Arizona Writer

Monday Goodies: Tarantulas

2012-01-17T16:29:00.000-07:00

Well, darn. Yesterday was a day off from school, which in my brain made it not Monday. So, I wrote up the Monday Goodies really late, uploaded the pictures, and then fell asleep without posting them. My comeback is not off to a great start. Bear with me.

I thought I'd start this week with some spiders. While we're on the topic, are you on Google+ yet? If so, add me! Also, every Sunday I curate a group of really awesome spider photos with two other Google+ friends, Kjetil Greger Pedersen and Chris Mallory. If you like my spider pictures, come check out a bunch more good ones on the Spider Sunday page. And join in next Sunday!

So this week's spider ... That big spider you had in your house was probably not a tarantula, especially not this time of the year.

I say this because, about once a month (last week was the most recent one), someone will send me a photo or tell me a story about a "HUGE spider," ask me what I think it was, and then cut me off to tell me never mind, it was probably a tarantula. Usually, it's a wolf spider, maybe a giant crab spider, or just a house spider and a really scared homeowner who swears "It must have at least been a baby tarantula."

That's not a tarantula. This is a tarantula.

Once you've seen a few tarantulas, you won't make the mistake again. Adult tarantulas are all-over bulky, not just long-legged. And they're hairy. To use a Dave Barry quote, they're more like “spiders so large they appear to be wearing the pelts of small mammals.”

Of course, Mr. Barry also asserts that menfolk are the spider killers, and women the spider haters. Which of course gets both me and my husband dead wrong. The point is, we know our spiders. (He, so he can run the other way; and me, so I can get closeup photos and be a know-it-all online.)

Our local tarantula is the Arizona blond; also called the western desert, Mexican blond, and probably a few names I haven't heard before. They tend to be in 1- to 2-inch burrows anywhere where saguaros and other desert flora abound. As you can see in the photo below, they blend in surprisingly well, until Agh! When did that get here?! The stocky females, which reach sexual maturity around seven to 10 years old, are a uniform brown color. The slightly lankier males, which are the ones most commonly encountered, have copper-colored bodies and black legs.

Also, if you're my son, you think they're absolutely adorable.

More on the Arizona blond tarantula soon, because it's also in my Species a Day, which is getting a big boost as soon as I catch up. As soon as Monday: The Sequel (known to more responsible individuals as Tuesday) gives me a breather. Happy week, everyone.

What do I think? (A rant)

2012-01-09T21:44:00.011-07:00

I wanted to focus on editing some bug and landscape photos. Really I did. However, I received just one too many of these in my inbox today. Most of the time, the sparkly-kitty, America-and-Christendom-under-attack, send-a-hug junk just makes me chuckle. I might read them to my husband, and I usually consider replying with Weird Al's sentiments, before figuring that it's best not to rock the boat. Medical myths extra bug me, though, as some of you might have previously noticed. And this message did include a "What do you think?" solicitation, so I decided to be consider and reply.

I'll say this up front: I don't think this person, or the thousands or millions who pass these on, is stupid. That's kind of what bugs me. These are perfectly intelligent people, accepting (or halfway accepting) claims that take literally thirty seconds to debunk. And what's the harm? Well, nothing, just from following ridiculous urban-legend advice about placing onions all over your house (except maybe taking a hit socially). But there's very real harm in trusting cut onions over medicine; and even more pervasive harm in the backward mentality that the less elite someone is, the more they're to be trusted; the more ridiculous and hokey something seems, the more legitimate it must be: Why would people do these ridiculous things, otherwise? Sorry, no. Someone going out on a limb and doing something silly isn't exactly proof. Why, just an hour ago, I got this e-mail:

PLEASE READ TO THE END: IMPORTANT

In 1919 when the flu killed 40 million people there was this Doctor that visited the many farmers to see if he could help them combat the flu.. Many of the farmers and their family had contracted it and many died.

The doctor came upon this one farmer and to his surprise, everyone was very healthy. When the doctor asked what the farmer was doing that was different the wife replied that she had placed an unpeeled onion in a dish in the rooms of the home, (probably only two rooms back then). The doctor couldn't believe it and asked if he could have one of the onions and place it under the microscope. She gave him one and when he did this, he did find the flu virus in the onion. It obviously absorbed the bacteria, therefore, keeping the family healthy.

Now, I heard this story from my hairdresser in AZ. She said that several years ago many of her employees were coming down with the flu and so were many of her customers. The next year she placed several bowls with onions around in her shop. To her surprise, none of her staff got sick. It must work..Â Try it and see what happens. We did it last year and we never got the flu.

Now there is a P. S. to this for I sent it to a friend in Oregon who regularly contributes material to me on health issues. She replied with this most interesting experience about onions:

Thanks for the reminder. I don't know about the farmers story.. but, I do know that I contacted pneumonia and needless to say I was very ill.. I came across an article that said to cut both ends off an onion put it into an empty jar...placing the jar next to the sick patient at night. It said the onion would be black in the morning from the germs.. sure enough it happened just like that.. the onion was a mess and I began to feel better..

What do I think? Well:

I think the "onions fight the flu" story is bullshit. I think it's been debunked for quite some time now, and the most cursory amount of searching for any combination of "onion" and "flu" will set you straight.

I think this is hardly a new or particularly clever idea, and I don't think it came from a hairdresser in Arizona. The "onions are magical germ zappers" myth goes back to about 1900 at least, and before that there were all kinds of folk myths about keeping onions around for various reasons. (Once I read that keeping an onion under your pillow led you to dream of your true love. I was 13, and my friend and I tried it. My next dream was about lions. She got Montel Williams. Let's just say I call that myth busted.) I think onions, while great, do jack-all to combat anyone's illness in the way described.

I think it doesn't really matter what I think, because these are all matters of fact, which you can look up from well-established sources. I think you should want to know if something is true, not take an opinion poll.

I think you lack a fundamental curiosity and intellectual rigor to really find these things out, or you would have looked these facts up for yourself, or at least tried to find any credible accounts that weren't told thirty-second-hand at best.

I think it's kind of silly to suppose that a farmer's wife would spontaneously decide that onions might de-germ her home and family. I think it's even sillier that folks are quick to mistrust actual experts about scientific and medical issues, but can't wait to find some folklore, golly-gee, just-so story about someone discovering a cure "they wouldn't want you to know about." If this wasn't total crap, I could almost see someone with a working knowledge of disease trying it and stumbling upon a novel solution, but this was (supposedly) a farmer. That would be a little like me saying "Hey, you know what? I know I'm not an athlete; hell, I trip over my own feet; but for some reason today I thought, 'What if I stuck baby carrots up my nose? I bet I'd have killer balance and speed, and could suddenly play football at the pro level.' And so I did it! And I haven't fallen since! AND, I made my husband do it, and we played football, and won! Carrots up the nose, everyone. Miracle sports trick."

I think if the doctor saw the flu virus in the onion and concluded that it "absorbed the bacteria," he might not be such a good doctor.

I think correlation is not the same as causation. Learn that, and you're halfway there. Furthermore, we don't even know that there was a correlation, and beyond that, we don't even know if these stories are legit or totally made up.

I think coincidences happen all the time. Let's assume no one in the hairdresser's salon got sick. Fine. I've gone without a vaccine before, and been fine. I went without one year, and got really really sick. You might luck out. Then again, you might not. "We did it, and never got the flu." Well, bully for you. I crossed my fingers before turning my ignition key last time the car wouldn't work, and it turned over. According to you, I've stumbled upon a genius mechanical strategy. Shall I start the chain letter or will you?

I think a "hairdresser in AZ," while not the last person from whom I'd take medical advice (she'd probably rank above Wakefield, for instance, or this guy I used to know who didn't shower), is pretty far down the list.

I think you, message originator, are full of crap. Your friend who "regularly contributes material to me on health issues?" Um, no. I regularly contribute to publications. Your friend sends you spam. I guess, technically, she "contributes material." On a related note, would you like to take posession of a veritable wealth of "contributed material" I have sitting in the cat's litter box right now?

I think it's sad, tragic, illogical, and totally unnecessary that people turn to chain e-mails and salon rumors when flu vaccines and other real medical advances exist.

I think I can just as easily debunk your other miracle onion claims. Don't stuff them in your socks. They don't cure fevers that weren't going to break anyway. They're not a miracle cure for pneumonia, or the black plague, or cancer. They also don't cause cancer. More importantly, though, learn to apply rational thought. Some totally weird things are actually true. It's not so important what you know, or what you think, as it is learning how to think and learn. And you don't do that by forwarding crap and taking opinion polls.

I think onions have various beneficial properties. When eaten.

I think your brain, and medical science, have nigh-limitless potential. When utilized.

New Year's not-resolutions

2012-01-01T19:12:00.001-07:00

I never make New Year's resolutions. I'm too backlogged. By business. By family stuff. By photos, writing, my blog queue, my pitch queue, the queue of people outside the door every time I open it. And most of all, by my own internal clutter. I dwell on everything, and it guarantees I'll stay stuck in the backlog, rehashing and revisiting things for months after they happen (or don't).

See, I make resolutions all the time, and I'm stoked. Then, when things don't go smoothly, I get majorly stuck in this evil feedback loop of what-ifs and I-wishes.

So here are the things I wish, which I know will never happen, followed by what I do have, and a to-do list, from my 2011 self to my 2012 self. Maybe I can publicly shame myself into purging the I-wishes and getting my ass in gear on the to-dos.

I wish I could get to write the stories I know are good, instead of sitting on great ideas while waiting to hear back, only to have someone write in my place who thinks psychics are real and St. Nick's name is spelled "Santa Clause." I wish I weren't so dumb as to worry about it instead of sending off the next batch of great ideas. I wish I could know for sure my ideas were great.

Well, I can't. What I do have: ideas. Some of them, I'm almost certainly sure, are pretty great. And if that one idea that got turned down multiple times "because there won't ever be that much interest," in favor of a really dumb article -- If my story did turn out to be a big story, months and months after I first pitched it, and Big National Publication did a big national thing about it ... well, at least my husband saw it, and got furiously indignant on my behalf. And whether or not Big National Publication's version actually "sucked all kinds of ass" as my husband asserted, it was nice to have someone on my side.

[To do: Just write the damn pitch, you self-absorbed moron. If it tanks, write another. Repeat for all of 2012.]

I wish everyone in my family enjoyed perfect health. I wish no one was hurting, or suffering, or in the hospital ever. I wish this could be a migraine-free, puke-free, fever-free, surgery-free, mortality-free, pain-free, just normal ... year.

Not going to happen. Not everyone escaped unscathed this year, and they probably won't in 2012. Not all of them. It's horrible, seeing people you love hurting. I don't really have anything to say except that it's a terrible, helpless feeling, and I hate that most of you probably know firsthand how awful it is. We won't be pain free. But my family is a together, tough bunch. We don't hand out I-love-yous and you-can-do-its like crazy, but in a way, that's better. We just help, we're just there. We're sarcastic, we quote stupid movies to ease the tension, we nag one another, and when we bring out I love you and You can do it, it strikes home -- I'm really saying you can actually do it. Now get to it. And I really, really love you. If I don't have anything better to offer than a listening ear, chauffeur services, and situation-appropriate quotes from Monty Python and Mel Brooks; then I'm glad I'm good at those things, at least.

[To do: Be more helpful. Reach out. Do more. Make more phone calls, even though you hate it. Also, find new movies to quote. "Put ze candle back" and the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow are only applicable so many times.]

I wish I had money. Not a ton. Not even lots. Just enough to avoid waking up in a cold sweat at 3 a.m., wondering who's going to call and harass us today.

Well, I have enough. Not enough to avoid cold sweats, but enough to wake up in a bed, in a house. That really is something.

[To do: Get finances in order, and who cares if no one ever taught you. You're a grown-ass woman, and your husband's a grown-ass man. This is getting ridiculous. Then, help others. Even a little.]

I wish I had time. Again, not a ton. But here's the thing -- I want consecutive minutes. This minute here, minute there, half-hour if I'm lucky AND if I stay up until 2 a.m. -- it's making me insane. I cried the other day because I couldn't find the margarine. I just a moment of calm. I need my mind to work like a normal person's mind.

I don't have time. At least, it never feels that way. I don't have big chunks of time, and I can't focus in little bite-sized chunks. My brain is focused on a million things at once, and that's usually a bad thing. Then again, connecting disparate things is occasionally wonderful. The really important things always seem to carve out their own time. Sometimes I really don't notice or deal with things like everyone else does, and that's OK.

[To do: Calm the hell down. Stop trying to steal time -- stop even trying to make the time -- and just make do with the time you have.]

I wish I could travel. I want to go to the Galapagos Islands, Tanzania, Yosemite, the Congo and the Amazon, Antarctica, Borneo, with sharks, with bugs, in the air, in the water ... yeah. I'd like to travel, one day.

Yeah, right. Like, who doesn't wish this? (Answer: My husband. He told me I could go to Borneo when we have the money, as long as I don't make him go. I'm penciling it in.) Seriously, this isn't a unique wish, nor a unique failing. My failing is, of course, neglecting my backyard. I live in a freaking awesome place. I haven't even been to the Grand Canyon in years, to say nothing of a thousand other trails, hikes, climbs, drives, and haunts. And that's not even counting my own backyard. This to do almost goes without saying.

[To do: Travel, just in the state. Travel travel travel travel. Travel some more. Travel to the Grand Canyon, those hikes I grew up on, that place I got lost once, new hikes I've been wanting to try, and ones I've only just heard of. Check out side roads and creek beds, cliffs and mountains; and, of course, my own backyard. Take photos. Write words. Share. Repeat.]

I wish you all a happy New Year, and a happy entire year, full of love, beauty, health, sunsets, spiders, giant beetles, rattlesnakes ... wait. Those last three were wishes for myself. That other stuff is for everyone. Take care, everyone. Happy 2012.

I partially succeeded! (Or I failed at failure?)

2011-12-01T15:30:00.010-07:00

My husband and I have a sort of running joke about our shared incompetence. Sometimes, we become abruptly horrified by our inability to carry on as well-adjusted, grown-ass adults with a child. We look around one day and realize that we're watching the third Star Trek: Deep Space Nine rerun in a row instead of cleaning out the garage; and that we're eating our cobbled together leftovers-Taco Bell-hot-sauce-and-melted-cheese quesadillas with tiny cartoon character forks because all our real forks are dirty and the dishwasher is clogged with something unidentifiable.

Anyway, we realize that this isn't the way adults with a child are supposed to behave, and that we would like to have a clean, happy home, and that we really don't want to be featured on an upcoming Hoarders episode. So we decide to grow the hell up. This time, we say, we're doing it right. No more ignoring dirty dishes until they pile up. No more avoiding the garage because we're scared of spiders (him) and clutter (me). From this point forward, we're domestic superheroes.

It never happens. But here's what does happen: We get slightly better each time we attempt it. I think, subconsciously, we know that we have to set ridiculously high goals. Then, when we inevitably fall short, we're failing into moderate success. This time around, the dishes are only mostly piled up, the table is mostly clear, and there are no funny smells anywhere in the house. And it's cleanup day, so it only gets better from here! I know; it's amazing. Yea us!

I'm the same way with most things. I planned to blog every day last month for NaBloPoMo, and I didn't. I guess I have some excuses. We had a ton of Serious Life Stuff issues going on this past month. (The thing with Serious Life Stuff is, it usually involves other people, and I'd much rather blog about rattlesnakes and black widows.) Still, I meant to put something up each time. I didn't. But look what I did do! Twenty-one posts in a month. That's something, right? And it's something I think I can keep up. This month should be a little quieter, but there are still appointments and assignments, family events and Chrismas visits. My anniversary is tomorrow (she said, in a shameless ploy to get "Happy Anniversary" comments), and I don't even know if we're doing anything. So yeah; I'm still busy. But 21 posts a month? Turns out I am totally capable of that. Who knew?

Really, I could have put up something most of those missing days, but I don't want to phone it in. I like making quality posts, and I think you all like reading/viewing quality posts, so I'm going to post as often as I can and not do bullshit "Well, here's a post; I'm busy" entries more than once a month or so. I think that's reasonable.

I could spend more time here. I could stress about spending more time writing, and more time looking for writing gigs, and more time with my son and my husband and our families; more time outside and more time cleaning and more time volunteering. But first, that's not possible. And second, I'm tired of stressing about spending time. I think I'll just focus on the spending quality time.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me while I found my stride. Have a spider and a sunset.

Monday goodies: Cactus wrens

2011-11-28T18:55:00.000-07:00

I've never understood why cactus wrens don't get more love. Just the other day, I overheard someone pompously telling her friends that the roadrunner was the state bird of Arizona. Um, no. New Mexico has the roadrunner. Our state bird -- like our people -- is loud, feisty, and a resourceful survivor. We get the cactus wren. Other state symbols include, embarrassingly, the bolo tie as state neckwear and, sadly, the Colt revolver as state gun; so I'm happy we at least got some super-cool animals to represent us. These little birds take the prickliest and most uncomfortable of homes, and make it look appealing. Could there be a better spokesbird for this state?

Cactus wrens (Campylorhynchus brunneicapillus) mostly eat insects, but their diet, like any good Arizona diet, consists of a diverse blend -- wasps, grasshoppers, and beetles supplemented by the occasional fruit, seed, or even frog or reptile. They're larger than our house and canyon wrens by a few inches, but their personalities (birdonalities?) are what really distinguish them -- excitable temper, a call like a car engine, a sort of obnoxious charm. Yep. They're Arizonans.

Enjoy some more cactus wrens. I actually had to cull quite a bit so as not to give you hundreds. Apparently I like them even more than I'd realized. Happy Monday, everyone. Spiders or sparrows next, I think.

Thankful

2011-11-24T10:52:00.002-07:00

Some things for which I'm thankful:

Fall color:

Skies like this:

Distractions like these:

A partner in crime:

...who's just as fascinated by the world as I am:

...and, really, is a blast:

For my other partner in crime, who's a great husband and dad:

...and who puts up with me doing things like this:

...and for so many other things that I don't have in photos. We've had some rough times this year, but there's a lot of good stuff.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, everyone. I ♥ you guys.

See?

Monday goodies: Great-tailed grackle

2011-11-21T17:32:00.002-07:00

I've shown my love for common birds already. I'm easy. A bird need not be exotic for me to love it, just gorgeous. And I think all birds are gorgeous. Today, grackles, Quiscalus mexicanus. Some people hate 'em. I think they're awesome. They're cacophonous and feisty, they're sometimes considered pests, though they're not introduced by humans (unlike house sparrows). They're widespread, but seem to be especially common out here. I swear they follow me. Some people get crows; I get grackles. I'll take it!

Enjoy:

What animal should I show off next? Sparrows? Spiders? Sp ... cactus wrens? Happy Monday, everyone.

Sunday night rambling: What do I write about?

2011-11-20T23:43:00.000-07:00

I never quite know how to answer the inevitable question that pops up as soon as someone discovers I'm a writer. (Well, other than "Have you written anything I've read?" I alternate between loving this, because it gives me an excuse to show off, and feeling totally irked and invalidated. Do I ask to see toilets you've plunged, or ask whether you've performed surgery on any of my friends or managed any departments I might have heard of?)

The other inevitable question. What do you write about? What's my niche? What's my specialty? What am I about?

"Everything" doesn't sound too terribly focused, and it makes me look like a total wannabe. And really, how do parenting, nature, Arizona itself, and science-denying kooks go together?

I have opinions. Strong ones. Sometimes even political ones. But that's not it. I'm not a politics writer.

I'm not a scientist. I'm not a professional photographer. I'm not a mommy blogger. I play at all those things, but that's not what I'm about.

I think it's this:

This ridiculous, wonderful state I live in. Science, parenting, mucking about, being totally and spectacularly wrong. Getting it just right, once in a while. It's absolutely connected, and that's what I'm about.

I screw up almost every single thing I do. I mess up parenting on a daily basis. But I'm good at this: Being. Discovering the world. Enjoying the mundane, laughing at the stupid shit. Pulling everything apart, just to see what's what. Looking.

I think, maybe, being about that is enough.

Don't miss it: Adobe Mountain Wildlife Center Open House

2011-11-19T22:09:00.000-07:00

Are you local? Do you love wildlife? Want to support a really good cause? Check out the Adobe Mountain Wildlife Center Open House this weekend! I couldn't come today, but I'll be there tomorrow (Sunday). Say hi if you're there!

There are live wildlife displays, activity booths, and more; and you can tour the rehabilitation facility. It won't come around again for a year, so check it out. Here are a few treasures from last year:

The address is 2800 W. Pinnacle Peak Rd, Phoenix, 85027. Take I-17 to Pinnacle Peak Road (Exit 217), go west on Pinnacle Peak, turn north at the first street (less than a quarter of a mile), and follow the signs throuhg the Adobe Mountain School Area to the even parking.

Obviously, bring your camera!

Friday 5: Adorable arthropods

2011-11-18T23:58:00.001-07:00

I have insect and spider shots that are better than some of these. But these are the cutest. Yes, cutest. Even people who aren't me, my son, or my buggy friends have awwwed at a few bugs now and then.

Praying mantis

Hey there! Be my friend? And feed me live flies?

Damselfly

He probably sucks at hide and seek.

Fiery skipper

Seriously, don't you just want to pet him?

Pallid-winged grasshopper

Grouchily adorable.

Jumping spider

If I didn't kind of hate the word, I'd squee here. Tiny cute spider! It was my writing muse for an afternoon.

Back to regularly scheduled intelligent nature blogging this evening. Oooh, and a bonus peekaboo damselfly:

Travel Thursday: Mount Graham Part 2

2011-11-17T15:20:00.000-07:00

Check out the first set of Mount Graham photos here.

If you're going to Mount Graham, about nine miles south of Safford, remember a few things.

Wait until spring. Graham, the highest peak in Southern Arizona and the anchor of the Pinaleño Mountains, rises almost 10,720 feet. It gets cold. Besides, higher-elevation campgrounds just closed for the winter this week, and that's where we had the most fun.

Know where you're going. Don't be idiots like a certain blogger and her husband, and punch in the coordinates on your GPS. Don't feel smug and satisfied because you punched in the exact geographical coordinates, so it's not like anything could go wrong. Not that I know anything about that.

Keep an eye out for wildlife. Be safe, but mostly, keep an eye out because it's awesome and there's a lot of it to see here.

Remember to bring your directions. And seriously, don't rely on your GPS.

Plan for inclement weather. Tarps, extra layers, more tarps, coats. It's a pain, but trust me, it's worse to leave them behind.

If you make a campfire, keep it to the fire circles, and thoroughly douse and bury it afterward.

For the love of god, don't use your GPS to get there. And if you do, and something goes wrong, remember -- it's your spouse's fault.

We were lucky the weekend we went to Mount Graham, as even the busiest campsites still had plenty of room. You probably should call the number listed here to check availability before you head out, but something is bound to be open. If you're headed out that way, you want to take US 191 to AZ 366, which winds up the mountain.

Don't try and get fancy with directions. Bring them, and trust yourself and don't take any weird turns suggested by your GPS. Our own drive out there was nothing short of disastrous. After realizing we didn't have the directions ("I thought you brought them!") my husband and I nevertheless felt confident, because we had the precise geographical coordinates. Surely putting those into the GPS would steer us better than some stupid website, or the fact that we basically knew where to go already.

More directly, maybe. What we didn't know, however, was that the GPS was hell-bent on steering us directly to the mountain, serviceable roads be damned. By the time we were in over our head, we had already driven for ten miles on washboards and eroded dirt roads, and we figured pushing on just a bit more would be better than redoing all of that, so we got ourselves in even deeper, and probably almost on some really dumb evening news piece about idiot motorists.

To make an extremely long story shorter, after what might as well have been off-roading (in my PT Cruiser) somewhere between Klondyke and Safford for a couple of hours, we nearly drove off a high wash wall. We turned around, took an extensive series of roads to backtrack, and found ourselves ... at the same damn wash. Finally, we managed to escape the nameless network of rocky paths, and eventually rediscovered the 366.

After that, the trip was nothing but awesome. The crazily switchbacking drive to the summit presents new and spectacular views at each turn, and we could actually feel the temperature change as we ascended, dropping about 40 degrees from the base to our campground at 8,600 feet.

We picked Riggs Flat Campground, because 1) it was a higher-elevation sight, the better for chilly weather and dramatic views; and 2) it has a lake. It's actually one of the more popular campgrounds on the mountain, so you might want to check ahead for availability.

Obviously with our driving misadventures, we got to the campsite a little later than we'd planned. Still, we had time to unpack, roam around for an hour, and start a roaring campfire for marshmallow roasting and general campiness. After consuming enough S'mores to make us all nauseated, we doused and buried the fire, and just as we began to worry about stray embers, a deluge began pouring from the sky, and we turned in for the night. (Thankfully, our weather preparations were much more thorough than our direction-bringing preparations.)

The next morning was sublime. It was like the rain had rinsed the whole world. I watched in the five minutes before anyone else awoke, as the forest glowed blue through dawn's sliver of light and someone's campfire smoke. Soon sharp, bright, clear sunlight woke up my son and husband. We grabbed some slightly smooshed sandwiches, hiked a short trail, and sat on the cliff, eating peanut butter and jelly and watching the world unfold beneath our feet. Pretty sweet payoff for a short morning hike.

We returned to the campsite and spent the rest of the morning at the lake. Mist rolled over the water as a few anglers set up for the day (rainbow, brown, and brook trout are stocked) We traipsed haphazardly between the lakeside and nearby forests and meadows.

We hiked various numerous trails throughout the rest of the day -- trails through spruce and fir and through ponderosa pine, easy walks through open grassy meadows, meandering paths along creeks. We saw butterflies, frogs, sharp-shinned hawks, Cooper's hawks, Coue's white-tailed deer, wild turkeys, several species of lizard, and more. We smelled a skunk, which made my son absurdly happy, and found black bear scat, which made him even happier. All in all, a pretty great trip.

Just don't use your damn GPS.

Unexpected conversations

2011-11-16T18:54:00.005-07:00

We watched the sun set behind the horses. A girl brought out some carrots, and we helped feed them a treat. Light filtered through their manes. My son and the girl giggled. The horses munched. It was perfect.

"Are they male or female?" my son asked.

"The horses? I'm not going to check. You check," I told him.

"How do you check?"

"How do you think?"

He got down on the ground, and gave us a report.

"This one has a penis. This one too. Man, some are bigger than others! This one doesn't. Does that mean it has a vagina? What do those look like?"

How did we get from a pastoral, rosy-hued Perfect Moment to horse penises? I wondered in dismay.

He re-emerged, fed a few more carrot pieces to each horse, and we were on our way.

Except the conversation continued.

"So do horse penises and vaginas ..." he trailed off.

"It works the same as with other mammals."

"Oh. Like people?"

"Yes. Horses use a different position, but basically it's like people."

"OK. Hey, I've been wondering. What does sex feel like?"

"It, well ... If you're an adult, and the other person is an adult, and you both are committed to each other and consent ... then, for adults, it can feel very good."

[Long conversation detailing consent for a 9-year-old audience.]

"So ... what if the people are kids?" he asked.

"That's not for kids."

"Ew! You're right. I think it's gross."

"Well, that's fine. You're kind of supposed to. It's not something that you even have to think about for a long time."

"So..."

"What?"

"What if one person is a kid, and the other person is an adult?"

I didn't think it was possible to yearn so badly for a return to the innocent topic of horse penises.

Isn't there a giant bubble I can keep him in?

Travel Tuesday: Mount Graham (a preview)

2011-11-15T23:39:00.001-07:00

Travel Tuesday will be continued on Thursday this week. A preview: Mount Graham a few months ago. (The season for higher-elevation Mount Graham camping just ended. It's the highest mountain in Southern Arizona. It's cold.)

Monday goodies: Black-crowned night heron

2011-11-14T17:59:00.000-07:00

Monday goodies is a perfect excuse to share some black-crowned night herons. I've already shared quite a few shots of the birds, in entries like this Species a Day post, but I've got a whole folder full of "spares." I thought these deserved a showing.

Black-crowned night herons' scientific name is Nycticorax, for "night raven," since they like to hunt at dusk or night, and have a harsh crow-like call. They bark. It even sounds like the word "bark." Watch for them in late evening or early morning around the water's edge, or roosting grumpily during the day in tree branches. If you can manage to get close without irking one too much, it's worth it.

Hope everyone had a good weekend! Happy Monday.

Friday 5: Mealtime

2011-11-11T23:56:00.000-07:00

I'm a big, nature-loving softie. Still, predation is pretty cool. It's part of nature, after all. I've mentioned it here and included it in sets like this or this. Here are five more scenes I found gorgeous rather than grisly. (Your mileage, as always, will vary. My husband says if you're not me, you'll probably lean toward grisly. But he thinks I'm weird to eat during medical dramas too.)

Mantis on spider:

Heron on fish:

Orb weaver on cicada:

Red-tailed pennant dragonfly on mating damselflies (twin-wrapped snack pack?):

Milkweed bugs on cockroach:

Now then ... Who's hungry?

How (not) to help

2011-11-11T08:00:00.009-07:00

Dear Non-Familial Acquaintance from the Past*,

I heard you learned that we've had some difficulty and loss in our family, and wanted to offer your love and support. Thank you. Truly, thank you. If the rest of this letter is totally off the mark, remember that most of all. We appreciate it. We appreciate you.

Now, then.

I understand you want to know if there's anything you can do. Thank you for that too. You could bring food, I suppose, or call and check on us in a few weeks. That would be nice. You could maybe spend some time with certain relations of ours you already see regularly, the ones who'd like nothing better than a plate of deviled eggs, a Village Inn pie, and an extended visit. You know who I mean. Mostly, though, you've already done it: Just be supportive.

Here's what not to do: Don't drop by.

I know. I'm mean. (It's my role in the family. My husband's the Nice One Who Says Yes to Everything; I'm the Mean One Who Says What Needs to Be Said, but Not Always as Nicely as I Should.)

I know you want to help. But it just doesn't make sense. We hardly see or talk to some of you anymore. We like you just fine, even love you. We just don't know how to spend time with you, next to each other, in the same physical space. For over an hour, sometimes. (Seriously, you guys. Did you know that?! Some people get together on purpose like this, and be sociable human beings, for hours! Who knew?) But my husband and I are tired from dealing with said loss/difficulty, and mostly, we royally suck at having company.

Here's what happens when you drop by.

First scenario: You don't call at all. We hear a car door slam. I run up the stairs, almost breaking my neck falling over the cat, to get a visual on the driveway. I see you coming up the sidewalk, so I barrel back downstairs (almost breaking my leg falling over the other cat). I holler at my husband that you're here. He and I run around in crazed circles for a moment as we decide which one of us is going to answer the door and which one of us is going to shovel the debris and laundry into the office to hide it while you're here. As he plasters on a smile, I'm dumping most of our belongs beside the computer desk. As he opens the door, I'm scrubbing the toilet at light speed. As you sit down ("Sorry for the mess!" I holler from the bathroom), I'm changing out of my possibly-offensive Lost-reference T-shirt ("Hell of a book. It's about bunnies."), while simultaneously grabbing a few pairs of soiled boy's underwear and shoving them under my shirt so you don't see as I sneak them to the laundry room. Finally, we awkwardly entertain you for however long you plan to stay, which is never really made clear to us.

Second scenario: You give us a small warning, like twenty minutes to an hour. This gives my husband and I more time to do the stairs running/ cat kicking/ junk hiding/ shirt changing/ toilet scrubbing routine, and maybe even time to half-assedly vacuum or hide the dirty dishes. (We like to go the extra mile.) Unfortunately, it's not enough extra time to do a good thorough job, but it is enough extra time for us to fight about where to hide the junk, blame each other for not cleaning enough, gripe at whoever left the mess in the first place; and somehow, by the end, we're having a HUGE SCREAMING MATCH about whether the TV trays look best stacked behind the dining room table or next to the Guitar Hero drums, and why it is or isn't a waste of time to wash them first. Then, the doorbell rings. We awkwardly entertain you for however long you plan to stay, which is never really made clear to us.

Those are the only two scenarios that ever happen. Somehow, I suspect it would quickly derail even if you gave us ample warning. Because, get this, we're busy. With lives, and obligations, and a kid, and jobs. I know, I know. I work from home and the road; and my husband works nights, so it's not like either of us have "real" jobs. The thing about our "easy" jobs? They can actually be quite a bit more exhausting than normal-hour jobs. We just don't have that many hours left in the day, and when we get to them, we're up for being in the company of one or two other people, tops.

Obviously, I make some exceptions. I'd look forward to going out to eat with you, Acquaintance. Especially if we just had a good time, and left it at that. Just having a good time. That would help. But don't feel obligated, because I'm totally fine just keeping in touch with you, especially right now.

And in our own home, we just want to sit in our ugly clothes, not worry about the dingy toilet or the pizza box on the kitchen shelf or the underwear mountain in the bathroom, pet the poor cats, fib on the time so we can tuck our kid in early, and watch Terra Nova until we fall asleep.

*Like I said, non-familial. Family has a standing free pass, even if our house is awful. Also, if I've ever actually said "We should get together" or some similar phrase (no matter how bad I am at following through), I don't mean you. I don't say things I don't mean, and trust me, I don't solicit unwanted social contact. I'm like Sheldon, you guys. But even Sheldon has friends.

Interfaith conversation on the playground

2011-11-10T09:27:00.001-07:00

Written yesterday; held off until I got my son's permission. Counting it for NaBloPoMo #9. (I'm doing it, you guys! You'd all better check out my recent posts, now that I'm actually posting regularly.)

We had a loss in the family this week. My son found out just before going to school, and found himself explaining why he was upset. A brief conversation ensued. (Names changed, except for my son, David.)

He told me about it after school. It was a normal conversation to him. Everyone's conversations should go like this.

David: "I told Cody and Brandon about what happened."

Me: "And what did they say?"

David: "Cody said he was sorry for my loss, and that [insert religious belief here]."

Now, we talk about these things all the time, especially the last few days. David is enormously curious, compassionate, and opened-minded; which I think is a fantastic combination. He's changed his mind a million times on the Big Questions, which I also think is fantastic. I knew he did not believe this particular religious claim, at least today. He happens to think it's kind of silly. The Oh-no-what-did-you-say alarms started to go off in my head.

Me (in a deliberate, level voice): "Hmm. That's interesting."

David: "It is interesting! I think it's really interesting. But it's not true. At least, I'm pretty sure it's not true. I don't even know if I want it to be true, but it really doesn't make any sense to me. That's what I told Cody."

Me: "Oh? What exactly did you say to him?"

David: "Well, I just said 'Thank you. That is comforting. I don't really believe [religious belief] is true, but I think it's a nice story. Thanks for being so nice to me.'"

Me: "And what did he say to that?"

David: "He asked me why I thought that. I told him, and then I asked him if he was someone who thought anyone who has different opinions goes to Hell. He said, 'No; that's stupid. Everyone can have their own opinions.'"

Me: "I am really, really proud of both you and Cody. What happened next?"

David (shrugging): "Brandon told me a story about his dog dying. I think he was trying to be sympathetic, so I told him thank you. Then we all played kickball. Only WE use special rules..."

[Fifteen-minute soliloquy on special kickball rules omitted for brevity.]

Kids. They are freaking awesome.

Travel Tuesday: Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch

2011-11-08T22:33:00.004-07:00

The following review appears in this month's Times Publications.

"Ostrich bite." *

Truth in advertising at its best. Among things that were bitten at Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch last weekend: My hand, my camera, my shirt, my hair, and my son.

We’re going back as soon as we can.

If you're not heading to Picacho Peak, you might not even slow down enough to see the farm, off Exit #219 on Interstate 10, but you should. Nestled at the base of historic Picacho Peak Mountain, it's the largest ostrich ranch in the country. Over a thousand black South African ostrich hens live at the ranch, laying eggs and roaming its 600 acres.

Visitors can buy ostrich eggs (fresh, hollow, or painted), ostrich jerky, ostrich feather dusters (the owners insist they're the only kind that pick up dust), several other products at the entrance gift shop. But the real draw is participation.

Entrance is $5 for “kids 6 to 106,” and this includes a huge cup of pellet feed for the ostriches; as well as deer, goats, and donkeys; which can also be hand fed. The fee also includes a cup of nectar, which visitors can feed to rainbow lorikeets in an enclosed forest.

The products offered were fine, but I don’t think my son, David, has ever bypassed a gift shop so quickly. This should be a compliment, though -- he simply couldn’t wait to get to the animals. As we parked, a pair of ostriches peered over the fence at us. He was hooked.

Owner Rooster Cogburn (his given name’s D.C. Cogburn, but he took on "Rooster" in Oklahoma), sensitive to the fact that most people aren’t used to birds topping out 350 to 400 pounds, provides three levels of ostrich feeding. To stay unpecked, you can pour feed into chutes through the fence, where the ostriches will come and eat, safely on their own side. If you're feeling brave, walk up a wooden ramp and place the food in pans. If you’re insane, or are my son (OK, or me), you go immediately for the “ultimate ostrich interaction,” and invite the ostriches to eat from your hand. David was up the ramp, hand outstretched, in about 30 seconds.

Here's the thing: Ostriches are huge. You think you realize that, but it's a whole other thing to stand beneath a herd (“flock” doesn’t cut it) of giant, panting birds. These modern-day dinosaurs have presence. They towered over us at seven or eight feet, their enormous clawed, two-toed feet kicked up dust, and they breathed heavily, beaks wide open, waiting for food. Occasionally they’d get impatient and launch their heads over the fence in search of stray food. Unwary photographers focusing in the distance, leaning against the fence, are also ripe for enthusiastic pecking (something I learned firsthand).

With hundreds of ostriches wandering around the enclosure, you’re ensured a stampede of panting visitors. The humans learn the drill too -- hold your hand flat, down low, raise it slowly, and don’t curl up a stray finger. No leaning against the fence. Start small if you’re nervous. Feed the birds through the chutes first, and work your way up.

All of this makes the experience sound harrowing, and it was. But mostly it was ridiculously fun. It’s like the animal-feeding equivalent of riding a roller coaster -- everyone approaches it with a sense of foreboding and false bravado, a few folks scream or laugh, and as everyone walks away laughing and bragging, several people get right back in line.

After the ostriches, we took our nectar cups to the Rainbow Lorikeet Forest. The lorikeets are Australian parrots, and are absurdly beautiful, hence their name. They’re loud, playful, and inquisitive. David and I made our way to the back of the 5,000 square-foot enclosure, opened our nectar cups, and held out our arms. We were swiftly covered in a cacophonous blur of green, blue, orange, and yellow, as the lorikeets perched on our arms and sipped the nectar with their specially adapted tongues.

Many travelers make the ranch a quick stop on their way to Phoenix or Tucson, but there is plenty to occupy visitors. After the lorikeets, we refilled our pellets and fed the fallow deer (soft, adorable, and gentle enough for toddlers), the donkeys (frisky, and there are usually babies), and goats (from our lips -- you've got to try it). The ranch even runs 40-minute monster truck tours through the ranch and desert on weekends, for an extra behind-the-scenes look.

So, yes. Ostrich bite. But don't let that scare you off.

*In the printed version, you'll notice it's been amended to "Ostriches bite," which is quite correct. In fact, my son and I immediately noticed the sign's wording, but were a little distracted by the ostriches, well, biting. I imagine if you're warning someone, efficiency is more important than grammar.

Monday goodies: Finches

2011-11-07T15:32:00.001-07:00

Why finches? Well, for one, I have tons of images of them. They're here every day, carpeting our yard, dancing in the air, bickering, chirping. They're fun.

For another, they're pretty cool birds. They started as residents of Mexico and the Southwestern United States, but have been introduced throughout the rest of the country over the years. They're common, sure, but they're adaptable. And feisty.

Have some finchy goodness. And happy Monday.

Some ways to follow me online

2011-11-06T23:44:00.007-07:00

Don't have much this Sunday night, but I'm keeping this NaBloPoMo thing going, darn it. How about a self-centered post?

I have a lot of profiles online. There is quite a bit of crossover, but if you want to know how/why to follow me on the biggies, here you go.

Facebook

Here is my Facebook profile. Feel free to add me; just put some really short thing in the invite like "blog friend" or "Flickr contact." Otherwise, you'll get declined like the creepy guy I used to work with, or languish in the no-response lineup with obscure relatives I can't bring myself to accept or decline.

Use it if: You want to occasionally hear how my day went, and love to see videos about, read articles about, or hear my opinions on a variety of issues. The blog posts to here also, but I'm more likely to respond to blog comments on the blog.

Don't use if: You're only looking for regular photo sharing, or are offended by political opinions, evolution, immunizations, Harry Potter, and/or the occasional F word.

Google +

Here's my Google+ (or Google Plus, if you prefer) profile. Add away. I can add you back or not, but I probably will if you have a healthy profile as well.

Use it if: You want to follow my photos, especially some old favorites, which we're sharing through daily themes right now. I also occasionally share awesome photos from other G Plussers, usually spiders. Blog pimped here too. Only a tiny bit of opinion.

Don't use if: You don't like spiders. Seriously, I post a lot of spiders.

Flickr

If somehow you haven't had it foisted upon you before, here is my Flickr profile. I might have high and low periods on Flickr, but I'm way loyal to Flickr, mostly because it's where I started to get "into" photography, and where I got to know (or got to know better) several good friends.

Use it if: You like pictures, usually daily, but won't get all mad and stop following me if I flake for a week or two. It's where I post the daily shots for my Species a Day project. If it's photo related, I post it here, but there's not much of the other stuff. (Unfortunately, my life isn't daily photo strolls.)

Don't use if: You're not interested in photos, or if you're one of those photo snobs who scoffs at "shallow" comments. I love in-depth critique; really I do, but I'm totally OK with ten "Great shot!" comments in a row. Call me conceited. Also don't use it if you're a photo thief or are obsessed with bare feet. Weirdos.

Blog

My blog! You're already there. Hooray!

Use it if: You want to read regular posts on parenting, travel, nature, and/or photography. Sometimes, I'm funny too. Sometimes I try to be funny and it doesn't work out so well, but that's funny, at least, right? And comment away. Seriously. My ego is super happy every time I get a comment alert. Even when I reply to a comment, and then get a comment alert, and it's only me.

Don't use if: Who am I kidding? You can all use it. Did I mention the ego? But just so you know, spammers, I already have all the Ugg boots and Cialis I want, which is none.

E-mail

My e-mail is khosey1 at yahoo dot com. That's a "one" after my name.

Use it if: You want to have a conversation with me, but don't feel like having my friends and family weigh in on your personal life or political opinions. Also, use it if you're an editor. Yes, I probably do want to write for you.

Don't use if: You're sending any of these things. Or if you want me to write for free. Or if you're that creepy guy I used to work with.

There you go! I'm trying to be less of a failure at Twitter, where I also have a profile. Add me there if you'd like. The blog and photos get pimped there. I'll get better. Someday.

Smile!

2011-11-05T11:58:00.000-07:00

Why doesn't he smile?

That's one of the most common questions I get about pictures of my son. (I'm not counting "Why do you endanger your child?" and "Can I use this picture for my creepy profile?") It'd be nice to see him smiling.

I always feel a little bad. Doesn't he? I wondered, looking back through some shots. No, he's usually straight-faced. I don't think it's so weird, though. My partner in crime is an awful lot like me in that way. If we find something interesting, we focus. Forget talking. Forget smiling. We're in the moment. Sometimes, smiling on purpose takes us out of it.

I never pose him. (OK. I do occasionally do the "Hey! Do that again, only over there in the sunlight and wait until I have my lens on!") I don't force him to smile. I rarely even ask him to smile. Besides the fact that he's the Absolute Worst Fake Smiler, and it looks like he's breaking his face, it just doesn't fit. He'll smile when he's ready.

The other reason we don't have as many smiling pictures, though -- I love it. And while I guess I can't fault you all for wanting more smiley shots ... why would I waste time getting the camera out when he's smiling?

Most of the time, he doesn't smile because he's happy. Sometimes, though, camera and spontaneous smiles coincide. So here you go. See? He smiles plenty.

Friday 5: Silhouettes

2011-11-04T23:44:00.000-07:00

Silhouettes: 5 accidental gems

I always forget how much I love silhouettes. The simplicity. The contrast. The attention it draws to form. The graphic-poster feel. I'm usually not trying for them, at least initially. Here are five shots I really liked, and what I was really shooting for. (Hint: It was usually less exciting.)

Ant

What I was really after: Boring, poorly lit macros.

We found these awesome, huge ants in the desert. I tried a few different ways to get a good macro, but the light (not to mention the ants) refused to cooperate. A storm rolled in, and we walked around for a while, grabbing a few cloud and saguaro shots. Then, on our way back, the sky took on that cool post-storm lighting, and I picked up an ant on a stick, just for the heck of it.

Saguaros

What I was really after: Nothing.

This is a really old one. I wasn't even planning to use my camera. I was driving and saw the sunset right behind a stand of saguaro. My son said "Hey, why don't you take a picture?" I figured, hey, why don't I?

Fossil Springs tree

What I was really after: Darkening canyon walls.

We had spent the day hiking the Fossil Springs Wilderness, a gorgeous spring and riparian area in a canyon tucked away just south of the Mogollon Rim. Photo ops aplenty. The light had faded, I was putting my camera away for the day, and then this tree came into view.

Bubble heart

What I was really after: Normal bubble pictures.

Bubbles are best with the light shining on them to bring out the color, right? Well, not always. Luck + sunset lighting = awesome silhouette.

Kelp tank + son

What I was really after: Kelp tank + son. (!!)

OK, this one was intentional, at least, it was once I saw the amazing tank. I'd gone to the Birch Aquarium with thoughts of getting closeups of sea animals, and maybe some shots like this, showing off the wonder in David's face. Sometimes, a kid (even mine) isn't the focus of the story or photo. Sometimes, the wonder comes from being just a shape on the periphery, just a small outline, peering into a world that doesn't center on you at all. It's jarring, but in a beautiful way.

Or something like that. He stood there for half an hour, so there must have been something to it.

Silhouettes are quickly becoming my favorite shot, leading to images like this, this, and this; all of which I actually intended!

Mythbusting, arthropod style

2011-11-03T22:28:00.007-07:00

I get questions in my inbox sometimes, being the "spider girl" and all. Besides "WHAT IS THIS?!" with an attached photo, urban legends are probably the most common. Other times, I get asked in person or it comes up in conversation. I'm like a magnet for ridiculous arthropod claims.

Maybe this will help. In no particular order, here are a few answers.
-----

The female black widow spider does not always eat her mate.

The praying mantis can, in fact, copulate without decapitating her mate. (However, she does seem to quite enjoy the practice. My husband is SO not allowed to balk at my mood-setting preferences anymore.)

No, that's not a spider bite. It looks like you scratched the top off a mosquito or ant bite, and it got scabby and infected. Quit doing that, and you'll be fine. Here, my son uses these Transformers Band-Aids when he has trouble remembering.

Falling asleep with candy in your mouth isn't too bright, but it certainly won't make ants burrow into your brain through your ears. You don't have to worry about earwigs either. I think you're thinking of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

The daddy long-legs does not "have the most potent venom to humans, but its mouth is too small to bite humans." They're not venomous. Still, how would we test this, exactly? Extract the venom and kill a bunch of people on purpose?

Camel spiders (solpugids) are not two feet across. They do not "run screaming like a baby," nor do they eat camels from the inside out. They are not venomous. Also, I'm pretty sure they are the least of our soldiers' worries overseas.

No, that's not a spider bite. It looks like you pinched yourself in the car door.

No spider ever laid eggs in someone's skin, mouth, or beehive hairdo. Spiders are not waiting in airplane toilet seats to bite your butt.

Millipedes do not have a thousand legs. If it's roundish and has two pairs of legs per segment, it's a millipede.

For the love of god, it's venomous. Poisonous is when it's ingested or inhaled. Venom is injected into your bloodstream or deeper tissues. Most venom isn't even poisonous. And I am picturing you eating spiders when you say they're poisonous.

No, I don't think that's a spider bite either. Did you see what bit you? No? It probably wasn't a spider. And it definitely wasn't a black widow if it was daytime, you were in an open field, didn't reach beneath anything, and didn't see a web. And (for locals) it definitely definitely wasn't a brown recluse. We don't even have those here.

I don't know how many spiders the average person swallows in a year or a lifetime, and neither do you. That "statistic" was invented to see how far a bunch of gullible idiots would spread an idiotic claim with no evidence whatsoever.

Killing praying mantises isn't a crime, but you'd better not. I'll be sad and my son will lecture you forever if we ever catch you.

No, that's probably not a spider bite either.

Hitting: Always wrong

2011-11-02T21:41:00.005-07:00

A downer post today. Head to yesterday’s post for pretty nature pictures. I’m doing a post every day this month, so I’ll probably be back to my regular nonsense and/or pretty pictures tomorrow.

I had a post half-written (OK, half written in my head, anyway), but this distracted me, and then made me watch in disgust, and then sickened and saddened me until there wasn’t room for anything else.

It’s a “father” -- a judge, no less -- hitting his 16-year-old repeatedly with a belt. Go watch it if you want to see it for yourself. I’m not posting the video here. The upshot: seven years ago, a child downloaded some stuff onto the family computer. Her father decided this was a good reason to beat the crap out of her, humiliate her, and demean her. Apparently, he’s continued the harassment, and/or she’s in the process of dealing or needed some leverage against him, so she just now shared it.

It’s sick. He’s sick.

And you know what? It’s sick when anyone hits a kid. For any reason.

At all.

I know this is over the top, even for people who endorse corporal punishment. I know some people have “planned spankings” and go to great pains to never do it out of anger. I know we’ve done it that way for ages. Heck, I was spanked for lying. I turned out OK. Most parents, spanking parents included, mean well.

To which I say, so the hell what? Matters of degrees don’t make “only a little assault” or “a small burglary” OK. We’ve been doing all kinds of things for ages that we eventually come to realize are bad, and we often muster up the integrity to stop doing those things. And as for the parents who mean well -- every medical study, every psychological study, every kind of study or observation done by anyone who’s not a psychopath; has concluded that spanking never solves the problem (even disobedience), and often makes things worse. And hitting to any large degree at all is abuse.

The judge wasn’t disciplining his daughter; he was beating up a kid. Congratulations, asshole.

Hitting other adults isn’t OK. Hitting children in schools isn’t OK. Children hitting other children isn’t OK. We need to stop hitting our own kids. It’s reprehensible. This guy is way more reprehensible, sure, but it’s sickening any time it happens.

Today, my son frustrated me. He refused to listen. When he did listen, he did the exact opposite of what I requested. He downloaded forbidden games onto my work computer, right after I stood in front of him and told him not to, for one. And the brattiness continued. Throughout the evening, he ignored me, moped when I tried to make him happy, and generally acted like a punk.

I wasn’t angry.

I was frustrated, sure. I probably didn’t handle it as well as I could have. And OK, maybe I was a little angry, if you want to call it that. But if anger is lashing out -- even wanting to lash out -- then no. If anger is using your displeasure to bludgeon the other person, literally or figuratively, then no. Never.

I want to make him obey sometimes, sure, but mostly I want to make him happy. I want to make him learn, and make him see things, and make him happy, and make him a responsible, compassionate, smart, ambitious man. (If you follow 99 percent of what I write about him, you'll see that this is usually the direction he chooses.) But you know what? I can’t make him any of these things. I can guide him. I can love him. I can’t force him. And I’ll never try.

If you ever feel anger toward a child -- real anger -- then, well, I would feel sorry for you, if I wasn’t busy feeling sad as hell for the kid. If you actually hit your child, my would-be sympathy goes out the window. Let’s all quit it. It’s wrong.

Travel Tuesday: Gilbert Riparian Preserve

2011-11-01T19:18:00.004-07:00

So Mondays/Wednesdays are nature, and Fridays are roundups. How about a Travel Tuesday? I'll start with a recent published piece.

News flash, you guys! I like going to the Gilbert Riparian Preserve. I know, right? I really should have mentioned this in some other posts!

Still, I did an Official Piece on the Preserve in last month's Times Publications. Here it is, if you're interested. Seriously, get out there if you're in the Valley. It's fantastic outside right now.

Our family loves to take long sunset strolls. We also love wildlife watching, photography, birding, and astronomy. However these things take preparation, and there’s one other thing I love, as a parent: convenience. It’s lucky for all of us, then, that we found the Valley’s own oasis, Gilbert’s Riparian Preserve at Water Ranch.

One day while returning a book to the Southeast Regional Library, I decided to continue walking toward a modest lake behind the library. What I found was far beyond a small pond -- it was the entrance to the Riparian Institute in Gilbert, a 110-acre wildlife preserve containing several ponds and organized into different ecological zones that range from native Arizona riparian areas to swaths simulating marshlands.

I walked for miles that first day -- only stopping when I realized I had no water and hadn't prepared for an actual hike in this wonderland tucked unassumingly beside an urban library. The next day, I brought my son, David.

We arrived late in the afternoon, and stayed until dark. He was never bored. He walked for a couple miles straight -- and if you’re a parent, you can appreciate this next part -- and he didn’t whine once. He was too enthralled.

We saw white egrets and great blue herons stalking and soaring above me like modern-day pterodactyls. We watched black-necked stilts and American avocets, the small birds’ bills so thin and fragile that we wondered how they survived until we saw them spear and stir up small fish and tadpoles. Red-eared slider turtles sunned themselves on rocks and among reeds, disappearing beneath the water with a soft, wet plop if we got too close. Dragonflies in half a dozen vivid colors flitted around us: neon skimmers, blue darners, blue dashers, roseate skimmers, western pondhawks, and amberwings (and those are just the dragonflies I could readily identify).

We saw other people among the four and a half miles throughout the preserve: families fishing in the main urban pond, couples walking the back trails in search of a of a double-crested cormorant, a young mother pushing a stroller along one of the many easy trail sections. However, the place is designed so that people are never the main attraction, never distracting. I merely caught glimpses of others who were as engaged as I was in their own moments, stealing slices of time in nature before returning to the “real” world.

Actually, the Riparian Institute is very much connected to the real world. They create and preserve riparian areas that host almost 200 species of birds as well as numerous amphibians, reptiles, fish, insects, and mammals. They maintain seven water recharge basins for recycling waste water. Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, it’s a perfect place to bring your family if you want to learn about nature in a completely natural setting. Through nature festivals (check their website for upcoming events), guided tours such as bird and dragonfly walks, the preserve teaches appreciation for nature at every turn.

The next time we visited, David got even closer to the preserve’s residents. We crouched behind the reeds at a back pond for five minutes, surrounded by unseen (but startlingly loud) croaks. It tuned out to be a pair of herons barking to each other. Later, my son nestled in the grass on the bank and was promptly overrun by the preserve’s resident goose flock, which ate from his hands and generally caused a scene. (My son would like me to add that you’re supposed to feed them cracked corn or the mesquite seed pods they already gobble -- never bread.) That day, we stayed until dark, riding out a pink-and-peach sunset by the pond. It was amazing.

We’ve returned dozens of times since the first trip. The preserve is great to visit any time of year, but it’s especially nice now that temperatures are dropping down out of the “insanely hot” range. Try to hit it first thing in the morning, or late in the afternoon. These are the times the light is prettiest and the animals are most active. Find what you like to do there. And just stop. Let the place sink in. And watch.

For more on the Riparian Preserve at Water Ranch, check out http://riparianinstitute.org/

----

P.S. I'm participating in this month's NaBloPoMo. A post each day!

Monday goodies: Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T17:18:00.003-07:00

I've been on the road all day, and thus away from my main computer files, but it's Monday AND Halloween, so you know I'm totally going to ~~cheat with archive photos~~ post something good anyway!

Five creepy-fun photos, and why I love them

Bark scorpion stinger

The business end. Doesn't it look wicked? The only thing that would make it better would be the scorpion bokeh-ed in the background, but try as I might, I couldn't contort myself to get that shot. I was still disappointed the next day. My husband finds my aspirations rather strange, but there you go.

Black widow

My favorite because, duh, it's a black widow. Also, this one actually elicited a jump from me, for all of you who think I'm a spider-loving freak. (You can totally go on thinking that; I take it as a compliment.) It was almost completely dark outside. I used the flash-focusing light to sort of see where she was. I had to get really close, if I wanted a halfway decent macro. I bobbed in and out, and snapped, and then, she was gone. Well, not gone, really, because she'd only gone out of the field because she was running toward my face. Spiders. They keep you on your toes.

Black widow babies

Because, awww! Babies! No? Come on!

Also, because it makes my husband squirm. I'd just gotten through telling him how I'd checked the whole garage, and there wasn't a single black widow in there now. So in a way, I was right. Not a single black widow.

Black-crowned night heron

Maybe it doesn't look scary to you, but seconds after taking the shot, my ears nearly bled with a KRAWWWAAK, my heart jumped into my throat, and the heron flew away in a satisfied huff. It's the size of a football with a head, but it got me, anyway.

Labyrinth orbweaver

OK, back to actual image critique. I love the black background, the spider entering the frame, the web. I love it all. It's extra cool, too, because this was a total "throwaway" shot. I'm pretty sure I was just messing around with camera settings. This is the most common spider around here, more common maybe even than our black widows. They weave webs in our tree branches, swingset, grill, everywhere. They're not that exciting.

Only, maybe they are. This one looks downright sinister. Perfect for Halloween.

Oooh, also! I'm going to give NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month, for the uninitiated) a try this month. A post every day. I know I have things going on, and that's seriously the reason behind the "Species a Day" pause, but, well, there are always things going on. Expect posts anyway. I'm starting to like this.

Any ideas/requests for the month? Expect many Species, the Monday/Friday regulars, and possibly the posts I promised earlier chronicling my son's clownphobia and the time I forgot to wear pants.

Happy Monday, all. And Happy Halloween!

Friday 5 (x2): 10 Horrible things that have happened to me, and how upset I got

2011-10-28T17:27:00.006-07:00

Rage: I think I'm doing it wrong. And yes, that's really how I cuss.

Monday goodies/Wildlife wednesday: Cormorants

2011-10-26T15:14:00.004-07:00

After my last Monday post, Thérèse asked for cormorants. I've got cormorants. I've got cormorants to spare.

Cormorant-human relations can be a tricky thing. In some areas, they're considered pests because of their droppings, stealing fish from anglers, or just sheer numbers. In China, however, anglers have actually used cormorants for thousands of years to help them fish. Kind of like feathered, swimming, really goofy-looking hunting dogs.

For us, they're just a blast to watch. I don't know if any of you are Dr. Seuss fans, but one of my son's favorites used to be On Beyond Zebra. One of the pages talks about "nutches," which guard their perches thusly:

It always reminds me of this:

They act like it too -- that one cormorant is in flight because no one will let it on its perch. Also, their call sounds a lot like a belch. Add to that the fact that when one does get dislodged from its branch, it bumps off the next one, and that one careens into two or three more, and so on, and they all call out when disturbed; and you have a fluttering, silhouetted symphony of burps every evening. Best nature walk ever if you have a kid; trust me.

Here, have a few more:

Hooray for cormorants. And see, I do requests! Ask away.

Happy beginning/mid week.

Monday goodies/Wildlife Wednesday: Great egrets

2011-10-11T16:16:00.007-07:00

Great egrets. Fierce. Graceful. Eaters of insects, fish, baby gators, snakes, frogs, small birds, and really just about anything.

Not eaters of people, and so great fun to watch.

I already did great blue herons, so I figured a Monday with great egrets was in order.

I had this all ready, but Blogger didn't want to do anything but throw my computer into a "Not responding" fit for two days. So now it's a combo Monday goodies and Wildlife Wednesday. Egrets are good for all occasions, no?

Hope you're all having a good week! What animal/pretty stuff/cool thing should I do next? Also, Species a Day write-ups and funny-kid posts coming.

Friday 5: Futility, in five short acts

2011-10-06T15:56:00.015-07:00

I've been a little absent these last couple weeks, but it's not because I'm lazy. It's because I'm being productive for once! I've been putting the finishing touches on an article, and planning a couple of future ones. Plus, my son's on fall break, so, you know, zero free time. Also, I forgot last Friday was Friday.

My writing "process" might have something to do with it as well. Here's what today's process looked like.

Act 1: Warming up/arguing with self

OK, self. Time to finish this article.

But I'm so tired.

No, you're not. Forget the sleep deprivation thing. Just pretend you've had more than four hours.

Oh, OK. I'm at the computer. See?

I see you checking Facebook.

Nuh uh! It was ... Flickr. And then Facebook.

OK. Cut it out. Work. Now.

But ... but wait! A bunch of people like me on Google+ now! Promoting my photos there is LIKE work, right?

Right?

Oh, OK. Fine. [Work for 45 minutes.]

Act 2: Richard Dawkins needs my help

Oh, wow; look. Bill O'Reilly and Richard Dawkins talked again. What an idiot. I have to watch that!

No, wait. Work. Can't watch it. I'll just keep the page open for later.

Well, sheesh. Now the page is slowing down my computer. I can't close it yet, but I have to close it and get to work. It would be irresponsible not to watch the interview!

[Watch interview.]

Oh my gosh. He really is a moron. I wish there was some way I could go on the show. I'd be ready for him.

[Fatasize aboout handing Bill O'Reilly his ass about science. Realize Dawkins is approximately 5,795,021 times more qualified for this. Narrow it down to the niche of raising freethinking kids, in which Dawkins only beats me by a margin of 26,045 to one. Fantasize for a while anyway. Start to mentally script out what I would say. Think about typing it. Pull up Word.]

Agh; that's right! My article!

Act 3: 98 degrees of separation

[Work on article. Come across interview reference to medical journal article. Type in search terms for said article.]

Well, that's not the right one, but look at what else this doctor did. I didn't even know that procedure existed!

Whoa; it goes all the way back to the 1800s! Who knew? I must research this further. Who cares if it has anything to do with the article? Being well-informed makes me a better writer!

[Several websites later, a quote from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Head to Wikipedia.]

[Several, several Wikipedia pages later] Whoa; I never knew that about chewing tobacco or the Emmys!

[Stomach growls.] Geez. I'd better get some lunch so I can finish my ... oh no.

Act 4: Everyone's against me

[Get some lunch. Put it on desk. Son calls from living room, even though husband is also in living room. Playing a video game.]

Can I have a snack?

[Get snack. Bring it to him. Sit down in office.]

And a drink?

[Get drink. Sit back down.]

And a sandwich?

[Get sandwich.]

Are you sure there's nothing else?

Hmm. Could you watch me jump off this ledge?

No! And why are you doing that?! Is that what you do when I'm in the office?

No... [Looks guiltily at husband. Husband looks abashed.]

[Consider fighting with husband. Decide eating would be more fun. Go back to office/lunch. Cat is carrying my chicken down the hallway in his mouth. Give up. Have cake.]

OK. Work. For real.

[Write three whole paragraphs. Yea me!]

Act 5: OK, fine then.

Well, look at those paragraphs! I'm on a roll. I never thought I'd get that part written. OK, then. I just have to paste in this quote...

[Copy quote from other file. Paste. Word says F you. Shuts down, taking difficult paragraphs with it.]

[At the same time, evangelists knock on door, son runs into office, cats start fighting, and phone rings.]

[Play on Flickr.]

[Play on Facebook.]

[Play on Google+.]

Son: Mom, are you still working?

[Feel immensely guilty. Am done.]

And that, my friends is how not to write an article, in 45 easy steps.

Monday goodies: My kid, animal listener

2011-10-03T17:07:00.004-07:00

Horse whisperer. Dog whisperer. Fill-in-the-blank whisperer. You hear it about people who have an affinity for a certain animal. I've even used it on my son before: lizard whisperer, bug whisperer. But really, the fundamental assumption seems to be that you can sort of tame the animal, at least for that instant -- that you fundamentally understand what's going on, from its point of view.

My son's not that kind of animal whisperer. For one, it's nearly all animals. For another thing, he doesn't tame them. He doesn't want to. "Whisperer" seems to imply that he's the one doing the talking, and he doesn't care about what he has to say with animals. He doesn't whisper. He listens. He seems to understand their otherness. If he truly bonds with an animal at all, it's in the sense that he knows they, he and the animal, are separate beings, that this is an Other -- and he loves that. He revels in it.

He doesn't pose with animals, except for once in a while when I ask him to. Usually I just catch him at it. He doesn't seem to understand that this is a special or uncommon gift.

Monday goodies: Great blue herons

2011-09-26T17:14:00.006-07:00

Happy Monday! Time for a picture break. I need me some birds.

Before further (kid-caused, technology-caused, or other-issue-caused) ado -- herons! Great blue herons, to be exact. Fishing, eating, glaring, and generally being awesome.

Friday 5: Five things you should be doing tomorrow

2011-09-23T15:27:00.005-07:00

The summer's been kind of ghastly, so it's no surprise that there were scant few festivities planned over the last few months that didn't involve air conditioning, ice cream, and/or water. I was hoping we were about to pick back up in the events department, but whoa, you guys. It seems that every one of my pet interests is throwing a party on the same day. I certainly can't be at everything, but if you want my opinion, you should totally be in one or more of these spots September 24.

1. National Public Lands Day

A great day to volunteer to spruce up your favorite land, and as a nice bonus, free admission to the Grand Canyon! And total do-gooder karma. Many different sites have organized clean-ups, renovations, and awesome-ifying efforts all over, several just in Arizon a. Remove alien buffelgrass in the Ironwood Forest, restore mule deer habitat on the Kaibab Plateau, work on the South Rim at the Grand Canyon, pick up trash at several sites, and just generally improve things. And hey, free admission!

It's not just Arizona that's doing this one; it's the whole country. If you've got Saturday free, check it out and find something in your area.

2. Arizona Insect Festival

Seriously, could there be a cooler festival? For the first time, from 8 a.m. to noon tomorrow on the University of Arizona Mall, you can go learn all about venom, multifaceted eyes, decomposition, pollination, and all kinds of other awesome insect-related topics at more than 20 booths and displays at the 2011 Arizona Insect Festival. There will be stuff to see, magnify, hold, build, and -- if you're brave -- eat. They even have a zoo for the non-insect arthropods! Good times. Bring you camera!

3. Bye Bye Buzzards

So you may have heard me say once or twice how I like turkey vultures. Tomorrow marks the 20th annual Bye Bye Buzzards Day, celebrating the birds as the migratory flock heads to Mexico. Arrive early (the arboretum opens an hour early, at 7 a.m.) if you want to see the arboretum's resident vultures warm their wings and take off in the morning. They usually take to the air around 8 or 8:30. During and afterward, you can enjoy a bird talk and bird walk by ASU Professor Dave Pearson.

If you get there a little later, there's always the Arizona Game & Fish living exhibit of birds, reptiles and small mammals, which will be set up from 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. near the Smith Building. They'll have a turkey vulture, of course, and always bring a rotating cast of photogenic birds and other animals with them, including hawks, owls, herons, hummingbirds, and other rehabilitated but unreleasable animals. Again, bring your camera.

4. Butterfly Bash

Head to the Chandler Environmental Education Center at Veteran's Oasis Park tomorrow for a huge (free!) dose of butterfly. Guided walks, booths, presentations, crafts, face painting, and more all celebrate everyone's favorite photogenic insects, with information on butterflies' lives and especially the remarkable monarch migration. Be there from 10 to 10:30 a.m. to watch a live release of monarchs -- if you're lucky, you might get to help.

I probably don't need to say it, but bring a camera.

5. Free Museum Day

Again, this isn't an Arizona-only observance, but Arizona's certainly got some good participating museums. Smithsonian Magazine has declared September 24 Museum Day. If you go to their website, you can download a ticket for two free admissions. That simple. I'm looking at the Arizona Museum of Natural History, if I can squeeze it in. Go to the site to see which museums are participating. It's a great way to check out a new one at no cost! If you have kids, I'd try the Arizona Museum for Youth, or the Museum of Natural History. You can't beat the dinosaur museum. (P.S. It has a ton of other cool stuff. But you know your kids call it that too.)

Those are my recommendations. There's more going on, but these were the biggest blips on our radar for Saturday. If you come to a certain entomological or scavenger-themed event, look for me!

If you run out of day tomorrow, there are plenty of ongoing things too:

The Big Bugs at Desert Botanical Garden. I'm totally going there. With a camera. Probably more than once.
The Flagstaff Festival of Science runs from today until October 2.
The Phoenix Zoo just got baby Komodo dragons! Yes, I do think they're cute. Yes, I know I'm weird. But they really are. Catch them through spring 2012.

And more. Share in the comments, or just tell me where you'll be this weekend. Happy weekend, everyone. Here's to hoping the fall actually remembers to arrive.

Monday goodies: Flame skimmers

2011-09-19T16:53:00.001-07:00

Flame skimmers are one of my very favorite dragonflies, and that's saying something. For something so striking, so exotically gorgeous, they sure are accessible. Here, some recent shots, including a couple new ones:

They're just ludicrously beautiful, right?

Happy Monday, everyone.

Friday 5: Cooling off for cheapskates

2011-09-16T18:54:00.012-07:00

September's well underway, with temperatures all the way down into the mid 90s, but OMG, you guys! Did you know that we had the hottest August ever? Well, yeah. If you live in the state and opened a newspaper, website, or magazine or watched television at all last month, you surely do know, because someone ran the "Breaking News! Arizona still hot" story at least once a day. But it seriously was really hot. Still, it was better than another hottest year I remember, when I didn't have the luxury of hastening from air-conditioned cocoon to air-conditioned cocoon.

When I was five years old, my family moved here from the Buffalo, New York area. My parents -- apparently operating under the logic that "We need a change of scenery" equals "Let's move to the most opposite climate possible" -- soon narrowed their prospects down to the Phoenix area and a few similar regions in the southern United States. I remember having fish named "Phoenix" and "Mesa" while we still lived in Depew. It was all terribly exotic.

Soon, we packed up our three cats (they were less than thrilled) and our family of five, and moved to the desert. At first, we lived in apartments and townhouses, but after a couple of years we got our own place, a double-wide mobile home at the foothills of the Goldfield Mountains, just outside of Apache Junction. Mobile homes out here kind of equal houses, and at that time especially, if you lived out in the boonies -- as we did -- it was the way to go. Wood siding was added, and it looked very house-y.

We had our home. We actually had our own section of road, a sizable front yard, and seemingly a whole mountain range as our backyard.

We did not have much money, however, and now my parents were responsible for all the amenities in our home -- and paying for them. Consequently, we did not have air conditioning.

This was during a summer that hit the 120s more than a few times. I remember sitting in the car (which also lacked air conditioning), waiting to pick up my dad from work. It was 123. Squiggly heat waves emanated from the parking lot. It was like sitting in an oven that's on top of a frying pan. My mom thought rolling down the window might help. The air outside was -- surprise -- 123 degrees, so this didn't accomplish much.

We couldn't afford air conditioning of any sort for a while. However, there were a few ways we found to beat the heat.

1. Ghetto swamp cooler

We couldn't afford swamp cooling either, for some time. With neither swamp cooling nor air conditioning, fans were an absolute necessity in our house. Still, there's only so much pushing-around-hot-air that you can do with any effect. It basically just felt like giant hair driers everywhere. So we improvised.

It was simple. Take a big box fan. Take a wet rag and drape it over the fan. Presto: your own homemade evaporative cooling system. There was no sweeter experience in our house that summer than having moist, coolish air blowing directly into one's face; unless one was also blocking the fan and hogging it from one's sister or brother.

2. Visiting the mall and library. A lot.

And K-Mart. And department stores. And museums when they had free days. If we could find somewhere that was air conditioned, we practically camped out. There are few things in my life that I've savored as much as the first gust of icy air as automated doors slid apart and I walked from the oven-temperature day and heat-softened asphalt into the cool respite of a grocery store.

The library was one of our favorite hangouts. I think I completed the library's reading programs in their entirety for three summers straight. They must have thought I was insanely crazy about books. I was, of course, but mostly we were just bumming off their air conditioning.

3. Swimming

A natural choice. We swam all the time. We went to Canyon Lake regularly, and hung out at the public pool a whole lot. But when we couldn't get to either one of those, we took a dunk in our own pool.

For those of you who remember my family's in-ground pool, that came WAY later. I mean our above-ground "pool." Such as it was.

It looked about like this:Keep in mind, I was at least eight to ten years old at this point, so this was pretty undignified. I didn't care. It was wet, and kind of cold, and if my mom wasn't looking I could splash my sister or throw mud on my brother, which made them cry, which was always entertaining.

4. Mooching

We certainly weren't above mooching. I spent several weeks that summer befriending a neighbor. We didn't have anything in common. She once dared me to jump from her shed roof to a power line to see if I would get zapped -- and I did it. (I escaped electrocution; I think she was disappointed.) She really wasn't a good influence. But she let me sit in her air-conditioned room while eating cold pizza and watching Duck Tales, so I was her friend. Another time, we took a van we clearly could not afford; but which had astoundingly cold air conditioning; for a much-longer-than-necessary test drive. I held my face in front of the vent until my nose hurt from the cold.

5. Indecency

My brother spent the entire summer in nothing but a pair of briefs featuring the character Mouser from Super Mario Bros. 2. My sister and I like to tease him, but we really weren't much better. I had a pair of hot pink shorts that I favored, mostly because the fabric was only slightly heavier than air. I think they were about three inches long. My sister had a very similar pair, and we'd wear them with any comfortable, small shirt we could find, which never matched. (I had an orange one I liked. No, I really don't know what I was thinking.)

My dad might have been the worst of us. He had a seemingly endless collection of what looked like well-worn hot pants from the '60s. They were usually red or yellow or some awful color, and he usually wore them with an equally awful and ill-fitting shirt in a clashing shade. My mom tried to rotate them out of circulation via the laundry pile, but they never did seem to disappear. I remember a particularly awful combination of red shorts and a "He who dies with the most toys wins" shirt that I think he must still be wearing.

----

I guess what I'm saying is we were desperate. Loving and happy, but sweaty and cheap and desperate. We're helping my mom move some stuff tomorrow, and her air conditioning's been in various states of not-working for the last forever. We'll only have to be in and out of it a few times, when it's not even that hot, but she's been dealing with it this whole time.

It will come as no surprise to any of you who know my mom to learn that she was the only one who probably survived the summer in the 120s with some degree of dignity and equanimity. Last month, with varied other hassles and troubles, and no air conditioning on top of it all, she didn't resort to sibling torture or sitting around in video-game-character underwear even one time. The lady's a trooper.

No fear

2011-09-14T13:04:00.005-07:00

Someone told me again today. I should teach my son to fear. Revere? I asked. Respect? No, they said. Fear. A little fear is healthy.

The context doesn't matter. I've heard it many times. Fear strangers. Fear injury. Fear failure. Fear the other.

Fear God. Fear authority.

Fear me. His father.

Sometimes people actually say "fear" -- I am shocked, every time -- but sometimes, they only imply it. Better to fear injury than to be injured. Fearing parents means you obey them. Fearing the stove keeps you from being burned. Fearing gods saves your soul. You have to teach him to be afraid of something, don't you? You're not going to just teach him to go up to the whole world and ask it what's up, now, are you? What if THINGS HAPPEN?

Really, I can think of no more soul-crushing experience than fear. So yes; that's exactly what I'm doing. He'll know fear in his life, and I'm sad just knowing that. It's a natural, visceral reaction to evil or tragedy, I think, and it's understandable. But it should never be a strategy. It should never be a decision. I will never teach him to fear. For as long as possible, I'm going to keep him from really knowing fear. If I screw up everything else; I'm really, really proud of doing this one thing. It's not about being brave. It's about being alive.

Go on; change my mind. I'm completely serious. Tell me one single instance in which fear -- not caution, not prudence, not revulsion, but fear -- is the way to go. I'll make an exception.

You can't, can you?

What's up, world?

Monday goodies: Vultures

2011-09-12T18:49:00.005-07:00

Happy Monday! I know the Tea Party debate is on and all, but instead of watching a bunch of black-and-red-clad carrion pickers flocking and fighting over the same scraps again and again ... how about looking at my vulture pictures?

See? Much more graceful.

Happy belated International Vulture Day, and you should totally come to the 20th annual Bye Bye Buzzards Day at Boyce Thompson Arboretum, coming up September 24th.

All new-to-this-blog vulture pics. For more vulturey goodness, check here and here (Day 46).

Never forget ... to live

2011-09-11T08:21:00.004-07:00

Confession: I forgot Sunday was 9/11.

OK. I didn't totally forget. I wrote a short post Friday about it, though to be fair, that post is mostly links to incredible works others have produced. I didn't forget. It's part of our identity now.

I got up this morning, though, thinking about life. And not even in a 9/11 or patriotic way, either. Just plain, happy, sunshine-on-my-face, broken-down-swingset-in-the-backyard-with-my-son, big-misshapen-blueberry-pancakes kind of happy. I think this is the right way to go.

"Never forget" always seemed a little odd to me. I know it's our way of honoring the victims and heroes of that day. I know it's about going back, at least once a year, to the day where the very worst brought our our very best. I know it means "Never become complacent," but somehow, I don't see that happening.

"Never forget" is superfluous, in a way. How could we ever forget? And it always looks like an admonition to keep the tragedy alive, to keep the deaths alive. I don't want to do that. I want to keep their lives alive.

It's not just 9/11. I don't remember the day my dad died. I never do. But I celebrate his birthday every year, in some way. I'm positive that's how he'd have wanted it.

"Remembering is all I can do," I overheard someone saying during a conversation this weekend. But, I wanted to say, it's NOT all you can do.

You're not powerless. You can make new memories. You can live more. You can love harder. And you probably are. You get credit for living. You should feel immensely empowered for that. That is doing something. It's not running away from 9/11. It's not forgetting.

I'm the very last person you want to go to for 9/11 expertise, so really, go elsewhere. But if you really want to know my opinion, I think we should add "to live" to our commemorative motto.

Never forget to live.

Maybe it's a reminder to me more than anyone. Because I sometimes do forget.

So I'm going to be sure, today and this week, to go on living. I'll post a "Monday goodies" tomorrow (someone please help me think of a better title for that feature) -- vultures. Which are all about life and beauty, despite what you may have heard. And today, I'll go back outside with my son and squeeze my oversized ass onto the undesized swing set seat once again. I'll hike and photograph and try not to get ant-bitten like yesterday. I'll help my kid bake some brownies.

I'll look east (if I can remember which direction that is) and yes, I will remember. There's a 9/11-shaped hole in my heart too. But I'll go on. Death will have the very last word, after all. I want to have as much to say on the side of life while I'm able.

Friday 5: 9/11

2011-09-10T07:50:00.002-07:00

I'm writing another "Friday 5," but as I completed the story about accidentally pushing my mom off a cliff at Canyon Lake, it occurred to me that this might not be the week for it. Instead, here are a few really good things about 9/11 I've read or watched recently. Antidotes to it, really. They lean Arizona-ward, coverage-wise, but no matter where you're from, please do share others in the comments. The more we read and learn about each other's experiences -- any experiences, really -- the further away from terror we are.

1. Arizona teacher's life forever changed by 9/11

The local-guy angle, but as they all are, so much more. He lost someone. He comforted and was comforted. He sat, surrounded by thousands of raised voices, at the first World Series ever played in the state of Arizona, a short while later. Arizona won, but that was secondary. The soul of America, as he says, came out then. This guy is good people.

2. The Second Day

A few years ago, Brook Peters decided he would make a film about September 11 and its aftermath to give voice to a group of people no one had heard from much. He started filming his documentary, and managed to gain national and international coverage.

And then he turned 12.

He's 14 now, and this guy is pretty amazing. You can watch the whole film for $3.99, but you definitely should at least watch the trailer.

3. Surviving the Fall

If you haven't read "The Falling Man," Tom Junod's piece for Esquire, you should. The Falling Man. You know the photo. In the first essay, he tells about the search for the man. In "Surviving," he puts him to rest, in a way. Difficult, intimate and well done.

4. The mothers who found forgiveness, friendship

Phyllis Rodriguez and Aicha el-Wafi are both mothers who have lost sons. Rodriguez lost her son in the World Trade Center attacks; el-Wafi's son was involved in the attacks and is currently serving a life sentence. They are friends. I really don't know how they do it -- either of them. This is amazing. They are amazing. Watch.

5. Gilbert, and "Mesa - the day before the 9/11 attack"

Please, especially if you're in the area, do read about and think about attending some of the memorial activities. Gilbert's Week of Tribute is wrapping up, concluding a week of activities to memorialize and commemorate not only those directly involved in 9/11, but all of our ties to community and family. There's a great "Preserving Family" event Saturday at the Gilbert Riparian Preserve (as long as it doesn't rain), with family activities galore, which I'll be trying to make. I've heard on good authority that solar telescopes might be out for public use too. Also, they'll have donuts!

Check here for more activities, and mostly, just have a good weekend with your family.

Also, Mesa. In Mesa, like everywhere, the world didn't stop spinning on 9/11. Stuff -- little and big -- didn't stop happening. It just seemed that way. Good story.

OK, so I guess I sneaked in an extra one there. I like these, though. Check 'em out if you haven't. Let me know what inspires you. And have a good weekend.

Monday goodies: Sunsets

2011-09-05T16:39:00.001-07:00

You know something weird? Mondays are my favorite days. Really.

I think it might have something to do with my ongoing ineptitude at getting things -- anything, really -- done on time. I have imagination and wonder and creativity to spare, but sometimes it works against me, sort of paralyzing me from staying on any one course for longer than half a day. By the time Friday comes, I'm always it's here already, and me with so little done. And even on good weeks, Friday means the END of the week. No more stuff to accomplish.

But Monday? It marks new week, full of new possibilities. If I can catch the wave of productivity just right, it might turn out to be a week full of realizing a few of them. I love Mondays.

Also, I have a huge overflow of pretty photos of certain things. The problem is, I've already done posts about sunsets, vultures, spiders, and the half-dozen other categories the pictures seem to fall into. So, no lengthy babbling this time (I know; shocking!) but I figured my overflow (and bizarre affinity for Monday) can brighten your Mondays now. Or at the very least, if you're all schlumpy and Monday-y, you can come ogle some pretty pictures instead of working.

They'll have themes. Today: sunsets. And one puffy evening cloud. (Today, apparently, was International Vulture Day, but I had sunsets in the overflow folder last week. I promise vultures next week.)

Species a Day, Week 12

2011-08-31T15:15:00.002-07:00

See all my Species a Day posts here.

I said in my last post that I'd soon return to our regularly scheduled Arizona nature programming, so here you go. Less ranty and more picturey.

Without further ado, the species.

Day 78: White-winged dove, Zenaida asiatica

Bird of peace, my ass. These guys are the big, oafish bullies of our backyard. We have a dove block, and a platform feeder, and lots of dove-friendly things for them. They don't care. They prefer the smaller finch feeder; full of flimsy, tiny perches; and usually also full of pissed-off finches and sparrows. White-winged doves take what they feel like taking, whether they fit or not.

They are beautiful, though. Chunky in build, with flame-colored eyes that almost glow; each surrounded by neon blue, featherless skin that looks undeniably like costume makeup.

Honestly, the first time I was exposed to the white-winged dove wasn't even the bird itself; but in the Stevie Nicks song "Edge of Seventeen" -- Just like the white-winged dove sings a song; sounds like she's singin' Oooh, oooh, oooh.

Whether it's their call or their near-ubiquity, people like to tell stories about these birds. They're featured heavily in both Biblical and Greek mythology, often with an olive branch, a symbol of renewal and peace (obviously the writers had never seen my backyard). Doves appear in Roman, Indian, Native American, and Japanese stories as well; and in possibly a more fitting theme, a dove was even a harbinger of disaster in Celtic lore. Even the constellations feature several doves, most notably Columba. It's portrayed holding an olive branch, which I can only assume it stole from a finch.

Day 79: Green heron, Butorides virescens

Solitary and secretive. A small heron, not much bigger than a crow, it likes to feed alone or in pairs, and eats small fish and whatever other water goodies it can find.

It exudes wariness and is exceedingly good at vanishing -- I've lost count of the amount of times we've been scouring the far bank for a heron that we knew was there and stared right past it; only to catch it for a second later when it flicked its tail in annoyance, erected its short crest, and flew away. Even a small marsh or vegetated pond area can support a decent-sized green heron population, with most people never noticing them.

If you can manage not to scare it off, they're fun to watch while hunting. They practically launch their heads and beaks at their prey. And doesn't it remind you of the guys in Spy vs. Spy?

Day 80: Vermilion flycatcher, Pyrocephalus rubinus

There are a few birds that I photograph and people tend to ask if I altered the image -- surely the color isn't that vivid? -- and probably none more so than these radiantly vivid birds, whose males sport eye-poppingly intense red contrasted with very dark brown, almost black, backs and eye bars.

I always used to picture a more subdued orange-red when I heard the word vermillion -- like the Vermilion Cliffs, north of the Grand Canyon. Not so with the vermillion flycatcher, whose scientific name, translated as something like "firehead red," only seems to rub it in. Even my boring field guide, which can say nothing more extreme about the bald eagle than "readily identifiable," calls the vermillion flycatcher "brilliant" and "striking."

The distinctive plumage helps attract mates, no doubt; but the male doesn't rely on looks alone. He performs a courtship display where he'll puff up his red feathers, soar up into the air, flutter erratically for a bit, and land right in front of a female with his tinkling peet-a-see call. Which, I've got to say, is probably less silly than some human rituals that serve the same purpose.

Day 81: Red-eared slider, Trachemys scripta elegans

Red-eared sliders are popular as pets, but also native to the Southern United States, so between native and introduced populations, if you see a turtle in any pond around the Valley, it's probably a red-eared slider.

The "red-eared" part of the name is obvious, and when you see sliders in action, that part becomes clear too. They can slip off a log or rock with uncanny speed and grace, only making a faint "plop," which is often your only sign that a turtle used to be there, and saw you first. Still, they're not hard to spot, especially as they like to sun themselves on partially submerged logs or rocks. They're pretty calm characters, though they can be pretty aggressive when food is involved. Being omnivorous means they can eat anything, which generally includes vegetation and smaller animals like crickets or crayfish -- but I've heard of turtles reportedly eating very small members of their species on rare occasions, which seems to be taking the whole "eat anything" part a bit far. And they look far too cute to be cannibals.

Day 82 (Endangered Species Day, Part 1): Desert pupfish, Genus Cyprinodon

The only exception to my "rules" (newly taken pics, in the wild), I wanted to add this one for Endangered Species Day. This is from a hike I took a several years ago to cover an effort by Arizona Game and Fish Department, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and Bureau of Land Management to relocate some fish. And by "hike" I mean "strenuous boulder scrambling" and by "relocate some fish" I mean "seriously badass conservation efforts." Historically, the desert pupfish have lived in the Gila River basin and the San Pedro, Salt and lower Colorado rivers in Arizona, but introduced species and other environmental threats combined to seriously threaten the species. So we clambered over boulders, reached a super-remote stream about a thousand feet down in the canyon, and met a helicopter flown by a former military precision-drop pilot, who conveyed the fish. The fish's new home is in Agua Fria National Monument's Lousy Canyon, and lovely stream at the bottom notwithstanding, it really is well named. Not a place for a leisurely stroll. Still, it was a heck of an effort, and the pupfish is a pretty awesome little fish. It can tolerate water temperatures reaching 115 degrees Fahrenheit, salinity of 20 percent, and extremely low oxygen levels. It's actually been suggested that desert pupfish may be able to help in skin cancer and kidney research.

Day 82 (Endangered Species Day, Part 2): Desert tortoise, Gopherus agassizii

Another endangered Arizona animal. Not a giant tortoise, which many people seem to think. Desert tortoises are about 15 inches long and only about six inches tall, though they do have very impressive front legs, armed with shield-like scales and digging claws (actually sharp, modified scales).

The number of desert tortoises has decreased rapidly in the last several decades, due to factors like habitat loss and fragmentation, illegal collection, and pressures from their natural predators. This, combined with the fact that they spend up to 95 percent of their time underground, makes them a rare sight indeed. Left undisturbed, these are hardy animals. They can live where ground temperatures exceed 140 degrees Fahrenheit, owing to their ability to quickly burrow underground where it's cooler. (They leave a half-moon shaped entrance to their burrows), and can live to be up to 80 to 100 years old, just like that giant tortoise you might be thinking about.

Day 83: Harris's antelope squirrel, Ammospermophilus harrisii

A small ground squirrel native to southern Arizona, Harris's antelope squirrel (and all antelope squirrels, also called antelope ground squirrels) can survive in extreme heat, and has adapted to thrive even as its internal body temperature tops 104 or 105 degrees Fahrenheit. I know the last time I had a temperature that high, I was afraid the animals in the wallpaper pattern were coming to life, and I wasn't doing so great at plain old surviving, much less thriving; so my figurative hat is off to them.

Antelope squirrels are small, no bigger than ten inches long, with a white stripe down the back. They live in burrows that they dig themselves. They're omnivorous and diurnal, and do not hibernate. They're also really good at causing animosity between drivers, as they're big enough for the first car to dodge or slam on the brakes; but are small enough, or fast enough, or maybe employ a cloaking device; so that the other cars never see it and think the first car's driver is an idiot and they must tell her so with enthusiastic language and prodigious use of middle fingers. Not that I know anything about that. Also, they're not called chipmunks, but if you tell your husband that he'll probably just think you're being a know-it-all. Not that I know anything about that either.

Day 84: Grote's underwing, Catocala grotiana

Moths that come out during the day, according to Virginia Woolf, "are not properly to be called moths ... They are hybrid creatures, neither gay like butterflies nor sombre like their own species." I'm totally behind Woolf on the room of one's own thing (not that it'll ever happen to me), but I've got to differ with her here. The underwing moths we see come out in the morning or late evening, so they might indeed be "hybrid creatures" in Woolf's figurative sense, but I don't think it's that they're neither bright and cheery nor somber and deep -- I rather think it's that they're both.

We saved this one after the rain. We found it clinging to our screen door, waterlogged and unable to take off, owing to the fact that it was perched beneath a dripping section of roof (I said they were cheerful and also serious; not smart). We scooped it off the door and brought it into the sun to dry and warm its wings.

The insect slowly flexed its wings and spooled and unspooled its proboscis on my son's hand, as if testing out all its parts. When it was satisfied that everything was back in commission, it took off, flying until we could no longer see it. My son was thrilled, and it was plenty cheesy of a moment, but it was also serious and alien enough to have that cool air of mystery. A mysterious figure with a pink-accented cloak. Why not?

I'll have a hard time rooting against Mothra next time.

Nope. Still won't repost.

2011-08-23T11:38:00.009-07:00

Not Arizona/nature related. (Check out my Species a Day posts to tide you over on nature and photo goodness, or try some of my recent posts.) If you're offended by me mocking ideology, religion, or stupidity, you probably shouldn't read this. I probably shouldn't even post it. Oh well. You've been warned.

If you're my Facebook friend and/or have had the misfortune of listening to me rant in person, you know I'm not a fan of spammy "Repost this" status updates. Still, they continue. I'm friends with smart, independent, reasonable people, and still the ridiculousness pollutes my feed. Maybe there's some dumb-ifying effect on Facebook to which some of us are immune?

So, to clarify: If you post one of the following things on Facebook, I'm starting to get ocular strain from rolling my eyes. I shall send you my optometrist bill if you don't cut it out.

Senioritis

You know the "Good Ol' Days" weren't, right? Not particularly good, in many respects, and not even that old, in the grand scheme of things. I'm totally sympathetic about nostalgia, seriously. Believe it or not, I experience it as well. However, I don't get all huffy about bringing back chicken pox and Atari because that's what happened to be around when I was 8. And you know your parents probably did the exact same thing, right? Only your stuff was the young/stupid/America-killing stuff? Get over it.

You're right about lard-fried stuff, though.

My Quote-Unquote "Inspirational" Friends

Yeah, you're a fount of individualistic, inspirational wisdom, alright. SO individual and startlingly inspirational that you use a cartoon face someone else made, and your stream is 96 percent "inspirational" quotes, and 4 percent wondering why more people aren't as bubble-gum-happy as you. Also? You're not reaching for the moon, or the stars, or even the door. You're sitting on your couch, copying and pasting silly crap like this. Get outside. Have an opinion of your own.

You can totally quote Douglas Adams or songs I like, though. Those don't count.

But I'm sad for a CAUSE!

Sigh. Yes; you're totally right. I'm obviously neglecting to repost your whiny diatribe or join the 4,587,123^rd group against child abuse because I'm actually for it. Please. Slactivism sucks, you guys. You know what? Usually, I'm too busy in my own shit to actually do something about any number of causes that I really do care about. Sometimes it's not my fault, but sometimes I'm just lazy, or overwhelmed, or whatever. AND THE SAME GOES FOR YOU. You're not allaying any actual guilt by reposting this junk. You're just making yourself feel better. And I don't feel bad for saying so when passive-aggressive posts like this imply I care less about a cause because I won't "like" a syntax-free, cheesy status update.

Holier than thou (and thou, and thou, and thou too)

OK. Now, I'm probably treading on dangerous ground here, but you made me do it. Please. Religion is personal, and subjective, and open to interpretation. I love talking about it, really. I really do respect your right to believe whatever moves you. But if you ask me not to question, if you ask me not to be curious, and if you really imply that my family and I are somehow evil for not believing in your cultural myths ... well, then screw you.

I love my kids more than you

Um. No. No, you don't. NO ONE thinks about his or her kids EVERY SECOND of the day. If you do, I'm sorry, but I think that probably makes you a tad less good of a parent. My son is 90 percent of my world. But I have a 10 percent, and I share it with him, but it's mine, and he has his, and it makes us better people.

Also, of course you care about your kids that much. But no one else thinks they're perfect. Guess what? They're not. Neither is mine. Makes life interesting.

Also, um, barf.

Motherf**king AMERICAN!!

Why does acting like a bully somehow make one more American? Why does acting like stupidity is something to be embraced make one more patriotic? What's wrong with being elite or progressive?

My answers are it doesn't, it doesn't, and nothing. And I read your update, loudly and incredulously, at my my husband and proceed to mock it every time.

Huh. On second though, maybe keep posting those. They're really freaking entertaining.

Friday 5: Making friends

2011-08-12T10:53:00.016-07:00

I'm an antisocial nerd. Seriously. I have a hard time getting to know people, probably partly because I prefer to bypass social pleasantries such as "Hello. How was your day?" and skip right to "Actually, you're totally incorrect. Listen while I tell you why," or "Hey! Wanna hear me talk for an hour about black widows?"

Maybe stemming from that, I have a hard time cultivating the social circle around me that I'd like -- people who are as passionate about the things I am, in the same ways I am, yet still inspire and surprise me. Luckily, others don't share my deficiency, so the circle still forms. I get e-mails and invitations, even though I hole myself up in a messy home office and talk mostly to my cats. And then, I get to pass it on to you! Only in the Internet age.

Making connections -- it's one of the best things about the Internet, about writing, and about the passions we all pursue. Here are a few I'm loving lately.

Tom Keyes, and other awesome Arboretum folks

You know I love the Boyce Thompson Arboretum. And that it happens to be featuring nature photography from yours truly right now. (See it all this month!) You know what else is cool? The people there. Paul Wolterbeek, the volunteer coordinator/public relations guy/all-around He-Man of the arboretum, knows that cool folks flock to the place, and he's awesome about connecting them to each other. A while ago, he noticed similarities in my Species a Day posts and local artist Sandy Tracey's Painting a Day project, and sent us each other's info. Last weekend he passed along this gorgeous etching made by arboretum volunteer Tom Keyes, going off one of my exhibit photos. Remember this image?

Check out the awesome etching he did:

Gorgeous, isn't it? It's getting a place of honor in my home office, I think (though my son did suggest his room). Apparently, Tom just makes these gorgeous pieces like they're no big deal and often shares them, just because. Makes him a pretty cool guy, in my book.

Everyone who sends me awesome science, beauty, etc. just because you know it's my thing

My friend BJ Bolender (known around these parts as Ms. Cobalt) sent me the sadly beautiful video on the death of a dragonfly. Sad as it was, I loved that she thought to send it to me, because I know she appreciates and cares about dragonflies like I do, but also because we sort of see things the same way; and I could imagine her noticing the details that I noticed. Several of you sent me the eerily gorgeous "Loom" a while back because you knew I'd love it. And don't even get me started on photographic inspiration. Here are just a very few shots from my Flickr contacts lately (click through to see each photographer, with links):

You guys are inspiring.

Rus VanWestervelt

I've "known" Rus for a while now -- he's a Facebook contact and a fellow Gopher (Goucher College grad), but he graduated a few years before I did, so I didn't really know him. It seems I missed out. He sent me an e-mail out of the blue the other day. Totally not a big deal to him, I suppose. Just a note saying, basically, Hey; you're doing great stuff. Keep it up, to tell me he'd been enjoying my online work. But it hit my Inbox at just the right time, when I was feeling uninspired and dumpy and not so great at all. It was perfect. And come to find out, that's what he does: inspire people and foster community for some of us creative-types. Also, he's taken some pretty kick-ass photos himself.

Jim Burns

I've long loved Jim Burns' photos. What I try to do in bird photography, he just does, with apparent ease that I know is really from years and years of meticulously honed skill and practice. He knows his equipment, he knows the birds, and he's good. Really, really good. I don't know if there's a North American bird he hasn't captured, and well. (That's his Cooper's hawk shot. Have you ever seen a more unique hawk shot?)

So you can imagine my pleasure and surprise when his latest column (he's also a nature writer, and he's good at that too) was entitled "Kim Hosey." Seriously. I'm not nearly that big of a deal, so I was really pretty tickled. It's a column about my exhibit, but it's mostly a reflection on our connection to nature growing up. It's perfect. What's even better, though, was that he gets me. I began my artist statement in my exhibit with the sentence "I am not a photographer." I wasn't trying to be cute (not too much, anyway), and I wasn't feeling insecure. I'm really not a photographer, at least, not primarily. The thing I bring to the table is how I see the world -- or even that I see the parts I do. He got that. I was thrilled.

Also, just go check out his work. He seriously rocks.

Dragonfly Day folks

Here's a late shout-out, but I went straight from the event to camping, back home, and, well, things pile up. The Chandler Environmental Education Center at Veteran's Oasis Park put on a great event, dedicated to one of my favorite orders of insects. I had a table with some recent photos I've taken, and I got to talk about the insects and how I got some of the images. (Tough, I know. You know how I hate talking about animals.) Naturally, my exhibit was accompanied by an informative sheet by none other than The Dragonfly Woman, who you may have seen around here. Honestly, I felt like I was getting more than I was offering. I got to meet all kinds of nature-loving people. Pierre Deviche, who runs the website Arizona Dragonflies, gave a captivating lecture on dragonflies, evidenced by the fact that my son disappeared to the lecture and reportedly sat still and silent (!) for over an hour. The folks at the Center were wonderful. They're building a hub of environmental outreach and education, bringing together teachers, presenters, the public, and the natural world. Good stuff.

I think my favorite part of the day, though, had to be the kids. Kids aren't always familiar with nature, but they're nearly always open to learning more about it. Probably two thirds of the questions I got were from kids: What do dragonflies eat? Do they eat each other? Why do they have hair? Why do they do that weird thing to mate? What's this bright red one? And, from what I swear was six-year-old me: Are you sure that's a blue-ringed dancer? Because I saw a whole bunch of that kind out on the pond and I think it's another species; hang on; let me look in my book...

Meeting the next generation of nature nerds. I guess the circle is complete.

Species a Day, Week 11

2011-08-08T17:03:00.010-07:00

Check out the rest of my Species a Day writeups here.

Oh my gosh, you guys. I'm really behind on this Species a Day thing.

Thanks a lot, summer vacation. With your trips and quality family time and whatnot. Don't you know when I don't have time to write properly, I get all rambly? Seriously, vacation self, I take forever to write a short essay, but give me a time limit, and I turn in William Faulkner or F. Scott Fitzgerald, only without the heavy drinking or the talent. And no one wants to read 4,500 words on scorpion mating habits. It takes more time to write less. So now I get to pay for it, while Summer Break Kim rests up for a brief stint of screwing me over again come winter break.

Some critters. And only some brevity.

Day 71: Least sandpiper, Calidris minutilla

My peeps. Literally.

Of the smaller North American sandpipers, the five smallest species are so similar; their differences so subtle, headache-causing, and bird-nerd-fight inducing; that they're often just collectively called "peeps." Of these, the smallest is the least sandpiper. I only know them because 1) I have friends who are even bigger bird nerds than I am; 2) they're the ones that make their homes at the Gilbert Riparian Preserve; and 3) only the least, as far as I know, has dark brown upperparts.

We find these sandpipers throughout much of the year at the preserve, one of our go-to bird-spotting spots, though their winter and migratory ranges cover most of Arizona. They're one of the more unassuming shorebirds, timidly picking their way through the shallows, avoiding the larger stilts and avocets. You also can tell them by their shrill - you guessed it - peeping. They seem to enjoy games of chase, pursuing one another over the muddy flats with exaggerated rapid-fire strides and spins that seem to be out of a Charlie Chaplin movie. I keep waiting for the comical stare and piano music.

They're the least peeps, but they're definitely one of our main peeps.

(Yes; these are the puns you can expect after my brain has been fried.)

Day 72: Green darner, Anax junius

Its name translates to "king of June," or as I once read, "lord and master of June." Seriously? How awesome a name is that? I mean, I'm totally in love with all things hexapodal, and I'm not sure I'd have come up with such a cool name. It's certainly much cooler than the appropriation of their common name, darners, as a threat to sew youngsters' mouths shut.

Really, it's a perfect name. In its range -- which is wide indeed -- the acrobatic green darner rules the summer skies.

Although green darners aren't the most common dragonflies around here, they're still one of my favorites. I remember them as one of the first insects I discovered, only these were across the country in New York State's Allegany Park. The huge powerful wings, coupled with the blue and green jewel tones, were captivating. They're the most common and widespread large dragonfly in North America (though I believe the gorgeous and enormous giant darner is larger), and new information about their migration habits is still being uncovered, but it is known that they can migrate more than a thousand miles.

I saw dozens of species of dragonflies in Arizona before I saw green darners again, and when I did, it was like a gem that linked (darned?) my past and present. It's little things like this that make me really love wildlife, and insects in particular -- the closer we look, the more widely we all seem to be linked. Ugh; see what happens when I take a break? Puns, and now sappiness. At least I never made up any weird stories about dragonflies being the "devil's darning needles" to freak out my kid. (However, if you ever DO find an organism capable of sewing his mouth shut from time to time, hook me up.)

Day 73: Loggerhead shrike, Lanius ludovicianus

The loggerhead shrike call is usually a low warbling that crescendos into high-pitched, raspy calls; rather like its presence -- unassuming at first, but potentially fierce. This bird doesn't look much like an adept predator at first glance. It's smallish, with weak feet and no talons. The ferocity is in the acrobatic dives it can make while hunting, and especially in the beak. The loggerhead shrike's hooked beak forms a sort of tooth near the tip that helps the bird rip into its prey -- larger insects and smaller prey like lizards, mice, and other birds -- and can be used to sever the prey's spinal column. After this intense attack, the bird likes to impale its prey on a nearby branch or thorn, the better to tear it apart and wolf it down. This sweet little thing is called the "butcher bird." I think that's pretty awesome.

Day 74: Red-winged blackbird, Agelaius phoeniceus

A passerine bird like the shrike, the red-winged blackbird is a bit more representative of what people picture for the order -- perching, pretty-song-singing birds. You've got the pretty -- those shoulder pads! And you've definitely got the song singing. Still, this bird's not boring. They'll defend their territory against much larger birds -- I saw one chase off a heron once -- and will dive-bomb people on occasion. The territorial displays the males put on are endlessly entertaining, and the songs are actually quite beautiful -- a liquidy, cong-a-lee that repeats over and over again, signaling the beginning of spring and, he hopes, the beginning of a mating liaison. Seriously, even a recording of their song instantly brings marshy grass, cattails, warm light and spring goodness to mind.

The males are the bright ones, naturally, but that just means they're the ones who need to show off, which means it's the females who do all the choosing. The males are jet black except for vivid red shoulders (they're actually called epaulets, which seems even more darling), edged by yellow. The females are streaked brown, with white eyebrows. They're both gorgeous.

Day 75: Mexican amberwing, Perithemis intensa

Strictly a Southwestern dragonfly, these little guys prefer shallow, warm water, which makes them a perfect fit for Arizona. They're also feisty and fierce, which I guess also makes them a pretty good fit for Arizona. You'll find Mexican amberwings perched on the grass and reeds near the water at places like the Gilbert Riparian Preserve, Saguaro and Canyon Lakes, the Boyce Thompson Arboretum, and probably a ton of other places that have warm, calm water and accommodating perches. They're entirely a rich amber-orange color, including the wings (hence the name), and the way they light up when the sun hits them is just incredible.

Day 76: Western pondhawk, Erythemis collocata

It was a dragonfly-heavy week. The western pondhawk is fairly widespread throughout the western United States and Mexico, and is a medium-sized dragonfly. The male is a subdued, dark blue color throughout the body, with a bright green face; and the females are green with a black dorsal stripe. The thing I always notice about them is how voracious they are while hunting/eating. More than once I've seen one catch a damselfly (twice while the damselflies were mating -- a twin snack pack, I guess), and once I saw one catch another dragonfly. They'll even eat other western pondhawks.

It was while photographing a western pondhawk that I first met an "Ode." That's what he called himself -- short for a human who's really into odonates, or dragonflies and damselflies. His bible was Common Dragonflies of the Southwest. He let me in on the first semi-proper dragonfly ID -- this blue dragonfly here with the green "nose" was a pondhawk; that one over there with the white nose was a blue dasher. I remember I felt like I had discovered a twofold secret society: that of the dragonflies and that of the Odes, who are so taken with the magic in these four-winged creatures that they will begin preaching their virtues almost immediately upon meeting someone; that is, if the person doesn't first ask why they are forever walking about with four dog-eared field guides, a camera, a set of binoculars, and a dilapidated notepad for new discoveries. I was an easy convert, and many hundreds of dragonfly photos (so many thousands of attempts) later, I'm coming along in my IDs.

Day 77: Jumping spider

OK, so the small amount of expertise I've gained in IDing dragonflies? Totally not there with spider species. This is a brown jumping spider, which is a sucky ID. I'm pretty sure it's different than the one in the header up there (it's definitely smaller), but I'm lost otherwise. Most of the jumpers I see are "brown jumping spiders," which most field guides try to tell me is the widely distributed Platycryptus undatus, though that jumping spider is endemic to Canada and the eastern United States. I'm pegging this one as Platycryptus arizonensis, which is native to Arizona as well as California, New Mexico, and Utah; though it's possible that it's a Platycryptus californicus, which has a wider, more western, and much more north-reaching range. And more of those conclusions were clouded by the fact that these all used to belong to the genus Metacyrba and almost nobody has written anything about Platycryptus. And yeah; I know I could just be making these names up for all you know or care.

You see how this kind of thing can make you nutty? Seriously, though, taxonomy is an awesome thing. Besides the funny names for things (Colon rectum, Agra vation) and nerd fights about what species belongs in which genus (you know what I'm talking about, biologist friends), taxonomy is kind of a beautiful thing. It organizes things. You can tell a lot about an organism from how it's categorized. Platycryptus, for instance, and all jumping spiders, are squat in shape, seemingly built on the horizontal axis -- they can become almost entirely flat, the better to surprise you from between papers or layers of bark -- and only jumping spiders primarily use their eyes for hunting.

Which also means they have keen eyes for catching snoopers and photographers, so I've had precious little time with these awesome tiny creatures. If I accidentally reuse this same species, it's only because I'm too ignorant to know it, and I'm sure at least a few of you will correct me. Which, honestly, is another thing I love about online connections and wildlife obsessions.

More Species soon. What have you all be seeing in your respective necks of the woods lately?

Splash pads around the Valley

2011-08-04T09:38:00.002-07:00

The following writeup appears in this month's Times Publications. Splash pads. They're fun, universally appealing, ubiquitous, and free. Good stuff, you guys.

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Making a splash in the desert

I want my son, David, to have a blast; especially during summer vacation. For that reason, we make big plans. We prepare, gear up, and take trips.

But sometimes, we’re just not in the mood for all that fuss. Sometimes, we just want to get out for some simple, summery fun. Somewhere close, playful, wet (for cooling off), and, wait; what’s this? Free? Sign us up!

Turns out, one advantage to living in the desert is a wealth of unique and entertaining splash pads for kids. These play areas are great for kids of all ages, though they’re especially good for kids between the ages of toddler and about 10. They’re safe even for children who can’t yet swim. They’re splashy, obnoxious fun for kids, and they’re convenient for parents.

David and I grabbed some towels and checked out the splash pad at Chandler’s Espee Park.
Within seconds, he was playing with a gaggle of other drenched kids. Something about the combination of the outdoors and water makes all kids instant friends. Raucous games of water tag and jump-through-the-spray broke out, and half a dozen of them formed a shrieking procession running through the spray rings again and again. Everyone was having so much fun that “Play nicely” wasn’t a necessary admonition. My son and a few 10-year-olds took the younger kids under their wings, including a tiny but rambunctious 2-year-old and a small herd of 5-year-olds.

City pads

In addition to the tunnel of bright orange spray rings, the Espee Park Splash Pad (north of Knox Road, between Arizona Avenue and McQueen Road in Chandler) features a water tower with water cascading in thick waterfalls and sprays, three candy-cane-shaped water showers, and scores of ground sprays that shoot straight up. The sprays typically run for fifteen minutes, then shut off for five minutes for the pad to drain, during which kids can play on the adjacent playground (or, as some did, plop down and claim a spigot for when it turns back on). We went five or six cycles, then rounded it out with some playground time. He was drenched, happy, and ready to eat dinner and sleep. Not bad for a free outing.

Chandler, Scottsdale, and Tempe seem to be the hot spots if you’re looking for a splash pad. Each city maintains several splash pads.

In addition to Espee, Chandler maintains Chuparosa Park Spray Pad, on Dobson Road, between Queen Creek and Germann Roads; and at Desert Breeze Park, at 660 N. Desert Breeze Blvd., between Rural Road and McClintock Drive and Ray Road and Chandler Boulevard. Desert Breeze is particularly popular. In addition to its ground sprays, it features animal sculpture water features, including three dolphins and an elephant.

Tempe Beach Park boasts one of the most well-known splash pads in its one-acre splash park, which doubles as a lesson for kids on the water cycle. A metal circle of rain mist starts the cycle. The water turns into streams and cascading waterfalls (all fun to run through or stand beneath). In some areas, the water collects in a two-inch-deep ocean complete with whales to ride. With oceans to tromp through, arcs of water to duck beneath, and endless water toys (I mean, learning opportunities), it’s no wonder this is one of the most popular splash pads. An adult attendant watches the area, but always watch your kids as well.

Tempe also maintains splash pads at Jaycee Park; Esquer Park, and its newest, Hudson Park. Visit the city’s pool website at www.tempe.gov/pools for more information.

Across the Valley

Many splash pads are dedicated, unique play areas, but perhaps even more appealing to many parents are the ones erected in line with the errands and plans grown-ups already have planned.
If you’re tired from shopping and looking to tire out your shopping “partner,” for example, you can stop at the Scottsdale Quarter Splash Pad, located in the middle of the Scottsdale Quarter shopping area. The city district attracts parents (and any adult) with its dining, shopping and entertainment attractions, but a newer social hangout is “pool” side at the spray pad, where parents can meet up or just meet new friends on towels and on reclining pool chairs. The ocean-town vibe spreads through the area as kids towel off and head out for pizza, ice cream, or candy. Perfect shopping trip bribery.

Other shopping areas have put up splash pads as well, including areas at Desert Ridge Marketplace and Kierland Commons. Scottsdale also maintains seven park-area spray pads, many of which are in popular areas, such as the one at McCormick-Stillman Railroad Park on Indian Bend Road. Fountain Hills has a pad as well.

Bottom line? You’re going to be out and about anyway, the summer is unrelenting, the kids could use some play time, and you could all use a break. Check out a splash pad near you.

Friday 5: Hazards in insect photography

2011-07-29T14:23:00.008-07:00

This Friday, tribulations I've suffered because of my incessant need to photograph bugs.

I'm smart enough to avoid rattlesnake and black widow bites, to almost always use sunscreen, and I'm never without water. I'm also pretty photography-savvy. There are real issues with photography, like legal considerations; and very real hazards involved with wilderness activities, like wildlife safety and dehydration. These aren't those things.

1. Bites

Bug bites, mosquito bites, bee stings, ant bites, ant bites, ant bites, and - oh yeah - ant bites. I've had them all. A necrotic bite that got all gooey and whitish. So many mosquito bites that they glommed together in a big amoeba-like mass and impeded my vision. I currently have two socks of ant bites, acquired after I got away from the anthill. Apparently they diverted their path just to snack on me.One of the most frequently Googled terms on this computer is "treatment for [name an insect] bites." All of this, while they're leaving my husband and son totally alone.

2. Trespassing

And going off the tour path. And creeping out playground patrons. I'm a huge follower of "Leave No Trace." I never trample off-trail wilderness. And I would never purposely trespass -- not much, anyway. However, I have no such qualms about wandering away from a tour group without warning, lying on the ground, walking over to a park bench (while it's occupied) to stare at its underside, or maybe sort of inching into what might be someone's property. In every case there's no evident reason for my actions, unless others also notice the tiny damselfly or spider clinging to my target. Usually, people probably just think I'm nuts.

3. Stupid-looking sunburn

I'm pasty white. I live in the desert, with something like 350 sunny days a year. You'd think I'd put two and two together by now. But no; at least once a year I forget the sunscreen and end up burned in the most ridiculous patterns. The worst part is, it always looks so dumb. I'm never lying out or even walking upright, so it's not an even ~~tan~~ burn. Camera-strap line is a given. Once I had the silhouette of a butterfly net memory-burned in my thigh. Last time, I not only had a farmer's tan, I had candy-stripe arms from the folds in my skin, as I'd crouched for hours holding my camera out under a harsh sun and over a reflective pond. Real smart.

4. Foot leeches, hair spiders, eyeball gnats, and more

I'm absolutely myopic when I'm photographing insects. I think it's one of my favorite things about the practice -- the full-scale world shrinks down to a single inches-long red damselfly, perched on a blade of marsh grass. It gazes down the length of the blade at me, and if I angle myself just right, it looks like a massive green path leading up to some big beautiful alien. Or the hairs on a dragonfly make a silver forest, shooting up from a powdery blue terrain. I'm so close I actually have to shift my focus to see the giant compound eye, all thirty thousand facets slowly turning my way. And then, in a second, the whole scene vanishes.

I'm so focused on this hidden world that I tend to forget the real one still at work around me. Ironically, it's usually other parts of the microcosm that get me. One time, I'd been crouched in the lake so long, my feet buried in the silky mud, that I had to uproot them with a wet, sucking, vacuum-release sound when my husband finally dragged me to the shore. I sat down to put on my shoes, and realized that the bits of "mud" all over my feet were actually dozens and dozens of tiny leeches, busy hooking themselves into my feet.

Another time I was focused on a dragonfly a few feet away, and failed to notice the network of spiderwebs inches away. There were probably twenty spiders in the huge web, most of which went for a brief but exciting ride as I danced around and flung them from my hair. (Evidently I have a talent for this sort of thing.) The other night, two gnats landed on my eyeball. Prying my eyelid open only seemed to work them even deeper in. I fished around with my finger for some time and extracted part of a carcass. So there's still a gnat body in my skull somewhere.

It's never the really big things -- I never lose track of my son, I remember to drink water occasionally, and I've yet to wander off a cliff. I guess my brain has a fail safe in there somewhere.

5. Having people think I'm totally insane

I've been mistaken for a Dumpster diver (flies), someone abnormally interested in the variety of drugstore condoms (camera waterproofing), a night-stalking weirdo (moths), a loiterer (parking lot lights have the best bugs), or just generally a crazy person, as I crawl around, pockets bulged out with insect paraphernalia, sometimes through the mud or dirt, sometimes at night, often in front of others. I've had to explain why I wanted the thin-lidded food containers (air holes!), why the middle of summer in Arizona rocks (dragonflies!), or why, again, no. I just heard they make good, inexpensive water proofers, OK? Also, I actually considered a fanny pack once. I think that cinches it.

Why do I go to such ridiculous lengths? Because these guys are ridiculously gorgeous. If there aren't many other takers then, sure, I'll muck around and show off the results. And! Come see me tomorrow at Veteran's Oasis Park for their second annual Dragonfly Day. I'll have some photos, and there should be a lot of other cool dragonfly-themed goodies, crafts, and (if you come early) walks. The festivities run from 7:30 a.m. to 10:30 a.m., and the last walk departs at 9.

I'll hog insect loving if I must. But you should get out there too. Dragonflies are still in season, and they're great "gateway" insects!

I'll even help with de-leeching, de-spidering, or drugstore visits if you want.

School's (not) out

2011-07-25T14:40:00.001-07:00

Well, it's over. Summer vacation officially ended last night (a little too late, despite the "strict" rule that late nights ended Saturday night), after one more cuddle, one more X-Men episode, one more pizza slice and giant homemade brownie.

The end of summer vacation sucks, and not just because it's over. It's because it's almost over, and all of a sudden you realize all the things you haven't done, like some weirdo who goes to San Diego and only realizes on the last day of the trip that you forgot to visit the zoo, Sea World, and the beach. We didn't go to the pool. We didn't take as many hikes as I wanted before weather got too ghastly to walk even in the evening. We missed thunderstorms, stuck inside as I worked and he stared at a video game. We didn't even take our camping trip (as luck would have it, my husband's first streak of multiple days off is - you guessed it - this week, while school's in session).

So at some point I decided, enough with multitasking my son. I dropped everything else for a while. The second half of summer break, as brief as it was, was packed. We went to the arboretum and the preserve and the mountains (a few different ones). We went to a pond and spent all day staring at damselflies. We actually got into an argument about what species a particular breeding pair might be. (We were both wrong, but I think we were mostly tickled that someone else in this world wants to even have that argument.) We went to the wave pool, where he braved the water slide for the first time and we rode the waves until I was motion sick. We went ice skating, which is one of the first things I've seen him really suck at -- and persevere anyway. He improved. We went again yesterday. I got blisters from ill-fitting skates, but it was worth it.

We went to the lake and the park and the water park. We began to know when the light's going to be right -- just exactly perfect -- even if we're cooped up inside, just from how the backyard wall glows an intense rosy orange. We used those times to dash outside and sit on the swing set in the fiery light. He'd swing against the sunset while I weighed the wobbling apparatus down with my fat ass. How is it I never realized how cool it is to own our own swing set?

He came with me to my photography gallery opening and was genuinely thrilled. We did sparklers in the backyard and stood in the dusty night wind to watch the fireworks on the Fourth of July. I watched his independence grow. He can walk alone to send the mail, which here is a few blocks away. (Our upstairs window is pretty good for spying, but he doesn't need to know that.) A herd of sweaty, noisy kids stampeded through our house more than a few times. He read a few books, and I'm not talking the little kid ones. I steal his books when he's not looking, these days. He's getting kind of cool now. He made up a smart-ass, gloomy "School's Back From Summer" riff on "School's Out." I didn't even know he knew that song.

Still, vacation can't last forever. Nothing gets done. It was getting ridiculous, how little time and space I had. My son and I would be going all day, until he went to bed, at which point my husband got up. We were together until he went to work, I went to bed (very late), slept far too few hours, and I was up at the crack of dawn (even in summer), with the kid ready to go again. Rinse, lather, repeat, crash from exhaustion.

Now, he's back in school. I can think. I can have a few minutes to myself. No more herd of sweaty kids eating all my food and throwing my electronics at one another. No more demands to go to ten activities a day, and can we stop at the park on the way home and also can my friend come over and if he does can he stay the night and can we have pizza and when are you going to bake the cookies, anyway? No more sunsets at the park, at least until the weekend. I can breathe a bit. Time to get stuff done. Yes. Finally.

Does it have to be over already?

Friday 5: Five Arizona things not found on Arizona Writer

2011-07-15T16:18:00.005-07:00

OK, so I know I said I'm starting a Friday 5 feature, in addition to getting my butt in gear on the Species posts, but seriously, have you met my kid? Add to that the fact that it's summer break, and here's a breakdown of each day's time:
In "Working" you have to include my published writing and photography, all the background work those both entail, the occasional attempt I make toward housework, and blogging. Since deadlines and the garbage collector don't wait for me to get my act together, Friday 5 took a break. But it's back, because I've been asked a few times about the scope of "Arizona Writer" ("Why didn't you cover X?"), so I decided to make a post about it.

Five Totally Relevant Things You Probably Won't Read About On This Site:

1. Politics
If you know me, and definitely if you've shared a meal, drink, or Facebook thread with me; you know I have political opinions. On some issues, I have Opinions. Seriously. However, I just don't (usually) see them as the purview of this blog. Immigration. Guns. Education. These are insanely important issues, but they aren't "Arizona" issues, even when we're in the unfortunate glare of the spotlight. They're everyone issues.

2. Stuff everyone else is covering
If I do a post about Antelope Canyon, or the Grand Canyon, or Sedona, you can bet I'll find something weird and dorky and cheesy with which to be obsessed. I'm the kid who went to the African veldt exhibit and spent half an hour watching the anthill on the sidewalk. I see things differently, which I think is probably my strength and weakness. So, go find the popular literature about the Grand Canyon to plan your trip. I'll tell you about the tiny purplish frogs, secret waterholes, or the story my friend shared about hiding from a horror-movie noise that turned out to be a bison licking a fireside guitar.

3. Celebrities
Yeah. I really just don't care.

4. Sports
See #3. I got home from a day at ASU the one day, and complained at length to my husband and his friend about the insane -- insane even for Mill Avenue -- traffic. Where were all the people coming from? My husband and his buddy just about throttled me. Apparently there was a game against U of A, and a few people thought it was kind of a big deal. Psh. I was meeting with some astronomers. Waaay more important, if you ask me.

5. Bad news
I won't say never on this one. But I seek out things to explore and love about my home, so even when I do write about bad news, I usually have a "how to preserve the good stuff" slant to it. Finding the diamond-in-the-rough (OK, turquoise-in-the-dirt) good bits I think really is something that's particularly well suited to Arizona. It looks rough and harsh and dirty ... and the land too, not just the people. But then you round a bend on a road you didn't mean to take (and trust me, I'm a master at that technique) and all of a sudden cliffs and mountains peel away on either side of the car, and huge bluffs loom in the distance, and a veritable sea of saguaros looms in a canyon right beneath you ... this is Arizona. And, OK, so some of that stuff is in other states too. It's everyone issues, just like the politics. But the things here are usually the things that Arizona does best -- bugs, clouds, mountain drives, murderously high heat, incredible views. That's what I had in mind when I named the site.

Well, that, and funny stories about my Arizona-based foibles. Next up: Either the time I got lost in the mountains and ended up drinking leeches, the time my husband and I ran away from an elk, or the time I pushed my mom off a cliff by accidentally imitating a rattlesnake.

Polar Ice, or The Day We Managed Not to Injure Ourselves Spectacularly

2011-07-08T12:40:00.012-07:00

If you know me, you know I come from a clumsy family. A pathologically clumsy family. I've shut my head in a car door multiple times. My brother did that rake-in-the-head thing for real. My sister fell out of a tree and slashed her leg open. (I fell out of a tree too, and broke my arm into a bunch of pieces, but I already made fun of myself.)

Sadly for him, my son is continuing our storied tradition of brain-body miscommunication. Nevertheless, I decided to go ice skating with him last month. Our experience, published in this month's Times Publications, follows.

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This month, I thought it would be a good idea to take a mother-son trip for a little exercise, cool temperatures, bruised legs, and bruised egos. We went ice skating for the first time.

Every family has a legacy. Some families or bake. Others are great story tellers. In my family, we have a legacy of supreme klutziness. Skating of any kind brings it out. My two main memories involving skating as a kid were shuffling slowly forward in Fisher Price skates, and my dad “helping” my little sister skate by falling on her as he tried (ineptly) to skate, all six and a half feet of him towering (and running) over her.

Ice skating? Please. Adding a hard slippery surface to what's already a gamble of an outing at best -- right. My one and only real attempt to ice skate, while visiting family in Western New York, treated me to the demoralization that is watching three-year-olds zip by on ice skates while I barely remain upright. (OK, fine. I didn't remain upright.)

Still, it always looks so fun, and it’s an awesome way to cool off. I figured, maybe I’ve magically gotten better! And I was sure my son, David, would love it. We dug out some warm clothing, and set off for Polar Ice Gilbert.

The ice rink, located in Gilbert’s Crossroads Park, is one of the chain’s three. They have locations in Chandler and Peoria as well, and all three have regular public skating hours in addition to parties, school trips, hockey camps and more. We checked the calendar before heading out, as public skating hours vary, and nabbed an afternoon session.

Walking from a 107-degree-day to a blast of air in the 50s was nearly worth the price of admission on its own. Still, David looked dubious as we got our skates and headed for the South Pole (their public skating rink; the “North Pole” had a hockey team practicing).

I shoved his feet in the skates and buckled them in. He stared at me, unmoving.

My son is a trooper. He can hike, rock climb, swim, and help me catch scorpions. However, the prospect of standing on two blades strapped to his feet was too much for a moment. I strapped on my own skates and walked around to show him. He slowly stood up. I exaggerated how easy it was to lope around in skates. (This may have been a mistake, since my little display nearly sent me careening into a group of small children. At least I'm not six and a half feet tall.)

He took a few hesitant steps.

Figuring that was the best I would get for the moment, I stowed our things in a locker and dragged/led him to the ice. We stepped out on the ice, I slowly glided forward, and he clutched the wall, refusing to move an inch.

There were skaters of every skill level imaginable around us. Kids about three or four zoomed by like pros, groups of teens and adults skated by in a cautious glide, a girl in the center of the rink showed off Axel jumps. And, perhaps because this is the desert and we’re not all born ice skaters, several other skaters clutched the wall or their companions. Nearly everyone -- except those kids and the figure skater -- fell at least once that I saw.

David decided he would venture out in phases. First, it was all wall-clutching lurching. Then, he let go of the wall, but only if I held his hand. (I tried to tell him holding MY hand wasn’t exactly his best bet.) Finally, he shuffled, incrementally, until he’d skated a full revolution on his own. He was ecstatic.

Then he fell. I cringed.

Amazingly, this made him feel better. He fell -- the thing he’d be dreading -- and he was perfectly fine. From there, he took off.

Well, he did if you can call “gliding forward at the speed of a geriatric tortoise” taking off. The point is, he loved it. He ending up completing ten full revolutions on his own (he kept careful count). He fell three times. I fell once, much to his delight. And we had a blast.

So, fine, we probably won’t start a family tradition of grace and figure skating prowess. But, in the words of my son “This was just as fun as the water park, and even more exciting!” I think that’s a ringing endorsement.

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Ice skating in the Valley

Check out one of the rinks below for a fun break from the heat. (Pubic skating times vary at many locations, so call ahead or check the website for hours before visiting.)

Polar Ice

$8.50 ages 13 and older, $7.50 ages 12 and under; skate rental $3.50.

Chandler: 7225 W Harrison St.
(480) 598-9400
polaricechandler.com

Gilbert: 2305 E Knox Rd.
(480) 503-7080
polaricegilbert.com

Peoria: 15829 N 83rd Ave.
(623) 334-1200
polaricepeoria.com

Alltel Ice Den

$7 adults, $5 seniors/ages 6-15 (skate rental extra), $5 ages 5 and under (includes skate rental); $4 skate rental; $3 skate trainers for children.

9375 E Bell Rd., Scottsdale
(480) 585-RINK (7465)
coyotesice.com

Oceanside Ice Arena

$7 adults, $5 ages 17 and under; $3 skate rental.

1520 N McClintock Dr., Tempe
(480) 941-0944
oceansideicearena.net

Arcadia Ice Arena

$8 adults, $7 ages 12 and under; skate rental included.

3853 E Thomas Rd., Phoenix
(602) 957-9966
arcadiaice.com

My gallery, and other things to see at BTA

2011-07-05T12:11:00.002-07:00

Good news, everyone!

Not really. I just wanted an excuse to use this.

Decent news, anyway: My gallery exhibit, though it opened in 5,000,000-degree heat, saw a good handful of visitors, including many of you, which makes me super-giddy-happy. Even better, folks are asking questions about my photos, and even better than THAT, they're questions I can answer and whose answers interest people. Selling a handful of photos + geeking out about spiders, dragonflies, and camera equipment = good times.

You can still come! The photos are up all through July and August at Boyce Thompson Arboretum. If you see something you like, but you'd like it in a different size, contact me, and we can definitely make it happen.

If you do go, check out the events first: It's hot, but the arboretum's got a few cool ones lined up. Try July 9. If you don't want to move much in the heat (it's cooling all the way down to the low 100s, maybe, but it's not quite sweater weather yet), they have a bird sit coming up, rather than the usual bird walk. Sit in the Demonstration Garden, and let the birds come to you. There has been a yellow-breasted chat there for some time, they're sure to have some Lucy's and yellow warblers, and there's sure to be a bunch of others I'm not thinking of at the moment. It's from 6:30 a.m. to 9 a.m. Check it out.

On the same day, the ever-popular "Wild Man Phil" Rakoci is leading another Learn Your Lizards guided walk. The walks are always popular, and for good reason. The walk is at 8 a.m., so the heat won't be killing you quite yet.

And, if you're there, maybe check out some photos in the Visitor's Center. Just a suggestion. It's not like I'm going to drop any visual hints in this post.

H I N T !

Species a Day, Week 10

2011-06-24T16:34:00.003-07:00

Check out the rest of my Species a Day writeups here.

Haikus were fun last time, so I figured I'd do it once more. (Don't worry. The next edition has three dragonflies and a spider in it, so I'm sure I'll be back to full pedantic ramble mode.) I may add full writeups to this soon, but until then, someone has been commandeering the computer during summer break, so you get these. I didn't mock my sister this time (no bees), but I still did my best.

The first and last pictures are by my son, so I guess he partly made up for the computer hogging.

Day 64: Golden paper wasp, Polistes aurifer

Trust me: Leave them be.
Do not spray them in the air.
Learned the hard way. Ran.

Day 65: Arizona tan mantis, Stagmomantis gracilipes

Little cannibals.
Started with many of you.
Few left, but well fed.

Day 66: Killdeer, Charadrius vociferus

Born with eyes open,
Downy hatchlings totter out.
Mother scolds: Kill-dee!

Day 67: Queen butterfly, Danaus gilippus

Milkweed sap defense.
For mating, guy brings plant drugs.
Alkaloids. Hey; works for him.

Day 68: Hackberry emperor, Asterocampa celtis

Erratic flier,
Eating carrion and dung.
Beauty from refuse.

Day 69: Say's phoebe, Sayornis saya

Cinnamon belly,
Wagging tail, and darting flight:
Grassland flycatcher.

Day 70: Gambel's quail, Callipepla gambelii

Chicks follow in line,
Like ten fluffy tennis balls,
Chasing plume-topped pear.

Lessons from some fathers

2011-06-19T07:46:00.005-07:00

Things I learned from my father:

Love. Everyone. Always. As hard as you can. Tell them.
Farts are really funny.
You are absolutely obligated to ~~screech~~ sing along to every song on the car radio, ability and kids' reputations be damned.
How to lose spectacularly at chess.
Learning how to keep score in baseball properly, how to play a good hand of poker, and how to deliver a lame-ass pun are very important life skills indeed.
Affection and opinions are best worn on your sleeve. And sometimes forcefully launched from it.
The Beach Boys and Jim Croce rock, no matter what anyone tells you.
The Buffalo Bills also rock, despite what everyone tells you.
Memorizing the starting lineup of the 1983 St. Louis Cardinals is way more important than those dumb toddler milestones.
The best books are read and reread throughout your life, foisted upon others, and discussed at greater length than it took to read them.
Pushing stuff to the side of the room instead of cleaning it is OK, as long as you don't tell Mom where you received the permission.
When someone isn't listening, simply speak more loudly. Repeat until they agree, because if they disagree they obviously don't understand.
If you really are proven wrong, admit it. Own it. A self-effacing doofus apology gets you infinitely more mileage than a stubborn asshole routine. A sincere one gets you even more still, but it's damn difficult.
"Leroy Brown" must be heard at least a dozen times in a row to be fully appreciated.
Salsa + cream cheese = best nighttime snack ever, regardless of how you feel in the morning.
Embrace your inner nerd.
If you tell a dirty joke, your kids (OK, nine-year-old Kim) will repeat it at the very first opportunity, along with who told it.
People are full of contradictions. It makes life interesting.
Shorts only have to be a few inches long. It's OK if you're six and a half feet tall, just yank those puppies up and you're good to go. The horrified looks on your kids' faces mean they admire your boldness.

Things I've learned, from or courtesy of my husband, while parenting with him:

Fatherhood is a choice.
So is love. It's an emotion, but it's an exercise in courage and patience, every day.
Seriously, farts really are funny.
If the rule is "half an hour of video game time," it's totally OK to wait until Mom is gone and let one's son play four and a half hours instead.
How to continue losing at chess.
Matching? Pssh. The kid's wearing pants and a shirt, isn't he?
If one partner is good at horsing around and setting up complicated children's toys, and the other is good at big-time empathy and the sex talk; you violate the natural order at your own peril.
Coldplay rocks, no matter how many times one's wife makes fun of your pussy playlists.
OK; maybe Coldplay doesn't rock. Still, like what you like, and own it.
Hearing someone tell me that I'm "really damn good at this," while pointing to our son will reduce me to tears.
A partnership is a messy, sublime, boring, exciting, horrible, wonderful thing. Sometimes all of those, before noon.
If the kid's into Star Wars, we're obviously doing something right.
Gungans are lame, but Ewoks are way worse, and it's vital to impart this knowledge in a somber father-son chat.
Having a kid is a great excuse to buy ourselves all the toys we always wanted. Rock tumbler, insect jars, and giant bubbles, anyone?
Vomit is never to be cleaned up by Dad.
He's really pretty damn good at this too.

Happy Father's Day to my dad, who I miss dearly, my husband, who actually volunteered for this gig AFTER being vomited upon, and to all the dads out there. You guys rock. Now help take out the trash.

Friday 5: My top five critter spotting opportunities

2011-06-17T17:32:00.014-07:00

I got a cup with insects all over it today in the mail, and I am totally thrilled.

I should probably tell you that the cup in question is this really awesome cup by the even more awesome Dragonfly Woman, which I won by commenting on her blog, which I totally was going to do anyway because her blog is, well, awesome. Seriously, imagine all my pet interests, combine them, and have someone write about them with greater skill and consistency than I do, and you'd have her entomology blog. Go check it out.

I mention her for two reasons. First, the mug. LOVE it. Second, I told her last week that I was totally going to steal her "Friday 5" blog feature, and she didn't tell me to shove off and quit being an idea thief, so I will now appropriate it here. The idea: five things each Friday (duh). I quickly began to compile a list. Coming soon: Five really dumb/dangerous things I've done outdoors in Arizona, Five awesome Arizona places (that I hated as a kid), My five favorite field guides, and Five ways my cheapskate family survived the 123-degree summer with no air conditioning.

First, an easy one, and something I actually get asked quite often: My five top critter spotting spots or methods. In no particular order.

1. Boyce Thompson Arboretum

An easy choice. I've written about the arboretum before, and our family has been visiting regularly for years. I think one of my favorite things is how everyone shares what they've seen. Want to see a gray fox? A black widow eating a coral snake? A squirrel taking it to a Gila monster? Want to know where the nests are, where to spot a painted redstart, where a particular warbler hangs out and whether that hummingbird is an Anna's or a female broadbill? Find a worker or a member and ask what's new this week. People compare notes all the time.

2. Random spots on the side of the road/times I meant to find a different animal

OK, so I do plan trips to see specific animals. Eagles, rare warblers or ducks, even (especially) certain spiders or insects when I know they're "in season." But more than anything, I'm opportunistic. I almost never come back from a nature walk or hike with the shots I'd planned to get, but I always come back with something I like. On a slow day at the arboretum, I saw this Jerusalem cricket (one of only two times I spotted one).

Other times, it's literally on the side of the road. I was driving to an assignment and spotted a Harris's hawk pair hunting. I pulled over and stood at the edge of some guy's horse stable to get the shot. And sometimes, I stop for totally non-exciting animals, because I like to make them exciting by photographing them. This fly was along a walkway, on a garbage can. Exotic, huh?

3. Gilbert Riparian Preserve

In my Species a Day posts, I generally try to stick to animals that anyone else in Arizona can see. I have neither the time nor the money to really travel, but the point is, that's OK. There are a ton of exotic animals in our backyards. The Gilbert Riparian Preserve (or Riparian Preserve at Water Ranch, or Gilbert Riparian Institute -- the name seems to change depending on who's talking about it) is great for making this point. I mean, you exit the library, walk across a bridge over a city pond, and right there you've got hundreds of animals. Almost 200 birds alone have been spotted at the preserve, and that's to say nothing of the dragonflies and damselflies (which are awesome right now), the spiders, the turtles and fish (urban fishermen love the place), and the snakes.

David and I took a walk the other morning, and at one point were surrounded by hidden, croaking/honking/whateveryoucallit herons. Like, really LOUD. It was like that scene in American Werewolf in London where the main character is surrounded by howls and yips, but he can't see anything. It was totally eerie and awesome. We felt secluded. And then, an hour later, we were in the car. Accessible nature at its best.

4. My backyard

Remember how I said we have tons of cool animals in our backyards? I mean it literally. Most of my mantis, spider, finch, sparrow, lizard, moth, hummingbird, and dove shots were taken within steps of my front or back door.

I grew up doing this. We had this big, flat piece of crappy wood in our side yard. It was junk. I don't know why it was there. I just know that I looked forward to each new evening, when I could lift it up by a corner and jump back to watch what scurried out. I guess I never grew out of it.

5. Other people

I'm the weird bug lady now. The critter girl. The mom who likes spiders. You get the idea. Point is, everyone knows I'm into this kind of thing. My husband caught a cicada and palo verde beetle for me, and brought home a centipede corpse another time. My mom gave me the giant crab spider and scorpion. Online friends helped me find and photograph bald eagles. I get at least one e-mail every few days entitled "What IS this thing?!?!" with an accompanying photo of a spider or insect. I know where to look (and what to look under) to find some really choice animals, and that's because people who know my predilections share. So keep letting me know. I have nets and jars with air holes on my person pretty much at all times.

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So there you have it, my current top five, and you can apply the same ideas even if you're not in Arizona (definitely check out the preserve and arboretum if you are, though). Any suggestions for new places?

Schnepf Farms

2011-06-13T20:18:00.012-07:00

The following review is out in this month's issue of Times Publications, but if you're like me and live in the middle of nowhere, you might not have caught it, so I wanted to share here. The peach picking has concluded, but go grab some apples, plums, and veggies.

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In our family, we don’t make strawberry shortcake. We make peach shortcake.

Well, by “we,” I mostly mean my mother. But it’s so good that I -- who normally considers boiling pasta to be “preparing” food -- took it up a few years ago. My husband and son have been dropping unsubtle reminders to make the dessert again.

Fortunately for me and my peach-loving family I can go to Schnepf Farms, in Queen Creek, to get locally grown peaches.

The farm combines agriculture with education and entertainment. They call it “agri-tourism,” or “agri-tainment.” Whatever you call it, kids love it.

My son, David, and I visited Schnepf Farms this month, and we’re certain to go back soon. In fact, he was asking to revisit before we’d pulled out of the place.

The farm, celebrating its 70th anniversary this year, is currently owned and run by Mark and Carrie Schnepf, both themselves from long lines of Arizona farmers. The land was purchased by Mark’s grandfather and has been passed down in the family ever since. He hopes to pass it on to his own children.

If my own son’s enthrallment at the farm is any indication, his kids should be thrilled to call the place their own.

We headed straight to the peach orchards, and before I’d gotten my bearings, David had grabbed a bag and rushed off to the nearest tree.

The fruit came right off the branches and was easily accessible. The trees are all kept trimmed so the peaches are within easy reach without ladders.

The thing to look for, according to Mark Schnepf, is color. Peaches that are ripe for picking will have rich golds and spots of deep red. They’re a little soft -- they’re supposed to be -- so don’t squeeze too hard. (I discovered this firsthand as David got a little too zealous and showered me in peach juice.)

The orchards boast six different varieties of peaches, which all ripen at different times starting in May. This day, Florida prince peaches were ready for picking. They’re small peaches, but sweet and juicy, and are said to be ideal for making desserts. Since the organic farm uses no pesticides (and hasn’t for 45 years), the fruit is safe to eat straight from the tree, but we resisted.

In addition to the peaches and apricots the farm offers this time of year, you can head to their U-Pick garden for vegetables. David got a close look at the squash and zucchini, just starting to develop from the blossoms; and we checked out Romaine lettuce, leaf lettuce, baby turnips, Swiss chard, kale, green onions, carrots, and more. Beside the vegetables we found a field of sunflowers and purple larkspur flowers that just begged for ogling and photos.

Peach picking goes into the first week in June, and then tapers off and they offer Ana apples and melons for fruit picking, and their vegetables include okra, beets, turnips, pickling cucumbers, radishes, summer squash, sweet onions, potatoes, sweet corn, green beans, zucchini, green onions, and carrots.

Save some time, because after you’re done picking fruit and veggies and strolling through the flowers, Schnepf Farms offers a petting zoo and a train ride. During festivals, they run a carousel ride (the oldest operating carousel in the state), a “flying farmers” ride, a giant mountain slide, hay rides, and more. David lingered in the petting zoo, quickly bonding with an assertively affectionate pygmy goat and practically refusing to leave when the young goats began to suckle from their mothers.

The farm is free to enter, and a couple of dollars will get you into the various attractions.

Peaches and apricots are available for picking $1.90 per pound. If you don't want to pick your own (though that’s half the fun), you can buy fruit for $2.50 per pound at the farm’s Country Store. The store also offers countless other goodies. Try their famous peachy cinnamon rolls.

Schnepf Farms has shifted its focus in recent years, remaining an active farm but concentrating on inspiring people to reconnect with Arizona‘s agricultural heritage and to make memories.

We made our memories. And now, I’m told, I’m required to make shortcake.

Epilogue: I made it. We gorged on it. Definitely going to be a tradition.

Schnepf Farms is open Thursday through Sunday, from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. (Peach picking starts at 7:30.) For more information, visit www.schnepffarms.com or call (480) 987-3100.

Species a Day, Week 9

2011-06-10T09:56:00.001-07:00

Check out the rest of my Species a Day writeups here.

In haiku. Something different.

Day 57: Honey bee, Apis mellifera

Tiny bee in car,
You terrify my sister.
The rest of us laugh.

Day 58: Greater roadrunner, Geococcyx californianus

Greater roadrunner
Clenches lizard in death grip.
No Meep, Meep warning.

Day 59: Sonoran bumblebee, Bombus sonorus

Sonoran bumblebee,
It is true, bumbles do bounce.
Off my head. Quit it.

Day 60: Greater bee fly, Bombylius major

Oh, greater bee fly.
What a freaky tongue you have.
Go see my sister.

Day 61: Green mantis, Stagmomantis I'm-not-sure

Praying for live prey,
No wonder you like our home.
Roaches and crickets.

Day 62: Blue-ringed dancer, Argia sedula

Days spent chasing you,
Covered in sweat and debris.
I look quite insane.

Day 63: Canyon wren, Catherpes mexicanus

In mountains and canyons,
Snowy throat, rufous body.
Prodigious whistler.

We really have done many a spider mama eating

2011-06-05T16:29:00.005-07:00

Don't worry; I'm still catching up on my Species a Day writeups. My son just got out of school, and invited every boy between the ages of 5 and 12 in the city over, so I'm rediscovering how to work at home during summer break.

For now, he's rediscovered the cartoon Gargoyles, so I can catch up for a second. Probably only a second, and I want to sneak outside to photograph some spiders and damselflies, so I'll cheat.

I found this website the other day. It scans your Tweets and makes up new Tweets. It's dumb, but it seems to know me creepily well, sort of. I'll even ignore its lack of grammar and syntax and the fact it thinks I'm into sailors for some reason.

My next Tweets, apparently:

A typical argument: khosey1 posted a photo: More vulturey goodness. More fireworks, again
Species a photo: You guessed it, more shots of spider me happy.
I have a glowing American avocet, Recurvirostra.
Photo: I love a female. Check it out today!
Everything happens for my head Oooga booga! khosey1 posted a photo: They make me happy.
Day 24: Finch. Not quite as crisp.
khosey1 posted a photo: His underside. I have too many sailors around here.
It liked us, but does only slightly relevantly, here.
Yeah; an easy one. The first from below, too. I'll have more shots from its?
My son. Honestly, almost the specific species.
We really did many a spider mama eating.
Species a lot lately. I ... Species a photo: Ed fills in my backyard. OK, help me Voldemort.
Sailor's delight: Mothra. Lizard on a post.
I love a typical discussion between my desert tortoise.
My recent, silly, just-for-fun blog post has nothing?
A hundred black widows, where you'd expect?
Things I wasn't sure it's too many sailors around here. I just realized I had this guy.
Saguaro cactus: It was recently emerged from the ducks.
Rounding out all my greater yellowlegs.
On being a backyard shot: Bubbles! Not quite as many now.
It's too many black widow times now. You guessed it, more coming.
Super fun. My people are super happy about the only slightly lit weed.
It was the additional mantis from my below.

I'm off to find a mantis. There aren't any from my below, last I checked.

Photo winner announced!

2011-06-01T10:48:00.002-07:00

You know what sucks about giveaways? I totally feel bad that I can't select everyone. However, I think my husband would be less than thrilled if he saw a bill for 36 big fancy prints, followed by another big-fancy-print run we already have planned (more on that later). We do have to budget money for food, mortgage, and other frivolities. Alas.

Thanks so much to everyone who participated. I love you all super much. I went old-school and put everyone's name on a slip of paper (multiple times, for multiple enter-ers), and had my son draw. That's right; we keep our Easter baskets out just for you, not because we're too lazy to put them away. So the winner, drawn by my kid (and cat) is...

Jennifer McIntosh! (Pronounced MACK-in-tosh. My capital Is look like lowercase Ls, apparently.)

Just e-mail me your info, and let me know which print and size you want.

And don't despair if you didn't win. If y'all like, I'll do this every once in a while going forward -- maybe more prints, or maybe books.

Jen, congrats! Make sure to share when you receive it! Thanks once again, everyone.

Species a Day, Week 8

2011-05-27T18:54:00.006-07:00

Check out the rest of my Species a Day writeups here.

Day 50: Fiery skipper, Hylephila phyleus

Probably the most common skipper around here. You can tell this one from other skippers by the fiery orange color (duh) of the male, and from other orange skippers by the dark spots on the wings. The female is dark brown with orange-yellow spots, which made me think until very recently that they were different species, especially since the only mating pair I saw appeared to be two brown ones. Either one of the pair I saw had a very interesting adaptation, or it was probably a dull-colored male skipper.

Can an insect be cute? (I mean, to someone who's not me?) These guys are like little butterfly puppies. The closeups make me want to pet them, seriously.

Day 51: Painted lady, Vanessa cardui

So, I wasn't always a critter expert. Here's how dumb I am. As recently as when David started asking about species, I guessed, when their wings were open, that these were monarch butterflies. If I happened to see them with their wings folded, like here, I thought it was a different species entirely. It wasn't until I saw a "monarch" land and turn into "that other species" that it clicked. These days, I can identify subspecies of painted ladies, and tell a monarch from a queen at fifty paces.

So, see? You, too, can be totally ignorant and quickly learn the names of the critters around you.

Painted ladies are one of the most widely distributed butterflies in the world, so if you also have orange-and-black-butterflies-that-are-not-monarchs, they're probably painted ladies. They could be queens or soldiers if they really resemble monarchs, or, if they're more closely related to painted ladies, red admirals hundred other types that sort of look the same. But guess "painted lady, or some type of brush-footed butterfly," and you'll sound smart and have a fighting chance of being correct.

What's that? You want real information, not just show-offy blurbs? OK. Painted ladies eat a wide variety of nectar, and their caterpillars prefer leaves of plants in the daisy (Compositaceae) family. They have a wingspan of about 5 to 9 centimeters, which makes them pretty large and noticeable. When their wings are open, they have black wingtips with five white spots and lack white dots in the orange areas.

Also, since they're so common (meaning, you can release them just about anywhere and they'll be fine), if you order one of those butterfly-raising kits, these are kind you usually get. Super fun and easy.

Day 52: Flame skimmer, Libellula saturata

The two I captured here are actually both females, which if you can believe it from the top shot, are the dull ones. Male flame skimmers (I'll include a really old shot of one below, sharing a reed with a blue dasher) are bright, fire-engine red. Entirely red, too, including eyes and wing veins.

Flame skimmers live mainly in the Southwest, because they like it hot, and we've got plenty of that. They frequent warm ponds and even hot springs, and sometimes neighborhoods. They mate from May to September, which means they're starting now, which makes me really happy. Which, in turn, probably makes me really weird.

Here's the male. I really want to get a better shot of one.

Day 53: White-crowned sparrow, Zonotrichia leucophrys

Hey, a new record! I was four days into the week before I got to a bird.

Unlike the house sparrow, this guy is native to North America. Also unlike the house sparrow, I only see them for part of the year, and they like the shade, so I don't have a million well-lit pictures of this sparrow.

White-crowned sparrows winter throughout Arizona. They're really fun to watch feeding on the ground. They stay in huge, hyper groups and scratch (with both legs simultaneously) for seeds.

Day 54: Rock squirrel, Otospermophilus variegatus

These guys are tough.

If you're not in Arizona (or neighboring states, or Mexico), you probably have the similar-looking tree squirrel. These guys look the same, but they're no sissy hide-in-trees squirrels. They prefer mountains, cliffs, canyons, and any rocky habitat they can find, where they excavate shallow burrows. (If they can't find a nice rocky area, they'll use a building.) Biologists have been intrigued by rock squirrels, because they're honestly not as well adapted to non-tree life as ground squirrels and prairie dogs.

My theory? I think they make up for it by just being tough. Check it out:

Not my image -- via Boyce Thompson Arboretum, taken by Dot Coffey.

That's a squirrel taking on a freaking Gila monster. They've also faced down rattlesnakes and other critters most of us run from. See? Totally badass.

Day 55: Desert spiny lizard, Sceloporus magister (yellow-backed and purple-backed!)

Rough scales, bright colors, and seemingly confident even when you get pretty close. Since my field guide warns "Caution: bites," the confidence is probably because they can handle themselves, thankyouverymuch.

These guys are from the iguana family, about ten inches long, and active during the day. They come in a few subspecies. Recently we captured this yellow-backed one at the Desert Botanical Garden.

My son got a better angle on him. Prickly pear cactus makes a nicer background than whatever I had, and the pose is great. I'm jealous.

And we captured this next guy, a purple-backed, on a trip to the zoo. Not captive. (I decided not to "cheat" with the Species posts. Recent shots, no captive animals, no recycling.) It was chilling in the natural desert surrounding the zoo. They're so striking, so exotic looking, that a passing girl asked, with some concern, "Why did they release it?"

Day 56: Ring-necked duck, Aythya collaris

We tend to call these ring-billed ducks, since you can see the double ring on the bill prominently, but the neck, not so much. They do have a faint cinnamon ring on the neck, but it's nearly impossible to spot. (You can see part of it in the shot below.)

Ring-necked ducks are most common in the winter, and are skilled divers. I think my favorite thing, though, is their call, heard most often when they spring into flight from the water without windup or warning. It's not so much a quack as a cross between a caw and a laugh: Ha ha ha ca ca ha.

My shortcomings, and other things

2011-05-27T09:08:00.003-07:00

If you missed it earlier this week, visit my photo print giveaway and join in!

I do this really stupid thing. I'll mean to do something -- weekly "Species a Day" write-ups, to pick a not-random-at-all example -- and I'll succeed. I get proud of my success. It doesn't matter how important or lofty my original goal was; I have committed to do something and I've done it. I'm Dependable™ and Consistent™, and I begin to tie up a certain amount of my identity in having succeeded at my pathetic task. This is where I go wrong.

Because inevitably, life happens. I get a teensy tiny bit behind. At first I'll be fine; I'll make it part of my thing: "Post coming soon; fifty kids at my house right now." "Post coming soon for real now, as soon as I appease my editor." "Post coming for really-real, I promise. Please don't hate me."

But after a while that seems worse than just not saying anything, so I stop. By now, I feel bad that I haven't done The Thing to be Done immediately following my first apology, and that becomes part of my identity. I should just do it and be done with it, but now I actively avoid doing it for fear of disappointing myself with the results. (All this buildup for a regular lackluster post? myself says. And you weren't even funny this time.) (I'm kind of a jerk to myself.)

I've come to realize that I can't depend on myself. I'm so neurotic about satisfying my own self-imposed decrees that I end up failing entirely.

However, I'm pretty darn good at satisfying other people. I promised you a species a day, and I'm still going at Day 88 (and yes, I do count posting at 1 a.m. as "making" the deadline for the day that just passed). Promising something to others makes me get it done. (Yes. It did take me 31 years to work out a clichéd shortcut to motivation that you can find in any checkout-counter magazine on weight loss.) So in addition to my explicit species-a-day photo-posting promise, once I'm caught up (I'll post in week chunks), I henceforth promise weekly posts, with extra pictures when I have 'em and not-too-rambly writeups. That's right. No one can make with the self-serving, overly dramatic, mundane promises like me. That's why you come, right?

Week 8 coming by lunchtime, barring an apocalypse. Or if my husband wants to watch Fringe. But probably by lunchtime.

In the meantime, enjoy two videos I've been sent this week. If you like spiders, you'll absolutely love the first one. Mesmerizing. If you don't like spiders -- well, you'll probably hate it, but watch it anyway. It's freaking awesome. The second one should tickle all my photog friends. Yes, I do take it pretty much that seriously.

Loom from Polynoid on Vimeo.

Also! If you're local, and you go to Phoenix Comicon, you absolutely have to tell me about it, so I can vicariously experience it through you. Leonard Nimoy, George Takei, Wil Wheaton, Stan freaking Lee ... it's probably a good thing I can't go. I don't know if I could handle it.

Photo print giveaway!

2011-05-26T18:34:00.000-07:00

Aaah! It's almost the end of the month! Dang passage of time. How does this happen?

OK, OK. I promised a print giveaway in honor of National Photography Month.

So how's this:

I can't think of any way to ~~trick~~ encourage you to comment regularly, so it occurs to me that I should be the one providing the goods. Comment here letting me know you're game for the print (say "Put my name in" or something), and what you'd like to see more of. Photos? Animals? Travel write-ups? My ridiculous drawings? Sentences that don't end in "of?" Basically, just give feedback, plus saying you're in.
Or, "follow" me on that Google widget at right, and/or on Twitter, and leave a comment below letting me know you did (go ahead and count it if you already follow me; just let me know in the comments here so I can count you).
Or, "like" the page I just created for Arizona Writer. I promise it's going to get much better; just promise you'll come back later when it's a proper page. Comment below letting me know you did that. (Same thing if you already have. Let me know below in the comments and you're in.)

Do any or all of these, and I'll enter you up to three times to win a print of your choosing (pretty much any of my shots you see on Flickr, with a few exceptions -- but I'm assuming you don't want a shot of my son anyway). I can get it printed at up to 11" x 14" (or 10" x 15", or 10" x 10", 8" x 10", or smaller if you choose -- up to this range, depending on your preference and the shot you choose). Does that make sense? I'll either use a randomizer thing, or just go low-tech and put a bunch of names in a hat and have my son choose. I'll take entries through the end of May. Sound good? Good. Enter. Pretty please with black widow spiderlings on top?

Maybe one of these? I've got more birds. And more insects. And clouds and sunsets. And, of course, spiders.

Four things this Friday

2011-05-20T17:55:00.002-07:00

1. It's Endangered Species Day! I'm featuring TWO species special for today. (Don't get too excited; the first photos aren't exactly phenomenal. But the animals are, and are both endangered.) Think about endangered species today. Think about all species. Appreciate an animal. (Or a plant!) Volunteer at your local preserve or refuge. Just learn more. Go here to learn more about endangered species. You can even type in your own state to see what needs protecting in your own backyard.

2. If you're local come to Boyce Thompson Arboretum this weekend for an encore of the special events from earlier this month, which had to be cut short when the arboretum was evacuated so firefighters could stop the Picket Fire. (Which they did, right at the entrance.) Especially cool, for one final weekend: the arboretum is opening up the mansion, otherwise known as Picket Post House, otherwise known as Castle on the Rocks, otherwise known as "that house on the hill." It was built by Colonel William Boyce Thompson, starting in 1923 (construction took about 14 months), right onto the rocks (hence the name, duh). The inside is pretty cool too. Tickets for self-guided tours are $20 (admission to the arboretum itself is separate), and funds raised help support the arboretum, which raises 90 percent of its own funding. There are many other goodies this weekend -- grilled brats, live music, and their usual guided tours and arboretum awesomeness. Read about the Picket Post House here. And if you come Sunday, I might see you with a certain junior helper.

3. David's famous again! He's got an interview over at The Magnifying Glass. Thanks a bunch to Lucia for the interview. Peruse the rest of the site while you're there, and don't forget to give props to my kid. :-)

4. Aaaand ... I keep saying I'm going to hold a photo giveaway, in honor of National Photography Month. Guess what? I'm really going to! Guess what else? I have no idea what I'm doing! But I'm trying anyway. Stay tuned. For really real.

Arizona Science Center

2011-05-16T16:59:00.009-07:00

Are you local or in town? Have you been to the Arizona Science Center lately? Their Body Worlds exhibit is only there through May 30, and you should totally check it out. And either way, they have four floors of good stuff.

This was originally published in the print edition of this month's Times Publications. Pick one up, if you get a chance.

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With a look of pure fascination, my son stared at the man's gluteus maximus.

I watched my son as he stared. I swelled with pride.

Wait. Let me back up. I should probably tell you that the gluteus maximus in question belongs to Soccer Player, one of the preserved bodies on display at "Body Worlds and the Brain." Soccer Player, and over 200 other real human specimens, are available for fascinated adults and kids to view until May 30 at the Arizona Science Center.

I was proud, and happy, because I was witnessing the fascination and thirst for knowledge that my son constantly shows, and because the Arizona Science Center is a perfect match for the curiosity that is so natural for children.

Of course, taking a kid to the center gives you a perfect excuse to indulge your own curiosity.

"Body Worlds" is just one of the featured exhibitions at the Arizona Science Center. You can easily spend an entire day here, taking in IMAX features, planetarium presentations, and four floors of interactive science galleries.

Upon first entering this exhibit, we noticed the skulls, brains, and full skeleton near the entrance -- but the first thing I caught was the mood of the place. Almost reverent. No one was snickering. No one was repulsed. No one was bored. Everyone seemed enthralled. This is the stuff that makes us us. My son and I will not get very many opportunities to see the stretch and form of the muscles of a soccer player, or the intricate branching of a complete, real nervous system. We took full advantage of this opportunity. There’s no re-entry to the exhibit once you go in, but you can take as long as you wish. No one was in a hurry to leave.

My son's favorite was X-Woman, a woman displayed with many of her systems and organs expanded, so viewers could see how it all fits together. He's still telling all his classmates about it. In several cases the body cavities are opened and layers are cut away, so you can see the organs in context. My husband is diabetic, and my son identified the pancreas in several displays. We were making real-life connections.

The bodies in "Body Worlds" are individuals who agreed to donate their bodies to science.

Know your own and your family's interests and limitations for this exhibit. These are dead (though permanently chemically preserved) humans. Just about any organ you can imagine is shown in great detail. One less-prominent section shows fetuses at different developmental stages. I have heard some people are bothered by parts of the exhibit, but everyone I saw this weekend was captivated. My son is nine years old, and was one of the youngest at the exhibit, though there were several who were younger.

The cool part about this, for us and all the families I met that day, is the authenticity. This is real science. It fascinates. It sparks the imagination. It makes kids (and adults) want to know more.

If "Body Worlds" isn't your speed, or you're itching for more, there is plenty.

Lie on a bed of nails. This -- once he worked up the nerve -- was David's second-favorite interactive exhibit. The nails are real, so that means real bragging rights. Kids all but forget they're learning about distribution of weight.

Ride a bike on a high-wire. The Evans Family SkyCycle, suspended on a 90-foot cable nearly 15 feet in the air, illustrates center of gravity and counterbalance. You can feel as though you're about to plummet -- and David did -- but it's impossible to actually fall. This was the one that bumped the bed of nails to number two. You'd have thought he had just been on a roller coaster. (Special props to the very patient folks operating this one. They somehow both made it seem daring and then reassured my son once he got "stuck" out on the cable.)

Use a heartbeat drum, which beats and lights up according to your pulse. Walk through a giant stomach, complete with sounds and smells, and slide out the end. Visitors can see how smoking and exercise affect the body, watch a larger-than-life IMAX movie about the human body, or be sneezed on by a giant nose (a huge hit with younger visitors). At the entrance, kids look through "Curiouser and Curiouser," a Phoenix public-art installation that shows science videos to the user while projecting his or her eye, giant-sized, from a telescope hanging from the center's ceiling.

We're big on science in this family, so the Arizona Science Center was a perfect match. But more than that, it's just plain fun.

The Arizona Science Center is open daily 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Visit their site for more information.

All photos taken by me at the Arizona Science Center. Visitor photos are not allowed in the Body Worlds exhibit; these are used with permission and all link back to the Center's Body Worlds page. (Don't worry; you'll be too busy looking with your eyes anyway.) You can snap away elsewhere!

Photography, parental pride edition

2011-05-11T17:31:00.003-07:00

You know what I haven't shared in AGES? My son's pictures. He takes some pretty good stuff, y'all.

You know what's both awesome and jarring? These aren't all shots I would have taken. Some are the same, but many are not. He does more closeups, more detail studies. Did you know there were so many ways to look at turkey vulture feathers? I didn't.

My son is becoming different from me. How weird. And cool.

(I know. Not THAT different. You'll notice a certain affinity for birds, bugs, and pretty light.)

So in honor of my son's talent, in honor of National Photo Month, and in honor of I Don't Do This Nearly Often Enough, enjoy:

P.S. Did you know it was National Photo Month? I was thinking of doing something on the blog in honor of it -- a print giveaway, maybe. Any suggestions? Would you participate if I did something, or would I look like ~~even more of~~ a presumptuous show-off?
P.S. I did start one. Come join!

Species a Day, Week 7

2011-05-05T18:59:00.002-07:00

Bumped up, now with added turkey vulture and hummingbird!

Day 43: Harris's hawk, Parabuteo unicinctus

Almost all raptors are solitary hunters. Not the Harris's hawk. Gosh, that spelling looks funny. It's the preferred spelling, though. If you know me, you should be utterly unsurprised to hear that I went to great lengths to check the spelling. Apparently, John James Audubon named it in honor of his friend, Edward Harris, which totally makes me want to strategically befriend some biologists.

The Harris's hawk hunts in packs, usually consisting of two or more related hawks. This hawk and his companion (she was slightly larger, which female hawks are) were hunting off the side of the road just outside of Apache Junction.

Harris hawks are deep chocolate-brown, with rust-to-chestnut patches on their shoulders. Their species name, unicinctus, means "once girdled" and refers to the band on the tail, but always kind of makes me giggle anyway. Juvenile Harris's hawks are streaked in a buff yellow-brown, and lighter in color than adults.

The weirdest habit these guys have is what's informally known as toteming, where they will stack themselves on one another (like a totem pole). I totally thought this was a myth, until I heard the fourth or fifth biologist speak about it. According to those who know raptors better than I, if there is only one saguaro suitable for resting while scouting for food, one Harris's will perch, another will perch on its back, and another on its back. So if you're ever in the car with me and I shriek with excitement, abruptly pull over, grab my camera and leap out of the car, now you know why.

Day 44: Costa's hummingbird, Calypte costae

These guys are tiny, but gorgeous. You can tell a male Costa's apart by the purple gorget, which flares out distinctively when he bends his head. The flash when he turns his head just right is absolutely gorgeous. Female Costa's are plainer, but their smaller size, gray cheeks, and white eye marks. Costa's are only about three-and-a-half inches long, and have very short tails, which are overlapped by their folded wings when they perch.

They're tiny, but these little birds hold their own. They don't call out as much as the Anna's, but Costa's are territorial. These two competed with a couple of broadbills and a garden full of Anna's, and still managed to get a good dose of feeder nectar as well as stuff from the original source, as you can tell from the pollen on the female's bill.

Day 45: Canada goose, Branta canadensis

Obviously from their name, not strictly a regional bird, but I like to mix it up between Arizona Animals™ and ones with a wider range. Mostly Canada geese are snowbirds in Arizona. Like snowbirds of the human variety, they have been known to stick around if they decide they like the food and mild climate here. (Unlike snowbirds of the human variety, there is little problem with geese driving 45 miles an hour on the freeway with their hazard lights on.)

We mostly see Canada geese throughout the winter, sometimes right through to mating and raising families. Adult geese molt their primary flight feathers while raising young, leaving the whole family flightless for a brief period. They are monogamous, and great parents. The male will sit as sentinel, chasing and hissing at anyone who gets near his young. And if you've ever heard the obnoxious honking they do when just flying from one place to another, you can imagine how they can turn it up when they're really mad.

Day 46: Turkey vulture, Cathartes aura

Ah, turkey vultures. You know how I feel about these guys. (Read here.) What else can I say? Well, plenty. But mostly, read that. And just watch them. Grace. Purity. Beauty (yes, really). Certain aviation techniques were designed after the Wright brothers watched the way turkey vultures glided, and decided the birds had it exactly right. It's not hard to see why.

You know what? I totally think we need some more turkey vultures.

Day 47: American wigeon, Anas americana

I haven't seen this one nearly as often as many other ducks, but it's always a treat when I do. Wigeons are common migrants and winter residents in Arizona, and there have been records of them breeding in the White Mountains area. The male of this species has a white cap, giving the species the nickname "baldpate." (He also has brilliant green streaking back from each eye.)

The weirdest thing about this one? She growled. Crazy. I didn't know ducks growled.

Day 48: Lowland leopard frog, Lithobates yavapaiensis

Credit goes to Cascavel1 (also known as Brendan) for the ID on this one. I am really rusty on amphibian identification most of the time, mostly because they've always been so rare that at the time of sighting my analysis only goes as far as "Holy cow; a frog!" (On the other hand, rattlesnakes and spiders of all kinds are common enough that I can identify scores of species of each on sight. It's all what you're used to.)

This guy is pretty small, just a little over three inches, barely larger than its tadpole form. They're usually brown and mottled, have ridges (dorsolateral folds) that break up toward the rear, and have a yellow wash to their groin. (Now can you see why I have a hard time IDing frogs?) They have a decent range in central Arizona, though they used to range from the lower Colorado River, east through central Arizona below the Mogollon Rim and southeastern Arizona, and into New Mexico. They are being displaced by other species, though they have held out better than the Chiricahua leopard frog, presumably because they're better at breeding. (I'm sure that's the line used by every male lowland leopard frog.) They're especially active near washes during the monsoon season.

Day 49: Greater yellowlegs, Tringa melanoleuca

Pretty easy to identify, with their mustard-colored legs. The only trick is telling greater yellowlegs from lesser yellowlegs. If they're not side-by-side for a size comparison, one trick is to check the bill: a greater yellowlegs' bill is noticeably longer than the head, and sometimes slightly upturned. These guys are pretty timid, prancing or flying away with a scolding tew-tew-tew if I get too close.

That's it this week! What've you seen lately? I got two e-mails to identify spiders, one for a dragonfly, and one for a hawk this week, so I know you're looking!