjects too.

Heaven by Five

Five fingers,

Five toes.

Form in the womb we see

Has all of those.

Five petals,

Five spheres.

Plato once thought of

Symmetry,

Beauty,

Truth,

Heaven....

No more tears.

--W2W, 2008--

Beauty and Truth--Nature Never Lies

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep


A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.


Therefore on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits...

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty."

(John Keats--from A Thing of Beauty and Ode on a Grecian Urn)