Saving Isabella: A wooly bear for the winter

We own a fun nature book for children (which I would credit but I loaned it to a friend and don't have the name on hand), there's a page that gives directions for keeping a wooly bear catapillar over the winter.

What fun!
So we're giving it a try.

The wooly bear is the fun fall version of the Isabella Tiger Moth which emerges in the spring. For years I've never taken the time to know this. For me, the wooly bear meant one thing: how hard of a winter we were going to have.

I remember as a kid seeng how many I could collect and making my own predictions about the winter-- long before we had the power of the internet and computer forecasters to tell us all in detail and in every form of media.

But now, they are just catapillars that we can hold. Fuzzy and non-poisonous, after reading the how-to in our book, we kept one this year.

Here's the basic how-to...

1. Find a wooly bear in the fall. That's RIGHT NOW!!

2. Store it in a plastic jar with a top that you've drilled holes in, and keep the jar outside and out of direct weather. Ours sits right out our back door under the covered part of our porch.

3. Put in a few twigs and a few blades of grass.

4. Change the grass every day, and as we've found, dump out the catapillar poo. (You'll be amazed-- trust me.)

5. Eventually the little critter will appear to die and curl up on the bottom. He's sleepng. Shhhh!

6. Wait until spring when you see some action from your awakening wooly bear. Continue to feed it fresh grass.

That's our plan. Stay tuned for updates on our little friend!

The Rock Type Blues

Some things are best learned in song. (Or rather, some people like to make fools out of themselves in public?) While volunteering at a local nature center on geology day, I just couldn't help myself. I had to write a song to help explain rock types.
I don't have the guts to sing this on video, but teachers are welcome to make up their own tunes and sing away. I'm sure this will be a hit song on the geology charts one of these days...

The Rock Type Blues
copyright 2009 Karrie McAllister

I got a collection
of all kind of rocks
There’s pink and there’s brown
There’s stripey and dots.

But it would be much better
If only I could see
What these rocks were
And how they came to be

Now I’ve got those blues,
Those low down rock type blues.
Those sedimentary, igneous
And metaphorphic rock type blues.

Now all over the world
Rock’s being eroded
Those little small pieces
Are all getting molded

And settling down
Cementing together so complimentary
You got your sandstone and your fossils and
Well, that’s sedimentary.

Now I’ve got those blues,
Those low down rock type blues.
Those sedimentary, igneous
And metaphorphic rock type blues.

Now deep underground
Waaay down I exclaim
Is the melted rock
Magma is its name.

But sometimes that rock
Is different I know
Because it’s called lava
When it shoots from a volcano.

And when the rock cools
It’s name you just can’t miss.
Whether its granite or obsidian
It’s all called igneous.

Now I’ve got those blues,
Those low down rock type blues.
Those sedimentary, igneous
And metaphorphic rock type blues.

The last type of rock
It’s a little more strange
It’s been cooked and squished
It’s gone through a change.

And shale becomes slate,
You just can not ignore it
And when granite become gneiss
We call it metamorphic.

Now I don’t have those blues,
Because I know all the rock type clues.
Goodbye to those sedimentary, igneous
And metaphorphic rock type blues.

Yes, mam, you are a bit like a zoo animal

Yes, mam, you are a bit like a zoo exhibitby Karrie McAllister
There’s something to be said for the coati. It’s not every day that we can learn so very much about ourselves when we go to the zoo and stare into an exhibit of obscure animals.
My first introduction to this magnificent mammal happened a few years ago while visiting our favorite little zoo. An enclosure full of these critters that look like a raccoon that stuck its nose into a vacuum hose completely fascinated me.
The first thing I learned that day was that “coati” is not pronounced “coat-ee” but instead “co-AH-tee,” not because the sign clarified that, but because my daughter, then age 5, corrected me and told me I should watch more animal TV shows so I can learn as much as she does.
Beyond that embarrassment, I discovered that coatis are pretty smart animals. They have, I’m assuming, over many generations, learned how to get things done and thrive as a species. They have figured out how to best increase their populations and grow in strength and numbers. They have determined how to feed and raise their young and all the while live in a happy-go-lucky (or as happy-go-lucky a coati can be) social setting.
They kicked out the guys.
Coatis live in groups consisting of only females and immature males. Once the boys hit coati puberty, they leave the group until mating season and live a solitary life like the other older men, who I’d bet sit around and watch coati football games and work on coati cars.
Female coatis take excellent care of each other and each other’s young, babysitting and even sometimes nursing each other’s babies. They are chatty animals, and spend a lot of time grooming themselves and each other.
And if I was a betting woman, I’d also guess that they get a heap of stuff done and have a great time. I’m sure there’s the occasional coati bickering session and most likely little fights over the latest kill or fruit, but all in all, I think we can learn from these girls who really know how to band together and get the job done.
I say this with such certainty only because I recently spent my very own weekend with all women. It was my annual trip to the Becoming an Ohio Outdoorswoman event hosted by the Ohio Department of Natural Resources. Besides a few instructors and a couple of cafeteria workers, it was all girls girls girls.
And boy oh boy, did we have a great time.
This event, held annually, provides women the opportunity to step into a so-called man’s world for a few days and try their hands at everything from candle making to muzzleloading. I personally spent my weekend laughing, dancing, and gabbing, not to mention kayaking, shooting trap, and learning to hunt ducks and geese.
I also spent a windy Saturday afternoon climbing a 50-foot wooden structure. Let me rephrase that. I monkeyed myself up a 50-foot tower, contorting myself into positions that I haven’t seen since I had to buckle an infant into the back middle seat of an SUV. Only instead of being hunched over in a car, I was dangling 40 feet off the ground, totally relying on the woman holding my safety belay rope and the cheers of the other women watching.
If it weren’t for the cheers, I would have never made it to the top. If it weren’t for the applause while sitting on the top of the tower, I would have frozen up there. And if it weren’t for the high fives and hugs, I would have never climbed it again.
There’s just something empowering about getting a big group of women together. Almost as instinctively as our dear friend the coati, something deep inside of us knows to take care of each other, to help each other and how to sweeten our days.
Women know our strength in numbers, yet to the onlooker it might seem puzzling and almost enigmatic.
Unless, of course, the onlooker is a coati, in which case she might just join in.

Check out Becoming an Ohio Outdoorswoman here!

Waxing fall leaves, 1, 2, 3

I have such memories of this as a child, collecting fall leaves at their peak color and perfection. Mom or dad would set up the wax, and we'd sit and dip until we had heaps of waxed leaves.

And yet, I can't remember what we did with all of them...

Some we waxed right onto a piece of slate from the old fallen-down barn near my uncle's farm, the autumnal colors coordinating with the dark gray slate.

The rest? A mystery. I think we just liked to wax the leaves.

Today, before the first official day of Fall had ended, playing out in the yard we spotted a few ideal leaves. Just had to dig out the double boiler and the wax.

It's really easy as 1 2 3, this method of preserving fall color.

1. Find some good lookin' leaves with nice long stems.

2. Melt wax (Paraffin works fine--don't blow your $ on beeswax) in a double boiler. Holding the stem, dip the leaf in the melted wax.

3. Let the wax harden before setting the leaf down. You can just wave it around while holding it, use clothespins, or as I discovered tonight in a pinch, just tape them from the bottomside of your kitchen cabinets.

See? 1, 2, 3. After that, it's up to you. They are preserved, so you've got plenty of time to think about something crafty. Just get it done before the Christmas decorations have to come out.

The turtle story

A few months ago I entered a contest in an online children's magazine called the "Amazing but True" competition. The idea was to write something Amazing, but True about the world around you. I chose the story of the snapping turtle that tried to lay eggs under our back porch a few years ago.
It's a timeless story.
And wouldn't you know it, I won first place in the "for ages 3-6" catagory.
The story can be found here, but I'll tell you those aren't my photos. Our turtle was much, much bigger!

2010 resolution and a thought for a Sunday afternoon

Last night while our husbands watched the football game and the women played spud and otherwise corralled the many children, we also chatted about where we were going on Sunday morning.
This church, that church. "I'm thinking of heading to "Our Lady of the Holy Mattress," said one very honest friend. I kept my mouth shut, but secretly had plans to head to my favorite place to spend just about any morning. The Woods.
We took the kids on a four-mile trek up and down the hills and valleys of Wooster. If you think that Wooster doesn't have hills, you've never been to Wooster Memorial Park. You should go. It just may surprise you, and kick your butt all in the same wonderful visit.
Down the ravine, across the creek, up the other side, etc. etc. etc., we were about 3/4 of our way through and I had a revelation. When you're in the woods, the air must be better and a little more oxygen gets to the brain. It lets you think, put things into perspective, and reflect on everything that isn't in your normal life. Maybe it's the fact that you can't see anything but trees and dirt or maybe it's that cell phones don't work down in the thick of it. Maybe it's just one of those cosmic things.
In any case, here's the glorious thought I had: (Thanks to kerc for the initial idea!)
"I've got our New Year's resolution for 2010. We're going to spend 10 nights in a tent and hike 100 miles next year."
This, I think, should be very doable. 365 days to get it all done. I'll buy a notebook, keep a log. If it goes well, in 2011 we'll shoot for 11 days and 110 miles. And so on, and so forth.
I realize some readers are thinking that I'm absolutely crazy, that any night in a tent or any measure of wooded walks that hit the three digit mark (toting three kids along, mind you) makes me completely off my rocker, a half a bubble left of plumb, a few raisins short of gorp.
This is where I come clean.
There are things you know deep down, the things that make you feel absolutely at peace with yourself. These things make you happy, give you energy, and become an obsession and/or passion. Some people go ga-ga for horses. We all know at least one horse person, the kind who wear western clothing in non-western places. They've got horseshoe stickers on the backs of their pick-up trucks and talk about their animals more than their kids.
They love horses. And that's wonderful.
There are also the people who are really passionate about politics. Their bumpers are covered with political stickers and can change any conversation into a debate about health care or government funding.
"I made chicken for dinner last night. It was delicious."
"Good thing it wasn't undercooked. You'd have to go to the doctor, and then you'd have to wait four hours and get poor care all because....yadda yadda yadda...." (I tend to block it out.)
There are the school sports people, the ones whose entire lives revolve around home vs. away games and that name their pets after school mascots.
There are the ocean/beach people, who would sell everything they have just to live in a shanty where the roar of the surf puts them to bed every night.
I am, I declare, someone who belongs in the woods.
I love the smell of dirt, walking on a bed of pine needles. I get all googly when I see an odd mushroom or a chipmunk run across the trail. Creek crossings send me sky high and stopping for a quick break on an overlook is as about lovely as it gets.
Last weekend on a short hike I got a bug in my eye that went in so far I had to pick it out with a Q-tip. And you know what? I didn't care.
I have poison ivy on the back of my leg and a skeeter had a nice dinner on my neck today. Don't care.
It's all part of finding that place in your life where you belong and it makes you so happy that people start referring to you as "that" person. The beach bum, the horse lady, the democrat/republican. The woods girl.
I'd better go get some stickers for the back of my car.

The end of the summer, and saving sunflower heads

Around here, the poison ivy is starting to turn. Even a walk around the neighborhood shows me the yellowish creeping up the trees, and although I'm all for the poison ivy dying off, the end of summer is always bittersweet.
The kids are back in school...and the kids are back in school. We had such a great summer, but I'd by fibbing if I said I needed a break.
The bean plans are done...and the bean plants are done. As much as i love the snap of a fresh bean, I'm getting tired of picking them.
The sunflowers are dying...and the sunflowers are dying. Our sunflower house this year was so wonderful. Small, but wonderful. We had a few really big sunflowers grow, including the extra ones we put at the edge of our little garden, which is right out my office window. One particular flower took a hit or two or three from the western wind and as a result never quite stood up straight. When the plant decided to droop over, it made a perfect resting spot of thie little birdie, a nuthatch, I think. I have watched this little guy day after day, come to this flower, reach under and pluck out a seed. Then he sits on the top, a perfect little perch, and feasts away. Over and over, like it was just supposed to be there, like it was supposed to happen.
It's a fair reminder of the change of seasons, and of the season of change. My children, they grow. My beans, they freeze. My sunflowers, in their death bringing the feathered friends as much happiness as they brought me during the peak of the summer.

I've never before saved sunflower heads to use as actual bird feeders, but since we have quite a few this year I'm going to give it a try. From what I've read, I'm going to let them mostly dry on the stem. If the birds eat the seed, well, that's OK because that's what I'm planning on using it for. If they get too hungry, I suppose I could cover them with some garden netting. The head needs to be brown, and the back yellow. Once that's done, I'll just cut the heads off and save them in a dry place. Mildew, apparently, isn't good for the birds. There's a quaint craft on the Martha Stewart site I might throw together, someday when I'm missing summer and the snap of a fresh bean.