Science Friday - Fungi

A walk in the woods provides a wealth of science studies for the home-based learner. As we walked, we took photos of things we found, wondering aloud if the world as we know it came to an end, could we survive in these woods? Could we find things to eat? Of course, mushrooms are easily found in the woods, but who dares to trust their knowledge of the edible ones?

Here is a photo of chicken or "chicken of the woods" mushrooms, so named because properly prepared, they have a chicken-like flavor. Supposedly, there is no other poisonous mushroom that looks like them.

I'd have to be awfully hungry to fry up some of those.

And these are Turkey Tail Mushrooms. Evidently, whomever named all the mushrooms was thinking about what they'd rather be eating than mushrooms. They aren't very appetizing, but do have a medicinal value, supposedly, (not that I'm recommending).

But one of the coolest things we found was yellow slime mold: Physarum polycephalum, a plasmodial slime mold. Can't eat that! But, what is interesting about it is that it is not a mold nor fungus. It is actually more like an amoeba, and does move, hence slime or a member of the Kingdom Protista. It eats food! It moves! Creepy. Read more here.

Science Friday Challenge

The forest floor is also host to a number of critters. Name this bug:

For really cool information on science, go to Science Friday. Leave a link in the comments for your favorite science website.

A Few Clowns Short of a Circus

We call her "Roxie" but her show name is "Dumber Than Rocks". Before you think I'm cruel beyond measure, I love her to death, but you have to wonder about a horse that'll jump up on your back deck and can't find a way to get back down. She's finally learning to get off, but before she did, I'd sometimes come home to find her standing there, wondering how to get down.

It is in her nature to be sweet and loving to humans, but when it comes to intelligence, she's a few fries short of a happy meal. Still, I've never met a horse with a more loving and bright nature. She is perpetually happy and runs to see anyone who might be interested in scratching her or playing.

Which is why when I got home on Tuesday and saw her laying down in the yard I was concerned. Though sitting up, her breathing was shallow and rapid, and her temperature was up to 104.5 deg F, high for a horse. Lauren, who could be an awesome vet, went down to the house and checked our book, How to Be Your Own Veterinarian (Sometimes): A Do-It-Yourself Guide for the Horseman and the Internet. She returned with a theory that Roxie's illness was related to seeing her eating a branch with leaves the day before.

Ah, see the cicadas had caused "flagging" in the trees, the branches dropped down, blew five feet to the dry paddock where Roxie should have been eating her hay, but instead ate the leaves. Black walnut leaves. Which are toxic to horses, causing respiratory distress and eventually, founder if left untreated. These trees had never before posed a threat to our horses, located well outside of the paddock and pasture, and normally, keeping all their leaves on the tree.

Chiron, Roxie's brother and a good deal smarter but cantankerous, did not eat those leaves. He was fine. So what to do about Rox? A small dose of Bute, a pain killer, relieved her, and she remained fine all night. By yesterday, she was back to her happy-go-lucky style. The farrier came to trim her feet and said she appeared normal, except for her always twisted back hoof, common to mini's. Of course, she wanted that we would hold her while her feet were done instead of having to try to do the splits for the farrier who can barely get down low enough to trim her.

Who knew that cicadas could be so dangerous?

Wordless Wednesday

Blink-er

Well, she passed. My baby can now get into a car, merge onto the highway, and risk her life driving like the rest of us - all by her self. Just yesterday, she was my baby, so I don't see how this happened. Along with the bitter, there is the sweet. She can now drive herself to piano lessons, perhaps once in awhile drive her sister to art class.

I fought the adrenaline rush as we entered the courthouse, as I was about to encounter the "no pass/no drive" requirements and how that is administered to home-based learners (aka homeschoolers). By law, we are a private school and required only to submit a letter stating that our child has passing grades. It is clearly outlined in the law. Obviously, county clerks are only following direction of the elected official clerk, who is not a lawyer. I expected dull eyes and shaking heads, telling me that I needed a letter from the Board of Education (isn't if ironic that the sound "bored" is paired with education?) verifying that she is in good standing (like they'd know how she is doing).

The line snaked out the door and down the hall. Great, I was going to have an audience for my great debate. I did have that letter, which only verified that I had indeed written a letter last August stating that I was going to homeschool. Now, I had a letter saying I wrote a letter. It does have an impressive embossed seal that the administrative assistant squeezed onto it. I got it as back up insurance, in case they were adamant about having it and so Lauren wouldn't have to wait.

We quickly discovered that our difficulty was not going to be about homeschooling, rather we needed an appointment. Garrr....I'd missed that somehow, but we managed to get the last appointment of the day. We thanked them for fitting us in, and left. No mention of the letter or qualifications, despite a sign outside the door saying that proof of good academic standing was required. Perhaps the test administrator would ask? No. No mention was ever made of it.

Our next difficulty was Eugene, our van. Eugene is like someone that has lived to 100 years. While they may still get around fine, it is doubtful that everything works as it once did. Eugene, like some of us, has a little electrical problems now and again. His blinker to the left is frantic, not the steady blink-blink-blink you'd expect. Little did I know that it also meant that the outside front blinker doesn't work at all. Can't use this vehicle, the woman apologetically explained.

I begged for 10 minutes, time to run home to get the truck. It works! But oh, Lauren would have to parallel park the truck, something we'd not practiced and difficult for even experienced drivers. And the smell! Oh, the smell! Our truck is our farm truck, our drive our horses and dogs truck. And it leaks a tiny bit, okay a lot, when it rains and it has a rather musty odor. And the tester was wearing black pants! Can you say "dog hair"? All the other candidates had arrived in new cars.

Still, we hurried home and as Lauren drove, I covered the seat with a towel and rolled down the windows. The tester was there waiting, and I apologized for our vehicles. "My husband drives our good car," I said, trying to dispel the notion that when we finished, we'd go home to our trailer with a refrigerator on the front porch. They drove off. I sat watching clouds until they returned. She passed, with the tester telling Lauren that she wasn't sure she could have parallel parked the truck.

And so, from a little toddler who would stand and sing us songs, to a young woman that can drive alone, she continues to grow up and away.

Clifty Falls

The "clifty" part should have warned us that the hiking was uphill - both ways. Or so it seemed that we were mostly always hiking up huge hills. Interesting, isn't it, that you don't much notice the change in elevation going down. Going back up is a different story. And, who would guess that flat Indiana has enormous drops and cliffs?

We consulted maps and looked for landmarks, and somehow, still ended up hiking a trail we had decided was too long and rugged - over 4.5 miles. William would be revitalized when we came to a creek or rocks to climb up. In between, he kept up the chant that his legs just wouldn't work much longer. At over fifty pounds, he had the choice of walking or remaining behind for bear food. He decided to keep going.

The day ended at a large creek where the kids all played in the water and threw rocks, and then climbed the observation tower to see the Ohio River.

Notes

Anna has an alternative suggestion to home-based learner: self-taught genius.

A Rose By Any Other Name....

Amid threats of thunderstorms and hail, fire and brimstone, we are going hiking today at Clifty Falls. We'd visited it last September and because of the drought, found it Clifty but no Falls. We hope to have a bit of water to view, but in the stream beds, and not on our heads.

In my small mind today is the thought that I've always been uncomfortable with the term "homeschooler". It implies school desks, textbooks, an American flag in the corner of a room complete with blackboard whiteboard (lest I show my age). I am asked about my "qualifications" and grade books, how I keep track of attendance (uh, if the student doesn't report to class I would call the police). It's the "schooler" part that bothers me, though certainly, we have times when "home" doesn't really apply either, since we are often on the go.

When we faced the decision as to whether to send the kids to school or not, we decided to take a positive approach and choose to learn at home because we thought it best, not because it was the only alternative to a bad situation should it develop. As we proceeded, we liked it enough to not change. Yet, it never really looked like "school" and all that implies with the mindset, the paradigm of school culture. It was more about "learning" and less about structure of "school".

Often, adults ask my kids questions like "what grade are you in?" or "what school do you attend?" because they are unable to formulate real questions that show interest (and that you would use with an adult) like "do you have a hobby?" or "what interests you these days?". It is with these limited questions that we end up replying that we "homeschool". There's that word again, school, reinforcing all that it implies.

I've decided that "homelearner" is a better description and answer, for we don't do "school" the way the word implies and learner gets more to the heart of the change I'd like to see in and out of schools. Still, the home part conjures again the poor isolated child that is never socialized. Ah, how about "home-based learners". I may try that on for size. Perhaps, it is only a name, but sometimes, Mr. Shakespeare, words can change things.

Notes:
Thanks to It's All Nurture and her post on being a "non-schooler" (also a good choice) for the blog topic.

We're out of chicken food, so I'm off to get more quickly before we leave. Buffy, who is our very oldest chicken, has decided to lay again. Miracles do happen. Just to be ornery, the two Aracaunas decided to not lay eggs since Buffy is.

You can't grow flowers in pots if miniature horses get up on your deck and eat them.

Science Friday - Flagging

Recently, we noticed a number of dead branches in what are otherwise healthy trees in our yard, particularly the weeping willows. We correctly suspected cicada damage. The female uses her oviposter like a tiny saw, making two parallel lines that split the twig and there she deposits her eggs. This causes the twig to die and hang down, which is why it is referred to as "flagging".


The above photo shows the slits in the twig. Using a compound microscope, we were able to view the little rice-like eggs that were in the holes. We put the branch back outside so that after the eggs hatch, the nymphs can burrow down into the soil and grow for the next seventeen years. By the next time we see them, William will be twenty three years old and will, like the cicada nymphs, also have transformed into a different creature altogether.