Homer Flowers: beautiful adaptation.

I have learned the name of just about every flower growing on the property of the Wynn Nature Center in Homer, Alaska.  It has been part of my job, as a Naturalist Intern, to know the common name and a few facts about each plant.  This may seem like a daunting task, but I have really enjoyed it.  And it hasn't hurt that it has been my particular duty to take visitors on local plant identification walks once each week.  This means I've had the opportunity to group plants by families and learn more detailed characteristics about them.  It's a great research opportunity for someone as bookish as I am.

Hairy Rockcress is in the Mustard family.

Miraculously, most of the information has been imbedded in my brain through repetition and constant exposure.  The only downside is that it's very difficult to walk past a plant anywhere and not mentally recite its name and statistics.  Flowers cease to be just pretty things growing all around, instead they become like people I know too well.  I can't separate their beauty from what I know about them.  Such as, the plants in the Wintergreen family are named due to their evergreen leaves and are beneficial as a poultice for healing skin sores.  They are not the source of wintergreen oil, however.  The Wynn has three species of Wintergreens.  The Wynn also has several species in the Rose family, including Nagoonberry, Trailing Raspberry, Sitka Burnet, Goat's Beard, and two species of wild rose.  The two species of wild rose, Prickly and Nootka, can be distinguished by the quantity of thorns on the stem.  Their thorns are straight, as opposed to curved thorns on cultivated garden variety roses.  I could go on like this for hours.

Pink Pyrola is the largest of the Wintergreen family.

But knowledge can be power.  For instance, it's handy to know what plant is poisonous to eat and what plant can help a wound heal.  Edible plants are an especially useful thing to know about when spending a lot of time in the wilderness.  Sometimes a plant can be both edible and toxic.  Take the Red Elderberry, which is an endemic shrub in this part of Alaska.  Its flowers can be made into a potent tea and its berries are often made into jellies and even wine.  However, Red Elderberry seeds found in the berries contain cyanide compounds and are decidedly NOT good to eat, so they must be strained out of food products.  Isn't it good that you know this now?

Red Elderberry with unripe fruits.

You may wonder why plants are so fickle, but they are actually amazingly well adapted for survival.  Consider for a moment that plants, like animals, must defend themselves from those that would eat them as well as attract mates for procreation.  Complicating this matter is the fact that plants are rooted to the ground and can neither run away from a predator nor chase after a mate.  Thus, plants have devised a myriad of chemicals both to defend themselves and to attract facilitating pollinators.  These chemical compounds can be targeted very specifically to attract a certain insect pollinator, such as with the rancid smell of the Chocolate Lily and its fly assistant.  This specificity and the uncountable potential adaptations of plants to utilize chemicals to survive is why so many human medicines are derived from plants and not from animals.  The willow shrub invented the salicylic acid in Aspirin, people simply stumbled upon it.

Chocolate Lily (or Northern Rice Root).

So, as you admire the varied beauty of the flowers (which are another adaptation of plants for getting attention from pollinators), I hope you can also appreciate the amazing ways in which they carve out a unique niche on the earth and contribute to survival of the human species as well.

Trailing Raspberry is a tasty member of the Rose family.

This well known medicinal plant is Valerian.

Star Gentain is a showy late summer bloomer.

Jacob's Ladder has leaves like ladder rungs.

Little Gentian has a 'hairy' throat and tiny flowers.

Dainty Meadowrue is in the toxic Buttercup family.

The Alaska state flower:  Forget-me-not.

Show me the moose.

I have heard this question a lot this summer:

"Where can I see a moose?"

As a Naturalist at the Wynn Nature Center in Homer, Alaska, many visitors come with checklists of wildlife they want to see in Alaska.  Moose are almost always near the top of their lists.  Thankfully, many visitors have their wish fulfilled by walking on the Wynn's five miles of wooded trails and serendipitously sighting that largest member of the deer family.  But they are the lucky ones.  Many leave disappointed that all they saw were plants and some moose tracks.  I try to console by reminding them how much wild space there is for moose to hide in, that they really don't like to be seen by people, and that therefore seeing a moose is a matter of pure chance.

Moose usually see you long before you see them.

This young bull moose decided not to pose for my picture.

As for me, with as much time as I spend outdoors, my chances of seeing a moose are much higher.  Which is why I am fortunate enough to have these great photos to share with you of our local Wynn Nature Center icon.  Hope you enjoy them.  And remember, the more time you spend in nature, the more nature will reveal itself to you.

A mother moose and her calves in my backyard.

A  tender reminder that moose are amazing creatures.

Naturalist Intern

I've landed on my feet in Homer, Alaska.

I have my first official job post-college graduation! It has been over 13 years since I worked a full time job, although I would argue that stay-at-home motherhood is certainly a full time job and then some.  But I'm now working the first paid position within my field of environmental studies and biology.  My position as a Naturalist Intern is with the Center for Alaskan Coastal Studies in Homer, Alaska.  It's in an eclectic town on the southern tip of the Kenai Peninsula, about 5 hours drive from my home in Wasilla. The Center operates several facilities for outdoor education and outings, including a field station across Kachemak Bay, an education yurt on the Homer spit, and a woodland nature preserve on the high hillside above town.  It is this latter location in the coniferous forests where I find myself working for the summer.  It is named the Carl E. Wynn Nature Center, after the benefactor who owned the property and deeded it to the Center at his death.  The Wynn is a 140 acre nature preserve with about five miles of trails, an interpretive cabin, and a few overlook structures for taking in the beautiful vistas.

View of Kachemak Bay and the Homer Spit (on right) near the Wynn Nature Center.

The Carl E. Wynn Nature Center in Homer, Alaska.

On the day I left home to travel to my new job and summer residence, I also delivered my 11-year old son to the airport.  My husband and I decided it was an ideal time for him to visit his grandparents in Oregon.  It made me feel a bit better knowing that he would be doted on by his loving Nonna and Poppa while I was away from him, but it was still hard to see him go.  We were now all officially on an adventure:  me to my first environmental job, my son to his longest time away from his parents, and my husband to a house all to himself.  Ho boy!  I really hoped that I was doing the right thing.

During the first two weeks of my training I familiarized myself with the local wildlife and plants residing around the nature center.  Luckily, they were quite similar to those in my own neck of the Alaskan woods.  But one day I got to travel across the bay with several other summer employees to explore the rocky shores at the Peterson Bay field station at low tide.  The day we traveled over there was a particularly low tide at -5.3 feet (high tide came in at 22 feet).  Although I can see salt water from my home in Wasilla, it's not the kind of shoreline that is easily accessible or conducive to tide pooling.   The sea water near Wasilla is the Knik arm of Cook Inlet, a silty grey outwash from two glacial rivers fringed by extensive mud flats and estuaries.  So, I was super excited to spend some time exploring the critters on the edge of the pristine blue Kachemak Bay surrounded by high snowy mountains and pebbled beaches.  And I wasn't disappointed!

A leather star, not a starfish.

This decorator crab has covered itself with mud and bits of seaweed.

A chiton turned pink from bubble-gum colored algae in a tide pool.

On the first weekend following my arrival in Homer, I was visited by my mother and a teenage daughter of one of my cousins.  They made the road trip very early in the morning in order to avoid traffic and to make the most of my day off together.  I have to admit that getting a visit from family was a welcome respite from all the strange newness of my life and work in Homer.  I had been missing my son, husband, and the familiarity of home something fierce.  And what are mother's best at besides doting on daughters and trying to make life grand?  I welcomed the attention.  We ate out at wonderful restaurants, shared a jacuzzi bubble bath gone awry, and shopped at fabulous seaside gift stores.  On the second, and last, day of their visit, my family joined other volunteers at the Wynn Nature Center to clean and organize the visitor cabin and get it ready for the opening of the season.  I cannot fully describe how grateful I am for the donation of their time and energy, in addition to the other fabulous volunteers, to spiffy up my new work place for the summer.  Non-profit organizations like the Center are made possible through the support of selfless people who give of their time, expertise, and energy.  Above all, volunteerism reigns as the central theme that repeated over and over during my employment so far.  It is truly inspiring.

Now into my third week of this adventure, I have learned a lot about birds, plants, forest ecology, and some of the workings of a nature education center.  I see each day as a opportunity to improve my knowledge and skills as a naturalist.  I try to approach challenges with an eye for solutions.  And I am increasingly appreciative of the wonderful people that both work with me at the Center and volunteer to keep it running smoothly.  I know I am in the right line of work when I can open visitors' eyes to the wonders of a plant or animal living right under their nose in virtual anonymity.  I feel that in each instance that I can pass on some small appreciation for the natural world maybe, in some sense, I have managed to preserve that bit for future generations.

I am ever an explorer (photo by Kaylynn Thompson).

The Private Eye

I came across a book called The Private Eye while searching for home school curriculum for my son earlier this year.  We had recently attended a waldorf-based charter school, which put a lot of emphasis on learning through experience with nature.  Circumstances led us into an unexpected adventure of learning from home for part of the year, but I decided to retain the nature-based-learning philosophy.  This is where The Private Eye excelled.

Lessons were based on using magnifying eye loupes to observe natural elements and then asking yourself two questions:  What does it look like?  What does it remind me of?


These two simple questions opened the doors of my son's mind to creative realms of metaphor, simile, and connective relationships.  There were no wrong answers and there were always interesting ideas.  Why does the surface of a sea urchin shell look like a fancy vase?  Why does a bird leg look like it has scales?  Is it a coincidence?  Are there reasons for the similarities?  Do similar looking things have similar functions?  Sometimes there are correlations and sometimes the questions merely lead to flights of imaginative fancy that are pure fun.

What does it look like?  What does it remind you of?

After trying out a few lessons from The Private Eye on my son, I decided to expand this creative approach to other home school kids living nearby.  I conducted science/art lessons with a group of kids between the ages of 5 and 12.  The wonderful thing about the book is that the lessons are so easily geared for a variety of ages.  Any child can answer the two main questions and turn their answers into a drawing.  And the eye loupes are the key for getting kids to see what they might not have seen before.  When they combine two loupes for higher magnification, a bird feather suddenly becomes hundreds of zippers lined up along side each other, or train tracks, or trees!  The kids said things like, "Wow!" and "Whoa, that is soooo cool!"  One of my favorite lessons involved making a fingerprint on a piece of paper and observing it with the loupes.  After asking the private eye questions, the kids made giant abstract drawings of their fingerprints incorporating their creative thinking ideas.  Fingerprints transformed into tunnels, faces, strange landscapes, or rainbows.

Abstract fingerprint drawing.

When my son re-entered public school the next Fall, I took The Private Eye with me into the classroom.  I volunteered to teach science lessons using the book and its unique hands-on techniques.  My son's teacher was intrigued.  Our first lesson studied seeds and their megastructures.  I had collected  a variety of late-fall seed heads from plants around my house and distributed a couple to each child.  I then asked them to observe their plant with a magnifying glass and draw it.  Then they dissected the plant to find the seed pod and tried to determine the method of transportation by it's shape.  They drew their observations again and answered the two questions:  What does it look like?  What does it remind me of?  Sometimes, these questions helped them determine the mode of transportation.  For instance, a foxtail seed pod looks like an umbrella without its fabric or handle.  Might this mean that it floats on the wind like Mary Poppins' umbrella?  Finally, the kids dissected the seed pod to find the actual seed.  For many, this was a level of observation they had never experienced before.  They had assumed the pod was the seed.

Their amazement at how tiny many of the seeds were was audible.  Some were black, round, and shiny.  Some were pale, pointy, and rough. However, by far their favorite seed discovery was the sunflower.  I had brought in a young sunflower head from my garden, mainly as a prop to show them where the seeds were located under the fleshy black caps in the middle.  The novelty of pulling off the remnant of the flower cap and digging out the seed underneath with their fingernails became the main attraction.  They reveled in their success at extracting the soft, whitish, immature seed.  And I reveled in my success at getting the kids to be excited about the inherent mysteries of nature.

Seward Sea Life Slumber Party

This spring I finally got to experience a 'Nocturne' at the Seward Sea Life Center!  This is an opportunity I've been anticipating for years.  I was more excited than the kids, and I think they knew it.  It is a popular field trip for local school kids because it involves spending the night INSIDE the Seward Sea Life Center.  So, the kids and chaperones literally get to "sleep with the fishes!"  Shortly after beginning our home school adventure in January I found a group of parents who were planning to do the trip.  I eagerly asked permission to join them and was accepted.  Two months later I had my son and his younger cousin crammed into my car with all our sleeping paraphernalia and was headed to Seward.  We got there far earlier than we needed to so we could explore the early spring beaches.  It had snowed on us in the pass and was quite chilly, but I didn't let that deter us.  We explored a bit at Lowell Point, just beyond Seward, and watched a pair of eagles enjoying the beach as well.  The kids waded in the outgoing tide with their wellies on and filled Subway sandwich bags with cool beach finds.  Afterward, we warmed ourselves at the Sea Bean Cafe with hot cocoa and bagels.  Then it was time to meet at the Sea Life Center.

Beach combing at Lowell Point.

A pair of bald eagles.

Warming up at the Sea Bean Cafe.

Skipping rocks on the beach below the Sea Life Center.

With pillow and backpack under one arm and sleeping bag under the other, we each hurriedly waddled toward the front doors.  Once inside, the employees locked the door behind us.  The center was now closed to the general public, which felt a little like being at school after all the kids have gone home.  I could hardly contain my excitement!  Even the kids' eyes got a bit wider as they looked around and realized that they had the place to themselves.  Then the staff acquainted us with the building, led a game of sea life jeopardy, fed us sandwiches, and split us into groups.  We had two hands-on educational sessions that were super fabulous: one about phosphorescence and the other about cephalopods.

The phosphorescence lesson was quite illuminating....pun intended.  The ability of sea creatures to produce light comes from a chemical reaction of luciferen and oxygen, also called bioluminescence. It is very similar to the way fireflies create light.  Creatures as small as bacteria and as large as squid can produce bioluminescence.  They use it to attract mates, to scare away predators, or to lure food closer.  But what was more amazing was how much the kids knew already!  They had definitely done their homework.  Eventually, the lights were turned out and they got to see amphipods sparkle blue in a bowl of water like tiny stars.  Then they were each given a glow-in-the-dark sea creature toy and had to 'swim' through the dark room to find their matching mate.

The next lesson started with a discussion on cephalopods (head-footed animals) and their unique features and ended with a squid dissection.  They are called head-footed animals because their 'feet' come out of their head, with all their internal organs held in the sac-like mantle at the opposite end.  Cephalopods have relatively large brains and are very smart.  Octopus in captivity have been known to slip out of their tanks at night, crawl across the floor to invade a neighboring tank for dinner, and return before morning.  They also have large eyes (one slighter larger than the other) which are connected by a tunnel-like structure to take in as much light as possible in the dark ocean depths.  Their skin also contains cells called chromataphores, which allow them to create a wide array of patterns and colors in order to camouflage themselves.

In the dissection, the kids removed the tiny beak of their squid, which was no larger than a thumbnail.  They also identified internal organs like its three hearts, the ink sac, and the cuttle bone.  This experience was the highlight of the trip for me because I really appreciated the quality of the educational program.  But the kids like the next bit best.

Dissecting a squid.

A squid beak.

Everyone was given an hour of free time to explore the Sea Life Center on their own before lights out.  And, yes, they turn the lights out because octopus have to sleep too, y'know.  As soon as they were released, some kids sailed through the center as if they simply enjoyed the feel of wind in their hair.  Others became glued to particular exhibits or animals.  And a few just wandered wide-eyed as if they weren't sure what to do with their newly found freedom.  For the most part, my kids gravitated toward the sea lion tank.  It's the central attraction and had the largest windows for underwater viewing.  The charismatic sea lions, Woody and Sugar, looked like Boeing 747's flying through the water.  They cruised past the windows to the "oohs" and "awes" of the children.  Sometimes, the sea lions would hide and when the kids had their noses pressed to the glass, the frisky sea mammals would suddenly appear out of some hidden corner to startle the excited kids.  It became a game. Seeing the sea lions at such close range was a powerful experience.  All that night and the next morning the kids walked by the window waving and saying, "Hi, Woody.  Hi, Sugar."  In a short time, Woody and Sugar had become their friends.

Playing games with the sea lions.

"Woody" the sea lion.

When it was time for bed, everyone laid out their sleeping pads and bags on the concrete floor between the harbor seal, the sea lions, and the water birds.  The lights dimmed, the animals quieted, and so did the kids.  But many of them stayed up to peer into the tanks and watch the animals flitting about in the starlight.  My kids scooted over to the sea lion tank and quietly whispered to each other as the massive animals glided effortlessly through the dark water below them.  Once in a while Woody would heave himself out onto a rock and I'd hear a child squeak in excitement.  There was a magical feeling in the salt-spiked air.  The kids sat silhouetted in the dark against the deep blue of the water.  I knew they were safe and I knew they were forming memories which I hoped would stay with them for a lifetime.  I laid my head on my pillow, pulled my sleeping bag up under my chin, and let my heavy eyelids close on that wonderful scene.

Kids making connections.

View from a Microscope

My dad bought me a microscope for my birthday last year.  It was one of the nicest gifts ever.

My son and I recently put it to use in our home school science studies.  I love the sounds that come out of him when he puts his eye to the lens: wooaaaahh!  cooool.  oooo-eeeee.  Oh my gosh, look at thaaat!  I admit that even I am filled with a sense of childish wonder when I see the individual plant cells in a speck of algae or the iridescent pattern on a bird feather.

Algae from our goldfish aquarium.

The microscope has opened up a whole new world to both of us.  Everyday objects suddenly spark interest about what they look like up close, really close.  Tiny details are revealed about things I thought were familiar: the squarish overlapping scales on a moth wing, the hexagonal pattern in a grasshopper eye, the vicious looking barbs on a mosquito's leg.  We recently hatched brine shrimp and studied them under the lens.

Magnesium sulfate, Sodium chloride (squares), and shrimp eggs.

By accident, I squished a tiny shrimp (the size of a speck of dust) between the slip cover and slide.  To my surprise, the crime scene very much resembled a dark chalk outline of the creature with millions of infinitesimal green orbs oozing out in all directions.  As if the shrimp was a bean bag that had suddenly sprung a leak.

The crime scene.

A great book, called The Private Eye, is helping me explore this magnified world more creatively.  It prompts questions like, What else does it look like?  What does it remind me of?  What do these things have in common, and why?  A microscope isn't necessary for viewing the hidden worlds that are right in front of us.  Jeweler's loops make great magnifiers and can be doubled up for added effect.  This week I helped kids discover their fingerprints by using magnifying boxes.  The Private Eye has a wealth of information on how to help kids connect their discoveries through art, writing, science, and social studies.  Next week, the kids' fingerprints will become giant works of abstract art.

My son's fingerprint.

If you're going to buy a microscope, get a good one.  Hobby shops and online companies have refurbished scopes, pocket scopes, and contraptions that link to your computer or TV.  My next hope is to get a dissecting microscope for looking at 3-D objects like rocks and bugs.  And good pictures of your specimens can be taken by simply placing a point-and-shoot camera at the eye piece and zooming in a bit.  All the pictures in today's post were taken using that method.  I hope they "magnify" your curiosity.

Forecast: Fog

Fog is a great metaphor for my life lately.  We've had an unusual amount of it this Fall around our house, both outdoors and in my brain.  Let me explain.

My vocation as a Naturalist and future Educator requires me to also be a student.  My husband refers to me as a "lifetime learner."  I suspect this is partly because I love to learn new things, but also because it seems like I've been in school forever!  I started college as a young teenager with aspirations to be an Art Teacher, but love and marriage happened in quick succession during my Junior year and my education got put on pause so I could raise a family.  After 10 years away from school I decided it was time to pick up where I left off.  The only problem was that I'm a very different person than I was and being an Art Teacher no longer interests me.  The good thing is that life experience taught me what did interest me, and that is the natural world.  So, for two years now when September rolls around I'm packing two backpacks: one for my fourth-grade son and one for me.  While he is learning his multiplication tables, I am learning about the genetics of fruit flies.  He has homework and so do I.  Pulling an all-nighter so I can finish a research paper is not uncommon.  Grades and holidays are overly anticipated events.  And thoughts about world history, chemistry, or environmental ethics can often work their way into family conversations or sleepless dreams.

Here's where the fog comes in.  As with any new change there is a transition period.  For me, it happens every semester.  As warm summer air cools in August and the moist earth releases water vapor to shroud the landscape in white, so goes the clarity of my thinking.  Like a million tiny water droplets obscuring the view, a million new facts, figures, and formulas collect in my mind trying to wedge themselves into my memory.  I strain to see the big picture of my life.  New assignments, readings, projects, and term papers crowd my precious time and energy.  I get a sort of tunnel vision and might begin to feel anxious.  My world shrinks and I can only focus on my immediate vicinity.  I have to be on high alert to things I might not see coming, things I might forget, things that could get lost in the fog.  Did I do my homework?  Did my son do his homework?  Do we have food for lunch?  Dinner?  Have I missed someone's birthday?  Payed my bills?  Brushed my teeth?  I can get into quite a frantic state!

The truth is, I can learn something from these foggy periods.  My reaction to nature's fog can be a good model for how to handle my mental fog:  slow down, focus, be watchful, and enjoy finding the pathway through this mysterious phenomenon.  Ironically, a walk in a foggy fall landscape does wonders for calming my mind.  I feel quiet, peaceful, and just a bit intrigued by how things emerge from their veiled hiding places as I progress.  Fog can be very helpful in getting me centered and reminding me of what is really important in life.  When the distance fades away into a white haze, each step forward must be taken more carefully, with more purpose.  Fog is the great minimizer.

But, eventually, the fog clears.  The air and earth find equilibrium again, and so do I.  The tiny droplets congeal into clear waters and I can see where I am on the path again.  However long the duration of my fog I always emerge with a clearer vision of where I am headed and a new appreciation for simpicity.

Looking Closely

Alaskan Wood Frog

Stop and stoop.  Get up close and personal with your surroundings.

This method does wonders for my perception, both as a naturalist and a person.  I am surprised every single time I crouch down close to the ground, or pause very near a tree, or use some kind of magnifying device to observe a subject.  A walk through the woods can be like entering a hidden passage to places you never knew existed!  The key is changing your perspective.

Fungus or egg sacs?

 

Here are some methods you can try yourself:  1) walk slowly, 2) stop frequently and crouch down to look at the ground, 3) touch things, 4) look under, behind, up close, and around.  Try narrowing your area of observation: toss a hula hoop out onto the ground (even in your driveway) and observe as closely as possible everything within the circle.  Plain rocks become variously colored minerals with interesting patterns and textures, sometimes crawling with beetles, worms, spiders, and caterpillars.  Hidden in a patch of grass can be tiny mushrooms, butterflies, grasshoppers, wildflowers, or berries.  After discovering how much more could be seen by looking closely I could hardly wait to go on another walk to find something new.  Did you know that observation is what all science is based on?  All inventions and major discoveries are made possible through the careful study of the world around us.  You are doing scientific work out there by looking closely, not to mention gaining a fuller understanding of your environment.

Not bubblegum!

Apart from the things I discover by looking closely, I appreciate the sense of wonder and peace that comes with discovery.  There is beauty and ingenuity in nature.  Like this fuzzy pink growth that I initially mistook for a wad of bubble gum on the ground.  I was tickled pink to find that it was a fascinating organism, possibly a pink Fusarium fungus although I'm not yet certain.  And that's another fabulous aspect of discovery, you don't need to know what it is!  The joy is the experience and what you take away from it.  If you feel inclined, you can research your finding at the library or on the internet, or you can take a picture and frame it, or you can pat yourself on the back for discovering something new and walk on.