JOY ALONG THE WAY: SUMMER PROPS ALMOST IN PLACE

Old Strip is back. Didn't see him (her?) at all last year. And I really think this new wiggly thing must be a grandchild or maybe even a great-grandchild. It was so new and full of life. Waxy, shiny. All three light stripes in place; one down the middle of the back, the other two down the sides. Always.

I was picking up twigs blown from the oak tree when one of the twigs caught my attention by its slithering movement. "Get your own twig, Stripe," I ordered, as cool as the cowboy in the Coors beer commercial orders a rattling rattlesnake to get his own beer when it had wrapped itself around the cowboy's beer an arm's length away. Of course, as miracles so often happen on TV commercials, the startled rattlesnake uncoils itself and slip-slides swiftly away. Don't try this with your own beer if it should happen.

Young Stripe, however, wriggled away and I let him/her go. Tolerance grows stronger with age. Besides Stripe might be helpful with uninvited insects.

That same day while I was, strolling under the dogwood tree, a brown hunk suddenly began to move and slowly turn into a tortoise -- first of the season, too. I love the way tortoises can withdraw into their own house and close all doors. The hedgehog can do this too. But ain't no hedgehogs in my hedgerow! Armadillos either, although they, too, can roll up into a ball for protection.

Coming home from Texas, one long ago summer, we saw this strange thing crawling along beside the road. Stopping the old Ford, all six of us tumbled out to see what it could be. Mama kept warning, "Now be careful," as Dad, having found a big stick kept poking at it. We didn't know whether it could fly or shoot scales, snarl or attack, but with six against one, our curiosity overcame us. Grandpa wanted to take it home and turn it loose in the meadow, but he was voted down.

Suddenly this funny looking thing curled up into a ball with nothing but hard scales showing.

"Well, I'll be," we all said in varying tones of disbelief.

All my other creatures, birds, butterflies are now back for the summer, except for the second year in a row, the orioles. I mean, back to stay. Last year a couple cased the territory and flew away after a few days. It took me a little while to figure it out. The huge American elm they loved to call their summer home had split almost in half. And I suppose they didn't like the looks of such strange happenings.

Another thing that has come back, although I've actually tried to discourage it, is the milkweed plant. Many years ago, because the fragrance of the milkweed blossom is so sweet, and it is a "breeder" plant for Monarch butterflies, I dug up some roots along a creek bank and transferred them to my flower border. I've been fighting their spread ever since. This year, so far, only one shoot has appeared and I'm going to let it be because I'm an avowed nurturer of butterflies.

If I have to pull up 14 sprouts next year, I'll do it if I find just one little cluster of butterfly eggs beneath a milkweed leaf.

Rejoice!

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime columnist for the Southeast Missourian.