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.

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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.

I live outside the Tucson city limits and, as regular readers of my column already know, I take more than a passing interest in the wildlife that surrounds my house. I have seen some pretty odd things out there, but this morning’s spectacle set a new weirdness record for me. I know we all have a tendency to get a little nutty when the thermometer reaches 112F at lunchtime, but there is no excuse for the incident I witnessed this morning.

As I quietly prepared my breakfast I looked out, as per usual, upon my back garden. No surprise, it was already nearing 90 degrees by 8 am. My little fountain chortled away. A few birds staggered in dazed circles halfheartedly looking for food and shade.

Suddenly I noticed an overly large wild bunny (the normally mild and friendly Sylvilagus audubonii commonly known as the desert cottontail) racing across the middle distance in furious pursuit of an overly large and very beautiful bull snake. This was not just some sort of bizarre animal game: the bunny was out for blood. As the snake whipped across the baking sand, the rabbit managed to get the tip of the snake’s tail in his mouth and seemed to be trying to consume the reptile from the small end up.

I was so shocked by this scene that, without thinking anything through, I rushed out into the garden and broke it up. “Hey bunny!” I yelled. The rabbit stopped gnashing at the snake’s tail and looked up at me, with as angry a visage as a cottontail bunny could manage. The bull snake, cool and efficient, took full advantage of the distraction and instantaneously slithered up into an adjacent cholla tree. I admonished the bunny: “I put veggies out for you every day. What are you doing with the snake?”

Snake hides from bunny

At that moment I realized I had missed perhaps the greatest photo op of my lifetime. I shuffled inside to get the camera, but by then could only manage a few snaps of the bull snake skulking around on the cholla branches. The crazed rabbit had already taken off, perhaps hopped up on crack or bunny steroids, and no doubt searching for a mountain lion to tangle with.