Casso-wary

Tags

Australia, Cassowary, Gondwana, Jurassic Park, nature, stories, story telling, Velociraptor

Do you know of Cassowaries?  They are lovely, enormous, dinosauric (made that one up) birds on north-eastern Australia.  There are two species (both of which are endangered), but there used to be three.  The third is extinct.  (I told the Aboriginal story about the Cassowary in the sky here, and there is a poem about them here.)

There are thought to be fewer than 500 Southern Cassowaries (Casuarius casuarius) left in Queensland, and their population is in a steep decline, due to the fragmentation of habitat, and high attrition rates due to fatal encounters with cars on the increasing number of roads that cut through rainforest.

Cassowaries are ratites, like ostriches and emus, and they are of Gondwanan origin (i.e. after Pangaea split up into Laurasia and Gondwana).  I said dinosauric before because they really look like living dinosaurs.  Rumour has it that they can strike out with a backward facing claw (described as “dagger-like”) on their feet, just like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park.  It is said that they can eviscerate a man this way.

Scene from Jurassic Park, courtesy of steelcloset.com

Cassowaries have long blue necks, red wattles, and massively thick legs.  Their feathers lack barbs and fall across their bodies like thick black hair.  They also have hollow bone casques on their heads, with which they can make a sound like a didgeridoo.

Southern Cassowary (Casuarius casuarius) in a zoo

I tell you all these things because (a) cassowaries are awesome and I love to tell you about awesome nature and (b) because I want you to understand just how rare and special but also intimidating it is to run into one of these guys in the wild.  Alone.

I was running through the rainforest at dawn, completely alone, as I did every morning of my stay in those ancient Gondwanan remnants.  They were lovely and the dawn chorus almost deafening.  I was captivated by those forests, the slippery, root-y trails which wound up and down through creeks and ridges.

On this particular morning, as I was toddling along, I heard a loud, distinct KEE-RUNCH, just off the trail to my right.  I stopped dead, slowly turning my head to see a cassowary standing not 2 meters away from me.  It looked at me, dipped its head to the ground and continued eating the fruit that had fallen there.

I stared, with my mouth hanging open.  This bird was taller than I was, probably about 1.8 m (~6 ft), and I was just completely awestruck.  It didn’t mind me at all, just kept eating.  After about 10 or 15 minutes (during which I did not move at all and may or may not have had an insect fly into my open mouth), it picked up its head, and simply faded into the undergrowth, vanishing silently and completely in just a few seconds.

At which point, I suddenly snapped to and remembered that there had been a camera hanging around my neck the whole time.  I fumbled with it as if it were a bar of slippery soap, and managed to snap one, single, pathetically blurry photo before the bird completely disappeared.  A Loch Ness photo, if you will, with a blurry blue neck in the undergrowth.

My only evidence that this happened at all.

So I was lucky enough to encounter one of the fewer than 500 individuals left of this species in the wild, just not lucky enough to have a brain at the time.

PS. The title of this post is a pun.  A pun on wary.  Just FYI.

Hornworm: Autumn Lamentation, by Stanley Kunitz

Tags

Braconidae, Hornworm, nature, nature poetry, parasitoid, Sphingidae, Stanley Kunitz

Hornworm caterpillars are moth larvae of the family Sphingidae (Sphinx moths or Hawk moths). They are a lovely bright green, but they are frequently prey to the parasitoid wasp family Braconidae. The wasps lay their eggs inside the caterpillar, and hatch out into these characteristic cocoons (see picture below). I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor caterpillar, even though it was eating my tomatoes.

This is a hornworm caterpillar (family Sphingidae) heavily parasitized by Braconid wasp cocoons.

This is a beautiful poem. I found it today and instantly fell in love with it.

Hornworm: Autumn Lamentation

Since that first morning when I crawled
into the world, a naked grubby thing,
and found the world unkind,
my dearest faith has been that this
is but a trial: I shall be changed.
In my imaginings I have already spent
my brooding winter underground,
unfolded silky powdered wings, and climbed
into the air, free as a puff of cloud
to sail over the steaming fields,
alighting anywhere I pleased,
thrusting into deep tubular flowers.

It is not so: there may be nectar
in those cups, but not for me.
All day, all night, I carry on my back
embedded in my flesh, two rows
of little white cocoons,
so neatly stacked
they look like eggs in a crate.
And I am eaten half away.

If I can gather strength enough
I’ll try to burrow under a stone
and spin myself a purse
in which to sleep away the cold;
though when the sun kisses the earth
again, I know I won’t be there.
Instead, out of my chrysalis
will break, like robbers from a tomb,
a swarm of parasitic flies,
leaving my wasted husk behind.

Sir, you with the red snippers
in your hand, hovering over me,
casting your shadow, I greet you,
whether you come as an angel of death
or of mercy. But tell me,
before you choose to slice me in two:
Who can understand the ways
of the Great Worm in the Sky?

- Stanley Kunitz

Memorial Day Drawing

Tags

Bald Eagle, Memorial Day

It is Memorial Day in the United States and the national bird of the United States is the Bald Eagle.  So here is a Bald Eagle and the American Flag to honour the soldiers!

Catedral Sal de Zipaquirá

Tags

Catedral Sal, Colombia, culture, Salt Cathedral, travel, Zipaquira

Zipaquirá is a small town north of Bogotá in Colombia.

It is a pretty little town, even when cloudy.

Another view of the town.

Zipaquirá is mostly a tourist town for Colombians that are making the pilgrimage to la Catedral Sal, or the Salt Cathedral.  Many travel to Zipaquirá by train and although we traveled by bus from Bogotá, we had to get touristy photos in front of it.

My older sister and Felipe, our colombiano friend in front of the train.

La Catedral Sal was originally a salt mine, used even by the pre-Columbus Muisca culture.  In the early 1800′s, it was one of the biggest salt mines in the world.  The original cathedral was built by the miners for their own use, but was unsafe because of structural problems.  It was revamped in the 1990′s.  The mine is no longer active, and the cathedral lacks a bishop (therefore not an official cathedral in the Catholic church), so it is primarily a tourist attraction.

My sister standing at the entrance to the cathedral.

Most of the tourists were Colombians.  I think is a cultural and spiritual trip for them.  The cathedral certainly is a beautiful and mystical place.

One of the smaller inner chapels.

Salt patterns in the walls. This actually might be the ceililng, but I can’t remember.

Felipe under the cross in the main chapel. It is lit from below and throws a cross shadow on the ceiling.  I like the random person standing in the cross, photobombing.

Elaborate and beautiful carvings in the walls.

A simple kneeling block, for praying.

Drawings for Ecologists

Tags

art, bluegill, cowbird, drawing, ecology, lobster

We had a lot of ecologists come to give talks at our uni this semester. I was part of the seminar series planning committee, so I drew all these pictures of their study species for the thank you cards. Of course, some of them studied biodiversity, so I had my pick of animals (ended up being a fox, of course). I stink at landscapes, but it’s always good to practice!

Happy Friday!

Brown-headed cowbird

Bluegill

Deer

Fox (of course)

Strawberry

Farmscape

Lobster

A local solitary bee.

Firefly Voyeurs, by Jan Hasselman Bosman

Tags

cats, fireflies, Firefly voyeurs, Jan Hasselman Bosman, nature poetry, poetry

When we were really young (i.e. when I was 3 and she was 5), my sister and I used to run around the yard catching fireflies at twilight.

I can remember it so well; it was the summer before they found her cancer.  Years later, I was lying in bed in an old abandoned farmhouse, and looking up through the small, square window just above the bed.  Through the frame, I could see thousands of fireflies blinking on and off, more than I have ever seen anywhere else.  For me, they are magical insects, and I love this poem.

Firefly Voyeurs

The grey cat’s keen eyes spy
them first, those sparks,
here,
there,
flying through twilight
in ferns and space.
Playing with purpose,
specks of light
for a second,
flash,
glint,
hide and seek in the silhouetted landscape
while we watch their acts
through a thick pane of glass.

- Jan Hasselman Bosman

Storm chasing

Tags

biking, nature, outdoors, stories, storm, weather

Last night I raced a massive thunderstorm on my Dragon.

I live in an area where there is heaps of rain, and we’ve been seeing a lot of the wet stuff over the past few weeks.  It is capable of pouring for days nonstop, so imagine my excitement when, yesterday afternoon, the sun peeked out behind some clouds and meandered surreptitiously into a little patch of blue sky.

I bounced down the stairs and right onto my bike and kicked off with a whoosh and a big grin.

The first ten kilometers were uneventful and pleasant.  I meandered south and east, came back around along a river and up a hill (a 2 km climb at a 9% grade or so).

Now, my uni is nestled in the middle of an east-west ridge and valley system, so as I headed north, I was aiming directly at a ridge of mountains.  “Haha,” I said to Dragon, “Look at how much it is raining on the ridge.  Glad we’re not there!”  (Dragon hates rain.)

But there was an ominous feeling building up in my stomach.  After a few km, I took a hard left and started heading west, parallel to the storm.  It started getting darker.  “Um,” I thought.

I felt the temperature drop a few degrees and a cool, quiet wind started to blow steadily south.  I could feel the sprinkling of the first drops of rain.  The big clouds began to roll over the ridge and down into the valley like a herd of wild horses.

I took another hard left and started heading due south, the storm right on my tail.  Swoosh!  I sped up and over a steep hill, and then along a flat.  I rode past a woman who was taking pictures of the storm; her hair was being blown about by the increasing winds.  As I approached, she sprinted back to her car, not because of me, but because the massive thunderheads hot in pursuit.

As I flew by, she shouted over the wind, “Do you need a ride?!”

“No, no!” I shouted back, laughing giddily.  I waved an arm at her and bent low over my handlebars.

Thrum, thrum, thrum, I was fully geared out and pumping hard on the pedals, leaning forward intently.  For 10 or 11 kilometers, I stayed just on the fringes of that storm, pulling slightly ahead on flats and downhills, losing ground when pumping my way up steep slopes.

Then, suddenly, I had to turn west, parallel to the approach of the storm.

Those clouds rolled right over me with a melodramatic FLASH of lightning and a triumphant RUMMMMBLE.  Well, there was nothing to do but put my head down, pedal hard, and belt out lyrics to bad music at the top of my lungs (and out of tune) as rain poured over the both of us (my bike and me), and the sky lit up with flashes.

It’s not the first time I’ve been caught by a storm.  Nor will it be the last, I expect.  But I thought it was a fun story for today.

Worrisome news on the bee front

Tags

colony collapse disorder, herbicides, honeybee, Monsanto, news, pesticides, research, science

Over the past few decades, honeybees (primarily in the US but also elsewhere) have been threatened by a suite of hazards, including Varroa destructor (a parasitic mite), which carries two deadly bee viruses (one of them you may recognize as the “Israeli acute paralysis virus” or IAPV), and many other pathogens (including more than 20 other viruses).  These hazards, in combination, have led to a syndrome known as CCD or colony collapse disorder.  In the US, losses have been as high as 50% over a single winter, with some sources saying that there has be a 70% decline over the past decade.  Although the actual numbers are in dispute (especially regarding the precise definition of CCD), the point still stands that honeybees are much less reliable than they used to be.

But honeybees have always had a lot of pests, why the sudden decline?  As usual, the answer is complicated.  Although the pathogens are the proximate cause of the declines, the ultimate cause is a reduction in the health and immune defenses of the honeybees.  Which has recently been convincingly tied to pesticide use.

Recent research has been pointing more and more to pesticide usage as the ultimate cause of honeybee declines.  The US Department of Agriculture has shown negative effects of the components of pesticides (especially neonicotinoids ) that leave residues in floral nectar and dew (which honeybees drink).

Yesterday, I was at a symposium on pollinators and there were a lot of alarming talks discussing the ways that pesticides affect honeybees (including changes in behaviour, physiology, and even gene expression).  One of the speakers, Chris Mullin, described the effects of the inert (or “inactive”) ingredients in these pesticide formulations, which are sometimes 20 times more lethal than the active ingredient alone (see Johnson et al. 2010).  The same ingredients that are in shampoos and antiperspirants!

Dr. Mullin found more than 130 different kinds of pesticides in honeybee wax and propolis.  Is it any wonder that they are struggling?  Even worse, we have no idea how the native bees are affected…they are much more difficult to study and Apis mellifera is not a good representative of bees that can be 1/10th of its size.

Enter Monsanto.

Monsanto is a company most famous for genetically engineering crops to be resistant to pesticides (specifically herbicides, specifically Round Up aka glyphosate).  Founded by Norman Borlaug, who had the mission to eliminate world hunger by improving crops to increase yield and efficiency, the company not only produces the GM crops, it also sells the herbicide.  Double dipping some would say.

In response to a recent outbreak in glyphosate resistant weeds, Monsanto has been trying to get permission to create genetically modified crops that are resistant to Dicamba, a much more serious broad leaf herbicide.  (See Mortensen et al. 2012, in Bioscience)

People have started looking sideways at Monsanto, which is being blamed for the declines due to the fact that it is the world’s largest producer of glyphosate, which is a pesticide.  The main problem is that the declines were tied to insect pesticides and not herbicides.  And some people are blaming Monsanto because of its GM corn (not scientifically tied to the declines), and not because of the pesticides.

How does Monsanto respond?  It buys up Beelogics, which is dedicated to the conservation of honeybees.  There have been some murmurs about this.  (Note that all of these articles, including the Huffington Post, confuse the term “pesticides” with the “herbicides” that Monsanto produces.  The research points to neonics (specifically insecticides) while Monsanto specialises in herbicides that attack plants.)

What is next?  A genetically engineered bee that is resistant to the insecticides used on apple orchards?  What an interesting and yet terrifying concept!

Don’t you worry there, my honey, we may not have any money, but we’ve got our love to pay the bills…

Scars are life’s scrapbook

Tags

fieldwork, memories, outdoors, scars, scrapbook, stories

I am both a fairly active person and a field biologist, so you could say that I have more than my fair share of scars.

In the summer, lacing back and forth underneath the dark tan of my shins, there is an intricate latticework of fine white scars.  It is complex enough to look as though it was by design, but in fact is just the result of spending a summer doing fieldwork in a massive blackberry thicket.  Every day I would come home, take off my field pants, and cluck in dismay at my legs, which looked like someone had taken a lash to them; they were oozing blood from dozens of scratches.

One day, I was murmuring about my scars to my friend, “I have so many scars!” I exclaimed, as if suddenly noticing after all these years.

She looked at my legs and said, “Don’t sweat it, standingoutinmyfield” (okay, maybe not in so many words) “Scars are like life’s scrapbook.”

Huh.

She’s right!

Almost all of my scars have a story behind them.

This cat’s eye dash across my left knee from when I was rappelling down a sheer granite cliff in the pouring rain with only a chain to hold onto and cold, slippery hands.  I slipped 5 meters and cracked that knee hard against a boulder.

Or this angry red centipede of a scar on my right knee from when the skateboarder collided with me.

Or the road tar that is still in my knee from a bicycle accident so many years ago.

Or the 5 cm slash across my right shin when I accidentally dropped a tree on myself doing trailwork.  Shortly after that, I fell down a steep slope, rolling and bouncing to land on my back with a solid whump.  There had been a sharp, jagged stump sticking up between my right arm and my body when I landed.  10 cm to the right and I would have been, if not dead, at least in urgent need of medical care.

And don’t even get me started on my hands…

So that’s it then.  I guess I’m just lucky to have so many scars to remember my stories by!

Do you have a story for your scars?

More feathered friends

Tags

Birds, nature, bird banding, photography, Grey Catbird, Common Yellowthroat, Wilson's Warbler, Magnolia Warbler, Red-eyed Vireo

I’ve done a couple of avian posts before (here for example), but I think these are my best photos yet!  Let me know if you like them!

Grey Catbird (Dumatella carolinensis)

Their “meow” is worse than their bite!

Checking for fat.

Female Common Yellowthroat (Geothlypis trichas)

Show-off

Female Common Yellowthroat

Wood Thrush head (Hylocichla mustelina)

Wood Thrush and bird

Wilson’s Warbler (Wilsonia pusilla)

Does this spring plumage make me look fat?

This is my good side.

Magnolia Warbler (Setophaga magnolia)

Brooding

Male Common Yellowthroat

Either a Willow or Least Flycatcher (Empidonax sp.)

What are you little bird? Not telling.

So undignified.

Red eyed Vireo (Vireo olivaceus)

How about this side?

 

On the Fence: Fire ants

Tags

evolution of behaviour, fence lizards, fire ants, invasive species, nature, science, Tracy Langkilde

Fire ants are a non-native invasive species in the southeastern United States and northern Australia.  Their scientific name is Solenopsis invicta (invicta means “unvanquished” or “invincible”), but I have heard them called many other things, often unprintable, often by a shouting person hopping on one foot who has accidentally disturbed a nest.

Fire ants have a nasty sting (although not the worst I’ve experienced), and, perhaps more importantly, an instantaneous swarming reaction when their mounds are disturbed.  An unsuspecting person can easily find themselves covered in hundreds of ants in under a minute.

I still have scars from accidentally sitting on a mound when I was three years old.

Despite all of this, I can forgive the fire ant its vicious tendencies because it has provided for so much fascinating research over the years.  I wrote earlier about Walter Tschinkel’s research on nest architecture in the fire ants and other species of ant, but Dr. Tschinkel also studies how humans move the ants, and whether or not they actually contribute to the decline of native species.  (*science crush*)

In addition, it was the discovery of fire ant invasion that led to the long and storied career of E.O. Wilson, with whom I had breakfast.

And today, I will tell you about a third science crush I have, who also studies fire ants.  Tracy Langkilde, a herpetologist from James Cook University in Queensland, studies how the invasive fire ant has changed the behaviour of the native fence lizard (Sceloporus undulatus).

Fence lizards are well camouflaged, and their natural instinct in response to danger is to freeze.  This makes sense for them when their major predators are birds of prey, that rely on eyesight to detect them.  A fence lizard, when still, is very difficult to see.

A fence lizard from Dr. Langkilde’s webpage: https://homes.bio.psu.edu/people/faculty/langkilde/index_files/research.htm

Unfortunately, when a fence lizard is being attacked by fire ants, it will die if it stays still.  Fire ants will pry up the scales of the lizard and sting it.  They can kill an adult fence lizard in about 12 stings, so a frozen lizard is the perfect prey.

In places where the fire ant and lizard have coexisted for a long time, the behaviour of the lizards is different.  In response to an attack by fire ants, they begin this twitching, dancing motion, flicking the ants off.  Then they run away.

Here’s an interview with Dr. Langkilde

And they survive!  Smart lizards.

I drew a silly picture of this phenomenon (not to scale).

(PS.  You can also check out the adorable pictures of Dr. Langkilde and her lab at this site:  https://homes.bio.psu.edu/people/faculty/langkilde/index_files/photos.htm)

Tree, by Dan Chiasson

Tags

Alex Culang, buttersafe, Dan Chiasson, nature poetry, the value of trees, Tree

Tree

All day I waited to be blown;
then someone cut me down.

I have, instead of thoughts,
uses; uses instead of feelings.

One day I’ll feel the wind again.
A moment later I’ll be gone.

- Dan Chiasson

If you need to be convinced of the value of trees, the New York Times recently published this article.

And here’s my favourite tree comic, from buttersafe.com and drawn by Alex Culang.

Wild forage: who said there’s no such thing as free lunch?

Tags

apples, asparagus, blueberries, Chestnuts, food, lamb's quarters, sumac, wild forage

It may not surprise you to learn that a certain percentage of my diet comes from wild forage foods.  Wild forage is a way to add delicious variety to my life and save a bit of my skimpy budget.

At some points in my life (i.e. between employment), wild forage foods have been the primary component of my diet: breakfasts of wild asparagus, wood sorrel, and lamb’s quarters, lunches of wild cherries, dinners of feral apples, chestnuts, and hen of the woods mushrooms.

Not that I recommend this strategy for any starving grad student…you have to be comfortable identifying the plants that you eat, and careful in cleaning them in case they have been sprayed with something awful.  You should never eat a mushroom unless you are 100% confident in its identity.  My mom had a friend who died of a misidentified mushroom.

Nonetheless, I have a few old stand-bys that I return to year after year, that I would feel comfortable recommending to anyone.

(NB:  I’m most experienced at foraging in eastern North America.  I have experience in other countries, but am less comfortable providing recommendations.)

Sorted by time of year.

Morels probably come out earliest.  They are pretty unmistakable mushies.  See my post here for a recipe and a terrible pun.

One of the earliest and best wild forage foods is Wild Asparagus.  Wild asparagus is the same species as the cultivated kind, but it has escaped and gone feral!  Learn to recognize the fringy adult plant in the fall and you will surely have fresh asparagus for breakfast in early spring.

A fresh young sprig of wild asparagus (Asparagus officionalis).

My best friend diving for asparagus. Get it!

A drawing I did a loooonnnnggg time ago of asparagus, useful because of the adult form.

There are a few weedy species that are around all year that are always good to eat, but are not very substantial.  There is the tart, lemony Yellow Wood Sorrel:

Yellow Wood Sorrel (Oxalis stricta)

And there is the velvety smooth Lamb’s Quarters, which tastes rather like spinach.  It has a silvery sheen to it.

Adult Lamb’s Quarters (not as good to eat at this age)

I actually kind of like this drawing, even though it is old.

I think all of the Rubus species are good to eat; they have fruits available at different times of year.  First, there are black raspberries, then raspberries, blackberries, Japanese Wineberries, and Dewberries.  Yum!

As we get later in the summer, the shimmery leaves of the Autumn olive attract my attention.  From the berries, you can make a pretty yummy jam or fruit leather.

Then, of course there are blueberries.  There are two wild species here: high bush and low bush blueberry, which taste similar.  (Huckleberries are very similar and also good to eat!)  The high bush blueberries are bigger, though.

They flower early in summer, and fruit in autumn.

Then there are Staghorn Sumac berries, from which you can make a delightful tea that tastes just like cranberry juice.

And soon thereafter, the wild Black Cherries:

The Chinese chestnuts produce abundant food, but you have to fight the squirrels for the nuts.

And finally, the wild apples of old orchards (my favourite!).  Even if you have to fight the horses for them.  I like to climb into the top of the tree to grab the ones the horses can’t reach.

Explore at your own risk!  The rewards can be great, but make sure you know the species you are eating.

Bees in Britain

Tags

Bee identification, Bees in Britain, Bees Wasps and Ants Recording Society, British bees

Just a quick post to let you know that you can now download the book Bees in Britain for free!

You can go to the Bees Wasps and Ants Recording Society website to download it.  I haven’t perused it yet, but it looks awesome.

Here’s a link: http://www.bwars.com/index.php?q=content/bees-britain-free-download

My mum

Tags

mother's day, mothers, mum

I’ve been posting about fabulous mums all week, but you can probably guess who I want to write about today, on the big day itself.

This is my mum.

My mum has three Master’s degrees.  She is a writer, a Tai-chi master, a teacher, and in her spare time she volunteers to help people in various venues.

A tiny (155 cm tall) bouncing ball of energy with a halo of curly golden brown hair, she is, unarguably, an amazing person, and she has incredible stories to tell.  For example, she once worked as a nurse at a maximum security insane asylum, with murderers and rapists.

But, more importantly, she is an amazing mother.  She raised myself and my two sisters, often alone.  At the same time as she was tending my sister, who had cancer at the age of 5, she was embroiled in a custody battle for my eldest sister, daughter from her first marriage.

My eldest sister and my mum (not in Brisbane, as evidenced by piles of snow)

I don’t think I can express how selfless she is…she once drove eight hours to spend a night with my sister because my sister was scared to spend a night alone in her new apartment.  She did it without batting an eye.

She’s can also be every bit as nutty as me, although in a different way.  Whereas I go out of my way to find snakes, she is petrified of them.  I can remember her wearing my father’s huge boots and a gigantic floppy sun hat, stomping around the yard, clapping two pieces of wood together, and shouting at the top of her lungs to scare off snakes.

My mother and I have always been very close.  I never had a rebellious stage; I never yelled invectives at her or stormed out the door.  When my sisters were at uni and my father assigned abroad, my mum and I spent the last year of my secondary school doing everything together.

She’d drive by the school at noon wearing sunglasses to pick me up, and we’d drive off together to do a triathlon, or to shop for ingredients for the elaborate meals I would concoct for friends.

Mum and dad in Brisbane

She taught me how to enjoy dark, unsweetened chocolate with coffee and we’d always eat artichokes together, one leaf at a time and, finally, splitting the heart in half.  She tells me now that it is a tradition she also shared with her mother.

Through thick and thin, my mum has always been my best friend.  Somehow, she is always waiting for me with open arms, even when I drop off the face of the Earth for months at a time.  Even though we live far apart now, our reunions are always filled with warm embraces.

So here is a tribute to all mothers, especially mine, who is the best.

Mother’s Day Drawings

Tags

bears, deer, drawings, ducks, foxes, illustrations, mother's day, mothers

Because it’s Friday, here are some silly drawings.

Llama Mama

Foxy mama

Fennec Foxes

Last year’s Mother’s Day card

Wolves

Oh dear

Duck, duck, duck

So beary happy

Women of a certain age

Tags

humanity, kindness, mother, storytelling, travel

Here’s a story of my own for my mother’s week theme.

Over the years, I’ve had a number of fairy godmothers take me in when I was a mangy stray.  Looking back, I am amazed at their kindness.  And the thing that seems to unite all of these people, whom I met in vastly different circumstances, in countries around the world, was that they were all women of a certain age.  Which is to say, women of a certain maturity.

How did they know that I needed help?  I never asked for help, at least not in words.

Somehow, they knew exactly when to give, and when to accept, kindness.

Because, you see, I may be a stray, but I am a useful stray.  I am a pretty darn good cook, a competent and tidy housekeeper, and experienced in handling children and pets.  I am also fairly quiet and reserved.  The only risk you run in taking me in is that I will one day disappear quickly and quietly.

For example, there was Chris (whom I wrote about in Tom the Toad), who took me in when I came crashing out of the bush as a half-starved backpacker.   I cooked her meals, cleaned her house, and watched over her daughter as a way of thanking her for her kindness.  But I am still amazed that she took that leap of faith to trust me.

Chris

Then there was Jaimelle.  She took me in when I was very ill.  I had serious tropical ear infections in both ears and couldn’t stop vomiting.  My eyes were flicking back and forth because the room seemed to be spinning.  Instead of assuming that I was some drug addict, she took me in and nursed me back to health, even though I was a total stranger from another country.  She took me to tropical flower shows when I recovered enough to walk.

There was Christina, a friendly colombiana who, upon discovering that I like birds, took me on a special trip to a farm to show me the chickens.  “Mira!  Los pajaros!”  So sweet.  She let me stay in her house, and showed me the artwork of her children, who had long since left.

Christina

There was Kathy, a woman of the central Appalachia, who let me stay in her house when I was doing fieldwork in the middle of nowhere.  She was passionate about saving the American chestnut.  From her, I learned to brush my hair outside, so that the birds could take the shed strands for their nests.

And, of course, there was Mimi, an accomplished quilter in Florida’s panhandle.  I stayed with her and she taught me to make my own quilts on frosty January nights.

Mimi and her husband, Jim

Then there was Justine…I trained her sled dogs while she was away and she let me stay a while longer after she and her family returned to watch over her daughters.

In some of these times I was more desperate than others, but I can help but think back and wonder; what would I have done without them?  They were all different, and yet so fundamentally the same. They all had something that they loved, and they let me be a part of it, whether it was horses, chestnuts, tropical plants, sled dogs, quilts, or birds.  I have learned so much from them.  I wish I could repay them.

These are women of culture, women of wisdom.  These women have reached an age of pure beauty and grace.  They have dignity and confidence in their identity, so much so that they have faith in the uncertain, and hope in the goodness of man.  And they are very much to be admired.

I can’t help but feel that I have had so many mothers.

Parthenogenesis, or Virgin mothers

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Ants, galapagos pink iguana, motherhood, nature, parthenogenesis, reproduction

Parthenogenesis is a phenomenon by which organisms can reproduce asexually, that is to say, without fertilization.  The word itself, “parthenogenesis” comes from the Greek word for virgin (parthenos) and birth or creation (genesis).  (And you may recall the Parthenon in Greece, dedicated to the virgin goddess Athena.  I was grilled on that during my comprehensive examination, oddly enough.)

The Greek Parthenon, image courtesy of Wikipedia.org

I’m sure if I start talking about plants you will fall asleep, but you may be interested to know that this phenomenon is actually quite common in animals.

Perhaps the most familiar example is ants.  Ants reproduce asexually to generate males, all of which are haploid (one set of chromosomes).  Females in the colony are all from fertilized eggs and are diploid (both sets of chromosomes).

Once you understand that ants are parthenogenic, you must also realise that eusocial bees and wasps are parthenogenic.  For examples, male honeybees, or drones, are haploid.

Male honeybee (drone). “I’m haploid! Whee!” image courtesy of Wikipedia.org

Then on to less familiar examples.  There are the aphids, which reproduce parthenogenically by season, when they wish to rapidly reproduce to colonize a plant.  Some birds, including turkeys, can occasionally reproduce parthenogenically, and many reptiles, as it turns out.

Parthenogenic iguanids still perform courting rituals, even though they don’t mate, and both participants are female.  My favourite example is the newly discovered Pink Land Iguana (Conolophus marthae), from the Galapagos islands.  To be parthenogenic, and also pink, is extremely humourous to me!

The Pink Land Iguana.  image courtesy of nationalgeographic.com

So now you might be wondering how this relates to my mother’s week celebration.

Isn’t it obvious?

I am the best mother! photo courtesy of bugmugs.org

Mother, by Ted Kooser

Tags

April, mother, nature poetry, poetry, Ted Kooser

A bittersweet poem for your Tuesday.

Mother

Mid April already, and the wild plums
bloom at the roadside, a lacy white
against the exuberant, jubilant green
of new grass an the dusty, fading black
of burned-out ditches. No leaves, not yet,
only the delicate, star-petaled
blossoms, sweet with their timeless perfume.

You have been gone a month today
and have missed three rains and one nightlong
watch for tornadoes. I sat in the cellar
from six to eight while fat spring clouds
went somersaulting, rumbling east. Then it poured,
a storm that walked on legs of lightning,
dragging its shaggy belly over the fields.

The meadowlarks are back, and the finches
are turning from green to gold. Those same
two geese have come to the pond again this year,
honking in over the trees and splashing down.
They never nest, but stay a week or two
then leave. The peonies are up, the red sprouts
burning in circles like birthday candles,

for this is the month of my birth, as you know,
the best month to be born in, thanks to you,
everything ready to burst with living.
There will be no more new flannel nightshirts
sewn on your old black Singer, no birthday card
addressed in a shaky but businesslike hand.
You asked me if I would be sad when it happened

and I am sad. But the iris I moved from your house
now hold in the dusty dry fists of their roots
green knives and forks as if waiting for dinner,
as if spring were a feast. I thank you for that.
Were it not for the way you taught me to look
at the world, to see the life at play in everything,
I would have to be lonely forever.

from Delights & Shadows. © Copper Canyon Press, 2004.

E.O. Wilson on eusociality

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E.O. Wilson, eusociality, mother's day, parental care, science, social insects, society

A young new mother and her two month old baby.

I recently went to a talk by the world-famous ecologist E.O. Wilson. He is one of my many academic crushes, so you can imagine how excited I was when I was invited to eat breakfast with him, along with a small group of graduate students at my uni.

When I shook hands with him, he peered at me through thick, square glasses with rheumy eyes and asked if I was an undergraduate.  When I responded that I was a graduate student, he said, “Well, you’re far along then, aren’t you?”  The words of one of my heroes!

E.O. Wilson, photo courtesy of Wikipedia.org

At breakfast, he discussed social insects with us students, in which most of us shared an interest (the ones who didn’t nodded politely).  Dr. Wilson is famous for his research on ants, and for the fact that he was the first person to discover the invasion of fire ants into the United States, in Alabama, when he was 13 years old.  (He is a good friend of one of my other academic crushes, Walter Tschinkel!)

E.O. Wilson is just as you would expect a man raised in the deep south in the 1930s and 40s to be: a southern gentleman with a thick accent and slight, slight racist and sexist tendencies.  He was very charming and I think no one could help but like him!  I, of course, was a little starstruck the whole time, but I tried not to make a fool of myself by asking him to sign my arm.  I was mightily tempted for a while there, though.

He and I did have a very interesting discussion about the development of “eusociality” or true sociality, which, for example, is demonstrated by humans, ants, bees, and some other organisms.  What is the evolutionary key that leads to true sociality?  According to E.O. Wilson, who is 82 years old and has been studying social insects since he was 13 (i.e. 69 years), it is parental care.

Think about that.  The driver of civilization as we know it may not be communication through speech, higher intelligence, or even opposable thumbs (even though those are quite nice).  Maybe it is parenthood!

I find that fascinating.  Perhaps parents are the anchor and structure of human society.

This coming Sunday, 13 May, is Mother’s Day in the United States.  Well, in my opinion, mothers deserve an entire week!  So here on my blog, I’ll be celebrating mothers and motherhood all week through cool snippets on biology, photographs, poems, and stories.