When Life was Still Good in the USA - December of 2024

Ere the sun rose on this day, I bailed out of bed early to drive to Radina's Bakehouse in Manhattan.  It is a local coffee shop and bakery.  You drive up, order, then all manner of goodies are handed through your automobile window. It is like Christmas, almost. 

The only thing that cannot be handed through your window is a loaf of bread.  I do not know the reasoning behind this rule.  You could get bread through the car window during the pandemic.  A bureaucrat somewhere in Riley County must have discovered Radina handing out too much convenience and simple happiness far too early in the morning.  

"If you want warm bread first thing in the morning, you lazy bastards, you WILL get out of your cars, go inside to buy the bread the way miserable people have always had to buy bread!"  

I mean, maaaaaaybe the bureaucrat said that?

Luckily for me, on this morning, I did not want an entire loaf of bread.  I just wanted a little adventure.  I wanted piping hot coffee and a croissant, or some other delectable bakery item.  Then, I parked my car to enjoy everything at once.  

The photo was taken in the parking lot of the MoA+L, which is The Museum of Art Plus Light.  I have not yet visited this place, but I certainly intend to do so!

I was so happy that morning.  I felt great and the weather was fine.  I was enjoying the break in routine, and definitely appreciating fresh baked goods with coffee.  There was no traffic, and the city was just not quite awake, so it was very peaceful.  The smell of coffee was in the still air when I turned the corner.  I wondered if the working gals were aware of the good jobs they had, even though they came in before daybreak.  (I thought if I had ever had a job like that, I would look back on it fondly.)

I marveled at our clean, orderly, sleeping Kansas university town.  We live good lives in Kansas, for the most part.  Women can go to work in the dark safely, for the most part. It is an amazing thing when a small town like Manhattan, Kansas has a bakehouse!  

I sipped my coffee that morning - the heater on and the windows down.  I loved the Christmas lights, which were far more colorful than they look in the photo.  It was a bit of colorful magic in the dark and I thanked God for my life in Kansas, for Christmas and my children, and my little house on the prairie.  I was thankful for the clean streets, that none of our buildings have been bombed or riddled with weapons of war.  Most of us have jobs to do, and we do them well.  From the little gal taking my order with sleep still in her eyes, to the people who wrapped these trees in miles of Christmas lights.  

It was a wonderful sunrise.

  

Sunrise, December 30. 2024  Manhattan, Kansas

All By Moonlight

The best my phone can do with the bright moonlight.

Wally is always visible - even in starlight - but he glows in moonlight.

The little house on the prairie - alight beneath the moon.

 It has been uncommonly warm for October and November so far.  It makes for good time to spend outdoors, especially beneath the waxing moon.  I do not wander far from the house these days, or dare to hike the creek in the dark, or even follow the horse paths through the tall grass, day or night.  But I remember, and the magic retains its potency.

Fourteen Years

Is it pathetic that I have been writing this blog for fourteen years?  Well, to be clear, it was only thirteen years until today.  I had not posted anything in the year 2022.  It seems that writing a blog on a software that can change at any moment is a fool's endeavor.  There is no way that I know of to easily save it to my own computer.  Fourteen years of effort could all disappear like smoke.

At first I wrote to practice writing.  It was difficult sharing anything I had written with others.  Luckily for me, one person loved everything I wrote and was deeply supportive.  Writing for an audience of even one person was a huge boost!  After all, every writer hopes to find her audience.  

Alas, my good friend and most ardent fan died many years ago.  Sometimes when I write, I imagine that he is still reading, though not reading from the afterlife.  It is utterly depressing to think that any afterlife would involve reading about an old woman's mundane life in Kansas. That might be a punishment in Lesser Hell.  (Lesser Hell is for people who were an asshole only sometimes in life).

Then, I thought that maybe my kids would enjoy reading my blog after I am in Lesser Hell.  They will be fine after I am gone, but everyone misses their mom at times.  It might feel like a bit of home to "hear" my voice again. 

I have two books that belonged to my father.  He signed his name in them.  Whenever I hold them in my hands, I know he also held those books.  Decades after he died, I was given letters that my father had written as a 17 year old in the US Navy during WWII. He was gone so early in my life that I never had a chance to know him as a person, only as my parent.  He was gone so early in his own life that those few letters are the extent of his personal, permanent record.  I am leaving behind years of my personal record, for good or ill.  My kids certainly understand why I will be in Lesser Hell, so leaving any record behind seems to be a bit of a moot point.

The blog has had its good uses.  I have been able to get the general date of a past event.  It would be better if I had the type of mind that would automatically recall at least the year when something happened but I do not.  Sorting through 14 years of benign blog posts can be frustrating, but also a reminder of things I am already forgetting. It also serves to remind that I have led a very boring life.  I could be the best writer on the planet but if I am writing about an excruciatingly boring life, well... what is the expectation?  (Perhaps another reason a human being would go to Lesser Hell.)

Much has happened recently but I do not feel like writing about any of it right now. Too boring, even for me!  But out in the world:  wow!  A world wide pandemic but an effective  immunization developed within months.  Political polarization across the world.  War.  Extreme weather.  The US government publicly admitted UFOs exist and perhaps we should determine what they are?  The first color photographs from the James Webb Telescope are set to be released this month.  A universe full of exciting and amazing things occurring.  

Also in 2022, a grown man pointed out "chemtrails" then told me with a straight face that they only appear just before a rain. A veterinarian told me that ivermectin would clear covid.  Two highly educated men, awash in conspiracy theories.  Today I read a headline stating 130 million Americans struggle with low literacy.  No shit.

For good or ill, here is my first post for the year two thousand twenty two.  Upon reflection, maybe it is a mighty blessing to live a boring life, and a rare thing to document it.

A Valentine gift in 2022, within a half mile of my house!

      

The Fabulous Year 2020

Who would have guessed a year with such a fabulous numeric designation as 2020 would have been such a barn burner?  Double twenties - even numbers - pleasing to the eye, and reduces to the sacred number 4! Also, it is the year of pause, just before a new decade. 

This has been such a hard year for so many of my family and friends.  It has been a very difficult year for the entire world.  I admit I have not sought out news of countries in Africa, or smaller countries across the globe, the ones I likely cannot find on a map.  I assume they might be doing a bit better than the United States because they are not populated by a huge demographic of selfish assholes, but maybe not!  Americans may be the biggest assholes on earth.  The world continues to turn, and life goes on, despite everything good and bad and all in between.  It always does.

My son contracted the corona virus just before Christmas.  He is over the worst of it but continues to have chest pains.  His sister took an oxygen meter to him and his oxygen levels are 98%, so that is good, I think.  He experienced a lot of muscle aches and pains.  I know many people prayed for him, and I am so deeply grateful.  Thank you, each and every one of you.  I pray for my children all the time but when something awful happens to them, I cannot seem to focus to pray for them.  Friends and family take up my slack in that department.  Going forward, I will be even more mindful when people ask for prayers for their loved ones.

My son and his big dog, Primo, are doing well in the big city, living in the ultra-modern apartment with a kitchen I would die for!  They have an enormous wall of windows facing north and a wonderful large balcony.  He is living the kind of life I only dreamt of when I was his age!  I am proud of my son.  He graduated the University of Kansas and later earned a MBA.  He is doing well for himself.

Jake my poor, long suffering crippled dog met with yet another major misfortune this year when one of the horses stepped on his foot, crushing the bones.  In an effort to avoid expensive surgery, the vet looked after him, keeping the bandages changed and confined to a small space.  One of the young veterinarian aides there took a personal liking to Jake and offered him a lot of love and attention.  While there, Jake died unexpectedly of natural causes.  I miss him on the way to the barn every day and miss his particularly outrageous howling when the coyotes sing as they travel past the house in the creek.  Mattie still looks for him.  He has been set free of being crippled in three of his four legs, hopefully chasing rabbits in dog heaven now.  (I hope that doesn't mean dog heaven is rabbit hell?)  Farewell, Jakie.  Godspeed.

So... back in January of 2020, I thought it would be a splendid idea to have three dogs!  Yes.  It was pre-pandemic psychosis!  I sent a non-refundable deposit for another German Shepherd puppy, hoping for a full sister to Mattie.  At the time of the fateful check-writing incident, my rationale was this: almost 2 years to get Mattie after sending a deposit.  My new knees would be healed by the time the new puppy arrived.  I would greatly enjoy a puppy, especially since I would be home all the time to take care of her.  

Well, well, well... things do not always work out as you expect them to work out.  First, the pandemic put the kibosh on knee surgery.  Secondly, the wait time was significantly shorter for this puppy - almost 14 months shorter! So, into the void left by Jake, a bratty little half-sister to Mattie is destroying my life!  Mattie is a very smart dog, but little Kenzie is even faster at learning.  Mattie is civilized, dainty, quiet and obedient (at least in the house).  Kenzie is loud and NEVER shuts up.  She learns at lightning speed but really does not give a rat's ass what I want.  I am NOT the boss of Kenzie, who has tendencies remarkably akin to a certain snotty little red Quarter Horse mare I know very well.  Three alpha females trying to run things at the farm - what could go wrong?  I am at a terrible disadvantage with very, very, very bad knees.  Wish me luck.

This year my daughter made a major life shift from cats to a dog.  Amidst the pandemic pressures, she purchased a red heeler puppy.  She named him Dingo.  He is a very smart little fellow but heelers are serious dogs.  They are working dogs and do not have time for anything unless it is serious business.  I call him the sheriff.  He is always on duty, protecting my daughter but also presenting several difficult behaviors that challenge her.  I must say that my daughter has risen to the occasion.  Dingo is a sturdy, fearless, athletic hiking partner.  Another year and he will be a consistently well behaved dog.  I can only hope that Kenzie turns out as well!  

My daughter moved to Lawrence and is in the midst of earning another Master's degree at the University of Kansas.  She has also completed training for three alternative emotional healing methodologies in the last two years.  She will soon graduate the Cultivating Emotional Balance training developed at the Santa Barbara Institute for Consciousness Studies. The emotional balance research project arose from a dialogue between biobehavioral scientists and the Dalai Lama and Buddhist monks and scholars.  After my daughter graduates with the second Masters, she will be working with people, teaching them to heal themselves.  I am proud of my daughter.  

Wally the white horse and Ginger the red horse are doing well.  Wally puts up with Ginger's bossiness and sometimes I wish he would just kick the snot right out of her, but he never does.  He loves her.  I love her.  We both know the easiest way to get through life is to let Ginger have her way in matters of treats, food and water.  We all get along very well, thank you. (If horses are Supreme Beings, Ginger is the most supreme of them all.)

It is quiet down on the farm.  All around me the world is going to hell in a handbasket it seems, but right this minute, the Supreme Beings are leisurely eating their hay in the warm sunlight.  The two German Shepherds are sleeping, one at my feet and one in her kennel inches away.  I am drinking my well-earned morning tea and watching the birds at the feeder.  It is dry and dusty in Wabaunsee County but rain is on the way, expected by next Tuesday - maybe as much as two inches.  That means I'll be slogging through deep mud to feed the horses but we certainly need the rain, so I'll try not to cuss too loudly.

I am sorry for people who lost beloved family members and/or friends this year.  I am sorry for those people who are struggling financially and for people struggling in every other way.  I am sorry for the strife and fear my country is experiencing.  We are Americans - we should do much better!  I am sorry for the whole world struggling with the pandemic and frightening climate change.  We are human beings - we should do much better!

I count my many blessings and give humble thanks for every iota of good fortune that has blessed my life.  I am grateful that my family is safe right this moment.  I hope your family is safe right this moment, too.  I pray for a far better 2021 for every living thing on this earth.  

Wishing peace on earth and goodwill toward (some) men -

 from the Crazy Woman, the Supreme Beings, and the beautiful German Shepherds of Spiritcreek.

  

Jake Rest in Peace Good Boi

Kenzie the Brat

The Big Guys

Woman and Baby Sheriff 

Beautiful Mattie

Supreme Being

The Wallai Lama

Pandemic!

The 2020 Kansas Sky

A Single White Horse

 Wally in 2013 with his black legs, dark mane and tail, and dappled hind end.

Sometimes you do not "see" someone or something you see every day.  I realized that Wally, the resident rock star of the wild horse herd, has become a white horse.  His dapples have been missing for awhile but I assumed it was because they faded in the sun.  When I thought it through, though, it did not make sense.  Before he came here, he lived in a lot with no shelter whatsoever from the sun or the weather.  He would have been faded when he arrived if that was the problem.  Then I wondered if he was ill with some obscure horse disease, or, at the very least, missing a vital nutrient in his diet.  I finally admitted complete ignorance and googled for information.  Lo and behold, gray horses gradually become white horses.  Sometimes I call him Walter as a term of endearment.  Now that I have noticed he is entirely white, well.... now I call him Walter White.

My horses have no jobs or responsibilities.  They are the supreme beings of this little faux ranch.  They do not even have to behave except when Vince comes to trim their hooves or the vet comes to give them shots.  Vince and the vet are both men.  Men are of no particular concern to Ginger, the little mare.  She has been owned and trained by women.  Her dealings with men have always been under the watchful eye of women, so she has no idea of the abuse that men often inflict on horses.  To Ginger, humans are but mere servants she must tolerate at times, like it or not.  

Wally, on the other hand, has some respect for men.  Not because I think he was ever abused but because men typically deal with horses in a different way.  I gently ask for his cooperation but men demand his cooperation and are not opposed to a physical reminder.  In the long absence of any men in Wally's life - save the few times a year he is attended by vet or farrier - he has come to think quite highly of himself.  Occasionally, he politely refuses to stand still so I can put a halter on his head.  Sometimes he lays his ears back at me simply because I have the audacity to serve hay or oats to Ginger first!  Once in awhile, he thinks he can use me as a scratching post, scrubbing his big horse head against my arm or shoulder, almost knocking me down.  He has long been a well behaved horse but there are times when he misbehaves, just to see what he can get away with... you know, sort of "breaking bad"...  

Disregard the dirt and the dust.  Walter is White now...

The Winter of Deep Mud

Though this might appear to be complaining, it is mere observation. I do not want to be caught complaining about something as simple as mud when Colorado suffered over 300 avalanches this winter - when California was on fire last fall - when people are suffering snowfall measured in feet not inches. Let me just say I will be profoundly more appreciative when the soil between my door and the barn has solidified back into firm dirt. I must lace my work boots extra tightly to prevent them from being sucked off my feet when I wade through the deep mud on the way to the barn. And my poor horses! Wally is one big mud pie. He gets mud on his face and in his ears! Ginger gets muddy but never as messy as Wally. Their hooves have cut into the soil in the new corral and most likely the big blue stem will not come back in the worst of it. Weeds - cockle burrs and stinging nettles - will be likely all that grows if spring ever arrives this year. Again, I am not complaining. The water tank is a mere 75 feet from the faucet now and I can quickly drain the water out of the hose after filling the tank. I only had to chop ice a few times this winter before the tank was moved close enough to electricity to use a tank heater. The horses have fresh water 24 hours a day!

The beautiful wood floor in my house is covered in muddy dog paw prints from Miss Mattie coming and going and from my own shoes and boots - though I have tried mightily to limit the import of mud into the house. Every rug is filthy but no sense in hauling them to the laundromat before the world dries up. Still not complaining! I will simply be exceedingly grateful when there is grass once again covering all the mud holes around the house.

A lot of rain is forecast beginning Tuesday afternoon. As saturated as the soil is, the creek could easily flood. Though I built the house on a high point, the water could come around the house and possibly get into the crawl space, maybe even into the garage. That seems unlikely, but the strange violence and unpredictability of the weather now makes it seem far more possible. If the creek escapes the banks, it can quite easily flood the old garage, including the pit of despair where the whangdoodles reside - the portal to hell I reluctantly enter in order to plug in the space heater when temperatures fall below 10 degrees. (Okay, I am straight up complaining about the portal to hell.)

It has been a long winter, cold and frozen and muddy and dreary. Not the worst winter but I have had my fill of deep mud though there is likely another two months of it on tap. Still, mud is better than a ten day electrical outage caused by an ice storm. Mud is better than 8" of snow that stranded me for three days. Mud is better than tornadoes. Mud is a million times better than drought! There are a million things worse than mud but right now, I can only think of a few.

Just to be clear:  still not complaining...

Beneath all this pristine white is a bottomless pit of mud...

The Mining Progresses

Strip mined across the entire frame.

Most of it is in a draw that runs to the north.

A little better idea of the true destruction.

Roughly the same view to give you before and after.

Though it is "reversible", it is still difficult to see.

A little closer.

It is difficult to judge the height of these mounds of disturbed earth.

Looking back north east.

The Rain and the Beauty it Brings

Even the hilltops are soggy!

Rain in Pottawatomie County

Nothing feeds my spirit as much as the living Kansas sky.

I have not seen a single Monarch butterfly yet this year.

Just a taste of the magic.

Good night, Kansas.

Front yard - steamy, like the jungle!

Abundant prairie.

Winter Across the Counties

Bulletproof by necessity, though no guns allowed.

A sycamore, the tallest tree species in Kansas.

Downstream.

The old bridge preserved beside the new bridge.

Back toward the bluff.

It rattled as I walked - scary!

Good for another 100 hundred years!

A tiny bit of color caught my eye in the winter landscape.

The most color I found all day.

I thought they were turkeys, but they were buzzards recycling some unfortunate creature. 

I spent the afternoon driving through Wabaunsee, Lyon and Morris counties. I took my camera in case I happened upon something amazing. I started at Echo Cliff. It is a small park beside the Mission Creek, where a sizable bluff makes a picturesque and unusual setting. Unfortunately, all facilities placed in the park are routinely destroyed by teenagers. The current park installments are made of incredibly heavy welded metal. It will surely slow the vandals down, but it will not stop them.

Follow this link for more information about Echo Park - and better photos!
Kansas Sampler.org

I found an intriguing road somewhere south of Echo Cliff and thought I would explore it for new landscapes. A small hand-lettered sign warned there were surveillance cameras in the area. I prefer to not get shot by a militant landowner, though as far as I could tell it was a public road. I backed all the way out to the township road, where I noticed old clothing lying along both sides of the road - no visible blood stains. I came across the vultures soon after. I tried to prevent my imagination from jumping to conclusions...

Mother's Day

The view from I-70 early Sunday morning.

Spring is an amazing transformation from blackened hills to emerald green almost overnight.

Before and After the Storm

One of my coworkers emailed this snowfall map to me on Monday before the big storm, and it nearly gave me a heart attack! The model predicts 15 to 18 inches for Wabaunsee County so I had some work to do! It almost killed me, but I rolled up the frozen hoses and brought them all the way into my house so they would thaw. I filled the horses' water tank all the way to the top the day before the storm. I bought groceries for myself, filled my drinking water bottles, and doubled up on oats, birdseed, and dog food.

The predicted snowfall from the European weather models, (the same ones that accurately predicted hurricane Sandy would target New York) were accurate. Notice the red blob in Wabaunsee County, marked by the big blue arrow. It predicted 15 - 18 inches of snow in the area. The little town of Eskridge, centered roughly in the middle of that red blob, officially received 16 inches of snow. That is a mere ten miles due south of my house. Amazingly accurate forecast!

I did not take photos of the path I shoveled through the snow from the back door all the way to the barn. Neither did I make a historical record of the path I shoveled from the house to the tree where I feed the birds, and on to the chicken pen. (I was too tired after all of that shoveling!) It took two days to clear the paths so I could keep the snow out of my boots when taking care of the critters. Those paths also made life much easier for the dogs and other wild life. Amid the dog tracks, there were rat tracks, and a trail of rabbit droppings every step of the way. It was funny to follow evenly spaced rabbit poop everywhere. (They must leave a pellet with each hop!)

After the snow came the bitter cold, and that meant eventually the horse tank was full of ice. Then I had to carry water up the hill twice a day. It gets more difficult for me every winter. I worked like a maniac to remove all the ice in preparation for refilling the tank. I guess because of the snow, instead of clear ice that would easily break into large pieces, there was about a 30 gallon glacier that would not break apart, and the tank was frozen to the ground.  After hours in the bitter cold, I admitted defeat.  In despair I faced reality and at last called for reinforcement.  My son generously came to help remove the iceberg and carry enough water to refill the tank. I was so thankful for his strength and energy. When I saw how hard a strong 27 year old man had to work to get that frozen mass out of the tank, I did not feel like such a failure. Somehow he was able to break that tank loose from the ground, too. He could carry two five gallon buckets of water at a time and hardly broke a sweat. He filled the tank over half full, and I knew that would be enough liquid water to get the horses through until the temperatures were warm enough to make using the hoses an option.

Between my son and the generous neighbor with the tractor, the big winter storm hardly inconvenienced me at all.

First Days of Winter

The weather station in Paxico is reporting 10 degrees this morning - positively balmy! Driving home last night from Topeka, the car readout indicated 2 below zero at 7:30 pm. When it gets this cold, the water pipes coming from the well into the "basement" of the old garage can freeze. After two instances of enduring that hardship, and paying for expensive repairs, I am vigilant when the temperature gets to zero.

As I was driving home, my mind was full of justifications for NOT taking the trouble to place a small space heater into the basement. I kept telling myself it would "probably" be fine. It was so darned cold outside that I did not want to get out of my warm and toasty car, go into my warm and toasty house, then bundle up in work clothes and trek through the snow over to that freezing and silent empty building. For starters, whangdoodles surely reside there, especially after the sun goes down. There would not be anything truly dangerous, like snakes or giant spiders this time of year, but there could be a mammal, or a group of mammals making themselves at home. A sleepy squirrel or a opossum could savagely attack when I opened the door. Oh, I eventually stopped making excuses and accepted the fact that it had to be done.

It is times like this when I always ask myself, was marriage really THAT bad? It was a job for a husband, no question. As I was trudging through the snow, followed by my faithful dogs, I wondered how a man would genuinely feel about going into the basement on a frigid, dark night. Would he feel any dread at all? Or would it be such a small action preventing such a large headache, that he would simply take it all in stride? Men are expected to be unafraid of spiderwebs or creaking old buildings. They do not mind the snow or the dark, and probably no man on earth believes in whangdoodles. Is it because men truly do not mind, or because they are raised to keep fears and complaints to themselves?

It brought my grandfathers to mind. They always took care of the difficult, dirty, unpleasant things - braving the cold and dark, suffering through many hardships on behalf of their wives and families. It was expected of them. They were responsible. I simply cannot recall either of them complaining about much of anything except the weather and the government. So, I just sucked it up and took care of things last night, and this morning I have running water in my house.

The Lights of Home and Wild Cats

I had yet to see my house from afar, lit up and welcoming in the dark. Tonight I turned on all the inside lights and drove a mile away. I have to say, I was underwhelmed. It might be a far more dramatic sight after the leaves fall. Even then, the house is oriented in a strangely off-kilter way to the road, and to the sun, as well. It suits me. I do not like being square to the world. Tonight's excursion did answer one question: I can wash dishes in my underwear and no one can see from the road. Not that I have washed dishes in my underwear - only if I wanted to. It is one less thing...

The other morning, I just happened to be standing quietly beside my bed when I saw a tawny wild body come gracefully through the underbrush and timber a few feet from the open window. At first glance I thought it was a coyote but it was a bob cat. In full sunlight, it crossed the wide clearing of the front yard, stopping twice to get a bearing on the dogs' location. I tried to quietly go for my camera, but at the first creak of my knees, the animal fled into cover. After it was gone from sight, the dogs became aware of its presence. They ran toward the south bend of the creek, but they were not barking. I am not sure if that meant they were they in hunting mode, or if it was an animal they know and tolerate in an uneasy agreement to share the neighborhood. Duke has enjoyed wild coyote "friends" several times over the long years of his life. Why not a bobcat, especially since a bobcat could probably take the old Duke down in a serious altercation. Make peace not war has always been the old Dukenator's personal philosophy.

I was glad to see the wild animal even though it might very well have been the demise of most of my chickens, and likely two of my three cats. If not this particular bobcat, then surely one of its kin. It has as much right to the creek as I do. Though I loved my chickens and was not careless with them... well, everyone loves to eat chicken.  As long as the wild critters do not attack me, nor the Duke, nor most of my family members, we can live in peace. I have resigned myself to living without a cat, though I dearly love the members of the feline nation. It hurts to lose a chicken but it is a serious wound to lose a beloved cat. The solution is to simply not own a cat. That way, seeing a bob cat less than ten feet from where I stand is a good thing - a gift from nature - not something to dread.

Now that I have seen the wild cat, I worry about the trappers, the hunters, and all of my neighbors with guns in their homes and in their trucks. I hope the animal can avoid them all.

http://webcat.fhsu.edu/ksfauna/mammals/index.asp?page=species&species_id=356-897&dots=yes&tributaries=yes&isAnura=&map=

Praying or Preying?



"We mean you no harm.  We've come for your men."

An enormous praying mantis was on the ceiling of the front porch this evening. It was motionless and I thought it was stuck in a spider web. I gently moved it with the broom handle and found that it was perfectly alive and well. The motionless must be part of its hunting technique. I have never seen a mantis this large.

It politely cooperated when I took photos, thoughtfully remaining in one place while I got the camera. I noticed that it turned its head, sizing up the threat I might be presenting. Maybe it was deciding if I was potential prey. When an insect turns its head to look at you with both eyes, you have my permission to feel just a tiny bit disconcerted.

It is a fantastic creature, a feat of engineering and exoskeleton design. The slender, jointed construction of its hard shelled body appears alien and impossible. I marveled over the delicate front claws. Mostly I was glad it was a mere six inches in length. If it and its brethern were six feet long instead, human beings would have a tremendous fight for dominance of the earth.

Post Script:  Thank you to Cyberkit for the suggested caption!