Category Archives: Nature Study

Hearing Loss, Nature Study

Ear Molds and Monster Update

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This week’s Carnival of Homeschooling is up and About. I haven’t had a chance to explore yet because we are distracted here by a lot of things having to do with ears. Today is New Ear Mold day. (“Ear mold” being almost as icky a phrase as yesterday’s winner, “muscular warts.”) But we loooove ear molds here. Ear molds are the little custom-made pieces of plasticky stuff that connect to Wonderboy’s hearing aids. The molds must fit snugly in the ear, so you need new ones every six months or so. For the rest of your life. Because ears are the only body part (except maybe noses?) that never stop growing. Never, no matter how old you are. That is why elderly gentlemen have such large earlobes.

This means a lifetime of ear-mold-making is in store for my boy. Fortunately, the hearing aids themselves last a good long while. Five years, we hope, because they cost more than the computer I’m writing on. More than two of these computers, in fact. The aids go behind your ear and a little tube snakes over the ear into the ear mold, thus piping sound directly into your ear canal. I ♥ modern technology.

Cool fact about ear molds: they come in different colors. Any color you want! Well, almost. If you want your basic rainbow shades, at least, or a flesh tone. Last time we went for the glow-in-the-dark version. In the light, they’re just a nondescript clear color, so you forget all about their glowing properties until you walk into a dark room with the child and suddenly there are little luminous blobs floating in the air. This makes for great fun at bedtime: holding the aid-wearing toddler, sneak into your other children’s bedroom after lights-out and listen to them yelp at the sight of ectoplasm bobbing across the room several feet. Heh.

This time Scott is the one who got to take the boy for the mold-making. They are there right now. I don’t know what color he’ll choose.* This is somewhat nervewracking. What if he goes for the yellow and it winds up looking like ear wax?

But you’re waiting for the Flesh-Eating Monster update. Well, um, I can’t find him. I assume he is lounging inside the blackened husk of poor Homer’s body, now that he has eaten it hollow. Ohhh, I am hostile toward this thing. I snipped loose the silken threads that held Homer to his twig and moved (shrieking the whole time) him (presumably them, though the Monster was nowhere to be seen, the sneaky bugger) into another container. I can just picture the Creature leaning back in his tragically deceased lair, rubbing his creepy black feet together with glee. Mine, mine, aaalll mine! A rent-free studio apartment with edible walls and a jungle view! Our guess is that he has hidden himself away to do his own pupating thing. We’ve decided (I lost the vote) to keep him around until he transforms, so that we can make a real identification. “Foul Murdering Beast” strikes Jane as unscientific. I also suggested “Grendel” but the children feel that is incompatible with the non-Danish names of the caterpillars. Humph. Hydra, then? Because I just bet if we did cut off his head, he’d sprout a bunch more.

In any case: Herodotus, you are safe! We hope! We cannot guarantee anything because we have not actually seen the Monster since I got that picture of him yesterday. So keep watching your back, little friend. If you see him coming, I recommend a left muscular wart right to the kisser.

*UPDATE: Scott went for what he thought where the glow-in-the-dark ear molds again. But it turns out they’re just clear, no luminous properties. We think. They’ll arrive in two weeks so we’ll know for sure then. Ah well!

Next caterpillar update is here.

Nature Study

Then Again, Maybe Ignorance Was Bliss

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If you haven’t read Part One of our caterpillar mystery, you’ll want to go here first. Just don’t get too attached to Homer. Someone else has already beaten you to it.

Of all the caterpillars in all the world, you had to lay an egg in mine.

Ghoulish

I know this is a lousy image, but believe me, it’s the best of the fifty I snapped. It is clear why ClubMom didn’t hire me to be the photo blogger. Lucky for me they had a need for a children’s-book-author-slash-homeschooling-mom-who-unwittingly-invites-flesh-eating-monsters-into-her-home blogger.

If you click to enlarge that photo and then squint really hard while sticking out your tongue and holding your breath, you can see The Creature at the left end of the caterpillar, next to the twig. See the pointy thing on its head? That would be one of the little feelers it waves around when pausing to survey its licorice-scented domain between bites. BITES. Of caterpillar. Or rather, of pupa. Alas, poor Homer. Never shall he spread his blue-black wings and flit from blossom to blossom. He was doomed before we even met him, though we didn’t know it.

The Mystery Creature’s disappearing act? It seems the reason we kept losing track of him was because he was hiding inside Homer’s body. ::::::can’t stop shuddering:::::: We don’t know for sure that he, the Monster, is the larva of an ichneumonid wasp, but it seems likely. The adult wasp, armed with a pointy flesh-piercing tube called an ovipositor, lays its eggs in the bodies of poor unsuspecting Homers. When the eggs hatch, they munch their way out, merrily feasting on their hosts. Wasp larva: Thanks for the lift. Caterpillar: No problem. And hey, dinner’s on me!

I was all for chucking The Creature right out the door, but my gentle maidens are fascinated by Nature in all her gory splendor. So (gack) It remains a houseguest, still lunching on poor old Homer. You can bet its hours are numbered, though. I don’t know how long its own pupa stage lasts, and there’s no way we’re letting that thing turn into a wasp. We’ve got Herodotus to think about.

Help_1Herodotus says: Helllllp!

The story continues here.

Nature Study

Can You See the Caterpillar in This Photo?

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Whereisit_1

No? Me either. Nor in the 176 other photos I took. Nor can I spot the little beast in actual real life. But we know he is there. He is apparently some kind of phantom ninja caterpillar. Or possibly a young Snuffleupagus. We are not sure, as he has not stayed visible long enough for us to make a positive identification.

Pillar1_1
When we started this venture, there was no mystery. The kids found two black swallowtail caterpillars on Jane’s parsley plant. We dug out our old butterfly jungle (thanks again, Grandma) and made them a nice comfy home. With sticks! And fennel! It’s like a Barbie Dream House for caterpillars. And for three or four days they milled around, chomping happily, or at least we assumed it was a happy kind of chomping. There was, for example, no belligerent waving of tiny black feet. (Side note: did you know that a caterpillar only has three pairs of legs? Just the three pairs closest to the head. All the rest, so Jane tells me, are not true legs. They are, and I quote, muscular warts. Muscular. Warts. Ew.)

So all was blissful in the suburban butterfly jungle, and as a testimony to his happiness, Caterpillar #1 (Homer to his friends) pigged out on so much fresh-picked fennel that he could continue no longer in his present state of six-legged-many-muscular-wartedness, and he hung himself. From a stick, I mean, as happy caterpillars do.

Caterpillar1_1

The next day he looked like this:

Pillar2

Pillar4
Meanwhile, Happy Caterpillar #2 (aka Herotodus) continued his milling and munching. Second-favorite pastime: scaling invisible walls. Occasionally he would grow bored with the fennel and, for a diversion, burst out of his skin and eat the old one. (Photo mercifully unavailable.)

Thus far, no mysteries. A degree of grossness, perhaps, but my younger children seem to believe that is the Best Part of adopting caterpillars. Look! Five hundred tiny balls of poop! Jane tells them that no, the miracle of metamorphosis is the Best Part, but Beanie remains staunch in her conviction that butterflies are nice, but they are simply not as riveting as Creatures Who Eat Their Own Skin.

Anyway. Now we come to the mysterious part. Rose was the first to spot a third critter in the jungle. There was a skinny little wormish looking thing lurking on the branch near Homer. Pressing our noses to the plastic wall, we decided the Little Thing was another caterpillar, an itty bitty one, possibly just hatched. Perhaps, we surmised, he had entered the jungle as a stowaway on the most recent fennel delivery. I ran for the camera, hoping the zoom function would help us to make an ID.

But he was gone. I swear, only thirty seconds had passed and we were all right there talking about fennel and butterfly eggs. One moment we saw him, and the next, he was nowhere to be found. We peered into the jungle, searching every inch. No wormy thing.

Over the next day, I bet I spent a combined total of two hours hunting for that thing. We scrutinized every bump on the branches, every shadow among the feathery fennel leaves. Nada. Maybe, Rose suggested, he had crawled out one of the airholes in the top. After all, he was small enough to fit. This is the point when Scott decided it would be funny to tickle the back of my neck with his fingertips. Ah ha ha ha. You will be relieved to know that caterpillars appear unaffected by high-pitched human shrieking even when it occurs two feet from their teeny tiny caterpillar ears. Also, any partly deaf toddlers in the vicinity will be highly amused.

Boyjune7
Did you say something, Mommy?

So: for some thirty-six hours, the searching and the shuddering. And then suddenly, there it was. Still teeny tiny, still hanging out by Homer. On Homer, actually. Homer has a groupie! Because, you know, metamorphosis is cool.

This time I was the sole witness of Wormish Thing’s reappearance. I had to show the kids. Once more I sprinted for the camera. Twenty seconds later I was back, already zooming my lens.

And it was gone. Again. Gone! Poof! Forget metamorphosis, this creature can teleport!

Later in the day, Rose spotted him halfway down Homer’s branch. Her story is uncorroborated, but I believe her.

He’s toying with us, I know it.

***

After I wrote all this, I happened to be passing by the butterfly jungle, pointedly not looking for the Thing, when a tiny wiggling caught my eye, and there he was again. Back at his favored post, on top of poor old Homer. Who has yet, by the way, to shed that last caterpillar skin and be a really truly chrysalis. Frankly, I’m a little concerned. I cannot help but suspect the Thing of nefarious purpose. What if he is not a baby caterpillar at all? What if his affection for Homer is not fraternal but rather the sort of affection I feel for, say, chocolate? Is it possible that in addition to his ninja powers he possesses a taste for Pupa?

(Herodotus: run!)

Well, this time I was too quick for him. If he is up to no good, I’ve got a photo ID. Police detectives still carry magnifying glasses, right? Because they may need one in order to penetrate his Cunning Disguise. Ha HA! I will hide as a bump on a twig! Their Giant Human Eyes will never spot me! *click* Curses! They have a zoom lens! Crafty humans…

Aha_1

Thus ends the first installment of The Great Caterpillar (or Possibly Not a Caterpillar) Mystery. Next chapter to come when someone metamorphosizes or pupates or gets eaten or something. UPDATE: Part Two is here.

Nohands
Herodotus says: Look, Ma! No hands muscular warts!

Family Adventures, Nature Study

They Just (sob) Grow Up So Fast

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Caterpillars, that is. Beanie was crushed, devastated, to discover that the caterpillar she and her sisters found on Saturday has disappeared into a cocoon. All sisterly attempts to convince her that this is an achievement worth celebrating were utterly in vain.

“But I won’t SEE him anymore,” sobbed Bean.

Jane sought to reassure Beanie by Googling up an image of the moth-that-is-to-be.

“See?” she chirped. “This cute little reddish-brown moth, that’s what your caterpillar is going to look like when it comes out!”

I stared at the title of the page, my blood running cold.

“Um, honey? Where this says ‘Eastern Tent Caterpillar’—that’s our caterpillar?”

Jane nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, you know—the kind that makes those big nests in the trees.”

Suddenly Beanie isn’t the only one who feels like weeping…

Geography, Nature Study

Where’s Yours?

“I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree…”

For Yeats, it was the bee-loud glade. For Mary Lennox, it was The Secret Garden, and for her maid Martha Sowerby, it was the moor, where “it smells o’ honey an’ there’s such a lot o’ fresh air—an’ th’ sky looks so high an’ th’ bees an’ skylarks makes such a nice noise hummin’ an’ singin’. ” For Anne Shirley, it was pretty much anywhere in Avonlea. Most of us have a favorite spot in nature, a quiet retreat where we can steep our souls in beauty. Now you may, if you are so inclined, share your Innisfree with the world. Where’s Yours? is a site that allows you to pin a map with your favorite location and write blog entries about it. Click on a pin to read an entry. (So far most of the entries are pretty spare, but I imagine they will grow as the site matures.)

(HT: Chris O’Donnell.)

Nature Study

The Weed Formerly Known as Cow Parsley

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If you’ve been following the comments of my last post, you know that we’ve been trying to nail down the identity of Jane’s mystery mint relative. Theresa noticed its similarity to a wildflower Dawn was trying to identify.

These two weeds have led us on a merry hunt this morning. Alas, Jane isn’t home today, so our chief botanist is missing all the fun. Here’s what we have learned:

This plant, which my children have always called cow parsley,

Weed2

isn’t cow parsley after all.

I don’t know where they came up with the name in reference to this particular plant, but it’s been in use around here for years. They rejoice at its arrival in our lawn every spring, for they love to suck the nectar honeysuckle-fashion from its tiny orchid-like flowers.

Dawn’s mystery wildflower appears to be the same plant, but when I looked up what I thought was its name this morning, I discovered that cow parsley is an altogether different plant (also called wild chervil).

In the course of the investigation, we happened upon a picture of Jane’s mystery mint relative. (She knew it was a mint because of its square stem.) Here’s her plant:

Mysterymint

Rose can’t wait for Jane to get home so she can tell her this plant, which grows in abundance in what used to be my south-wall flower bed, is called ground ivy. (Also: creeping Charlie, field balm, cats-foot, and gill-over-the-hill; officially Glechoma hederacea L.)

Meanwhile, Dawn tracked down our not-cow-parsley plant: Henbit!

(Won’t Jane be surprised.)

Nature Study

Bring Nature to Your Notebook

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Over at Lapaz Farm, Theresa has been sharing some stunning pages from her nature journal. Truly an inspiration!

Jane has recently rediscovered her own journal—it’s hard not to be wooed by the out-o’-doors this time of year, and to want to bring a bit of it inside—and I’m thoroughly enjoying her handiwork on pages like these (click photos to enlarge):

Journal1

Journal2

Journal3

More nature journal links:

Theresa’s page with book recommendations. (The Claire Walker Leslie books are a favorite of mine as well—see this post.)

Gorgeous images at Mudpies and Mozart, plus practical suggestions. I’ve linked to this page before, but it’s worth revisiting.

Artist Rebecca Latham’s nature paintings and sketches page.

Dawn’s nature notes.

And, of course, Cottage Garden, one of Alice‘s brilliant ideas: an online nature journal with contributions from the whole family.

Nature Study

A Rabble of Butterflies

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Did you know rabble was the collective noun pertaining to butterflies? According to this site, swarm also applies. Neither one quite fits, if you ask me. Hmm…a blessing of butterflies? A rustle of butterflies?

Whatever you call it, Cindy’s got it. She found some forty-odd monarch butterfly chrysalises (and correspondingly bare milkweed plants) outside her home yesterday. Neat pictures, especially the last one.