Nearly a month went by without any new posts, despite my recent statements about blogging in earnest. I found that teaching writing classes not only involved lots of time grading papers but also focused my interest on writing. I'm actually writing a lot in various journals and notebooks, but was not focusing in the short run on material I wanted to post here. Finally, in the month of July, I managed to resume my average of one post per day for the month. I plan to surpass that volume from here on out. What I post here, combined with my daily writing in journals, is mostly fine-tuning what I hope to publish in a memoir about my experiences in education as student, parent, teacher, supporter and critic.
Meanwhile, I am still available for guiding local nature hikes. Contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org to inquire about rates and parameters of time, distance, and personal needs regarding matters of health and fitness.
I have been teaching since 1965 and have recently joined the English Department as an Associate Faculty member at Feather River College. Recently taught Nature Literature in America and am currently teaching Interpersonal Communication and Basic Reading and Writing.
This photo taken about an hour after the ones in my previous post. It's probably just another attempt to deny the onset of winter. But I thought the scene was rather pretty. I'm wondering how much metabolism continues underground once the surface is covered with snow. It must depend on temperature, of course, but there must be some limit. Last year around this time we had weeks of single digit temperatures, and I'm sure the freeze line must have extended at least a foot below the surface. What about all the seeds that germinate in the spring. Does their metabolism completely stop during these times? If so, are they still alive? How dormant is dormant? Plant physiologists can answer these questions, of course, but as a naturalist, I have too many questions to answer. I just enjoy wondering, and I do a little research in the cases I can't resist. I'm amazed by things like a patch of lichen on a rock only two or three inches in diameter that may be several hundred years old. That's what I call a slow metabolism. Compare that to some plants that can gain a foot in height overnight. I wonder at what point in the evolutionary tree of animals curiosity first appears, and whether it confers any survival advantage on those that develop it. Will curiosity save us or finish us off? I keep changing my mind on this subject.