The homestead clearing, after years of labor, is getting so pretty that it distracts me. As I work, I sometimes have to stop and gaze at something that arrests me with its beauty. It makes me realize just how fortunate my mate and I are to be living here.
Recently I was pumping water and found my gaze falling on one of the posts that holds up the enclosure over the hand pump. I noticed a line of ants crawling up the post and another line headed down. I moved closer to watch what they were up to. What amazing little critters they are! They are so social. They each have their place in some grand scheme of the community, that I don't think any one of them vaguely comprehends. They just go about their work, busily providing for the greater good.
One line of these ants was moving up the post. I think they were carrying something up to the nest, but I could not see what they may be toting, without my glasses. (They are those tiny little black ants.) About half way up the post they disappeared into a knot hole. Another line of descending ants emerged from the hole. I guessed they might be headed off for the same provisions that the ascending ants were returning with.
Many of the ants in the downward-headed line briefly paused, touching heads with the ascending crew, before moving on. I think this is a way for the departing ants to check out their returning fellows, to see what they are carrying and to pick up a smell, so they can follow the trail to the source of provisions.
Then I noticed a third category of ants. They emerged from the hole and appeared to be dropping something to the ground, before moving back inside. That was just too fascinating for me, so I got my magnifying glass from my nearby workshop and moved in close, to see if I could discover what they were doing.
Imagine the shock of an ant, emerging from the dark hole and looking up to see this giant eye peering at it! The first ant that came out and saw me literally jumped and rushed back inside. I stood my ground, magnifying glass to my eye, immobile. A few more ants soon came out. I could see that they indeed had something in their mouth pincers: a tiny ball that they dropped into space, then wiped off their pinchers and returned inside. Was it shit they were removing? The remains of some excavating they were doing? I may learn that another day. None of the ants would tell me.
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A self-published book is now available at www.lulu.com, that contains the first two years (171 entries) of this blog. Volume two (the next 171 postings) is also now available.
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- The Hermit
- The northern Shenandoah Valley is my long term—but not native—home. The Appalachian Mountains are my adopted surroundings. Having survived into my mid 70s, I continually muse upon the dichotomy of physically waning while still possessing what seems to be a youthful and dynamic outlook. At one time an engineer, I quit that life for one of simplicity, over three decades ago—exchanging an urban frenetic existence for the contemplative mode of a rural homesteader. The switch rewarded me with the opportunity to reorder my priorities and to pursue life’s more profound matters. I engage in my ongoing quest and challenges primarily as a hermit—having discovered that my journey currently seems to be mostly a solitary one. I find myself spending much of my time just trying to be attentive to the magical world around me—watching nature and my mind. The majority of my musings come to me during lengthy soaks in hot water in an outdoor tub, heated by an underwater woodstove, filled from an adjacent creek.
1 comment:
You can hardly blame the ants for not talking to you. Should I be cleaning the latrine, and have some dude about half a mile high peering at me through a lens that is 60 feet in diameter, I wouldn't stick around long enough for conversation either. Pick on someone your own size, Hermit.
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