Biology day camp

As I've mentioned previous summers, the Sson is an ecologist who almost always travels with camera, specimen containers and a fine microscope. What it adds up to for the three grandchildren who've been visiting is a veritable biology day camp.

One granddaughter met a beautiful snake, who assumed the boa position.

Grandson came across more than one Prescott area lizard...

And the littlest granddotter caught herself a polliwog or two. Note that this fellow is well on his way to frogdom.

And everybody pitched in to add various arthropods to Sson's collection, shown here after they emerged from the deep freeze.

Furthermore, the little one had a chance to see wasp larvae through the microscope -- and she was changed from one who goes a girly eeoooh at the sight of a bug into a kid who is quite happy to collect and handle the six-legged critters.

Granddotter does the library

As I mentioned yesterday, the house is now full! Grandchild #3 is now here, tagging along after the teen-age pair. But this morning, the dotter and I took her over to the library to meet Tippy in person (she's had a letter with pictures of the various persona that Tippy has worn over the year). Doggone, she was disappointed. She expected Tippy to be much bigger! Maybe like the dinos she met out Iron Springs Road a couple of years ago. That's what comes of cropping in on one's pictures -- the subject looks bigger than life! Now I happened to like Rodeo Tippy, ready for a week of big doings.

On the other hand, the Blue Hair Challenge caught her imagination. The idea is that if 1000 kids/teens sign up to read 15 minutes per day every day until the end of July, the children's librarians will show up in blue hair at the final day celebration. She signed up, even though she won't be here for the finale. (FYI, the Challenge is already over-subscribed.)

And then proceeded to do her 15-minute read.

Next, I just had to show off the horney toad and the lion. I think the lion was a bigger hit with the dotter than with the GD.

On the other hand, the little bronze girl in the garden really scored. FYI, she reports that there were no words in that book, just lines running across the pages.

Home improvement for the vines

Thanks to requests for contraband seeds from out of state, my many morning glories are about to take off climbing. Right now, the skies the limit. But I've been concerned that 1) there isn't enough room on the few sticks that comprise the "arbor" on my staircase landing and 2) they are too short. Some time ago, I made mental plans for a taller "arbor" with members extending much higher. After all, the longer and higher the vines climb, the longer they blossom.

Fortunately, I currently have a household labor force visiting: the grandchildren from Louisiana. Grandson was armed with the handy bow saw and and sent with his sister up the hill into the big mountain mahogany patch where the tall, reasonably straight stems grow.

Once the requested 8-9 poles were cut, the team gathered them up, proceeded down the hill and through the house to carry them down stairs. Yes, they could have climbed all the way down outside the house; they just didn't think of it... Kids, you know.

Next step, trimming all those little side branches, twigs and leaves, finally mounting the poles along side the previous sticks to offer more places for the flowers to clamber. (To answer the question about the hairdo, the cutting and trimming happened yesterday. Today, the arbor was finished just before Omegamom and the other granddaughter arrived from Alaska. Full house.)

A high cross piece holds the poles in a more orderly pattern. We could have used yet another cross piece about two-three feet higher, but that was a bit too much of a project for the current work team. Aren't grandkids wonderful (even if they drag a sheaf of mountain mahogany cutoffs through the living room to get downstairs)?

Behold: before (above) and after (below).

The well labelled trail

Thursday, while I napped, the SSon & family climbed Thumb Butte. Granddaughter K. tried out her new camera and I must say that the gods of Serendip smiled, resulting in a series of photos worthy of her GrannyJ, as you shall see.

We know that Interpretive Signs are all the rage on publicly managed lands, such as Prescott National Forest. However, the newly minted photographer discovered an entire new genre of labels in the wild:

Namely, those wee grocery store fruit labels with numbers so that cashiers who know from nothing about an ugli or a star fruit can punch in the right number at the register. So we have been trying to imagine this troop of youngsters making certain that they carried a full market basket of different fruit on their climb; both trails, by the way, according to Grandson. Above, peach and, below, either a banana or a pineapple. (Do imagine handling the Hawaiian goodie while hiking, will you?)

...Nectarine and apple. Oh yes, each has been carefully placed inside a limb scar.

...Peach and avocado...

...Two mysteries, one of which will keep you alive forever, if Dole is to be believed.

...Anybody have an idea what Bionature is into, aside from being a likely "organic" grower? And (below), it appears that the modern defuzzed peach is a popular fruit.

...Another peach and a Dole twofer (below) as the grand climax.

As a species of graffiti, this is pretty cool. The labels are small and should deteriorate reasonably fast, in the meantime posing all sorts of interesting conjectures as well as encouraging kids to eat fruit.

Full House!

The last time you met my Sson and his family was a year ago -- perhaps you recall the episode of the spadefoot toad or the splendid toad's eye photos. Anyhow, they arrive tomorrow -- all four of them -- for a week or so, drying out after living for several months in bayou country.

Wahoo! The Merry Maids have cleaned the house and I've got a week ahead in which I won't have to touch a dish. Besides, the company is great and no doubt there will be some fine excursions in the outback. Maybe even a new critter as exciting as the toad! However, blogging time may get short shrift. We'll see.

Putting a Stake Thru the Heart of a Road

It doesn't always result in a dead road. Frequently, when wandering the forests, you'll come across a dead stake, instead. Backroad rage maybe. "These forests belong to me. The people, not the Forest Service!" I'll admit to similar reactions at times.


Some drivers know the secret of a stake driven through the heart of a road, like the broken one my grandson is holding up for admiration. It's this -- the stake is usually on a flexible hinge & it pops back up after one drives over it. A paper tiger, that's what it is! After all, the G-Men in Green may have to drive up the forbidden lane that we the people are supposed to walk.

So it gets driven over, again and again, & finally gives out. Or, just as likely, someone slays it with a well placed rock or two.


My late husband and I did a lot of exploration in the woods hereabouts. Mind you, we had been city folks most of our lives and came west in our 50s -- we weren't in the greatest of shape. We figured that we were usually good for about one or two miles out and the same back, depending upon the terrain and the heat. So we counted upon any one of our little Subaru wagons to get us close to whatever the day's objective might be. Forest Service and topo maps were our guide.

Believe me, it can be damned frustrating (and, yes, enraging, at times) to discover, after several miles of creeping on a rutted back road, that the turn-off route you had carefully selected had been decomissioned. A stake. Or a big fat, impassible berm. All at the whim of some uniformed bureaucrat. Admittedly, we didn't kill the dang things.

Even more frustrating was to set forth on an expedition to a favorite place, only to discover that, Oops, our usual route had suddenly been declared taboo. Complete with the usual brown stake. Or a fat, impassible berm.

That's what leads to the sense of being gradually closed in -- a common affliction of older people or of old-timers in a locale. On the one hand, some less popular backroads get blacktopped -- and crowded -- while others have stakes driven through their hearts. I hate it!

Examples abound. For instance, once it was possible to drive all the way to Mint Creek from the Williamson Valley trailhead. About a mile. Today, the trailhead has been gussied up, but you have to wear yourselves out walking the dull mile to what had once been your take-off point. (We always figured that complaints from posh WV homeowners who had paid big bucks to back on the forest had something to do with that particular closure...)

And, we never got down to the Verde Hot Springs ruin near Childs, being too chicken to try fording the Verde. Yes, there had been a forest road from the West to this one-time resort. But -- it was bermed. I suspect the idea was to keep the hippies and their successors out -- a forlorn hope. After all, they were/are young and reasonably buff. It sure worked on us, however.


Here's a picture of the road that started off this rant. Yes, I certainly am able to see why the PNF wants to close it -- look at the ruts and erosion.

I can see the point of view of those who are younger and buffer -- no-vehicles-allowed keeps the crowds down and hikes more solitary. (I like my hikes solitary, too, unless I happen to sprain an ankle one mile out!)

City folks like the black top so that they, too, can enjoy the outback -- without layering their big cars in dust.

In short, you can't win!

It's the Tragedy of the Commons (a famous essay by Garrett Hardin) in a microcosm. Land that belongs to all is too often exploited by all, with a result no one wants.

Note: the AZ Fish and Game Department will hold 12 open houses on the subject of roadless areas in the forests. The Prescott meeting: 6-9 p.m. Thursday, July 20, in the county building, 1015 Fair St. All public comment must be in writing -- to avoid grandstanding, says AFGD.

Road Toad

We had just visited my Mom at the upscale assisted living facility. We, consisting of me, the stepson, his wife and my two grandchildren who are visiting me this week. Before we leave the grounds, Sson puts on the brakes. "It's a toad."

And so the adventure begins.


When we get home, out comes a proper container for the odd small vertebrate or interesting insect. (SSon is an ecologist, professionally, with the Park Service. He comes equipped.)

It turns out that the critter is a spadefoot toad. Not necessarily rare, but rarely seen, says SS, adding that in nearly 30 years in the Arizona outback, he's never happened across one.

Reason being, spadefoots normally hide underground most of the year. "During summer monsoons, the spadefoot is well-known for emerging from its subterranean estivation to breed in the temporary ponds created by the heavy runoff. Interestingly, the cue for adult emergence during these summer thunderstorms is not moisture, but rather low frequency sound or vibration, most likely caused by rainfall or thunder.

"Upon emergence, males begin calling to attract females. Their calls sound like the bleating of sheep or goats. One female may lay as many as 3000 eggs. Once the eggs are laid, they must hatch quickly into tadpoles before these shallow pools disappear. And hatch quickly they do—at water temperatures of 86°F (30°C) eggs hatch in 15 hours! Tadpoles must also metamorphose quickly—2 weeks on average, sometimes as little as 9 days—into froglets before the ponds dry up. In this exacting atmosphere very few eggs make it to young frogs." All this according to the Desert Sonoran Museum.

Of course, it is time for a series of proper pictures in a less confined space. Once Free! Whee! the toad begins, first, to hop away, then to use his spurred hind feet to dig right into the pathway.


While I don't come equipped with a hot new professional digital camera, I do get this shot of our toad in a proper natural background. I'm reasonably pleased!

Finally, it is time to release our captive. We pick the creek area at the back of Prescott College's Crossroads Center.

And wash our hands thoroughly. The spadefoot releases a toxic substance through his skin. If he had been the Colorado River toad and we were folks with an interest in far out visions, we might have licked our fingers, instead.

Later: for accuracy's sake, the commentary on toads above refers to Couch's spadefoot toad, which is a desert species; our mountain amphibian is, says Sson, a Hammond's spadefoot.

This little exercise in research has taught me a lesson or two about Google. 1st -- there were far more entries about toad licking than about the spadefoot toad. 2nd, there was no reference to the Hammond's version. 3rd, Firefly Forest is not Googled -- and it had a neat little reference to the spadefoot toad.