Mike in the Wild

Throughout the seasons, you're guaranteed to spot an abundant variety of butterflies across Arizona's wide and diverse landscape.  But you don't have to brave extreme temperatures and rugged terrain to see some of the local stars of this colorful insect family.  You only have to visit the autumn exhibit in the Butterfly Pavilion at the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix.    Within just a few thousand square feet, the protected shelter houses almost a dozen species of native butterflies at any given time.  They flutter amid and feed upon a number of cultivated plants and flowers, along with plates of fresh fruit.  A path meanders one-way through the greenhouse-like garden, assuring some human safety during the COVID pandemic.   Butterflies, moths, and skimmers are all in the same order of insects, taxonomically known as lepidoptera.   Worldwide, scientists count over 200,000 species in this grouping!  (In comparison, there are only 10,000 species of birds.)   A sign at the p

Finding migratory birds in your hometown is exciting; in your backyard, sublime.  These brave birds sometimes travel thousands of miles, facing countless risks in their travels between winter habitats and summer breeding grounds.  When I encounter one in any location, I'm always awestruck, as I was when I photographed green-tailed towhee - a type of sparrow - visiting my Phoenix yard for the first time last week. Change is creeping into the air as autumn takes an unusually slow hold on us in Arizona.  Despite hot temperatures, I've also migrated, leaving the mountains in the northern part of the state to fend for better or for worse in my desert home full-time.  Shorter days, longer shadows and cool nighttime temperatures are beginning to make record-setting 100 degree days a little bit more tolerable.   Another sign that fall has arrived is that local golf courses have begun preparing their winter turfs.  Dethatching the thick Bermuda grass that thrives in the summer heat, the

Sleeping in my own bed on a Saturday night should not be out of the ordinary.  However spending my first weekend in Phoenix since May was a momentous change from my summer routine of weekly escapes to cooler temperatures in Prescott.  Nonetheless, even with the heat still breaking records, I was ready to decamp from the pine forests and to re-acclimate to desert urban living for the next several months. But habituating myself to nights with closed windows, ceiling fans whirring and air conditioning blowing might have contributed to an initial bout of insomnia last week.  Tossing and turning, I could still hear the deep hoots of a great-horned owl emanating from somewhere in my backyard.  They reminded me of the chirps of the crickets and the yips of the coyotes that I would be hearing if I were similarly sleepless back in Prescott. The following morning was cool enough to turn off the air conditioner and open the windows for a couple of hours.  Outside I was impressed by a chorus of bi

"It's a lot like shooting fish in a barrel," is how I describe photographing birds at my Prescott feeders.  The suet and seeds, positioned close to my deck, attract the full cross-section of forest birds including nuthatches, titmice, bushtits, jays, woodpeckers, juncos, chickadees, and finches.  It seems that all I have to do is stand quietly back a few feet, wait for a subject, point the lens, shoot,  et voilà, another postcard-perfect picture of a white-breasted nuthatch. But it's never been so easy with one denizen of the woods in and around my neighborhood: the juniper titmouse.  It's not that I don't see this cute little grey bird a lot; in fact I encounter him quite frequently on nearby forest trails.  Often his trill attracts my attention before I catch sight of him along with his companion flitting from branch to branch in one of our native juniper trees.   Recently I've noticed a pair visiting my feeders a bit more frequently.  Their normal rout