Friday, June 20, 2014
Monday, June 9, 2014
Invertebrate Group Names
I've found there are many names to call something by, but perhaps some of the most fun are the words for groups of animals.
| Invertebrates: | |
| Ant | A colony or an army of ants |
| Bacteria | A culture of bacteria |
| Bees | A grist, hive, swarm, drift or erst |
| Caterpillars | An army |
| Clam | A bed of clams |
| Cockroaches | An intrusion |
| Fly | A swarm, hatch, cloud or business of flies |
| Gnat | A cloud or horde of gnats |
| Grasshoppers | A cloud |
| Hornets | A nest |
| Insects | A flight, a swarm |
| Jellyfish | A fluther, a smack, smuck or brood of jellyfish |
| Lice | A flock of lice |
| Locust | A plague or cloud of locusts |
| Oysters | A bed |
| Wasp | A pledge of wasps |
Reptile & Amphibian Group Names
I've found there are many names to call something by, but perhaps some of the most fun are the words for groups of animals.
| Reptiles and Amphibians: | |
| Cobra | A quiver of cobras |
| Crocodile | A float or bask of crocodiles |
| Frog | An army or colony of frogs |
| Rattlesnake | A rhumba of rattlesnakes |
| Snake | A nest or knot of snakes |
| Toad | A knot or knab of toads |
| Turtles | A bale, nest, or turn |
| Viper | A nest of vipers |
| Fish: | |
| Fish- general- | A draft, nest, school, shoal (some authors claim that the common "school" is a corruption of shoal, and therefore incorrect) also haul, catch, run of fish |
| Bass | A shoal |
| Fish | A school, shoal, run, haul, catch of fish |
| Goldfish | A troubling of goldfish |
| Herring | An army |
| Minnow | A steam of minnows |
| Sardine | A family of sardines |
| Sharks | A shiver |
| Trout | A hover |
Bird Group Names
I've found there are many names to call something by, but perhaps some of the most fun are the words for groups of animals.
| Birds: | |
| Birds in general | - A flight (in the air), flock (on the ground), volary (volery), brace (generally for gamebirds or waterfowl, referring to a pair or couple killed by a hunter), a congregation, pod, A zeal |
| Bitterns | A sedge |
| Bobolinks | A chain |
| Bullfinches | A bellowing |
| Bullocks | A drove |
| Buzzards | A wake |
| Chicken | A brood or clutch or peep of chickens |
| Chicks (of species) | A brood; clutch, chattering of chicks |
| Choughs | A chattering or clattering of |
| Coots | A cover, a covert |
| Cormorants | A gulp |
| Crane | A sedge, a herd or siege of cranes |
| Crows | A murder, horde |
| Curlew | A Herd |
| Dotterel | A trip |
| Doves | A dule, a dole, a piteousness or pitying (specific to turtle doves) |
| Ducks | A brace, flock (in flight), raft, bunch, team, or paddling (on water), a safe (on land) badling |
| Dunlins | A fling |
| Eagles | A convocation |
| Emus | A mob of emus |
| Finches | A charm or chirm of finches |
| Flamingos | A stand, pat, flamboyance |
| Geese | A flock, gaggle (on the ground), skein or team or wedge (in flight) |
| Goldfinch | A charm of goldfinches |
| Grouse | A pack (in late season) or covey of grouse |
| Gulls | A colony |
| Hawks | A cast, kettle (flying in large numbers), boil (two or more spiraling in flight) |
| Hen | A brood of hens |
| Heron | A hedge or scattering of herons, A sedge, a siege |
| Jays | A party, scold |
| Lapwings | A deceit, a desert |
| Lark | An ascension or exaltation of larks |
| Magpies | A tiding, tittering gulp, murder, charm |
| Mallards | A sord (in flight), brace or suit of mallard |
| Marten | A richness, or richesse of martens |
| Nightingales | A watch |
| Owls | A parliament |
| Parrots | A company, a pandemonium |
| Partridge | A covey |
| Peacock | A muster or ostentation of peacocks |
| Peep | A litter of peeps |
| Penguin | A colony of penguins, muster or parcel or rookery |
| Pheasant | A nest, nide (nye) head or bouquet of pheasants |
| Pigeon | A flock or flight of pigeons, a kit of flying pigeons |
| Plovers | A congregation, stand of plovers, wing (in flight) |
| Pochards | A rush or flight |
| Ptarmigans | A covey |
| Quail | A bevy, covey, drift |
| Raven | An unkindness of ravens |
| Rook | A building, parliment or clamour of rooks |
| Ruffs | A hill |
| Sheldrake | A dopping |
| Snipe | A walk, a wisp |
| Sparrows | A host |
| Starlings | A murmuration |
| Storks | A mustering |
| Swallows | A flight |
| Swan | A bevy, herd, lamentation, game; a wedge (in flight) of swans |
| Swift | A flock of swifts |
| Teal | A spring |
| Turkeys | A rafter, gang |
| Turtle dove | A pitying or dule of turtle doves |
| Widgeons | A company, a trip |
| Wild ducks | A team (in flight) |
| Wild fowl | A bunch, trip, plump, knob (less than 30) |
| Woodcocks | A fall |
| Woodpeckers | A descent |
| Wrens | A herd |
Mammal Group Names
I've found there are many names to call something by, but perhaps some of the most fun are the words for groups of animals.
| Mammals: | |
| Apes | A shrewdness |
| Asses | A herd or pace |
| Antelope | A herd of antelope |
| Baboons | A troop of baboons |
| Badger | A cete of badgers |
| Bats | A colony |
| Bear | A sleuth or sloth of bears |
| Beaver | A colony of beavers |
| Boar | A sounder of boars |
| Buck | A brace or clash of bucks |
| Buffalo | A gang, an obstinacy for old world buffalo, herd for American bison |
| Cats | A clutter, kindle, intrigue, clowder or glaring of cats; a litter, or pounce for kittens |
| Cattle | A drove, herd |
| Colt | A rag or rake of colts |
| Cow | A kine of cows (twelve cows are a flink) |
| Coyote | A band of coyote |
| Cub | A litter of cubs |
| Curs | A cowardice of curs |
| Deer | A herd or mob; a bevy (refers only to roe bucks), |
| Dogs | A puppies (young) litter (group of pups) young, pack (wild), cowardice (of curs); specific to hounds... A cry, mute, pack, kennel |
| Dolphins | A school |
| Donkey | A herd or pace of asses |
| Elephant | A herd or parade of elephants |
| Elk | A gang or herd |
| Ferret | A business or busyness or fesnyng of ferrets |
| Fox | A leash, skulk, earth |
| Giraffes | A tower, a herd |
| Goat | A herd, tribe, a trip a flock goats |
| Gorilla | A band of gorillas |
| Greyhound | A leash of greyhounds |
| Hare | A down, a mute or husk of hares |
| Hippopotamuses | A bloat |
| Hog | A drift, or parcel of hogs |
| Horses | A drove, team, harras, rag (for colts), stud (a group of horses belonging to a single owner, string (ponies) pair (grouped pulling horses), a string of racehorses |
| Hound | A pack, kennel, mute or cry of hounds |
| Hyenas | A cackle |
| Kangaroo | A troop or mob of kangaroos |
| Kitten | A kindle or litter of kittens |
| Leopard | A leap (leep) or lepe of leopards |
| Lion | A pride or sawt |
| Mare | A stud of mares |
| Mole | A labor or movement of moles |
| Monkey | A troop or cartload of monkeys |
| Mule | A barren or span of mules |
| Monkeys | A troop, barrel |
| Mules | A pack, span, barren |
| Otters | A romp |
| Oxen | A yoke, drove, team or herd of oxen |
| Pigs | A drift, drove, litter (young), herd, sounder (of swine), team, passel (of hogs), singular (refers to a group of boars) |
| Pony | A string of ponies |
| Porcupines | A prickle |
| Porpoise | A pod or school or herd or turmoil |
| Rabbits | A colony, warren, nest, herd (domestic only), litter (young); specific to hares...A down, husk |
| Raccoon | A gaze of raccoons |
| Rat | A pack or swarm of rats |
| Rhino | A crash or herd of rhinos |
| Seals | A pod or herd or rookery |
| Sheep | A drove, a flock or herd or trip or mob |
| Squirrels | A dray, scurry |
| Swine | A sounder or drift or herd of swine |
| Tigers | A streak |
| Walrus | A pod of walrus |
| Weasel | A pack of weasels |
| Whale | A school, herd, gam or pod of whales |
| Wild Boars | A sounder |
| Wild cats | A destruction |
| Wild pigs | A drift |
| Wolves | A pack, rout or route (when in movement) |
Memories and Interactions
My sister is an orthotic practitioner who makes and sells braces for all manner of woes (including my fractured leg from February). Anyway, part of some braces require making molds, and for feet, the mold is cast from a box of very expensive foam that contours to the footsies.
The reason I mention this is the memory of my sister explaining the foam to me. While describing the process of making a mold, my sis opened the box containing the very expensive purple foam in front of me. While she continued to explain the process, I did what I usually do to something in front of me - I poked it.
Needless to say, I *almost* ruined a $45 box of what turned out to be very soft foam, now permanently indented from my little pointer finger. If I was a normal person, I would have let my sister finish explaining the purpose of the foam, and read any warnings on the box before considering actually touching it.
I'm not normal.
I wanted to, no, NEEDED to touch it, to affirm for myself what it was. I've always been like that. If it is possible for me to experience something for myself, I tend to do it. My mother says I have to do things 'my way', even if that isn't the best or easiest way. I learned to 'listen' to teachers, experts, sure, but if and when given my way, I ignore their voices at first.
In regards to natural exploration, I go for the experience, and later find out all the reasons I shouldn't have - rattlesnakes, rapids, poison plants or pissed off land owners. But when given the opportunity to be somewhere I haven't, see something new, I HAVE to get at it and use my own 5 senses to find what something truly 'is'. Often my desire for adventure overrides my desire for being perfectly safe or keeping within social bounds. This leads me to be very alert and learn a lot from my current surroundings, while being a tad oblivious to my current position. The information gained though, the experience, has always proven worth more than the possible danger or social repercussions.
Backyard, early 1990's - I was small, small enough that our Great Dane mixed mutt's shoulders were just a little below my own with both of us standing. On this one day, another foot of snow had fallen on top of the 2 or 3 feet of snow already on the ground. I started making my way down the hill, trusty dog at my side. Good thing, because within 2 minutes, I had fallen into a deep pile of snow. Arms flailing, feet unable to find purchase, I had my first memory of fear. I couldn't get up, couldn't bend right with all the layers of insulation, and I was just far enough away from the house my yells wouldn't get me immediate help. However, I took a breath, quit thrashing, and called out to what was near me.
Lucky, that self-less animal, bounded through the snow and stood next to me, and I was able to wrap my stubby arms around the dog's hips, who then worked her way forward, pulling me up to my feet again. This little drama played out 3 or 4 more times as I worked my way back up the hill. Once inside the house, my face was red and stiff with cold, my snow suit containing as much snow inside as out. Lucky shook herself, water droplets of melted snow flying through the air and dotting the entryway rug. It was the first time I didn't have to rely on my parents to come to my aid. And I felt good.
Gooseberry Falls, mid 1990's - Things may be different now, but when I went, they didn't rope any areas off. They let people's common sense control where they went in the area, so naturally, I found myself walking on the slick stones at the top of the waterfalls, staring down at all the tiny people playing in the basins carved from the rushing water. Later, my sister and I climbed the cliff side, trying to get to a cave. The cave, sadly, turned out to be just a divot in cliff side, but mom took pictures and upon looking at them, I realized how high we had climbed. No gear, no padded drop. Mom considered what we were doing, decided us capable of it, and let us attempt it. Not something that is proclaimed as good parenting anymore, with everything from social services to TV ads saying we need to protect our kids from everything.
Duluth, early 2000's - At a campsite in Duluth when I was 16, 2 friends and I went for a walk. We came across a sheer rock wall, raising like the craggy back of an ancient monster pushing out of the ground. I convinced my friend to climb up and over it, to see what was on the other side. Halfway up, my one friend ran out of handholds, so I scampered down and held tight while she used my shoulder for a stepping stone. Seeing her continue her way up, I looked to my left, and saw a 10 year old girl in full mountain climbing gear - helmet, harness, her belaying father holding the ropes. Her eyes were wide and awed, possibly at the lithe farm girls scaling the rock, possibly at our stupidity. I waved at her, and continued climbing. Later, I realized we probably climbed 60 feet off the ground. Yes, an accident would have had us hurting. But, when you consider some people die slipping in their kitchen.
So yes, over the years I've been chased by cows, dogs, hawks, barn swallows and other animals on my quests I've been near trampled by deer while sleeping on a hillside, heard the shake of a rattlesnake climbing a rocky cliff, and dug in antique trash piles a midst poison ivy roots. I managed to live this long, in part because of my parents expectations that I would, and in part because of the brand of common sense they instilled in me. Instead of knowing the dangers and avoiding them, which is the stale and common place method, my parents taught me to learn of dangers and deal with things if and when they occurred. Instead of being told which paths to avoid to miss the prickly ash on the horse trails, my sister and I learned to walk low, dealing with the occasional scrapes, and Mom dealt with the torn holes and rips in clothing. Scrapes are proof you're trying. Torn clothing is proof you pushed through. We could have avoided those paths, but then we'd never have seen the places they led.
And with that, I digress with my reminiscent thoughts. Nature is a beautiful thing, and kids need to experience it with all their senses. Being in nature should never be a lesson of boundaries and limits. It should be a study of cause and effect, a real world determination of if something is worth it. All of this culminates in a child as their common sense, not just memorized lists of things not to do. When applied to the world, this inborn common sense creates a strong person capable of not just learning, but determining for themselves true cost and true value.
It also instills the need to poke things.
The reason I mention this is the memory of my sister explaining the foam to me. While describing the process of making a mold, my sis opened the box containing the very expensive purple foam in front of me. While she continued to explain the process, I did what I usually do to something in front of me - I poked it.
Needless to say, I *almost* ruined a $45 box of what turned out to be very soft foam, now permanently indented from my little pointer finger. If I was a normal person, I would have let my sister finish explaining the purpose of the foam, and read any warnings on the box before considering actually touching it.
I'm not normal.
I wanted to, no, NEEDED to touch it, to affirm for myself what it was. I've always been like that. If it is possible for me to experience something for myself, I tend to do it. My mother says I have to do things 'my way', even if that isn't the best or easiest way. I learned to 'listen' to teachers, experts, sure, but if and when given my way, I ignore their voices at first.
In regards to natural exploration, I go for the experience, and later find out all the reasons I shouldn't have - rattlesnakes, rapids, poison plants or pissed off land owners. But when given the opportunity to be somewhere I haven't, see something new, I HAVE to get at it and use my own 5 senses to find what something truly 'is'. Often my desire for adventure overrides my desire for being perfectly safe or keeping within social bounds. This leads me to be very alert and learn a lot from my current surroundings, while being a tad oblivious to my current position. The information gained though, the experience, has always proven worth more than the possible danger or social repercussions.
Backyard, early 1990's - I was small, small enough that our Great Dane mixed mutt's shoulders were just a little below my own with both of us standing. On this one day, another foot of snow had fallen on top of the 2 or 3 feet of snow already on the ground. I started making my way down the hill, trusty dog at my side. Good thing, because within 2 minutes, I had fallen into a deep pile of snow. Arms flailing, feet unable to find purchase, I had my first memory of fear. I couldn't get up, couldn't bend right with all the layers of insulation, and I was just far enough away from the house my yells wouldn't get me immediate help. However, I took a breath, quit thrashing, and called out to what was near me.
Lucky, that self-less animal, bounded through the snow and stood next to me, and I was able to wrap my stubby arms around the dog's hips, who then worked her way forward, pulling me up to my feet again. This little drama played out 3 or 4 more times as I worked my way back up the hill. Once inside the house, my face was red and stiff with cold, my snow suit containing as much snow inside as out. Lucky shook herself, water droplets of melted snow flying through the air and dotting the entryway rug. It was the first time I didn't have to rely on my parents to come to my aid. And I felt good.
Gooseberry Falls, mid 1990's - Things may be different now, but when I went, they didn't rope any areas off. They let people's common sense control where they went in the area, so naturally, I found myself walking on the slick stones at the top of the waterfalls, staring down at all the tiny people playing in the basins carved from the rushing water. Later, my sister and I climbed the cliff side, trying to get to a cave. The cave, sadly, turned out to be just a divot in cliff side, but mom took pictures and upon looking at them, I realized how high we had climbed. No gear, no padded drop. Mom considered what we were doing, decided us capable of it, and let us attempt it. Not something that is proclaimed as good parenting anymore, with everything from social services to TV ads saying we need to protect our kids from everything.
Duluth, early 2000's - At a campsite in Duluth when I was 16, 2 friends and I went for a walk. We came across a sheer rock wall, raising like the craggy back of an ancient monster pushing out of the ground. I convinced my friend to climb up and over it, to see what was on the other side. Halfway up, my one friend ran out of handholds, so I scampered down and held tight while she used my shoulder for a stepping stone. Seeing her continue her way up, I looked to my left, and saw a 10 year old girl in full mountain climbing gear - helmet, harness, her belaying father holding the ropes. Her eyes were wide and awed, possibly at the lithe farm girls scaling the rock, possibly at our stupidity. I waved at her, and continued climbing. Later, I realized we probably climbed 60 feet off the ground. Yes, an accident would have had us hurting. But, when you consider some people die slipping in their kitchen.
So yes, over the years I've been chased by cows, dogs, hawks, barn swallows and other animals on my quests I've been near trampled by deer while sleeping on a hillside, heard the shake of a rattlesnake climbing a rocky cliff, and dug in antique trash piles a midst poison ivy roots. I managed to live this long, in part because of my parents expectations that I would, and in part because of the brand of common sense they instilled in me. Instead of knowing the dangers and avoiding them, which is the stale and common place method, my parents taught me to learn of dangers and deal with things if and when they occurred. Instead of being told which paths to avoid to miss the prickly ash on the horse trails, my sister and I learned to walk low, dealing with the occasional scrapes, and Mom dealt with the torn holes and rips in clothing. Scrapes are proof you're trying. Torn clothing is proof you pushed through. We could have avoided those paths, but then we'd never have seen the places they led.
And with that, I digress with my reminiscent thoughts. Nature is a beautiful thing, and kids need to experience it with all their senses. Being in nature should never be a lesson of boundaries and limits. It should be a study of cause and effect, a real world determination of if something is worth it. All of this culminates in a child as their common sense, not just memorized lists of things not to do. When applied to the world, this inborn common sense creates a strong person capable of not just learning, but determining for themselves true cost and true value.
It also instills the need to poke things.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Another day at the Riparian
Today I found time to visit the Riparian Preserve, but it is getting SOO hot out during the day, I couldn't bring myself to hike about. So, with the temp over 100 degrees, I set up on a picnic bench by the one pond, and decided to sketch whatever came my way. There was a lot of life to see, even on the mowed lawn at the edge of the park.
First, there were COTTONTAILS, everywhere. I counted at least 10 near the parking lot. I think a few litters just got big enough to leave the burrow. They were waiting out the noonday sun in the shady areas of lawn. The one nearest the picnic shelter I sat at, after deciding I wasn't going to eat him, lolled about and took a nap.
There were a lot of house sparrows patrolling this particular shady spot. I didn't realize they were community nesters, and the males were in full force enforcing. They chased off a little wren that was trying to dig up some grub from 'their' grass. I noticed one sparrow with a feather in its mouth, and saw it fly up to the rafter of the picnic shelter and run into one of the open metal beams. It appears the nest keeps getting decorated even after the chicks hatch. I also noticed they were hot, as the sparrows, and most of the other birds I saw, had their beaks open and were panting.
After a while, a curved bill thrasher swooped down and scared off sparrows and rabbit alike. However, the little wren from before took this chance to grub at the grass, and the thrasher didn't seem to be bothered by him. In fact, after scaring off the sparrows he looked around, and flew off. This only continues my belief that curved bill thrashers are bullies.
Some time passes...
I had seen the ducks earlier passing by the pond, but halfway through my sketching, I was approached by this motley little crew. They walked right up to me, giving me the 'where's the goods?' stare. Somebody must be feeding the ducks, because the one tried to get in my bag after I didn't give them anything. They appeared to be 'manky mallards', mallards bred about (domestically or otherwise) to have variances in color. This one is bred for farms, sold as a "Black Swedish" mallard.
Once they decided I honestly didn't have food, they settled down for a nap under my picnic table. It was still over 100 degrees out, and they were apparently too tired to be bothered by me, so I just ignored them and kept sketching.
A while later, I watched the ducks loll off to the water. Well, the girls lolled. The boy got spooked, started flying, and I heard him collide with a large bush before splashing into the water.
Looking around, I considered taking photos of the two mourning doves that had been pecking at the earth behind me, and then I noticed a not-quite-right bird nestled down. I took some close up photos and thought everything about it seemed like an extra fluffy pigeon. I was right, as watching it, when it finally stood up and followed the mourning doves into the trees, I saw its red feet. It was a very large immature mourning dove, or fledgling. It looked like a rock until it moved. I may scour the area later to try get a picture of the nest, which is likely in that bramble of limbs behind them.
On the way out, I looked up and saw what appeared a mocking bird prancing through the grass, and it flew up into the tree. I followed with my eyes, and noted it had a twiggy nest built up on one branch of a large palo verde tree. At first I thought it was another curve billed thrasher, but it had white on its front and belly, and was more of a grey color than the buff of the thrashers here.
Getting into my car, I thought about how nice nature was and how calm I felt. Then the A/C kicked on, and I left the park with fewer misgivings, because, well, it was still over 100 degrees out at 6:00pm.
First, there were COTTONTAILS, everywhere. I counted at least 10 near the parking lot. I think a few litters just got big enough to leave the burrow. They were waiting out the noonday sun in the shady areas of lawn. The one nearest the picnic shelter I sat at, after deciding I wasn't going to eat him, lolled about and took a nap.
After a while, a curved bill thrasher swooped down and scared off sparrows and rabbit alike. However, the little wren from before took this chance to grub at the grass, and the thrasher didn't seem to be bothered by him. In fact, after scaring off the sparrows he looked around, and flew off. This only continues my belief that curved bill thrashers are bullies.
Some time passes...
Once they decided I honestly didn't have food, they settled down for a nap under my picnic table. It was still over 100 degrees out, and they were apparently too tired to be bothered by me, so I just ignored them and kept sketching.
A while later, I watched the ducks loll off to the water. Well, the girls lolled. The boy got spooked, started flying, and I heard him collide with a large bush before splashing into the water.Looking around, I considered taking photos of the two mourning doves that had been pecking at the earth behind me, and then I noticed a not-quite-right bird nestled down. I took some close up photos and thought everything about it seemed like an extra fluffy pigeon. I was right, as watching it, when it finally stood up and followed the mourning doves into the trees, I saw its red feet. It was a very large immature mourning dove, or fledgling. It looked like a rock until it moved. I may scour the area later to try get a picture of the nest, which is likely in that bramble of limbs behind them.
On the way out, I looked up and saw what appeared a mocking bird prancing through the grass, and it flew up into the tree. I followed with my eyes, and noted it had a twiggy nest built up on one branch of a large palo verde tree. At first I thought it was another curve billed thrasher, but it had white on its front and belly, and was more of a grey color than the buff of the thrashers here.
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