The Last One? I think so.

"Sometimes the sunset is so beautiful, I think it might be the very last one."

― Nitya Prakash 

Sue and I headed back to Sauk on Sunday to see if we could turn up any lingering tiger beetles. The forecast called for only a few hours of clear skies that morning, but the sunshine held throughout the day. Our first planned stop was the canoe launch, where we came up empty. At Sauk Prairie State Recreation Area, however, we managed to find a single Oblique-lined Tiger Beetle. Well, Sue found it first—she has a knack for spotting them when numbers are low. 

As a spring-fall species, this adult emerged earlier this summer, showing only minor damage on one of its elytra. While they typically go inactive for the winter by late September, warm weather can keep a few active into October. You may recall I've spotted Bronzed Tiger Beetles in early November, but this individual might be my final tiger beetle of the 2026 season—though Oblique-lined holds my personal record for the earliest emergence. 

While this individual seemed unable to fly, it could still run super fast, making it a challenging subject to photograph. Naturally, they're exceedingly more difficult to deal with when they can fly.

A four-month hiatus from tiger beetling is a long wait, but the quiet of winter shifts my attention to other aspects of the natural world. It also gives me a chance to catch up on all the reading I've put off since spring. If the warm weather holds, there may yet be a November sighting, but we'll see. Something tells me, though, this one was the last of the season.

Before going to Sauk Rec, we checked the canoe launch on the Wisconsin River where we did not find a single tiger beetle—recall that there was a Bronzed here the previous week. Well, it's a lot of territory to cover for just one insect. We could have easily missed it.

There were a few Shoreline Wolf Spiders (Arctosa littoralis) on the beach ...

This one was on the larger side with an unusual coloration—more mottled orange than tan. While this species can match substrate tones during development, the vivid pattern and larger frame might also reflect a recent molt or age. 

A final look at the river habitat framing the lingering fall foliage. We still love visiting in winter, when the shifting ice creates remarkable photographic subjects.

We spent the remainder of the day looking at fall colors, checking the area at the south end of Burma Road near Devil's Lake State Park, which is accessible from Sauk Rec.

On our way back to Middleton we stopped at Indian Lake Park for a late afternoon hike.

The colors were definitely at peak!

Partway down the main trail, we discovered that a new section of the Ice Age Trail opened on Friday, so we decided to check it out. After hiking it, Sue and I agreed it'll be our new favorite trail at ILP, offering a fresh perspective on the landscape and the kettle lake.

Naturally ...

During my final visit with my mom, I told her something I've said to her before: Thank you for giving me life. I said the same thing when she gave me my grandfather's telescope. But the words that followed carried the true weight of a life lived on my own terms—I haven't wasted it.  

 

I think to say this to one's parent isn't just an expression of gratitude—it means looking back over decades of curiosity, patient observation, and quiet discipline, knowing that time wasn't spent idly or lost to distraction, but anchored by being in the present moment. Living life filled with purpose—whether spent studying patterns of the natural world, sharing knowledge with others, or simply standing still in wild places—is perhaps the highest form of thanks anyone can offer for the gift of existence. 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell

Joanne Louise Kellerman

"Death ends a life, not a relationship."

― Mitch Albom

Joanne Louise Kellerman was born in Pittsville, Wisconsin, on January 31st, 1942. True to her roots—which I traced back through 18th-century Döllnitz, Germany, and then 16th-century Holland—she was a quintessential farm girl. The youngest of five children, she was preceded in death by three of her siblings and is survived by her brother, Martin, of Nekoosa, Wisconsin.

Left to right: Martha, Joanne, Mary, Edwin (my grandfather), William, and Martin.

 

Here's the house, part of a farmstead a few miles east of Pittsville ... 

My mom's older family members, the Kellermans, threshing grain ...

Taken back in 1955, this next photo shows my mom, their family dog, and my Uncle Bill. He took over running the farm following Edwin's passing ...

One of the scariest stories my mom ever told me was how a tornado took out most of the farm—their house endured, but shifted on its foundation. The way she would tell the story, it reminded me of the tornado scene from The Wizard of Oz. 

 

They were all working in the fields when heavy, dark clouds loomed in the southwestern sky. Edwin called for everyone to start heading back to the house. As the storm drew nearer, it was clear it was going to be a bad one.

As the winds intensified, Edwin stayed behind to secure the barn and milk house. From the porch, the family shouted for him to hurry. My mom recalled watching my grandfather fight his way toward the house—clutching his hat and straining against the roaring wind.

Terrified, my mom fled the porch for the safety of the kitchen cellar door. Just as a large pine branch shattered a window, sending glass and debris flying into the room, she reached for the doorknob and heard one of her brothers yell, "The barn is down!"

 

Everyone survived, but their cattle did not. 

 

Though they rebuilt the farm, tragedy struck the barn once more when a lightning strike burned it to the ground.

 

When William passed away in 2006, the farm was sold, torn down, and converted into cropland—a loss that broke my mom's heart. I spent a good part of my childhood there during summers. In fact, it was the very place my brother and I discovered our first tiger beetles. For us, the Kellerman farm was always a place of adventure and discovery.

 

 My mom, perhaps contemplating her move to Madison ... 

Where she eventually met my father and got married ...

She truly was a gorgeous bride!

 

My mom's life, like anyone's, took a few unexpected turns. Before she married my father, she had my older brother, Anthony, whose biological father moved out west to escape responsibility. Families aren't always as straightforward as they might appear in old photographs, and those early chapters of her life helped shape the family I grew up with. Without her letting me use my grandfather's pocket telescope when I was a kid, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten into astronomy and then birding. Had Anthony not left me money when he died in 1997, I might never have bought the nice astronomical telescope that helped me land my job at Eagle Optics.

  

Here they both are on a happier day ... 

There was nothing my mom loved more than her children. She never recovered from Anthony's death—a loss that struck me like a cold slap in the face as well. 

 

I'm tempted to write about how poorly my two sisters handled my mom's decline, but perhaps I'll save that for another time. This blog isn't about them—and you'll note that it never has been. They deserve no space here. Having said that, there's no denying how profoundly Joanne and Anthony influenced my life, helping shape both my vocation and my avocation. It's been a strange path, but one that ultimately led to a deep appreciation of the natural realm. 

 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell 

Pope Farm in the Fall!

"People like to say that it―significance, import―is all about the family. But lots of people do not have rich networks of hilarious uncles and adorable cousins, who all live nearby, to help them. Many people have truly awful families: insane, abusive, repressive. So we work hard, we enjoy life as we can, we endure. We try to help ourselves and one another. We try to be more present and less petty. Some days go better than others. We look for solace in nature and art and maybe, if we are lucky, the quiet satisfaction of our homes."

― Anne Lamott

Yesterday morning, I headed over to Pope Farm Conservancy to take in the fall colors. My morning commute takes me along Blackhawk Road, which runs along the conservancy's northern edge. I've been noticing some exceptional color along the woodland edge bordering the spillway's ravine. It's also a good spot for migratory birds, with plenty of cover and food to attract them.

There was at least one Lincoln's Sparrow ...

Other sparrows included Song, Field, Chipping, White-throated, White-crowned, Eastern Towhee and Dark-eyed Junco. There were also a few Yellow-rumped Warblers and a single Orange-crowned Warbler. I heard a Pileated Woodpecker call and a moment later it emerged from the woods and flew across the prairie toward the conifers at Blackhawk Ski Club.

But mostly, I was here to decompress, enjoy the sights, my steps, and breathing ...

Gaura and primrose were notable wildflowers in bloom ...

Grasshoppers and crickets were plentiful, but I didn't turn up any butterflies or beetles. The fall colors may not have developed quite the way I'd hoped, but Nature follows its own schedule. Northern Wisconsin is already past peak, while Sauk and Dane Counties are moving closer to theirs.

Today's plans may include a hike at Indian Lake Park, though I'm also tempted to make another stop along the Wisconsin River to see if any tiger beetles are still hanging on. Our unusually warm weather may have extended the season for a few stragglers, but temperature is only part of the equation. Longevity plays a role, too. The season is winding down, and even the hardiest holdouts eventually reach the end of their life cycle.

 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell

Escape from the Fever!

"It may be that the greatest of humanity's preoccupations is the denial of death. Our desperation to deny death is so strong that a number of other high-minded denials orbit around it. Humans deny that we are animals partly because animals die. We deny human nature for the same reason. We deny that we are bodies by insisting that we have them instead, creating distance between our mortality and the immortal minds we feel ourselves to be. We deny science that conflicts with our views of immortality or that reminds us of our certain doom. We deny the need to look at death honestly, and we even deny that we are denying death."

 

― James A. Lindsay  

It was late Sunday afternoon when I finally reached the Sauk City Canoe Launch to check on the tiger beetles. Sue took her own car as a precaution so I wouldn't get her sick. Burning extra gas wasn't ideal, but after feeling stuck indoors, we were both craving a little sunshine and a break by the water.

Within a few minutes, I located a single Bronzed Tiger Beetle ― it was the only one present!

Will it hold out until November? I doubt it, but I'll check again.

 

The calm of the river and the beach ...

Perhaps my last look at a Shoreline Wolf Spider for the year ...

No super large ones, but even the smaller ones are cool.

The sereneness of the Wisconsin River ... it's good for the soul, spirit, or whatever.

This was pretty cool ...

I'm fairly certain this Ground Grab Spider is Xysticus ferox.

Ring-billed Gulls were abundant, but there were virtually no passerines present. I thought I heard a single Yellow-rumped Warbler call note, but I never saw it. A Greater Yellowlegs was on one of the sandbars, but the moment I thought about photographing it, it flew off and left the area. Astonishingly, no sparrows ... not even a junco.

My mom isn't going to make it after all. My older sister, who holds power of attorney, is looking into hospice care. It's heartbreaking to watch — mentally, my mom is still fully present, but her body is giving out. She made her wishes clear about not wanting feeding tubes, and since she has virtually stopped eating and drinking, we know it won't be long. I helped my brother, Anthony, through this same transition back in 1997 (cancer). This brings back so many of those memories, though my mom is 84 and my brother was only 35. I'll probably live to be 102, but I'll accept anything, really. 

 

Live in the present moment, my friends. 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell