Memories

Anaxyrus (formerly Bufo)*

Rae Spencer3 Comments

Toad May 2

Early in May I found this little toad while I was mowing. After taking a few photos, I helped it into a flower bed and continued mowing, planning out a blog post as I made circuit after circuit around the yard.

I thought it would be a fun exercise to identify my toad. In the past, I’ve had good luck identifying reptiles and amphibians using the information provided on the Virginia Herpetological Society’s website, so I started there.

Have a look at this page from the website, which outlines the anatomy of a toad’s head, particularly the cranial crests, postorbital ridges, and parotid glands. The next page illustrates how these structures help identify three of the six species of toads found in Virginia.

Based on a visible (but not prominent) cranial crest, I narrowed the list of possibilities to either an Eastern American Toad or a Fowler’s Toad. But the pertinent detail for separating these two species, whether or not the postorbital ridge contacts the parotid gland, was not discernible. Falling back on secondary characteristics, I spent some time counting the number of warts in each of the toad’s spots. One or two warts per spot indicates an Eastern American Toad, while Fowler’s Toads have three or more. My toad had one or two in most of its spots, but three in a few. Since the two species are known to hybridize, was this inconsistency enough to identify my toad as a hybrid?

Two of the other listed characteristics aren’t visible in my photos. I can’t say whether my toad had spots on its chest and abdomen, nor if it had any enlarged warts on its tibia. (No enlarged warts are visible in my photos, but the photos do not show the full length of both tibias.)

Having exhausted my vague knowledge of toad anatomy, but still without a definite identification, I was curious as to whether an expert might have better luck. I sent my photos to the Virginia Herpetological Society’s e-mail identification resource, and their prompt response said my toad was likely a Fowler’s Toad. But they added a note: “Toad ID can be a bit tricky…”

Toad May 2

* In the last decade, genetic findings have shaken up the world of toad nomenclature. One of the changes removed some North American toads from the genus Bufo and shifted them into a new group with an old name, Anaxyrus. This article provides a good overview. So, for most of my Virginia toads, Bufo has been reduced to a parenthetical:  Anaxyrus (formerly Bufo). I feel a bit bereft, as Bufo was one of the few genus names I had bothered to memorize, but I suppose Anaxyrus is easy enough to remember. Except, I’m not quite certain why I would ever need to remember the genus names of North American toads…

Review: My Beloved Brontosaurus

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My Beloved Brontosaurus: On the Road with Old Bones, New Science, and Our Favorite Dinosaurs by Brian Switek (Scientific American / Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2013)

First, I have to confess that this is not really a review. It’s mostly a chance for me to visit one of my favorite topics. I have been fascinated by dinosaurs for a very, very long time. As I read My Beloved Brontosaurus, my fingers began to itch for the feel of my old plastic toys, the ones that roared through my childhood and paced across my shelves. They are (and were at the time) scientifically inaccurate. However, they were (and still are) great fun.

Dinosaurs April 4

Unlike my battered collection of mismatched toys, My Beloved Brontosaurus is equal parts good science and good fun. Much of it is a journey through paleontology’s growing pains, exploring name changes, skeletal puzzles, and feather mysteries. Chapter by chapter, the book details how Brontosaurus became Apatosaurus, how the upright posture that once defined a dinosaur was discovered in non-dinosaurs from the same time period, and how evidence hints that many dinosaurs had feathers or protofeathers (sometimes referred to as dinofuzz.)

My Beloved Brontosaurus is the most fun I’ve had with dinosaurs in years. Not only is the science interesting, the book strikes resonant chords in each chapter with elements of memoir, personal essay, and travel writing. As I turned the last page, I was filled with a deep yearning to pack a bag and head off on a multi-state museum tour. A few minutes later, coming to my senses and realizing that travel is not my favorite way to spend time, I headed off to the attic in search of a dusty box full of memories.

Dinosaurs April 4

(I don’t know how the woolly mammoth [definitely not a dinosaur] made it into this batch of plastic dinosaurs. Nor the sail-backed Dimetrodon. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that I found a blog post, yesterday, explaining how “Dimetrodon is #notadinosaur”.)

Dinosaurs April 4

Since I started this post with a confession, it seems appropriate to end with one. I don’t remember some of these dinosaurs. They mysteriously appeared in my collection when Mother mailed off several boxes of old toys as she attempted to de-clutter her house. I can’t say with certainty which of the dinosaurs were mine and which ones became mine as Mother packed the boxes, but I’m happy to claim them all now.

Dinosaurs April 4

(As an aside, it’s somehow logical to me that cats might have had something to do with most of history’s extinction crises.)

Dinosaurs April 4

Indigo, 1999-2014

Rae Spencer5 Comments

Indigo Feb 22

 

This is the last photo I took of Indigo, who died earlier this month. I can’t claim that she was ever a well-behaved dog, but she was always a well-loved dog, and the house feels strange without her.

 

(The slideshow photos were taken by my husband.)

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Treasures from Home, Part Two (The Red Chairs)

Rae Spencer9 Comments

Chairs

These chairs belonged to my grandmother, and they dominate my memories of visiting her house. The red chairs seemed stern, like Grandmother (we weren’t allowed to call her anything less formal than “Grandmother”). Sitting on them reminded me that I was expected to be still and quiet during our visits.

Despite the chairs’ lack of comfort, I admired them. They were, for me, irresistibly exotic. Ornate to the point of absurdity, designed for beauty instead of utility. Only now, when it’s too late for curiosity, does it occur to me that the chairs were different from the rest of Grandmother’s furniture, which was all very sturdy and practical. So why did she keep them? What did she see, when she looked at the chairs?

I never asked Grandmother about the chairs, just as I never asked about the years she spent as a single working mother. I never asked how she managed to raise a daughter, alone, during World War II and the decade that followed. How she managed to raise a daughter, alone, while working full-time.

Time hasn’t softened the chairs, which are so uncomfortable that even the cats refuse to sit on them, but it has softened my memories of Grandmother. She wasn’t a kind, cozy grandmother, but neither was she as stiff and disapproving as I imagined. Her truth, like the chairs’ truth, is an unsolvable mystery.

But now the chairs have come to me and I have the opportunity to create a new truth for them. I keep them in our living room, one on each side of the room. As I sit between them, they remind me to be still and quiet, to listen more carefully, and to understand that some stories are told in silences, rather than words.

Chairs

Dragons

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Like most of my enduring interests, this one started with a book.

The Dragon's Handbook

I don’t remember exactly when The Dragon’s Handbook came to me, though I have vague memories of tugging on Mother’s purse in a used book store, begging for “this one.” Because of its odd shape, the book never fit comfortably on a shelf with my other books. So I propped it against my mirror and treated it more like a piece of art than a book, making it an integral part of my room’s decor.

While The Dragon’s Handbook held some of my favorite illustrations, my favorite stories featured horses and dogs. The Black Stallion series, 101 Dalmations, and Lad: a Dog. King of the Wind, Lassie Come Home, and Where the Red Fern Grows.

Then I found The White Dragon on a library shelf. Its cover featured a much fiercer dragon than Barbara Rinkoff’s Culhane, and I was suddenly ready for fiercer stories. I read Anne McCaffrey’s entire Pern series, and, from then on, I devoured any book with a dragon in its pages.

Books 1

The horses crowded closer together and shared their shelves with dragons. Today, dragons lurk in every corner of my office.

Dragon 3

Dragon 2

Dragon 1

I suppose this might explain why my favorite flowers are snapdragons.

Snapdragon April 1

Snapdragon April 1

And why I take so many pictures of dragonflies.

New Dragonfly 4s

Halloween Pennant

It certainly explains why my first complete manuscript is a literary fantasy. There’s a dragon, of course, but there are also hounds and horses. Because I couldn’t resist combining my two loves: my younger preference for stories about animals (especially stories that made me cry) and my teenage quest for adventure and magic and peril…

Dragon Oct 24

Botanical Garden Oct 24