As a child, my favorite fairy tale was Jack and the Beanstalk, more commonly referred to as Jack the Giant Killer, here in the USA. Well, it was my favorite along with Three Billy Goats Gruff. First published in 1807, it follows the exploits of Jack, a young man who acquires some magic seeds that—overnight—produce a beanstalk of gigantic proportions. For a reason not clearly explained in the story, Jack feels the need to immediately climb the stalk, a task which eventually carries him above the clouds and into the dominion of a giant, who (along with his castle) is somehow lighter-than-air, or at least immune to the tedious effects of gravity.

I always felt a bit bad for the old giant. He was minding his own business when Jack showed up and proceeded to do a little breaking and entering in the castle. Naturally enough, the giant wanted to grind up Jack and make bread out of his bones. It’s the sort of thing giants are expected to do, and he came up with the highly memorable: “Fee, fi, fo, fum. I smell the blood of an Englishman!”—something I heard endlessly during childhood visits to the States from dear old London. So, Jack goes on to carry out repeated black ops missions up the beanstalk, stealing first the giant’s bag of gold coins, then his favorite hen that could lay golden eggs, and finally a magic harp (why the giant had all this swag is not made clear, and how would a giant play a magic harp anyway? The harp was regular person-sized). In the end, not feeling that he’s done enough damage, Jack kills the giant, and goes off to marry the daughter of some boring old count, and live happily ever after as a wealthy man. What a thieving wretch he was! Who took care of the giant’s wife after Jack did in her sweetie? I used to worry about these things when I was a kid.

(more…)

Back in June I wrote a piece about Lynx rufus, the magnificent Sonoran lynx affectionately known in these parts as the bobcat. And that’s a little confusing because there are eleven different subspecies of wild cats in North America that go by the title of bobcat, including the rather wonderfully named Lynx fasciatus (British Columbia) and Lynx superiorensis (Northwest and Central US).

As a confirmed cat person I have been, for several years, delighted and thrilled by occasional visits to my small desert kingdom by a solitary, wary and very beautiful adult Lynx rufus. He periodically made a tasty lunch out of one of my mourning doves, but I couldn’t really be mad at him as that is the way of life in the wilds.

Recently, while preparing a tasty vegetarian breakfast I looked out my kitchen window to see a bobcat cub frolicking in my fountain. About the size of a house cat, he already had the distinctive glaring eyes and radiant stripes of the desert lynx. I tried to snap a few photos, but he scampered off into the sea of cactus and agave.

The very next morning the cub returned with two siblings and, a little later, his cautious and protective mom. This time, I had no trouble capturing them on camera. The cats just moved right in and made themselves at home: splashing in the fountain, dozing under a mesquite, and climbing like goofy monkeys on a large prickly pear tree that used to stand on the east side of my house. I say “used to” because the diminutive hunting cats had so much fun on the tree they broke off its largest limb. It crashed to the ground and quickly became fodder for javelinas and desert hares.

Some mornings, the four cats walked brazenly onto my patio, scaring the daylights out of my indoor house cat, whose tail fluffed up like a busby—the black, bushy hats worn by the Queen’s Coldstream Guards at Buckingham Palace in my old hometown of London. One of the inquisitive cubs came right up to the sliding door, curious enough about what was going on inside the Logical Lizard’s abode to bump his feline nose on the glass.

Bobcats cover a lot of ground when they’re in the mood, and the family has sadly moved on. I hope mom brings me a new litter next year. They were the most illustrious visitors I’ve had in some time.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

The original installment of Macro Thursday was evidently quite popular with my readers, thank you. So, I have decided to make it a semi-regular feature within the realm of the Logical Lizard.

The idea here is to use the ultra-fab macro lens on my favorite digital camera to capture hidden details of the natural world. All of these photos were taken in a single day during a lengthy hike through the Rincon Mountains, outside of Tucson. Amazing what you can see if you take the time to stop and look.

Spines unfolding

Why did the tarantula cross the road? My hiking companion claimed it was because she wanted me to pick her up and stroke her belly—apparently they like that. I didn't see my friend rushing over to do any such thing, so I was happy to just take the photo and skip the belly rub.

Butterfly with camouflage

Spiral of barrel cactus buds

Balancing act

Lichen growing on a boulder

All photographs by Geoffrey Notkin © Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.