A spiky, ornate gem sat amid an expansive web projecting from the fence, arresting me in my tracks. I feel privileged whenever this decorative creature, the spinybacked orbweaver, sets up camp to ensnare tiny insects in my backyard.
Author: M. Kathy Raines
During April, the peak of spring migration in South Texas, one often spots a summer, scarlet, or, occasionally, a western tanager resting on one of our low branches—to the delight of photographers unable to convince fluttery warblers to strike a pose. We are indeed fortunate hosts. In much of their nesting and wintering grounds, tanagers dwell and hunt so high in the treetops that locals seldom see them.
A cartoon animal springs to mind when I watch this round-headed, needle-billed, tuxedoed bird that, walking on pink stilts, rises above its fellow shorebirds probing the mud for edible treats.
One night this December, I noticed two dazzling gems feeding upon the fruit of my backyard Turk’s cap. One, with its crimson head and patchwork of black, white and yellow on its abdomen, was a Turk’s cap red bug. The other, a smartly-dressed spot-sided coreid, wore nestled cream and brown triangles on its head and wing tops, which ended in beige.
This busy little fellow’s rust and black feathers blend so seamlessly with the quartz and feldspar crystals embedded in the granite of the jetties, one might miss the creature were it not for its bright orange legs, white underparts and dappled head.
Leaping from branch to branch, chasing one another and outwitting birdwatchers who try to block them from feeders, an expanding population of fox squirrels now thrives in the Rio Grande Valley.