BOB KORNEGAY: Railroad waiting and gossamer wings

There’s a railroad crossing between Hilton, Ga. and Columbia, Ala. Trains there can be slow and long. It also seems they are quite frequent. I spend a great deal of down time at this crossing. Waiting.

At a snail’s pace, cars move forward. Three boxcars clear the crossing. The train halts. The same boxcars clear the crossing again, this time in reverse. Some of the graffiti art on the cars is rather interesting and even attractive, but I’m not all that keen on seeing it a second time. Other cars crawl by: rusty flats, tankers, more boxcars. The train brakes again and reverses direction. Interminable. The minutes, eternities, crawl as well. It’s a hot day and my old truck’s air conditioner cools only when I accelerate. When idling the Chevy Colorado is a Chevy Sauna.

I’m a laid-back sort by nature, but I’m getting rather vexed. I’ve never exhibited road rage and don’t intend to start now. On the other hand, I can’t recall ever having to wait at a crossing this long. Maybe a little venting would be justified. The guy in the semi behind me certainly seems to think so.

Then I look out my window and spy the butterflies. Wow. Dozens of them. Never even noticed them until now. Too busy getting angry.

I can’t identify the roadside flowers. The plants are some species of shrubby flora and the blooms are tiny. Whatever they are, though, the butterflies are all over them.

Coincidentally, I’m on my way home from an all-day butterfly watch in my Mom’s garden. All day I’ve observed various skippers, swallowtails, sulphurs, emperors, and hairstreaks flutter and flap in the south Alabama sunshine. It’s nerdy I know, but butterflying in late summer is almost as much fun as birding.

From the seat beside me I grab my binocs. Gulf fritillaries are everywhere, dancing on rising heat waves to the background music of chugging diesel locomotives and creaking train cars. There’s one giant swallowtail and a couple of female Eastern tigers. A handful of orange sulphurs appear, along with a lone Horace’s duskywing. Other sulphurs of various sizes fly by, but don’t stop long enough for reliable identification. All I’m able to read are the largest ones, the cloudless.

Hey, cool. There’s a common checkered skipper. Always gratifying to get a positive read on that tiny little guy. I’m pretty sure the foaming-at-the-mouth driver behind me doesn’t see it. I’m also certain it wouldn’t be a good idea to walk back there and happily inform him of its whereabouts. Ah, well. Maybe he saw that cabbage white fly by. It didn’t hang around long. Probably embarrassed over being so plainly marked here amongst its colorful cousins.

Well, I’ll be. Is this what I think it is? Yep. For a fact. Variegated fritillary. Heck, not just one. Seven or eight. How did I miss ‘em? That’s pretty nice. Haven’t seen one of those since my trip to the mountains in June.

My excitement builds and I raptly concentrate. Who knows? With this many butterflies around there might just be a first-timer, a lifer, in the mix. Wouldn’t that be neat?

Another giant swallowtail, two whirlabouts, a second duskywing. There goes another cabbage white, the greenish variation, a bit more colorful than its predecessor. Say, perhaps I should get out of the truck and move a little closer. If I stand right over there I’ll have a great angle and maybe there’ll be a…

Honnnk!

Uh oh. The vehicles ahead of me are moving. Back-door neighbor guy is testing the warranty on his truck’s horn. I am obviously testing the limit of his patience.

I accelerate and move forward. I cross the now-empty railroad track. One more quick glance in the rearview at the teeming mass of flitting Lepidoptera behind me.

I sigh semi-contentedly.

Almost worth it.

Not quite, but almost.