I feel more relaxed this week than I have in awhile. No doubt this is attributable to the road trip to Portland last weekend. Despite the fact that I've lived nearly all my life within a twenty or thirty mile radius of where I'm currently sitting and typing, travel is in my blood. I need to throw a bunch of stuff in a bag and go on walkabout, or drive-about, as the case usually turns out to be. I need to experience the subtle differences offered by other cities and other hills. I need to watch the landscape flashing by as I drain a cup of coffee from a nowhere roadside diner or as I crunch on whatever snacks occupy the space between the seats. It's nice to have like-minded friends along for the ride too. We're only as old and settled as we feel, and I'm increasingly finding that my true friends are a lot younger in spirit and a lot less "settled" or "stuck" than other people our age. It's the attitude and the creativity that keep us young.

I also am reminded that suburbia, and the suburban lifestyle, gives me the chills. I have nothing against the majority of the people who live in suburbia (I'm one of them, after all), but suburbia often feels like a cultural dead zone - sort of like those oceanic dead zones spreading out from river deltas all over the world. Suburbia is spreading out from the cities, but instead of taking any of that vital city culture along for the ride, it just takes the cookie-cutter shopping centers and rows of tract housing - and everybody knows those are poison. Maybe it's because most of the "edgy" people either live in the heart of things or far off the grid.

During my years of marriage, we seldom ever did that kind of thing. Hell, we never even had a honeymoon. Not anybody's fault, really - more due to timing and circumstances and all that. Still, I'm enjoying the freedom to hit the road now and then. I plan to do it more often now, if I can manage it.

I'm trying to find the right balance between responsibility and irresponsibility here. It's all about balance, after all.

Currently listening to: Tor Lundvall "Sleeping and Hiding" lp

I almost forgot to mention Willow's question for me after I got back from Portland: "Did you meet any people that spoke Portlandish?"

I had to tell her no. Outlandish, maybe, but Portlandish, no.

Portland really isn't that far away. When I found out that Amebix were playing there over Memorial Day weekend, I realized that I had three days during which I had no other responsibilities, so I jumped on the opportunity to get out of town for a few days. In the end, only my friend Devon also had the weekend free, so the two of us left early Saturday morning. I picked Devon up at his place in Emeryville and we hit I-5, stopping briefly in Weed for gas and some filling Mexican food, and then again in Grant's Pass to futilely search for a bookstore Devon remembered from a previous trip. In the end, we made in to Portland in slightly over 11 hours.

I had arranged to stay at my friend Howard's place, and stay there we did. It's funny how similar Devon and Howard's apartments are - lots of the same movies and toys and other detritus stacked on overburdened shelves. The two of them had never met, and hit it off pretty much instantly. Devon and I both met Howard's girlfriend, Miranda, for the first time. I like her - she makes multimedia art pieces, and while we were there was involved in disemboweling stuffed animals, turning them inside out, and re-sewing them. Cool. We managed to luck out and eat at some good restaurants too - a place called Paradox, at which a friend of Devon's worked as a cook, another vegetarian restaurant whose name escapes me, and the almighty Voodoo Donuts. A couple of Devon's friends live around the corner from the Paradox as well, so there were lots of new people for me to meet and talk to.

We also went a bit north to visit our mutual friend Courtney, who I hadn't seen in 12 years and Devon hadn't seen in even longer. It was nice to reconnect and wander around in the mild sunshine. I came away from Courtney's with a bit of kombucha floating in a nalgene bottle, which I have since transferred to a large glass container in my apartment. Time will tell if I can inspire it to thrive.

It was great to just hang out and reconnect without having to watch the time (other than to make sure we made it to Amebix in time, that is...). I found myself re-inspired by all of the creativity and life choices evident in the people we spent time with over the weekend. I felt comforted by the fact that many of them (especially Howard and Devon) are also obsessive collectors with apartments full of fascinating piles of books, dvds, cds, and other subcultural detritus.

It was nice wandering into Voodoo Donuts at around 2am and buying strange donuts (there were human-shaped ones pin-cushioned with strategically placed pretzels, donuts covered in sugar cereal, and many other mouth watering treats). It made me realize that in many ways, my life is no longer as free as it once was, but I'm okay with that. It makes moments of nocturnal donut-eating abandon all the more rewarding. We also wandered past the Doug Fir Lounge, where I'd performed as part of irr.app.(ext.) on a previous trip. It was interesting to note that across the street from the Doug Fir is a Mad Science franchise - a company that I still very occasionally work for.

The show itself was great. Howard came along after deciding not to go see Windy & Carl perform (The Melvins were also performing that night - choices, choices). He hadn't previously heard Amebix, but came out with a big smile on his face. For more in-depth report on the show, go here.

I always feel more alive when I'm traveling. I love anticipating whatever might be around the next corner, even if it's just another stretch of freeway. The weekend whipped by of course, and we hit the road on Monday afternoon. I made it back to my place in 10 hours and 15 minutes, without even speeding too excessively.

Thanks to the holiday, I came back home to an abbreviated work week. As I type, there's only one more night to go before my weekend begins. Last night, as I drove to work, I had one of those moments of sudden realization that I was about to run over an animal on the road leading to camp. It was too late to brake, so I took evasive action, steering so that the wheels would pass harmlessly by on either side of the hapless critter. I stopped and hopped out, hoping that I wouldn't find it crushed in my wake. Fortunately my evasive action had worked. The Kingsnake was still stretched out on the road. I picked it up, thinking for a moment that maybe our camp Kingsnake had escaped (I was just down the hill from our nature lab), and drove the rest of the way to camp with the snake in one hand and snake poop dripping between my fingers. It had musked me pretty good. In the light, I confirmed that it wasn't our snake. Later, I put it in the garden, away from the road.

Hopefully it will stick around and snack on the resident mice before they snack on our garden.

I just got back from the park with the girls. They brought along a couple of old Mickey and Minnie Mouse stuffed animals (I wish there was no such thing as "popular culture", but I am just one voice against many on that one, I fear), and spent most of their time on the playground wildly hurling them into the air and over the playground equipment. I approve.

Suddenly, Sophie stopped and exclaimed, "A Robin!" Sure enough, almost invisible in the heart of a nearby tree sat a mother Robin. "It's got a worm in it's mouth," Sophie pointed out. As we watched, the excited beaks of a cluster of baby Robins burst upward out of a perfectly camouflaged nest. The girls were entranced.

The spell was momentarily broken when another kid obliviously wandered too close, scaring the mother into flight. Afterward, taking care not to get too close, I put the girls on my shoulders so they could better see the nest. Nearby, the watchful mother hopped back and forth along the fence. I pointed her out to the girls, making sure that they were aware of the bond there.

I love those little moments.

Partial Huun-Huur-Tu

Partial Huun-Huur-Tu, originally uploaded by Corbie.

Sometimes the day presents me with a perfect moment. Sunset definitely provided that moment for me yesterday.

This photo was taken through the windshield on my drive to work. Now I have a little reminder of a perfect moment.

The sun has conspired with the wind to create a beautiful day. A couple of cds came in the mail earlier, and new music surrounds me as I type. I paid the multiple subject credential application fee yesterday, which was the final step I needed to take towards actually getting the credential.

Summer beckons, and I'm feeling lazy. A friend (or two) and I are taking a short road trip up to Portland in a little over a week. We're going to a gig and visiting friends. I've been feeling the need to hit the road lately, so when relatively inexpensive opportunities to do so appear, I'm taking them.

Onwards!

Currently listening to: Osso Exotico "V"

I've been lazily not posting as much this week. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's because of one of my indecipherable internal cycles. I don't really know for sure.

I had a relatively busy weekend, and I'm left with some soreness from dancing and tick bites. There was a time when I measure how much fun I'd had by how sore I was afterward. Maybe this is how my midlife crisis is going to manifest itself - I'll once again use physical discomfort as a litmus test for fun. Doesn't sound like a crisis to me though.

Some brief moments from the weekend:

Coming home from the Sleepytime Gorilla Museum show last night, looking out across the bay and marveling at how the moon had painted the water silver. The stillness of the scene formed a startling counterpoint to the freeway traffic.

This morning, opening the front door to find a Fence Lizard on the walkway. I love it when I see reptiles in the city.

Seeing a variety of friends. Always good.

My friend Devon celebrated his 40th birthday by playing a gig with his band at Gilman St. in Berkeley. I considered getting a babysitter for Willow before heading up to see Devon, but ended up deciding to take her along. After all, she knows Devon and going to the show meant kicking around Berkeley for awhile. It also meant that she got to meet my old friend Wayne (who took the photo above, as well as many others which he nicely shared with me). We made the obligatory record store stop (the evidence of which is on the bench beside me), had pizza (Willow ate a slice bigger than her head), went to the East Bay Vivarium (a reptile store I used to buy pets from, and which Willow was reluctant to leave), and finally wandered out to the Berkeley Marina. Out at the end of the pier, Willow was excited to see a fisherman pull a Stingray and a Sand Shark out of the water. She even asked if I would take her fishing sometime. I thought about it for a moment. Being a vegetarian, I'm reluctant to engage in activities that result in the deaths of animals, but then again, fishing is a lot more direct, and somehow more honest, than buying pre-killed, prepackaged, faceless meat from a grocery store. Maybe taking her fishing and going through the process of killing, gutting, cleaning, cooking, and eating a fish would be educational. Maybe I'd even eat some myself if we went through the process together (the only meat I've eaten in the last 20 years was fresh fish, cooked by a good friend - and that was only once, nearly a decade ago now). Later, I mentioned this to a friend who surfs in Santa Cruz, and he mentioned seeing people fishing there all the time and thinking what a great hobby it was - you got to do something you enjoyed, while at the same time putting food on the table. Food for thought, anyway (pun intended, as usual).

At the club, Willow was excited to get her very own club card (a punk membership card!), and it was cool to watch her signing her name on the back. She was also excited to see Devon and give him a present (I'd burned a cd for him, and Willow drew a cover for it). Willow was much less excited when the first band started. Despite earplugs, she shrank into herself in reaction to the volume.

We went down the street and had donuts instead. I had coffee with mine. Sometimes coffee and donuts just hits the spot.

Afterward, we met up with Greg at our usual coffee shop. Wayne and Greg hadn't seen each other in nearly 15 years, so it was fun to meet up and hang out.

One of these days I'll see Devon's band. They've toured Africa, the Middle East, Australasia, and elsewhere, but I've still not managed to catch them here at home. Oh well. Of course, I kind of figured that Willow would have the reaction she did, and we had fun anyway, so I'll just chalk this up to a partially successful experiment.

It's almost May, and the skies are turning gray. It was sunny this morning when I hopped on the bus with Sophie, all of the other second graders, and a handful of other chaperons. I'm glad it worked out that I was able to go on this field trip, because I never would have heard the end of it if I'd just gone on Nathan's trip and not hers. This one was a bit closer to home too - a mere half hour away. The second graders, mostly instigated by Sophie, sang loud songs for most of that half hour, including some Christmas ones.

We ended up at a place called Filoli Gardens, which is basically an old English-style country mansion nestled in the hills of the San Francisco peninsula. The gardens are impressive, and we were led through them and out into the forest by a volunteer docent (lots of volunteers - there was one docent for every four kids, and one chaperon for every two kids). He knew his stuff, which is nice because I probably wouldn't have been able to keep my mouth shut if he hadn't. I even picked up a little info along the way myself.

Poor Sophie spent an inordinate amount of time sadly staring at the taxidermied fawn in the nature center, no doubt thinking of the injustice of it all. I tried to explain to her that sometimes animals die of natural causes, but she wasn't buying it. She had this idea that the animals were killed specifically so they could be stuffed and mounted in the museum.

For the most part though, the kids loved it, but before too long we were all back on the bus, headed southward.

Now I'm home, taking advantage of the lull in demands on my time. It won't last of course, but I'm a firm believer in taking a step back and just breathing when I have the chance.

Speaking of relaxing, I've been to a couple of gigs this week, and I've reviewed them on my other blog. Check it out.

Currently listening to: Helena Espvall & Masaki Batoh "s/t" cd

The Association for Environmental and Outdoor Education (AEOE) Statewide Spring Conference at Walker Creek Ranch in Petaluma has come and gone. People from all over the state (and even a few from Nevada) were there to participate in the workshops, network, relax, and recharge their batteries with enthusiasm and new ideas. Around 15 staff members from my school went. A bunch of us drove up in the school van, and others took their own vehicles. Several of us, including me, led workshops too, and I even managed to win second place in the photo contest, with a friend and coworker of mine coming in first.

The weekend flew by in a flurry of workshops, speakers, music, dancing, and beautiful surroundings. Grey Foxes were everywhere, and it seemed I saw one every time I walked up the road to our campsite. Overhead, the crisp, blue sky was full of Turkey Vultures, and the rolling, green hills were dotted with deer and interesting rock outcrops. The rock outcrops often supported little groups of people, sometimes with guitars and singing. The workshops were interesting. I went to one on job seeking, one on DIY car repairs, one on sage bundling, and one that taught us some new ways to teach the concept of energy to elementary school kids. This last one incorporated several fun games involving a creative re-imagining of Capture the Flag. The one I taught was about reptiles and how handle them and use them to teach natural science concepts. It went well, I think, with people giving me positive feedback afterwards. I definitely could have used more time though, since I have a lot to say on the subject.

There was music too, with bands playing in the so-called "Boogie Barn" or the dining hall each evening. There was a DJ on Saturday night too, and I found myself dancing until around 2am, hoping that the people climbing into the rafters weren't as inebriated as they looked.

Our staff did a skit for the campfire/talent show portion of the weekend, as did others. Ours was pretty tied in to the theme of the conference (Education Unplugged) while others took some liberties with their interpretations. One of them was almost dada-esque, perhaps taking the word "unplugged" to be synonymous with "unhinged" - it featured a guy in a giant, yellow chicken suit, a nearly nude fire spinner, a tap dancer, a guy with a Kermit the Frog puppet, a host of musicians, and other seemingly random players. I thought it was brilliant!

It was great to be able to be part of such a big assembly of dedicated naturalists and teachers, and wonderful to see old friends and meet new ones. I didn't get much sleep, of course, both because I stayed up way too late and because the sleeping bag I'd taken from the lost and found at work wasn't very warm. I really should buy a new sleeping bag.

It's almost hard to be back home now. I need to hang onto all of that inspiration and forge ahead in some way, but I find myself wishing that I could live on a commune with all of the people who show up to the AEOE conferences, and I'm looking forward to the Fall when my school hosts the Autumn Northern Conference. I'll probably be teaching in a classroom then, but I'll still definitely be involved in the conference.

We're in the middle of a mini-heatwave right now. The last couple of nights have been T-shirt weather, with attendant mosquitoes. Lots of campers have been complaining of bug bites and making matters worse by madly scratching them. As I slept in the camp office, an incessant buzzing invaded my dreams and I awakened to discover a duo of Carpenter Bees bouncing against the partially open window. It wasn't long before they made it into the room and zeroed in on the lone light bulb, bouncing off the makeshift paper lampshade and pinging off the glass bulb itself. Needless to say, they kept me awake for most of the rest of the night.

I can't turn off the light because it serves as a beacon for kids who wake up in the night and need help. Like I mentioned earlier, the help most often needed this week is with bug bites, although bloody noses seem to be a regular occurrence as well. Not to mention scrapes and homesickness.

I'm gearing up for the AEOE conference this weekend, at which I'll be leading a workshop on working with reptiles in outdoor education. It should be interesting. I'm going to focus in on differing philosophies relating to human interaction with wildlife, and it should make for some lively discussions.

I'm all set to apply for my teaching credential too. I just have to renew my CPR/first aid certificate. There's a way to do that online now!

I've also started dating again, sort of. I mentioned awhile back that I'd met a woman named Terilynn. We went on a few dates but she ended up breaking things off. I don't think it was because of anything I did or didn't do - more about things going on in her life. On our last date, she talked about needing freedom. I kind of know what she means, actually. I'm in a place now where I'd like to make a real connection with the right person, but at the same time I'm in no hurry to make it happen.

We're friends on Facebook now, and we interact virtually, bringing things full circle. We initially met online through one of those online dating sites. It wasn't until relatively recently that I would have even considered investigating online dating, but I got to thinking that it might be a good way to meet people I wouldn't ever meet otherwise. It's also a good way to see how people express themselves in writing, and of knowing in advance if you have enough in common with somebody to pursue things to the next level. That said, right now I'm just looking around and enjoying the possibilities. Spring is, after all, a time of possibilities.

Spring is also a good time to hit the trails and breathe in the scent of all the new growth. I love the way the air smells when the first warm weather hits.

Here's another handful of reptile-related anecdotes. It's fun to revisit these stories, and interesting to note that they're all relatively fresh in my memory, despite the fact that the most recent of them probably occurred when I was only 13 or 14. It's also interesting to note that I can remember specific details of events, but sometimes be years off when trying to recall when the events happened.

A case in point would be the conversation I had with Matt earlier today. He's busy transferring field recordings to digital format, and wondered if I remembered what year we had gone to a friend's wedding in Portland - a trip during which field recording were made. I had, and still have, no idea. I remember the trip well enough, but not what year it occurred.

We're not wired to remember arbitrary numbers on a calendar. We're wired for seasons and events.

That's my thinking, anyway.

Here's the reptile stories:

I can still clearly remember the first time I came across a California King Snake.For some reason, in my mind this snake had become the holy grail of local snakes – probably for no other reason than I hadn’t yet seen one in the wild. It was surprisingly easy to catch.I would soon learn why.At that time, we still depended on bicycles for transportation, so the journey to and from the hills involved a lot of pedaling. Of course, the journey back home was much easier, being that it was all downhill. It was while I was coasting down one of the more significant hills, with the King Snake in one of my hands (we still hadn’t figured out the whole snake bag thing) that I looked down and noticed that the snake was now half again as long as it had been when I caught it. I did a double-take, and probably had a comical look of surprise plastered on my face while doing so. It was on that second take that I noticed that the “new growth” was actually the back end of a Garter Snake being regurgitated by my motion-sick captive.

I thought it was the coolest thing ever.

I’m sure the King Snake would have disagreed with this.

That reminds me of another incident that occurred on the way home from a different excursion into the hills. Since this time the captive was a Northern Pacific Rattlesnake, we had gotten inventive and upgraded our transportation methods.

We put the snake in a paper grocery bag.

I was on a skateboard, being pulled by my friend. Of course, I hit a rock, and the bag went flying. I landed on my back and the bag landed on me, with the open end about a foot from my face. It was one of those moments when everything seemed to freeze. The world narrowed down to include nothing but my face and the flickering tongue of the Rattlesnake, a mere 12 inches away. It probably would have nailed me right on the lips if it had been a little warmer, or if I had moved the wrong body part. As it was, I moved the right body part, bringing my hands up and pressing the bag closed. We laughed it off and kept going.

From there, my train of thought takes me to the shores of the Mississippi, up in Minnesota. The river is relatively narrow there, but it was still a big river to me. Of course, I didn’t really care about the size of the river. What held my attention was the size of the snake slipping swiftly through the tall grass along the bank. I dove for it, and felt my hands close around scaly muscle. When I stood up, I had a five foot Bullsnake in my hands. I held it up to inspect it, and it promptly struck me right in the face, hanging onto my lower lip for a moment before letting go. I was spitting blood for about fifteen minutes after that, but I didn’t care. All of my Minnesotan relatives must have thought I was crazy.

It’s also interesting to note that the Bullsnake holds the record for the largest snake native to North America, surpassing the Indigo Snake. I recently read that somebody in Texas caught a ten footer. I guess it’s good that I didn’t catch a ten foot snake. That probably would have hurt more.

Today, I finished the last bit of schoolwork for the term, and now I can go ahead and apply for my credential.

Before that, I need sleep. Spring Break is only a break for kids.

An unseasonable cold has descended over the valley, or at least over the hills, tonight. Everything is peaceful up at camp, and I had one of those evenings where everything fell into place neatly. The kids are well-behaved, the cabin leaders are experienced, and the talk I gave to the assembled kids was somehow just a bit better than usual. Now, most of the little chores are done, and all I hear is the grumbling of the refrigerator, the ticking clocks, and the clacking of keys as I type. I've got to go check the laundry in a few minutes - I'm washing clothes left behind by last week's kids, and another bag full of clothes that appear to be a bit too sophisticated to belong to 5th or 6th graders. Perhaps they're left over from one of the weekend groups who occasionally rent the site.

I'm feeling the need to rein myself in again. I've been spending carelessly (music again), eating like a teenager, and slacking off on exercise. This kind of thing is almost cyclical. I've got to find away to forge continually ahead, rather than swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

It would be nice to be happy with every aspect of my life at the same time. Or maybe that's an impossibility. I don't know. Perhaps it's happiness that takes away the drive to improve. Sometimes I think that being unhappy can be a positive force for change. In fact, I know it is. When I'm happy, I want to stay right where I am. Doesn't everybody?

On Friday, I spent around six hours on a bus, heading to and from Columbia State Historic Park on the western flank of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. This is the annual fourth grade field trip, and Nate asked me along to help chaperon. I jumped at the chance for a couple of reasons. The first, and most important, reason is simply that going on the trip meant that I got to spend the day with Nate. Since I don't live with him any more, and since technically he's my ex-stepkid now (technically - emotionally he'll always be my stepson), I don't get as much time to hang out with him. The second reason is simply that it's hard to turn down any opportunity to go to the mountains.

The park if full of replica buildings, as well as some original buildings from the mid-eighteen hundreds. There is an old schoolhouse next to an old graveyard, as well as a downtown area built in the style of the 1850s. The kids (there were about 70 of them) were divided into groups. There was an auction (Nate was his group's treasurer, and like the other treasurers, he had 60 gold Eagles to spend) during which "gold rush" supplies were bought. The whole object of the experience was to have the students work together to make a journey through the park, trading supplies as they went, to successfully get to the gold fields. At the end of the trek, groups were given points for having certain supplies left (food, equipment, etc.), and docked points for having been suckered into buying faulty maps and questionable items (like gold grease). Chaperons weren't allowed to help, although I have a feeling that many of them did. My fellow chaperon helped on one occasion, getting the group back on track (the navigator misread the map), but I managed to keep my mouth shut (which was hard because I'm used to teaching and talking to groups of students). After reaching the end of the trek, students got to pan for gold using buckets of water and dirt (I had envisioned getting to pan in a real creek somewhere, but sadly this wasn't to be). Still, it was great experience for the kids. Even though he wasn't the captain of our group, Nate is a natural leader. He's got an intensity about him too, and his actions are always very decisive. At the end, while waiting for the last group to arrive, we wandered through the cemetery and out into a nearby meadow. We ended up picking up litter as we wandered, and it's good to see Nate do this without being prompted. I'm so glad he's not one of those kids who argues, "but I didn't drop it - it's not mine!", when asked to pick something up.

The other group finally made it, and then we went into the downtown area. I bought ice cream and coffee (some for right then, and some for later). Nate bought a strange little multi-use tool at the blacksmith's shop. Then, it was back on the bus for the three hour ride home. It passed quickly of course, but then again there is always something to do when one is properly prepared for the journey.

Banana Slugs are kid magnets. The fact that they're bright yellow sort of makes them pop out from their surroundings (unless they're in amongst fallen Bay Laurel leaves) and their glacial pace makes them easy to catch. Nobody ever has to chase a slug. All you have to do is lean down and pick it up.

As a child, I picked up pretty much every Banana Slug I came across. I didn't care that my mom or dad had to spend a half an hour getting the slime off my hands each time I picked one up, and I didn't even stop to think about what effect my enthusiastic handling might have on the slugs.

They were just so cool and yellow.

As an adult, I leave them be, except to occasionally photograph them. I did once lick one, just to see if the mild poison in their slime would indeed numb my lips and tongue like I'd heard it would. It did, and not being able to properly feel my lips and tongue was kind of irritating for a couple of days.

I don't let kids touch them either. Apparently, the oils in human skin are bad for the slugs. Not to mention bacteria and whatnot.

At camp, we sing song about them, and an anatomically incorrect cartoon version of them graces our T-shirts. You'd figure a science camp would remember to make sure that the slugs' eyes were actually at the ends of the eye-stalks where they belong. But no - they're on the body of the slug, with the stalks reduced to some sort of yellow antennae. Go figure.

I finally caved in and got a new camera. It's another point-and-shoot; a Canon Powershot A100 IS. One of these days I'll get an SLR camera, but that's going to have to wait until I can justify the expense. One of the advantages of having a cheaper camera is that I'm not afraid to take it hiking with me. I can still get some pretty decent shots with this kind of camera. I got a pleasant surprise when I got it too. They threw in a free photo printer. Sure, I had to pay up front for it, but I get 100% of the cash back in the form of a rebate. Nice.

As I get older, I continue to be thankful for cameras. Sometimes I forget things that happened last month, or even last week. I think it's because the older we get, the more memories we hold. It's all in there somewhere, but crammed in like like little bits of paper in an overstuffed filing system. It's hard to locate things sometimes.

As children, our filing systems are relatively bare of detritus. Everything in there is important and easily accessible. Strangely enough, those childhood memories tend to rise to the top of the pile in our mental filing systems. I can remember certain moments from childhood more clearly than I can remember yesterday. In fact, some of those childhood moments seem to grow in importance over the years. They continue to resonate in a way that's all out of proportion with their initial impact.

The first Rattlesnake I ever saw was a big one. Like most Northern Pacific rattlesnakes, it had a banded tail, making it superficially resemble a Kingsnake. As a sixth or seventh grader, I had already developed a predator's eye, instinctively honing in on visual cues in my environment. Because of this, and based on its banded pattern, I was halfway to grabbing the huge Rattlesnake before thought kicked in and a little voice in my head said, "hey idiot! It has a rattle!" I backed off, and so did my friends who had also been running towards it. We watched it slowly crawl into the undergrowth until it had disappeared from view.

It was soon afterwards that we caught our first Rattlesnake. It was inside a drainage pipe in the spillway up at Steven's Creek Reservoir. I can't remember how we got it out of the pipe, or how we got it to crawl into the old beer can we'd found, but the end result was a trio of pre-teen boys walking around with a baby Rattlesnake inside a beer can. We took it home, and my friend tried in vain to convince his mom that it was a Gopher snake. She didn't buy it of course, and made him release the snake.

There were other, similar incidents as well. Quite a lot of them, actually. I'll save those stories for another day. Now that I'm writing them down, I'm realizing that the stories tend to bleed together after all of these years, and I can't remember which beginnings and ends fit together. The memories I have are often like mental snapshots. I can remember moments, but the context is sometimes hazy. I guess it's a good thing I'm starting to write them down.

When I was young, my parents enrolled me in various summer day camps and nature camps in the hills above Cupertino. Some were at Linda Vista park, and some were at McClellan Ranch park. For some reason, one of my clearest memories of my time at Linda Vista park was finding an unopened can of beer. I'm not sure where the camp leaders were at the time, but a bunch of us opened the beer and it geysered out. We all leaned forward to drink from this sudden fountain of alcohol, enjoying the warm taste of the illicit beverage. It's kind of ironic that I loved the taste of beer then, but hated it by the time I was old enough to drink it legally.

But it was at McClellan Ranch park the I found my first wild snakes. I think I was by myself when I found them. The park was actually a farm of sorts, with a big garden area and possibly some livestock. It was bordered on one side by a creek. It was near the creek, under a flat piece of rock (or possibly a board) that I found the two Ringneck snakes, coiled together like an ornate, reptilian ring. I don't think I'd ever seen something so beautiful, although I wouldn't have used those words at the time. For me, it was like suddenly discovering treasure in a place where I'd expected only dirt. I don't think I knew what Ringneck snakes were at the time, but that didn't stop me from quickly capturing them. Being a kid, I took them home and set up a cage for them. I didn't care that I was taking them away from their home, and I was only dimly aware of concepts like ecology and wilderness ethics. I was a collector. When I saw something cool, I collected it. This is healthy childhood behavior. It's how children learn. It's how we build our interests.

I can't remember what eventually happened to the snakes, but I have a memory of losing a Ringneck snake in the neighbor's lawn. It just wormed its way into the grass and disappeared.

As an adult, I don't let the kids I'm in charge of take animals out of the wilderness, but I can understand why kids want to catch things. Part of the reason, I think, is that we tend to define who we are by what we surround ourselves with. I spent a lot of time surrounding myself with animals I found under rocks, dinosaur models, horror novels, and other related items. This set me apart from many of my contemporaries and gave me a feeling of individuality, of uniqueness. I'm not sure how much of this external definition of self is induced by modern society - by advertising and the like - and how much is simply human nature. Geez. I'm getting more philosophical than I set out to be here... As a species, we started out as hunter gatherers. Maybe it's in our nature to gather. The only difference is now that companies engage in advertising to convince us to gather their products and not those of their competetors.

Whatever the cause of my desire to gather reptiles, I eventually realized that it wasn't okay to take animals from their homes. I remember running into a reptile photographer at a BAARs meeting (that would be the Bay Area Amphibian and Reptile Society) who put it this way: "You don't have to feed or clean the cages of photos." I think this is what first got me to thinking about what I was doing, and this despite the fact that he hadn't actually addressed the ethics of taking animals from their homes. I arrived at that conclusion by myself. That conclusion being that all species have a right to exist in their own habitats. As an adult, I've dedicated a lot of time to bringing this message to children. Catching reptiles is only a small part of the picture, of course. Development companies have a much greater impact on the lives and well-being of wild animals than a handful of junior collectors ever will. They don't take animals from their habitats, but instead rip the habitat out from under the animals, like a big organic rug, leaving behind city streets and new buildings. I've seen what has happened to most of the reptile hunting places I frequented as a child. Most of them are now under foundations or asphalt. Sure, the parks are still there, but a lot of the inbetween places have vanished.

So now, as an adult, I always have my camera with me. Right now I'm between cameras though. The outdoors is hard on cameras, and I find that I have to buy a new one every couple of years. I haven't yet bought a truly good camera, instead focusing (pun intended, as always) on mid-range point and shoot cameras. This way, I'm not afraid to get down there in the dirt and get the interesting shots of animals doing what they do. I also still catch reptiles, usually so I can get good close-ups. The difference is that I put them down again after I'm done. I also let kids touch, and sometimes hold, the reptiles I catch. I know there are other naturalists out there who don't allow this, but I think I have a good rationale. Kids need to get up close and personal with the wilderness and the wild animals that inhabit it - that's how they make connections. These are the kinds of experiences that inspire people to care about nature. It worked for me, and I know I'm not unique in this respect. Of course, it's always important to constantly model respect, and to talk about how to interact with these animals in a way that is safe for both humans and their temporary captives.

I draw the line at wild mammals. We watch those from a distance. Reptiles and amphibians are good animals to interact with because of their relatively primitive brains (less stress for the animal - in fact, some lizards will crawl right onto a person and bask there) and lower likelihood of having communicable diseases (reptiles can carry salmonella, but you're much more likely to get this from improperly cooked chicken).

It's Spring right now, and I'm looking forward to getting out on the trails with a new camera. The reptiles I capture today and the photos I post online might inspire somebody somewhere to make more of a difference. Who knows?

I killed a rabbit once.

I didn't intend to kill it. Far from it. I just wanted to get a closer look at it.

We were in a field, my friends and I. Two sides of the field were bordered by fences, and two sides by roads. The grass was high and full of secret places. We probably went to the field to look for lizards and toads. I can't remember exactly. I can't even remember how old we were. Maybe 10, or maybe a bit younger.

Suddenly a rabbit appeared there in the waving grass, all wild eyed and alert. We gave chase immediately. I don't know exactly what we were thinking, or if indeed we were thinking at all. Maybe it was more instinct - the instinct of the hunter. Look! Small animal! Small animal run! Me chase it and catch it!

We didn't catch it. It darted back and forth for awhile, looking for an escape route. We closed in and it shot away.

Into the road.

The meaty sound of the impact stopped us in our tracks. We watched as the rabbit was flung back towards us. We hovered over its still, bloodied form as its fluids leaked into the gutter. I still remember the unseeing eyes and the redness of its ruined body. Another perfect creature reduced to meat.

I think encounters like this colored my subsequent interactions with wildlife, and my approach to life in general. I know that nothing is forever. Beauty fades. Tragedy happens. Plans don't always come to fruition. It's part of life. We learn much more about ourselves from these unforeseen moments than we do from the times when things go as planned.

Of course, that doesn't mean we have to like these moments. Like it or not though, they are part of what make us who we are.

The field was killed sometime later. It was ripped away by a different kind of pursuit - the eternal quest for profit. The waving grass gave way to the fixed ugliness of condominiums. Every other living thing in that field perished, and I'm willing to bet none of the deaths meant as much to the perpetrators as that one rabbit's death meant to me.

It is sometimes said that one death is a tragedy, but many are a statistic. Perhaps when the number of deaths is great, it is too overwhelming to deal with in any sort of human way. More likely though, the people responsible didn't view it as a tragedy at all. They viewed it as a necessity.

I finally got to see the end results of all the research and planning that my adoptive students put into their projects today. All six groups presented their Powerpoint projects to the class, while their classmates took notes. Tomorrow, the students will be tested on what they learned from the presentations.

Today though, I was impressed by the skills and teamwork the students exhibited. Some groups figured out how to make their projects visually interesting, one group used music, and many students who had not previously worked well together managed to form a united front today. Now that's progress. Sure, there were still a few random misspellings and other glitches, but for the most part, I was very happy with the results.

I think the students really thrived on the hands-on element of this project. I gave them a lot of leeway with the creation of their presentations, and I think all of the groups figured out some interesting things all on their own. I wish all classroom work could be like this.

Currently listening to the sublime melancholy of Eleni Karaindrou "Dust of Time"