Well, the snapping turtles didn’t appreciate the cicadas I tried to feed them the other night, but this morning The Squire and I watched two squirrels sit on the patio and eat one after another. They each ate six and then, apparently satisfied, they scampered back the the trees.
They would grab the bug and begin chewing on the nether end, then toss the head and wings, before scurrying away to get another one.
It’s a change from peanuts, I suppose.
The church we attend is one of the Queen Anne Parishes, and dates back to the 1700s.
Last summer, The Squire spent many, many days working beside a group of people from various archeology organization, including a professor from the University of Maryland and some of his students, and representatives from the Archeology Association of the Upper Chesapeake, as well as the Maryland Historical Trust. There were other volunteers, some of whom used ground penetrating radar, and a drone.
Yesterday, he received a letter from Jacob Benson, chair of the Harford County Historic Preservation Commission, stating that the church has been recognized for their efforts in preserving the history of Harford county in general, the Joppa Seaport in particular. Mind you, Joppa Towne hasn’t been a seaport for almost two centuries, because it silted up pretty quickly, when the local farmers started tearing down trees and plowing the hills up and down, so all of the top soil ran into the water.
You can see the video at: harfordcountymd.gov/2420/historic-preservation-awards
Scroll down to the third video, which shows Colonial Joppa. What appear to be a lawn mower and a roto-tiller were actually different kinds of radar equipment. It doesn’t mention The Squire by name, but he is parish representative, and received the award for the church.
There’s been a lot of chatter about how cicadas are edible – if you have a strong stomach. It is recommended that you pick the newly-hatched bugs off the tree, the ones that are still soft and white, rather than dealing with the “ripe” adults. I collected a snack-sized bag of them and put it in the freezer, which is suggested as a more humane way of killing them.
So far, so good, but when I took the bag out of the fridge, I took the coward’s way out, and decided to feed them to the snapping turtles. The only thing they’ve ever taken from me as food is store-bought white bread, so 1) they looked close enough to scraps of S-BWB that they’d take them without question, and 2)I figured they would really like these delicacies.
Well, was I ever wrong! One turtle did accept the first cicada I offered (Shades of Terry Pratchett’s Rat-on-a-Stick!) , but spat it out immediately, and none of the others would even come near them.
There must be some sort of telepathy going on!
I just dumped the rest of the bugs into the pond. Maybe the snappers would change their minds, and if not, somebody downstream got a treat.
We have four turtles in the pond right now, which is at least five too many, and two of them insist upon me feeding them more or less by hand. I put a hunk of bread on the end of a lilac twig and they will swim over and take it. Oddly enough, they are both very gentle when they do this. However, if I don’t move fast enough, they will haul themselves out of the pond and come after me. Nothing will get your attention faster than being barefoot and in the vicinity of a snapper!
I have to wait an hour after I take my Synthroid before I can eat breakfast, so I use the time to read the on-line comics and print off the crossword puzzles so The Squire and I can work them wile we eat. This morning he was at his computer, also reading the funnies when suddenly the fire alarm went off. While we bolted for the kitchen I asked him if he’d left something on the stove – a trick we’ve both pulled in the past – which he denied.
It turned out the alarm had misfunctioned. There was nothing on the stove, not even an empty frying pan. We hadn’t put bread in the toaster, and the oven wasn’t on. We waved a towel at the blasted thing, pressed the reset button, took it off the wall and tried to open it. Nothing worked.
We finally put it out on the picnic table, where it continued to annoy all of Greater Downtown Bradshaw. After breakfast, The Squire said he had to run over to church for something, but I’m inclined to think he just wanted to escape the noise. After about fifteen minutes after he left, I decided my choices were to carry it out to the barn, or beat it to smithereens with a hammer. I opted for the former, but I could still hear it – over the noise of the cicadas! – all the way back to the house.
The Squire pulled the lawn mower from the barn when he got home, and it was still blaring, but when he finished mowing, the bloody thing had finally quit.
Probably melted into a puddle. And I don’t care!
All the news just now is that we are about to be invaded by Cicadas. Hardly earth shattering, although they certainly can be ear shattering. When I went out to get the mail this morning I found half dozen or so on the Hosta along the drive. There aren’t any on the trees so far, so maybe they are hatching first in the shade?
Already, people on the neighborhood bulletin board are asking how to kill them, while others are telling them not to do so. FWIW, when the cicadas have just crawled out of their shells, and are still soft and pink, they are supposed to be edible, and can be fixed the way you fix shrimp – with the same caveat, that if you are allergic to shellfish, you’d be best to avoid them.
Can you eat cicadas? Yes, and here’s how to catch, cook and snack on them. – The Washington Post
I’ll keep you posted!
Local Grandson came down a week or so ago and helped us with the Water Problem. While he and The Squire were doing that, I went around and pulled up all of the solar lights that we had placed around the pond, and stuck them into the ground closer to the front porch. This morning I pulled up the ones that were not working; The Squire said he wanted to see if they were fixable – they were not – so I gathered them and dumped them into the recycling bin.
Three of the bloody things lit up!
I had to practically stand on my head to pull them back out, but they are on the picnic table to be replaced around the pond, along with the ten new ones. We’ll see. What do you want to bet they won’t light again when we try to use them?
After I finished helping set up for tomorrow’s service at church, I gave Hubby a buzz. He picked up the phone and said “I think that’s a great idea.”
“Oh? What is?”
“Stopping at the Amish Market for lunch.”
“Why do I even bother to talk to you?”
“You like the sound of my voice!”
The worst of it is that he was absolutely correct. I was on my way to the market, and I had called to see if he wanted me to bring home some lunch. This happens all the time. If there is something I’ve forgotten at the store, or if I have a sudden craving for, oh, butterscotch candy, I’ll think about it for a few moments, and darned if he doesn’t stop and buy whatever it was I wanted.
And vice versa.
Why do we even bother to talk to each other?
thisendoftheswamp 