#1.   Freedom

Flight, fright or freeze — the instinct for self-preservation exists in creatures large and small.

A cluster of eyes glares from beneath the thick weeds in the vegetable garden — black pupils rimmed in yellow. The “eyes,” on closer inspection, are the markings of a northern leopard frog. A real beauty, fat and brightly patterned, she crouches motionless in the cool tall weeds. She is surrounded by an unlimited supply of crickets, spiders and armies of insects crawling and hopping in the dirt and hay to feast upon.

A shadow passes over the frog, and her prey instinct kicks in. Fleeing a perceived threat, she bounds straight toward the garden fence and soars headlong into the plastic mesh. The frog’s head makes it through, but the opening is too small for the rest of her body to follow. Hopelessly stuck, limbs flailing, she vainly thrusts herself forward again and again, lodging herself more firmly. Her head pokes through the fence; her body is suspended in midair on the other side, trapped and helpless.

An observer anxiously rushes to try and save the frog from strangling herself. On the outside of the fence, the would-be rescuer kneels to face the ensnared creature, hoping to coax it backward. Prey instinct reacting once again, the frog reflexively recoils. Her head quickly releases, she pops out of the fence, and plops back onto the ground. FREEDOM!

#2. Instinct and will

After 17 years of life underground, a cicada nymph emerges, and marches in a direct line toward a suitable molting spot. On a late summer morning, the bulbous insect proceeds, its exoskeleton barely containing the plump winged version of itself. Spying an approaching vertical surface (human legs), the bulging creature swivels 90 degrees toward this new target. But the legs turn 90 degrees, and the insect changes course again to follow; and again, the human-insect pas de deux continues, as both rotate yet another 90 degrees. Eager to transition to its adult self, the cicada seeks a surface to climb, to complete its transformation and leave behind a perfectly formed ghostly shell.

Redirecting the circling creature, the passerby gently places the insect at the base of a nearby crabapple tree. Instantly, the stuffed shell begins to climb the rough bark. Soon the winged adult will wriggle out of the slit in the back of the larval casing, and fly off to seek a mate.

Two days later, the passerby spots another fat brown shell lumbering along the same path as the one two days prior. Encumbered yet determined, it looks like an overdue pregnant mammal, ready to burst. Preventing the possible smash of a sneaker, the cicada is transported to the base of the same crabapple tree. Not skipping a beat, its barbed legs travel up the tree trunk toward its predecessor. The cicada stops just inches from the vacant shell of its molted burrow mate. Mission completed.

#3. Battle of the sizes

Two insects battle in the garden soil. A common spider, white egg sac protruding from her abdomen, struggles with a slim red ant a fraction of her size, clamped to one of her hind legs. The tug of war zig-zags in a contest of strength and survival. The spider scrambles forward a centimeter, the ant clutching her leg, then is pulled backward by the tiny six-legged athlete. Back and forth the dance continues. Still attached, the ant drags the spider in reverse, and the pair disappears beneath a thatch of straw.

Who won this battle, David/ant, or Goliath/spider?

Look closely for myriad micro dramas enacted on the garden floor.