Birds without Feathers

That's basically what a reptile is, right? OK, OK - I realize there are a lot more differences between reptiles and birds than just feathers. There are wings, and then that whole endotherm/ectotherm thing ("warm blooded" and "cold blooded") But really, there are a lot of similarities, too, and so when I found the following reptiles at Wildacres last month, I was drawn to them, as if to a flightless bird.

This Five-lined Skink was quite the character. He hung around the studio doorway regularly, and posed for many photos. His blue tail means he is a juvenile. As an adult, he will lose that color. (I don't really know his gender.)


There was also a Broad-headed Skink, who did not approve of my attempts to photograph him. Every time I took aim, he skittered underneath a clump of poison ivy. Too bad, dude - you missed your fifteen minutes of fame.

While I was on skink patrol, quietly waiting to bag the broad-headed, this fine fellow appeared. He seemed to be heading toward my skinks when he saw me.


I pointed the camera lens at a spot on the other side of the post, waiting to snatch another picture as he continued along the deck edge, but he didn't appear. Seems he changed his mind about skink for lunch, and instead turned and shimmied down the deck supports to the forest floor, in search of a less-crowded diner.

Mystery Insect Quiz

OK, since the mystery bird quiz was too easy, here's a bigger challenge. Who can name this wasp-like insect that I found on the canvas-covered wedging table in the pottery studio at Wildacres Retreat, in western North Carolina, last month?



Edit, July 8:

Did I fool anyone? This isn't a wasp, a yellow jacket or a hornet. This is Milesia virginiensis, which goes by 2 common names, Virginia Flower Fly or Yellow Jacket Hover-fly.

This critter won't sting you - it is a nectar-feeding insect that mimics the yellow jacket. It is a beneficial pollinator throughout eastern North America.

The Virginia Flower Fly is also called the "good news bee." Appalachian folklore holds that if one hovers around your head buzzing you, it is giving you the news. Having one perch on your finger is supposed to be good luck.

One more bit of trivia: Milesia virginiensis' image was used on the 33 cent US postage stamp in 1999.

SkyWatch Friday: Mountains of North Carolina

Which mists are the clouds and which the fog? In the mountains of North Carolina, at 3300 feet, it can be hard to tell the difference.

click here for more skies

Raku: A brush with fire and art

We are back at the pottery studio at Wildacres after our field trip to Terry's place, and we are on our last day of the workshop. From the initial planning stages of our trip, the group has been talking about doing a "raku" firing. I'm not sure what this is, except that it sounds potentially dangerous, like a pit firing only with a closer encounter with the flames. Ordinarily conservative in my approach to risky situations, this time I feel emboldened. I don't know exactly what raku is, but what the heck - Bring it on!

First, our bone-dry pots are treated to a coating of terra sig, a thin slip of watery clay that helps the pots take the glazes, then they are bisque-fired. The next step is to apply one or more of several glazes that Terry has cooked up for us. Most of them have made-up names, like Rumply-Crumply (which we also called Humpty-Dumpty and Rumplestiltskin when we got the giggles), Slurple (purple) and Some Kind of Blue. Celedon was the only color going by its right name, I think.

Diane and Sue, glazing
"What does Rumble-Bumble do again?"

The raku kiln platform was small - we could only get four pieces in for each firing. With the eight of us in production mode, it looked as though we would be in for a marathon session in the studio.

Remember that pinky-purple vase
in the front right corner.
You will see it again at the end.

After the kiln was loaded, the shroud was lowered and two huge propane burners were lit on either side of the base. You can see the opening below the platform in this photo.

One load in the kiln, the next one "on deck"

Terry kept an eagle-eye on the state of the kiln through openings in the top
and side of the kiln, waiting for just the right moment when the glazes had melted to the appropriate stage.
Meanwhile, some lowly metal pots and garbage cans stand by piles of sawdust, awaiting their cue,while the potters wait (im)patiently for the action to begin.

Ginger, Peggy and Sue

Sue, Michelle, and Mary
(Michelle's the one who is big on safety.)

At just the right moment, Terry pulls the chain to raise the shroud and reveal the white-hot pots glowing inside.

And the potters step up, one by one, to pull their treasures from the furnace with long metal tongs and transfer them to the piles of sawdust.

The heat was incredible, and almost unbearable.

Each pot required two people - one to pull it from the kiln and deposit it on the pile of sawdust, another to quickly cover it with the metal pot, then "burp" the pot to let in a brief gust of oxygen. This caused the sawdust pile to flare up, fuming the pot.

Here we are in action:


And here is one of the pots, still too warm to touch, after firing. This is Carol's vase from the kiln photo above.

My first Raku-fired pot. Glazed in Celedon and Slurple-purple (with Lumpy-Bumpy inside), the black lines are caused by the smoke from the sawdust packed around it.

Cool, huh?

Wildacres Birds (and moths)

It can be hard to focus on a pottery workshop when the birds are calling right outside your door day and night. I had to apologize to Terry for slipping off for some surreptitious birding on several occasions.

By far, the most common birds I saw or heard during my week at Wildacres were Chipping Sparrows. Their trilling calls woke me at 6am every day, and the begging cries of the young ones followed me all around the mountain top all day long.
I never managed a decent photo of an adult, as they were all busy flitting around catching moths for their starving offspring. However, this juvenile posed nicely for me. He was on the top of a retaining wall while I was on the stairs below, so that we ended up at eye level, which made for some nice angles.

"Are you my mother?"

While walking down the road from the entrance to the retreat, I heard a trilling call that I nearly passed off as yet another Chipping Sparrow, when something about the quality of the song caused me to stop and look for the singer.
A Dark-eyed Junco! While I have certainly seen my fair share of winter juncos in Ohio, I have never heard them sing on territory. Luckily, this fellow was right at my eye level and in no hurry to leave. I was able to shoot a dozen or so pictures, with all sorts of camera settings, till I got just the right one.

Probably the second most common birds were the Red-eyed Vireos. They were everywhere, singing incessantly, and remaining invisible most of the time. This one, the one I initially called a Philly Vireo based on his song, was the only cooperative guy I found. Lighting was tough in the dark canopy, but I think you can tell what he is.
Practically from day one, I heard a song that I thought I should know. "Indigo Bunting" kept popping up as the answer, but I couldn't figure out what one would be doing in such heavily wooded habitat at 3300 feet. When I discovered the horse pasture below the firepit, I began to think I might be right. Using the iPod, I called it in.
OK, you and I both know this picture sucks. The thing is, at first he landed on a fencepost so close to me I could practically touch him. It startled me so that I missed my best photo op. After that, he knew the iPod wasn't a real bird, so he kept on the move, just out of camera range, looking for his imagined rival. I had to really push this photo to get it at all.

Moths were everywhere, indoors and out, and more varieties than I could possibly imagine. A few I knew:

Luna Moth
Rosy Maple Moth

Polyphemus Moth

my old friend,
Tulip-tree Beauty Moth

but many more, I could not recognize.

"patterned porch-step moth""dark lampshade moth"

"white studio-door moth"

"tan floor mat moth""funky lodge-hall moth"

Edit, June 24: Thanks to Hap from New Hope, we have a name for the funky moth from the wall of the lodge hallway: It's a Spotted Apatelodes - Apatelodes torrefacta.

And, just so the other half of the Lep family doesn't get jealous, here's a Pipevine Swallowtail, one of the few butterflies I saw that week. (edit: corrected ID, thanks to Hap)

My birding Trip List for the week (Now, you just knew there would be a list, didn't you?)

American Robin
Northern Cardinal
Chipping Sparrow
Ruby-throated Hummingbird
American Crow (I tried to turn a couple into ravens, but no joy)

Indigo Bunting
Black-throated Green Warbler
Black-and-white Warbler
Hooded Warbler (missed a great pic of this one)
Red-eyed Vireo

Wild Turkey
American Goldfinch
Eastern Towhee
Dark-eyed Junco
Eastern Phoebe

Carolina Chickadee
Mourning Dove

and the "heard onlys"
Tufted Titmouse
White-breasted Nuthatch
Carolina Wren
Wood Thrush
Yellow-billed Cuckoo (I'm pretty sure about this one)

Caution: Potters at Work

Our first morning in the studio, Terry demonstrated basic wheel-throwing skills: centering the clay, opening, and pulling up the walls of a simple form.

Terry, giving a demo.

He then assigned us the task of making several straight-sided cylinders, to assess our skill level. Because he was teaching different techniques than what I had learned, I felt like a total beginner. My first couple of pieces didn't even survive the early steps, and those that did make it to the cylinder stage were of rather poor quality. Nothing from my morning's work was worth keeping, and all went to the recycled clay bag for re-use in the afternoon.

One thing Terry had us do after lunch was to cut open our cylinders to inspect our work. The photo below shows the one piece that came closest to achieving my goals - a flat bottom, straight sides, and walls of equal thickness, top to bottom.

The walls aren't totally straight, and there is still some residual clay at the bottom of the wall, where it joins the floor, but the rest is okay. This minor accomplishment spurred me on to work harder in the afternoon, when we graduated to shaping the cylinders into basic forms. These simple vases were the end result.

bottom-heavy, both of them
Pottery must mirror the potter.

Terry's pots, drying on the ledge of the studio's back deck, served to inspire us.
So, we kept on plugging away, everyone determined to accomplish some good work as soon as possible.

Ginger at the wheel

Sue, hand-building specialist

Carol, completing a pot

from left to right:
Diane, Sue, Michelle, Mary, and Peggy,
all hard at work

finished work at the end of day one

After several days, we had a full kiln load of greenware, ready to fire. Opening the kiln is like Christmas morning. The anticipation of seeing our treasures was almost more than we could bear.

Terry, at our first kiln-opening

No one could believe how much pottery Terry could squeeze into the kiln.

The whole crowd, behind a table full of our work.