June 28
An errant throw from Eddie and the Frisbee, a flying saucer gone out of control, somehow passed through the hedge and alighted on the margin of the road beyond.
In the moment of landing a shard of vermillion was released, fizzing from the tangled bank. There was a fractional lag in response while I thought.
“Dad! The Frisbee!”
“Just wait a minute.”
Then I had it, as I should have done at once of course. And I was rather pleased.
Cinnabar moth. Flies in the day: you can see me for miles but I don’t care. You can’t eat me because I’m toxic.
Only the hindwings are that extraordinary shade of red; the forewings are dark, spotted, and rather smart. But when the moth takes to the air, all you can see is the blinding colour of those hindwings: they really do insist on being noticed.
I retrieved the Frisbee and got on with the game. But later I wondered about the little moment of satisfaction that came from knowing the name of this vivid creature, along with a few basic facts about the way it lives.
It’s about connectivity. In certain company I can drop a reference to David Gower’s form in 1985 and know it will be picked up; with others I can quote the Incredible String Band (Cousin Caterpillar, for example) confident that I’ll be understood. It’s a pleasant confirmation of things shared.
In the same way, knowing the name of this insect was a small moment of connectivity. It was confirmation that the world is still wild and that I am a small part of it. A thing shared.
Impromptu wildlife encounters are so special aren’t they. As when a certain flavour or smell takes you back to some happy time or place. But so much more thrilling for being accidental.
Indeed Simon, apart from the connectivity to the natural world that the readers of your blog have, your many other references ring true for those of us of a certain age! The beauty of a David Gower innings is undeniable and your reference to the Wee Tam or the Big Huge( I can’t recall which, Cousin Caterpillar is from) has brought a smile to my face. I recall pretentious conversations at parties about the relative merits and demerits of the Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter! I think that Robin Williamson lives in my home city of Newcastle as we write. Thanks again to you and Eddie for sharing your lives with us all and like nature, send a little beam of light in this rather oppressively grey world. Keep writing please