Of the many things I'm thankful for on this Thanksgiving Day, I am thankful for the millions of insects that populate our planet. Scientists have described more than a million species, but there may be 10 million more undescribed.

I am thankful for honey bees. There is no more comforting sound on a warm summer day than the buzz of bees as they pollinate the plants and return to their colonies with nectar and pollen. I am thankful for their role in providing the fruits and vegetables that we eat.

But that's just me.

I am thankful for bumble bees, especially the endangered ones that struggle to overcome the tragic changes to their environment. Bumble bees are social insects but what developers and others are doing to them is definitely anti-social.

But that's just me.

I am thankful for butterflies, nature's flying art that flutter in our garden and touch gently down on blossoms for a lingering sip of nectar. Their beauty overwhelms me.

But that's just me.

I am thankful for the pre-historic looking dragonflies that glide gracefully over our ponds and streams to snag mosquitoes and other undeirable insects. 

But that's just me.

I am thankful for the insects that clothe us: the bees for pollinating cotton plants, and the silkworms for spinning cocoons.

But that's just me.

I am thankful for the beneficial insects, like honey bees, ladybugs, lacewings, assassin bugs, damsel bugs, soldier beetles, big-eyed bugs, syrphids, and parasitic mini-wasps.

But that's just me.

I am thankful for bee gardens, gardeners, entomologists and insect photographers. Frankly, I would rather spend an afternoon photographing insects in my backyard than sitting on a crowded beach in Hawaii with a little umbrella decorating a drink that I don't drink.

But that's just me.

I am thankful I don't engage in recreational shopping, collect pretentious possessions, or focus on five-star restaurants, especially when starving, ravaged and troubled souls sit forlornly outside. I firmly believe that Brown Thursday, Black Friday and Cyber Monday should not be an integral part of our lives, and that “greed” should be replaced by “giving."

But that's just me.

I'm happy with what I have. To me, it's important to “want” what you have, than to “have” what you want.

But that's just me.

Today I'm especially thankful for two Gulf Fritillary butterflies that just emerged from their chrysalids. 

The double emergence may seem like a “minor” thing to be thankful for today but it's the “minor" things that I treasure. And why "happy" should always precede the name of this holiday. 

"THANKS...

GIVING." 

Yoko Warncke of Vallejo crated this butterfly cross-stich. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)

“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days--three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain,” wrote John Keats in Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne.

"Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you," wrote Nathaniel Hawthorne

An Irish blessing reads:
"May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun
And find your shoulder to light on,
To bring you luck, happiness and riches
Today, tomorrow and beyond."

From time immortal, we humans have depicted butterflies in our art. There's something about the ballet of butterflies that soothes our mind, brightens our spirit, and captures our soul.

So it is with the talented artists exhibiting their work at McCormack Hall during the five-day Solano County Fair, 900 Fairgrounds Drive, Vallejo. The fair opens Wednesday, July 31 and ends Sunday, Aug. 4. 

Vallejo resident Yoko Warncke cross-stitched butterflies for her needlework exhibit. Another Vallejo resident, Tina Waycie, crafted a paper butterfly and flowers.

Trudy Molina of Fairfield depicted "The Hungry Caterpillar" in a baby quilt. It's a quilt sure to be treasured. It reminds us of the quote by Richard Buckminster Fuller: "There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it's going to be a butterfly."

No, indeed!

Vallejoan LaQuita Tummings quilted a beautiful bee, dragonfly and ladybug, so spectacular that you just want to sit and study it.

We watched Gloria Gonzalez, superintendent of the McCormack Hall building and her adult and youth assistants hang many of the displays. They're involved in the Sherwood Forest 4-H Club, Vallejo, throughout the year, but in the summer when the Solano County Fair rolls around, they're at McCormack Hall accepting entries, recording results and displaying the work.

Insect art is just a small part of the displays in McCormack Hall. You'll see photography, collections, table settings, clothing, baked goods, jams and jellies, and even some farm equipment.

It all ties in with the fair theme, "Home Grown Fun."

I usually can't get within 25 yards of a dragonfly.

Not so in our back yard.

A flame skimmer or firecracker skimmer (Libellula saturata) has apparently decided that this is where he wants to be.

Last Saturday, for nine hours, he perched on a six-foot-high bamboo stake, leaving only for a few seconds at a time to snag a flying insect before returning to eat his prey.

The flame skimmer, about a 2.5-inch Odonata, looks prehistoric. In fact, according to a UC Berkeley website, "The oldest recognizable fossils of the group (Odonata) belong to the Protodonata, an ancestral group that is now extinct. The earliest fossils so far discovered come from Upper Carboniferous (Pennsylvanian) sediments in Europe formed about 325 million years ago. Like modern-day dragonflies, the Protodonata were fast-flying with spiny legs that may have assisted in capturing prey; their wingspan was up to 75 centimeters (30 inches). The group went extinct in the Triassic, about the time that dinosaurs began to appear."

Meanwhile, back in our yard (325 million years into the future), Big Red kept snagging insects and flying back to his six-foot-high perch to eat them. Then occasionally he'd claim a five-foot-high bamboo stake. Too much high rise? A little acrophobia?

At first I kept my distance, hoping I wouldn't frighten him. However, he just looked at me as if I were part of the permanent landscape. Camera movement didn't faze him. After capturing multiple images from every angle possible, I thrust the macro lens about an inch away from his head. He did not move.

Am I a dragonfly whisperer or just lucky? 

The flame skimmer prefers a habitat of warm water ponds, slow streams or hot springs. We have a fish pond, a pool and a birdbath in our yard, so I guess that's why he hangs out here.

And we have the perfect perches--bamboo stakes. They're meant to stake our tomato plants but now they're "dragonfly sticks."

We suspect Big Red won't last long. A Mama scrub jay is nesting in our shrubbery and when her babies chirp for food, off she flies in search of a tasty morsel. Mama Bird chased a bright orange gulf fritillary butterfly (missed!) and now, I expect, she'll go after Big Red.

It's a bug-eat-bug world out there, and sometimes it's a bird-eat-bug world when you don't want it to be.

If you're around creeks, ponds and irrigation ditches, watch for the dragonflies.

We spotted scores of variegated meadowhawks (Sympetrum corruptum) last Sunday along an irrigation ditch bordering a sunflower field in Winters, Calif.

Like helicopters, they hovered, soared, dropped, sped up and slowed down. Dragonflies  can reach speeds up to 30 miles per hour, according to an article, "Chasing Dragons," in the current edition of Audubon.

Written by Jill U. Adams, the article details the art of watching dragonflies, and how this is becoming a passion like birdwatching.

Entomologists call dragonflies "odes," after their order, Odonata. They're also called "dragons."

"Dating back more than 250 million years, odes were around long before the dinosaurs appeared," Adams wrote.

"Odes are easy enough to find at a pond or stream around mid-morning, after the sun has warmed the air. They fly and perch, hunt and mate, from spring until fall."

She quotes dragonfly expert Larry Federman, education coordinator for the three Audubon New York sanctuaries, as saying: "Once you start watching dragonflies, you can't help but notice how amazing they are. They fly at speeds of up to 30 miles per hour, zip forward and backward, pivot in a flash and hover with ease. They prey on live insects in midair, snapping up small bugs with their mouths or grabbing larger ones with their legs, then perching to devour them."

In Winters, we watched their mating rituals. Their bodies hooked together, their double set of wings glittering like precious jewels, they dazzled us with their maneuvers, speed and beauty. So fast, so very fast. (But things are not what they seem; be sure to read National Geographic's piece on the dragonfly mating game.)

What's spectacular about the Audubon feature is a row of 16 dragonfly abdomens lined up like arrowheads or surfboards.

And yes, among the 16 abdomens: the variegated meadowhawk.

It's not as striking as the flame skimmer (that one is firecracker red!), but its coloration is sure to please.