Muskrat Love

My skills as a critter enthusiast ("amateur naturalist" sounds way too pretentious) have finally proven useful to humanity. At work yesterday, one of my colleagues got a report from his wife that there was an unusual critter swimming in the creek next to their home. She thought it might be an otter. I decided that a river otter (Lutra canadensis) in a shallow Chicagoland creek would be highly unusual, though not inconceivable¹, so I asked if she could send me a picture². This is what she sent:



It's a muskrat! Oh, excitement!

The muskrat (Ondatra zibethicus) is one of my favorite local critters. Curiously, muskrats are not closely related to beavers, in spite of the superficial resemblance and similar habits. While they are both rodents, muskrats are most closely allied with voles and lemmings, while beavers' closest relatives are the pocket gophers and kangaroo rats.

I learned only yesterday of the song "Muskrat Love," made popular by The Captain and Tennille in 1976. It seems elicit strong reactions in people - it was a Top 40 hit, but was also placed high on CNN's list of the worst songs in popular music. Apparently you either you love it or it. At this point, frankly, I'm just confused by it.

The utility of muskrats, however, transcends even the music of the mid-seventies. According to the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Detroit, muskrat is considered "fish" rather than "meat" for the purpose of observing meatless Fridays during Lent. Legend holds that this custom dates back to a priest ministering to trappers in southeast Michigan during the early 1800s who found that trappers' families were going hungry without meat during Lent. The priest reasoned that the aquatic muskrat could be considered "fish" and not "meat," allowing the faithful to obtain needed protein without breaking their Lenten vows. A 1987 opinion by the bishop of Lansing held that this "immemorial custom" was acceptable under canon law; perhaps more importantly, the bishop was unimpressed with the gastronomic value of muskrat, declaring that "anyone who could eat muskrat was doing penance worthy of the greatest of the saints."

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¹In December 2007, commuters leaving Union Station in downtown Chicago saw otters along the South Branch of the Chicago River.

²Sending a picture of a critter for me to identify constitutes implied oral consent for me to redistribute the picture. This means you, Major League Baseball!

Flags: State of Colorado

My ridiculous travel schedule has afforded another opportunity to reflect on the flag of the state in which I am currently sitting - this time, I'm even sitting in the state capital.

I like to think that the prominent C flying over the state house in Denver represents not only "Colorado" but "centennial," since the state entered the Union during 1876. While Colorado is widely known as the Centennial State, the notion that this figured into the flag design is pure conjecture. Still, the flag is attractive and distinctive. It's even featured in the design of the state highway signs - the only state to do so, though Alaska and New Mexico incorporate elements of their flags into their highway markers.

Colorado's official animal symbols - living and extinct - are superb; they're so fantastic, in fact, that I'll forgive the legislature for using the word "animal" when the mean "mammal." With that in mind, let's start with the official state mammal, the Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep (Ovis canadensis). In addition to their spectacular head-butting ability, I admire the ability of an animal weighing up to three hundred pounds to balance on precipitous slopes.

The official state fish is the greenback cutthroat trout (Oncorhynchus clarki somias), a beautiful subspecies of the cutthroat trout (so named for red slash marks on the lower jaw) found from the Rocky Mountains west to the Pacific. The Centennial State is not alone in its admiration for these handsome fishes; the Lahontan cutthroat trout (Oncorhynchus clarki henshawi) is Nevada's state fish¹. Anyway, it seems that the once-common greenback cutthroat was severely affected by human activity and was feared extinct until intrepid biologists found relict populations in a few backcountry streams in Rocky Mountain National Park. There are plans to reintroduce the greenback to waters in its former range.

Colorado is lucky to have one of the best-known dinosaurs as its official state fossil. Stegosaurus lived in Colorado during the Jurassic Period, before the rise of the Rocky Mountains for which the state is now famous. One prominent specimen was discovered by high school students from Cañon City, west of Pueblo. Moving on to scaly critters with us yet today, the state reptile is the western painted turtle (Chrysemys picta bellii), a handsome shellback found throughout the state.

There are many more awesome things about Colorado, from the subtle beauty of the high plains in the east, to the sudden rise of the Front Range, to the blooms of the short alpine summer, but these will have to wait. Read more about Colorado state symbols from the state's Department of Personnel & Administration web site.

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¹ When I checked the list of Nevada state symbols to confirm my suspicion, I found that Nevada's official state mammal is the desert bighorn sheep (Ovis canadensis nelsoni), closely related to the Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep of Colorado. I don't know who's copying whom, but it's a good thing that Utah separates the Centennial and Silver States, preventing them from bickering like siblings in the back seat of a station wagon.

Gummi lobsters, or how I know my mommy loves me

Last Christmas, my mother gave my brother a bag of - I'm not making this up - gummi lobsters, which she found on a business trip to Boston. I freaked out, because, come on, gummi lobsters! But alas, there were no sugary crustaceans in my stocking. I was visibly upset by this trivial omission.

Fast forward twelve months. On Christmas morning 2009. I unwrapped seven ounces of gummi lobsters. To accommodate my year-old thirst for gooey red arthropods, Mom had paid more for shipping than the candy itself cost. Moreover, she upped the ante by also leaving a package of gummi penguins and 1.9 pounds of Swedish fish under the tree. Inspired by her example, my brother and his lady friend gave me gummi centipedes, imported from Hungary. Who knew? Clearly the work of the finest Magyar gummi artisans.

It doesn't end there, though. In 2004, I drove to Colorado with my mother and grandmother to see my aunt and uncle. At some point, my mother found a bag of elk jerky. Then - then - she hid the elk jerky for SIX MONTHS so I could open it up on Christmas morning.

And that's how I know my mommy loves me. Happy birthday, Mom!

Nihil sine nomine

...that is, "nothing without a name."¹

We name things in order to be able to speak precisely. Often, names themselves tell as a little bit about the item in question. Sometimes, names are just names. Sometimes, the meta-information contained in a name can be downright misleading, whether through a somewhat-arbitrary naming process, misuse of a term, or another mechanism.

Biology is an area where many names are helpful but others are misleading. This goes back to the basic rules for naming something. Essentially, in the understanding of this non-biologist, the first published name for a new species sticks forever. This is why we have a species of ancient whale named Basilosaurus, ("king lizard," saurus meaning "lizard"), which is in fact not a lizard at all but an marine mammal. For that matter, the word dinosaur ("terrible lizard") is a little misleading, because modern understanding shows that dinosaurs are distinct from lizards (who, with snakes, form the clade Squamata, which I think comes from the Latin word for "scales"), as they diverged in the Permian period, 299-251 million years ago. Since the dinosaurs at least superficially resembed lizards, thought, I'm willing to forgive that.

Likewise, vertebrate paleontologists and dinosaur enthusiasts of all ages are stuck with the division of dinosaurs into the clades Saurischia ("lizard-hipped") and Ornithischia ("bird-hipped") based on superficial resemblances of the pelvic structures. Confusingly, though, birds - themselves extant dinosaurs - are descended from the "lizard-hipped" line. I understand that we have to follow the rules of nomenclature (i.e., first published name sticks), but...arrg! This is when a biologist will tell you, "It's just a name."

It doesn't end with biological nomenclature, though.

In the spirit of sweeping generalizations, I will state that all of my early difficulties with algebra can be traced to quadratic equations. "Why is an equation with an x² term called quadratic?", my young self wondered. "Quad- means 'four!'" Since I couldn't find a satisfactory answer, I (foolishly) rejected further study of the matter².

In spite of my difficulties with math, I pursued a career in engineering. One might expect engineers to be as precise with language as they are in technical matters. If so, one will be disappointed. Some sub-disciplines are better about this than others. For a variety of (mostly historical) reasons, geotechnical engineering is one of the worst offenders. The use of terms and symbols is so inconsistent among different authors that a common textbook, An Introduction to Geotechnical Engineering by Holtz & Kovacs dedicates several pages to variations in nomenclature.

What really grinds my gears, though, is when engineers (and others) refer to particular quantities and factors by their commonly-used symbols rather than by name. "Estimate E based on N," I've heard. Come on, man - these things have names for a reason. Use 'em. "Estimate Young's modulus based on the standard penetration test blow count." That may sound dirty, but at least it's precise.

Sometimes, usage causes the original meaning of a word to be distorted. "Bilingual," for example. A person who is bilingual speaks (at least) two languages. Bi- means two. Increasingly, though, I hear "bilingual" used to describe persons who don't have a good command of English. In reality, those individuals may be monolingual, bilingual, trilingual, or know even more languages - just not English. For that matter, Lisa has worked with children with language delays in whose homes languages other than English are primarily spoken. These children will, hopefully, grow up to be bilingual - but right now, these children may not have a good command of any language or languages.

It seems that the commonly accepted term for persons (especially schoolchildren) learning English as a language other than their first is "English language learners." Fine - that seems straightforward enough. But don't use "bilingual" to describe someone who doesn't speak English. In addition to being inaccurate, it's awfully anglocentric, especially in a country that has no de jure official language.

I better stop here before my name becomes "whiner" or worse.

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¹ Not to be confused with Nihil sine numine, "Nothing without Providence," or "Nothing without the Divine Will," the state motto of Colorado. In the mineral-rich Centennial State, this is also sometimes heard as "Nothing without a new mine."

² I have since learned, albeit from a non-authoritative source, that the name "quadratic" for second-degree polynomials comes from the Latin quadratus, meaning "square", because the variable is squared.

On the human condition

A few weeks ago, some friends and I watched the 1996 classic Beavis and Butt-Head Do America. It was then that I was reminded that Beavis's caffeine-fueled alter ego, The Great Cornholio, neatly - nay, poignantly - summarizes the human condition.

Cornholio constantly seeks T.P. for his bunghole. Yet, by his own admission, Cornholio has no bunghole.

Are you threatening me?

Flags: State of Maryland

I'm going to take advantage of a special opportunity to write about the flag of a state in which I am currently sitting.

The flag of the State of Maryland is one of my favorites. It features the combined arms of the Calvert and Crossland families, ancestors of the Lords Baltimore, for whom the state's most populous city is named. I like the flag because its is distinctive, instantly recognizable, and steeped in the state's history.

A glance at the listing provided by the state archives reveals that Maryland has an awful lot of state symbols. Sure, many states have an official bird, mammal, or song, but the Free State has an official crustacean (the blue crab, Callinectes sapidus Rathbun), dessert (Smith Island Cake), exercise (walking), and horse (Thoroughbred). Oh, and did I meantion that the official state sport is jousting? How sweet is that? The Old Line State was the first to adopt an official sport, and they picked a doozy. I have yet to meet a Marylander who practices the state sport, though, so let me know if you know one. If it were up to me - and most citizens will probably be thankful that it is not - close gubernatorial races would be decided by a winner-takes-all jousting match.

The official state reptile is the diamondback terrapin (Malaclemys terrapin). This noble testudine is perhaps best known as the mascot of the University of Maryland College Park. I'm endlessly amused that Maryland fans often abbreviate "Terrapins" as "Terps." I also enjoy their "Fear the Turtle" athletic campaign.

Maryland is a land of geographical oddities, both natural and artificial. The state has no natural lakes, largely because it was not reached by the Pleistocene glaciation (see the Maryland Geological Survey lakes and reservoirs page for more information). West of Chesapeake Bay, the state is bounded on the north by the Mason-Dixon line and on the south by the Potomac River, except for a small section where the District of Columbia lies in between. As the Potomac snakes northward near the town of Hancock, the northern and southern borders converge until the state is less than two miles wide. Road nerds will also note that Hancock is the eastern terminus of Interstate 68.

Today, while visiting my cousin and her family in Calvert County, I was pleased to eat a rockfish sandwich. Rockfish (Morone saxatilis), known in other parts of the Union as the striped bass, is the official state fish. It is also delicious.

Flags: State of Alaska

"Alaska’s flag–to Alaskans dear,
The simple flag of a last frontier."

In honor of the 50^th anniversary of Alaska's admission to the Union today, let's have a look at its fine flag. The "Eight Stars" exhibit (PDF) of the Alaska State Museum will tell you everything you need to know, but here's an executive summary: The flag was designed for the Territory of Alaska in 1927 by a 13-year-old boy named Benny Benson. His entry was the unanimous winner of a territory-wide competition among schoolchildren in grades 7-12. The eight stars represent the constellation Ursa Major (a.k.a. "The Great Bear" or "The Big Dipper") and the North Star. The blue background represents the northern sky and the forget-me-not, an Alaskan flower.

Details: Historically, Alaska struggled to find its place in the United States. After the purchase of Alaska from Russia in 1867, Alaska was designated as a military district. It wasn't until 1912 that Alaska became a United States territory with an elected legislature. Even then, the United States Congress had the right to override the actions of the territorial legislature. Due in part to the federal government's ignoring of Alaska, the territory fell into an economic depression in the 1920s while the rest of the country was relatively prosperous (though we all know how that ended).

During a 1926 visit to Washington, DC, territorial Governor George A. Parks visited the Post Office building, where the Postmaster General pointed out that Alaska was not represented in the display of flags in the building's rotunda because the territory did not have a flag. In response, Parks arranged for the American Legion to organize a flag design contest for the territory's schoolchildren. 142 entries were submitted, and Benny Benson's elegant design was selected unanimously; fortunately for Benny, his design was not disqualified due to his misspelling of the word "strength" in the narrative submitted with the design, as he had feared it would be. The flag later inspired the poem "Alaska's Flag" which later was set to music to become the official state song.

Alaska's flag is one of my favorites because of the elegant simplicity and powerful symbolism of the design as well as the compelling story of its origins. The flag is beloved by citizens and played a role in the Territory's quest for statehood, which was finally realized with President Eisenhower's signature on January 3, 1959. However, the sweetness of Alaska's state symbols doesn't end there. The state's Office of Economic Development site describes them all; I will comment on a few below.

The official state bird is the willow ptarmigan (Lagopus lagopus), a member of the grouse family. Legend has it that the founders of the town of Chicken, Alaska wished to name the town after the large numbers of ptarmigan observed in the area. However, they couldn't agree on how to spell it, so they named it "Chicken" to avoid embarrassment.

Alaska is so big it has to have two official state mammals. The state land mammals is the moose (Alces alces). I'll save my moose-related comments for another post, but my own encounters with Alaskan moose were pretty fantastic. The state marine mammal is the bowhead whale (Balaena mysticetus). Apparently the walrus lobby wasn't very strong in Juneau. The bowhead makes lots of interesting noises, though.

Speaking of Juneau, Alaska is the only state in the Union without some kind of official-looking state capitol building. The state legislature chambers and the governor's office are in the former Federal and Territorial Building, an Art Deco office building completed in 1931.