I took the boys out for loop around Wild Basin wilderness preserve after lunch. As we unloaded for our walk, we were met by a investigative swarm of yellowjackets. Ford began to freak out as I watched him eyeball three drones on his shirtless body. Not sure what to do, since my hands were tied, I urged him to just be still and watch them explore. I told him to use the opportunity to see them up close, so long as he remained perfectly, perfectly still. Which he did. And the whimpers ceased as he began to comment on their similarity to bees. I have no idea why they were attracted to us. All I can figure is that we smelled too lavendar-y with our herbal sunscreen, and that Ford might have left a little strawberry jam on his face after lunch.
At any rate, once we started on the trail, they lost interest.
The trail crests a ridge that overlooks, um, Wild Basin wilderness. It’s Westlake’s backyard, full of, um, wildlife. Besides the wasps, however, there wasn’t much wildlife awake to greet us on the trail except one lone mockingbird. We did see something new, though. Atop a limestone outcropping laid a half dollar-diameter star-shaped fungus that could have easily been mistaken for a spider: a small sphere, on inspection, had burst to reveal a tiny hole on top; the “legs” were eight radiating, pointy black extensions. I think it was an Earth Star, a type of exploding shroom, and this lesson captivated Ford. Like, the rest of the afternoon. These days, it’s all about explosives and things with bioluminescence.
I brought a heavy and clunky 35mm camera without batteries. The strap irritated my neck, but Chas, in the backpack, seemingly felt sorry enough to pat the back of my head and play with my hair. He occasionally pointed to things and shouted exclamations that we couldn’t understand but agreed with. We felt so jaded on the trail, Ford and I, because it was a very large version of our yard. I guess we were hoping for a water feature or a cave or, um, more wildlife.