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.
For context, scroll back through my several recent blogs dealing with the impressive Shaggy Mane fungus. As promised, I checked the patch on Jackson Street this morning, and they has both grown and disintegrated! The stems are around 3: taller than they were yesterday, yet the caps are further along in their self-digestion. I suspect there will be no sign of caps remaining tomorrow.
I should add that neither "death throes" nor "hibernation" are technically correct descriptions of this scene. If I could use time-lapse photography and show what happened to these caps over 24 hours in a one-minute clip, it might look like "throes," but it wouldn't be death because the fungus will continue to live below ground. Then we can think of each "mushroom" like a wart - a wart the comes and goes, but happens to carry all the DNA of the whole organism. Maybe I'm stretching my poetic license a bit too far. It's also not really hibernation, even though the fungus is getting ready for winter.