Wormlets and squirmlets
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Wormlets and squirmlets
But surely not omelets.
Those are the words that popped into my mind as soon as I saw this sight in Great Hills Park on the morning of October 31st. More than 5 inches of overnight rain had caused the creek that passes through Great Hills Park to overflow its banks and temporarily turn what is normally a nearby trail into an inches-deep little creek of its own, and the unaccustomed water had called up a bunch of worms that kept wriggling as I watched them. The little bubble looks like it was coming from one end of the largest worm, but photographs that I took a few seconds earlier show the bubble in different places, so it must have been flowing from right to left along with the current. With this picture I followed the photographic tradition of capturing “the decisive moment.”
© 2013 Steven Schwartzman
I’m not a fisherperson ( 🙂 ) but I imagine one would find the worm explosion quite a find.
Must have been a fun study.
Steve Gingold
November 18, 2013 at 6:29 AM
Any time the world is different—for example a fog that removes most details of things, or a creek where there shouldn’t be a creek—can be exciting, as long as it isn’t terrifying. I enjoyed my temporarily altered landscape, but the same downpour that offered me the chance for a fun study in northwest Austin led to the loss of four lives and dozens of homes in the southeast part of Austin.
Steve Schwartzman
November 18, 2013 at 7:10 AM
I’ve seen big worms and little worms, and even dissected a worm in high school biology, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen baby worms. That sure looks like what you’ve captured here. I really didn’t expect to begin my day watching a video of worms hatching from a cocoon, but if you’re going to post photos like this, questions are inevitable!
shoreacres
November 18, 2013 at 6:43 AM
Yes indeed, questions are inevitable. Are all the small worms baby versions of the large one, or are they different types? I don’t know. I know more about the word worm than I do about the organism itself. I didn’t expect to begin my day with a sight like this, nor with the sequel you’ll see tomorrow.
Steve Schwartzman
November 18, 2013 at 7:20 AM
My worm story – As a preschool teacher I loved bringing creatures into the classroom. After a heavy rain the parking lot was covered with large worms. Not wanting to miss the opportunity I picked up as many as I could carry in one hand. As your photo so brilliantly captures worms excrete a slimy mess. The children were captivated by the slime as much as the worms. One little boy called to me and said Mrs. P. I have one worm, now I have two. . .
Bonnie Michelle
November 18, 2013 at 6:43 AM
No question but that children often see the world differently from the way adults do. I’m glad this picture was a reminder of that for you. Of course not all adults are alike, and I suspect some readers will feel queasy to hear that you picked up a handful of slimy worms. Tomorrow I’ll be showing another little critter that unexpectedly appeared in this place because of the heavy rain.
Steve Schwartzman
November 18, 2013 at 7:26 AM
Two days ago, I went for a walk. The concrete path was damp from a shower. I stepped to avoid an earthworm about 6″ long. I looked back to see it again. It was not a worm, but a snake. I looked it over carefully and believe it is a Smooth Earth Snake. No camera. Next time I will pocket it and bring it back for a picture and positive ID.
Jim in IA
November 18, 2013 at 7:41 AM
Oh, those times when we see things but don’t have a camera with us. It’s less common now, with the advent of cell phones that have cameras in them, but that’s still not the same as having a “real” camera.
Steve Schwartzman
November 18, 2013 at 8:51 AM
I need to get into the habit of taking my Nikon S3300. It is light and easy.
Jim in IA
November 18, 2013 at 8:53 AM
I am sure someone has a recipe…
camdenstables
November 18, 2013 at 9:10 AM
I expect you’re right, alas.
Steve Schwartzman
November 18, 2013 at 4:10 PM
Well, we *are* told that worms can be a helpful nutritional add-in for cooks who wish to go that route, but thanks, I’d rather just keep my worms and omelets separate too. I like the ethereally pastel coloring of this shot. Unexpectedly dainty.
kathryningrid
November 18, 2013 at 2:05 PM
As the New Yorker in me might say: nutritious, shmutricious. Or as my grandmother might have said: fah. No vermin for me, thanks. A pastel visual palette, on the other hand, is something quite palatable.
Steve Schwartzman
November 18, 2013 at 4:21 PM
Day before yesterday I was raking up leaves from sidewalk below retaining wall in front of the house, when a squiggle caught my eye . . . I often toss worms back into the garden . . . but on picking it up it appeared to be a very unusual ‘worm’–grey, lighter on bottom, darker on top–surely not! could this be a baby garter snake–sure enough, a beautiful tiny snake head, eyes open. It was groggy, preparing to hibernate? I placed it into a hollow under a gradually-eroding shrub root, lots of twigs, leaves . . . hoping it gets through the winter. Sweet dreams, buddy! What a treat this was! Photographed only with my eyes-mind-heart though.
beeholdn
November 19, 2013 at 6:44 AM
At the end of your account you answered the question that popped into my head in the middle: did you take a photograph? I find it interesting that you’re the second commenter on this post to mention a little snake. In your account of moving the snake you’ve also anticipated a suggestion someone made about the crawfish in my follow-up post, which I could have moved back to its home but didn’t think to do.
Steve Schwartzman
November 19, 2013 at 7:09 AM
Perhaps it [the crawfish in the next post] got back on its own! And you know, I’m never quite sure exactly where the critter would like to go . . . which reminds me of the first two sentences in Annie Dillard’s essay, “Living Like Weasels” (which I just happen to be reading): A weasel is wild. Who knows what he thinks?
beeholdn
November 19, 2013 at 7:23 AM
The comment by Shoreacres on the next post makes clear that a crawfish can live away from water for at least a while, so perhaps after the temporary flow of water stopped, this crawfish did make it over land to the real creek—assuming no predator got the unusually exposed animal first.
By coincidence, Shoreacres is a big fan of Annie Dillard. The question that you quoted, of who knows what a weasel thinks, is one that has come to my mind often enough about animals in general. People often attribute to them the kind of thinking that we have, but of course they’re not us. I have a hard enough time knowing what I think a lot of the time.
Steve Schwartzman
November 19, 2013 at 7:39 AM
LOL, I hear you!
By the way, if you do ever look up the “Living Like Weasels” essay, make sure it’s the original version, with the second paragraph (concerning an observation by Ernest Thompson Seton) included. In a later anthology this already short essay was further truncated and the removal of this paragraph, in view of the rest of the work and especially the last paragraph, does the reader—and the essay—a disservice. (In my opinion…)
I look forward to ‘meeting’ Shoreacres. Thanks, Steven.
beeholdn
November 21, 2013 at 7:27 AM
Thanks for the tip about “Living Like Weasels,” neither version of which I’ve read. In the late 1970s, after Pilgrim at Tinker Creek became popular, I wrote a letter to Annie Dillard. She answered, and she said that she got the most letters from photographers (like me) and doctors.
Steve Schwartzman
November 21, 2013 at 8:19 AM
As an eight year old, I used to water the soil, to confirm worms emerged to the surface on their own by the humidity. My Grandpa had taught me otherwise, that they had to be bought at stores in a jar for fishing.
M. Firpi
November 19, 2013 at 5:52 PM
It was good of you to try the experiment for yourself, especially at such a young age.
Steve Schwartzman
November 19, 2013 at 11:41 PM