Mud Daubers: Friend or Foe?

I've been spending a lot of time in my garage lately. Unfortunately, at the moment it is not serving its intended purpose. Instead of housing our vehicles, the garage has become a dumping ground for unclaimed moving boxes, sculptures and extra large art projects made by my little ones, and other miscellaneous items that just somehow find their way there when I'm not looking. Now for those of you that don't know, this garage is something of a miracle. Days before we were to finalize our house plans, I decided that I could not live without one. My builder/husband informed me that this type of last minute decision (which he described as a "disease" that people have in building) would cost us money that was not in the budget. I was unfazed. I wanted a garage.

Now that it's here, even in its current state, I find myself drawn to it. In fact, I spend quite a bit of time there, as it offers a good vantage point of the kids' favorite play areas. Apparently, I'm not the only one who finds our garage so desirable. One day while mentally organizing this disheveled space, I heard a strange buzzing sound. It wasn't an ordinary bee buzzing, but something of a high-pitched song. A song of exact determination. It was the sound of a pipe organ mud dauber (Trypoxylon poitum) at work.

This solitary, narrow-waisted wasp is a familiar sight in the warm summer months. Even more familiar is it's nest, which is often found in garages, attics, and under eaves of houses and other structures. Using mud collected in her mandibles and mixed with saliva, a female constructs her nest of long parallel tubes (hence the name "pipe organ mud dauber") each containing several cells. After a cell is constructed, the female goes in search of spiders which she will paralyze and store in the newly made cell as a food source for her future offspring. While on her search, the male typically stays behind to guard against parasites. When the female has gathered enough spiders, she lays a single egg and seals off the cell with mud. The eggs hatch after two to three days and the larvae begin feeding on the paralyzed spiders. After they've had their fill, they spin cocoons and overwinter inside the nest. The following spring, the adults emerge by chewing their way through the nest wall.

The question remains, are these wasps a friend or foe? Should I allow them to inhabit my sacred garage? Should I be worried about my children's safety? As it turns out, these wasps rarely, if ever sting people. They are quite laid-back in that respect. The way I see it, we have plenty of spiders to go around. Actually, I rather enjoy watching these little masons at work. And if we get really bored this winter, we can always dissect their nests to see what's inside!

It starts with an "S" and ends with a "T" ...

"It comes out of you and it comes out of me. I know what you're thinking, it could be called THAT, but be scientific and call is SCAT!" That's right, I'm talking about poop, much to the pleasure of my four-year-old. The "Scat Rap" is an age-old ditty sung by environmental educators the world over (at least that is what I imagine). I first learned it while working as a naturalist at the Glen Helen Outdoor Education Center in Yellow Springs, Ohio, and I have been singing it ever since. A song sure to get a smile, if not a chuckle from even the most self-respecting adolescent. In case you've got one to impress, or just want a song about scat to sing to yourself, here are the complete lyrics:

Scat Rap

(1988 Andy Bennet, Mary Keebler, Rodd Pemble, Doug Elliott, Billy Jonas)

It starts with an “S”, ends with a “T”

It comes out of you, and it comes out of me,

I know what you’re thinking, it could be called that,

But be scientific, and call it SCAT.

If you wanna find out what animals eat,

Take a good look at what they excrete.

Stuck in the scat are all kinds of clues,

Parts of the food that their bodies can’t use.

Down by the creek on a hollow log,

Scat full of berries and bones of frogs.

Fresh last night he was out with the moon,
Hunting crawdads, it was Mr. Raccoon.

You park your car by a wood or field,
Gonna find scat on your window shield.
Full of seeds, purple and white
You just got bombed by a bird in flight.

If you wanna know what’s in the woods or around,
Take a good long look at the scat on the ground.
It tells us what they eat and tells us who they are,
And that’s what we know about scat so far.

As for the scat in the picture above, this was an exciting discovery made by me and my son, Max. It might sound strange or even a little gross to get excited about scat, but it is a great way to find out about the local wildlife (as explained in the above lyrics). After singing a few verses of the scat rap, Max and I got straight to work playing detective. The scat in question was pointy at the ends and was deposited right on top of a flat rock in an open area next to our driveway. Size, shape, location, and the furry center led us to the conclusion that this little package was left by none other than a fox.

Foxes will often deposit their scat on rocks or other raised surfaces as a way of marking their territory. And it typically contains fur, due to the fox's penchant for all things small and furry. Whether the culprit was a red fox or gray fox, we don't know for sure; both species are found in the mountains of Western North Carolina. My guess, however, is gray fox since they have a preference for more wooded habitats.

Thanks for the little gift Mr. Fox. I mean, what could be more fun for a four-year old than singing about poop and solving a mystery? Seriously.

Consider this territory marked. And this case, closed.

A Whippoorwill Welcome!

And so it begins ... my love affair with our new surroundings.

Just hours after settling in to our new abode (a nearly two year labor of love by my over-worked and entirely spent husband), we received a warm welcome from the neighbors. Fully aware that this was no ordinary neighborhood, considering the mile and a half drive on a dirt road perfectly designed for a high-clearance 4-WD vehicle, and also the fact that there is not a house in sight, I was not expecting any casseroles or bottles of wine. No, this welcome gift was much more fitting - the call of the whippoorwill! Actually, whippoorwills. In fact, we could not determine how many were out there, they were making such a ruckus!

Due to their nocturnal habits, these birds are often heard but not seen. We could certainly hear them loud and clear, but I had to resist the urge to tromp in the woods to try and get a closer look, knowing that my chances of actually seeing one was pretty slim. Their cryptic coloration allows them to blend perfectly with the forest floor on which they nest. Careful not to give away their location and any chicks they may be protecting, a whippoorwill will wait until the last possible moment before flushing their nest.

While relishing our private whippoorwill chorus, my husband, Zach was convinced the unrelenting song of this woodland bird was along the lines of “WHIP-poor-WEET.” I, however, being the more experienced birder, heard the distinctive and familiar “WHIP-poor-WILL," laughing off this poor man's ridiculous declaration. After doing some research, however, I discovered that perhaps he was not delirious from exhaustion. The Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology describes the eastern species call as “WHIP-poor-WEEA, not "WHIP-poor-WILL.” Of course, I kept this piece of information to myself, insignificant as it is.

Whatever they're saying, whippoorwills are welcome neighbors here on Brown-Trout Acres, feasting on insects (of which we have no shortage) and singing well into the night.

There were a lot of uncertainties about moving into the wilderness, but I never imagined rowdy neighbors being one of them. Goodbye suburbia, hello wild Appalachia!

Let the wild whippoorwill rumpus begin!