Old Pa Pitt thinks this butterfly is probably a Northern Crescent (Phyciodes cocyta). But he is not an entomologist, and anyone who knows the lepidoptera better than he does is earnestly requested to correct him in a comment.
He is pretty sure about the Black-Eyed Susan (Rudbeckia hirta).
A young stag, his antlers still covered in velvet, rests in Allegheny Cemetery.
Taking advantage of the damp weather, mushrooms have popped up everywhere. Here are a few more from Mount Lebanon and Scott Township. Once again, Father Pitt makes no serious attempt to identify them, and welcomes identifications in the comments.
An entire ecosystem depends on the bark of this one tree in Mount Lebanon: moss, lichens, a bug, and tiny mushrooms. How tiny are they? Below is a left index finger for scale.
A lichen expert would probably know right away what kind of lichen these are, but Father Pitt does not. He always appreciates help in the comments. The color is one of old Pa Pitt’s favorites in all of nature.
These look to Father Pitt like Porcini or Penny-Buns (Boletus edulis). But he is not a mushroom expert. If they turn out to be Death Caps or Doom Shrooms, you have only yourself to blame if you ignored his warning: Don’t eat mushrooms unless you know with absolute certainty that they don’t want to kill you.
“Two stops underexposed!” says the camera. “Nuts to you!” says the photographer. Manual exposure was necessary to keep the spots of sunshine from being blasted out into solid white.
You may notice that Father Pitt keeps returning to this one scene the way Monet kept returning to his water lilies. Not that old Pa Pitt compares himself to Monet, but there are certain rewards for the artist in returning to the same subject in different lights and different seasons. Getting to know the one place intimately reveals the changes wrought by time and light.
A rabbit pauses while grazing on Herr’s Island (or Washington’s Landing, as it likes to be called these days).
