Amber Defenders and the Zombie Ant

Howard Leland got bad news last month, from the Asclepias Society. It's official now, he told me: The society is interested in butterflies of any species. But not ants.

Mr. Leland is determined to save ants of the world from insensitive scientists, and is pursuing that goal with the zeal he’s shown for promoting butterfly preserves and sustainable leaf blowers.

Some people might have learned of the indignities suffered by a zombie ant, and remained unmoved. Not Howard Leland.

A lesser man might have been discouraged by the Asclepias Society's lack of cooperation. For Howard Leland, it was a call to action.

He's organizing the Amber Defenders: People protecting ants from indignities; even as amber has defended ancestral ants' remains from the ravages of time.

Looking at it that way, it's sort of heroic and poetic.

Howard Leland's told me, several times, the incident whose retelling inspired him.

About fifty years ago, an innocent ant got swabbed by oleic acid. No harm done, physically, but Mr. Leland’s sure the ant suffered emotional distress.

After ants have been dead for a few days they start giving off oleic acid. Ants rely heavily on smells to keep track of things, so that very-much-alive ant registered as "dead" to its colony-mates.

As far as other ants were concerned, they had a dead ant walking. For two hours, the zombie ant was picked up, carried to the colony's 'graveyard' pile, over and over.

So far, the Amber Defenders has three members, including Mr. Leland.

Related posts:

• "Save the Ants!"
  (April 3, 2009)
• "About Leaf Blowers, Wild Flowers, and Raking"
  (October 11, 2008)
• "Loonfoot Falls' Backyard Butterfly Preserves"
  (August 23, 2008)

B. D. Johnson and the Trespassing Ducks

Another bunch of volunteers from the Loonfoot Valley left yesterday, headed north to help fill and stack sandbags. The Twin Towns are having a rough time this year.

Here, the Loonfoot River's flooded part of Milldam Park, same as it does most years, but there's been no serious trouble around here.

For the most part.

Riverfront property is a treat to have: as long as the river keeps a respectful distance.

B. D. Johnson's place is a split level, with the garage and entry up near the road, and a really nice living room lower down, facing the Loonfoot River. He has glass patio doors, and windows right down to the floor. The idea, he told me, was to have a place where he could sit back and get close to nature.

This year, nature came met him half way.

The Loonfoot river's about a half inch, he figures, below his living room floor now. He's got a line of sandbags around the house, but water got through, or under, anyway.

The ducks and drakes on the river aren't changing their habits all that much: but since the river's expanded a bit, they've been getting quite familiar with B. D.'s living room. Yesterday, a pair of them swam up to the sandbags, waddled across to the inadvertent reflecting pool by the house, and swam up to his back door.

Getting closer to nature is one thing, B. D. told me. Nature getting close to you can be a tad unsettling.

Becoming One With Nature, Using a Unicycle and a Tree

Stan Parks, owner-operator of S. Parks Computers on Center Avenue, is an active member of the Taurus Association. Their goal is to save the world through unicycling.

The Taurus Association motto, One World: One Wheel, sums up their vision. This non-profit wants to replace the automobile with the unicycle.

I've heard people talk about using bicycles instead of cars, but unicycles was something new to me. As Stan Parks explained it, since the unicycle has only one wheel, it has only half the environmental impact of a bicycle.

This summer, Stan Parks showed me how unicycles could replace recreational vehicles like ATVs. At least, that was the idea.

Driving out to Raspberry Lake Trail, he explained how much better it was to ride a unicycle, than drive an ATV through the woods. With no motor, he said, it was a lot easier to ‘become one with nature.'

I'll admit that I was impressed, when Stan Parks showed how he could cycle up the trail, hop over small branches, and maneuver around larger obstacles.

His return was even more spectacular. Becoming airborne after jumping a branch, he kept his balance: but shot southeast as the trail turned south. He slowed down enough so that, when he hit a tree, the unicycle came through with only a bent seat. Stan was okay, and the tree is fine, apart from some scuffing.

I like to get out for a walk in the woods sometimes, but if that's becoming ‘one with nature,' I pass.