Flags: State of Washington

According to the rules laid out in the State Flag Manifesto, the flag of the state of Washington is just plain lame: it's the state seal (a portrait of ol' George) on a solid green field. I'm disappointed in you, Evergreen State. I know you can do better.

Still, my mother taught me that if one can't say anything nice, one should keep one's fool mouth shut (not exactly her words). Let's focus on the things I love about Washington State, starting with my fantastic visit to their state capitol. I had the better part of a day between my arrival in Seattle and the opening session of my conference, so I rented a car and drove down to Olympia. I parked and walked across the capitol campus to the capitol itself (they prefer to call it the "Legislative Building", though the governor's office is in there too). I had paused for a moment outside the side door to check if it was in fact the correct entrance for capitol tours when I heard a female voice behind me: "Can I help you find something?"

I mumbled something about looking for the capitol tour. She said I was in the right place, and just needed to go up the stairs. Then she said, "Hi, I'm Mary Selecky, the Secretary of Health." I introduced myself and told her I had never before met a cabinet-level official on one of my thirty-odd state capitol visits. She gave me a business card and posed for a picture as documentation of the encounter. I told her I was in town for an engineering conference. She said something along the lines of, sure, we like engineers; we employ some in the water office. I found the capitol tour and went on my merry way. I don't know anything about Ms. Selecky's credentials or politics, but I am pleased to report that she is Nice To State Capitol Visitors.

My favorite Washington state symbol is the official State Endemic Mammal. First of all, props to the state for designating an official endemic species - one that occurs nowhere else. It's likely that some other state symbols are also endemic (looking at you, Hawaii), but I'm not aware that any other state has the "official endemic" category of state symbol. The Evergreen State scores more points, though, because it's official endemic mammal is a totally sweet ground squirrel: the Olympic marmot, Marmota olympus. As the name suggests, it is found exclusively on the Olympic peninsula. I'm trying to remember if we saw any when we visited Olympic National Park when I was in high school. Better go back and check the family photo album.

There's a bunch of other neat stuff on the official list of Washington state symbols: the state fish (steelhead trout, the anadromous form of the rainbow trout), the state vegetable (the awesomely named Walla Walla sweet onion), and the state marine mammal (the orca, which has also given its name to the Puget Sound unified transit fare card - One Regional Card for All), to name a few. I even have to give the flag at the top of this entry a little break: that's one of the originally-sewn flags, now on display in the governor's reception room at the state capitol. Betsy Ross it ain't, but that's still a neat piece of history.

Flags: State of California

Part II of the three states in three weeks series

When Lisa's brother moved to California for graduate school, I asked him if he would have to swear allegiance to the Bear Flag Republic. Apparently, the answer is yes. Now that he's finished his degree and is moving on, though, he says that they had his fingers crossed behind his back during the oath. Good news for him - that bear looks serious.



The Bear Flag was the symbol of the 1846 revolt of settlers in the old province of Alta California against the Mexican government. At right is a photograph of a reproduction of the original Bear Flag, on display in the museum at Alcatraz. The rebels attempted to form a government in Sonoma, but then the US Army showed up and asserted control of the area (the United States was at war with Mexico at the time, though the news had not reached Sonoma before the revolt was underway). California was admitted to the Union as the 31st state in 1850, having never been organized as a territory. The state seal includes an image of the Greek goddess Athena, who burst forth, fully formed, from the forehead of Zeus, as an allusion to their direct admission to the Union.

I'm a big fan of the Bear Flag, and it seems that Californians are too, displaying it proudly throughout the state. And why not? Bears mean business. Ironically, the same settlers who make the California grizzly (Ursus arctos californicus, also known as the California golden bear) the symbol of their rebellion, and later their state, later exterminated it. The last California grizzly was shot in 1922. Thus, California has the dubious distinction of being the only state in the Union (known to me, anyway) whose official state mammal is extinct.

California miscellany:

• State Symbols at the California State Library
• Flags over California at the California State Military Museum
• More on the Bear Flag Revolt from the Museum of the City of San Francisco
• Some dude's thoughts on reintroducing grizzly bears to California

Nice marmot.

And also, let's not forget - let's not forget, Dude - that keeping wildlife, um, an amphibious rodent, for, um, you know, domestic...within the city - that ain't legal either.

Marmota flaviventris seen at Donner Pass, Nevada County, California.

Flags: Commonwealth of Pennsylvania

Summer travel is here, and I'm going to try to write three posts about the flags of three different states I will visit within as many weeks. I'm currently sitting in a hotel room in Pennsylvania, the first of those three states. It is also one of the four states of the Union that officially are known as commonwealths. Score +5 nerd points if you can name the other three.

In my State Flag Manifesto, I wrote that 23 of the state flags are totally uninspired, being composed only of the vexillological cop-out of plopping the state seal on a color field. Lame. The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania dodges that bullet - although just barely - by putting its state coat of arms, rather than the seal, on a blue field. The state motto, found in the banner at the bottom of the coat of arms, is "Virtue, Liberty, and Independence." I think the motto ought to be "Our Flag Has Horsies On It." Speaking of state seals, though, the Seal of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania is - oddly enough - ringed with the words "Seal of the State of Pennsylvania." Maybe the Keystone State would be better nicknamed The Identity Crisis State.

Still, Pennsylvania has some excellent state symbols. The state fossil is Phacops rana, a species of everybody's favorite Paleozoic arthropod, the trilobite. Apparently its bulging eyes reminded someone of a frog's, leading to the specific name rana. The state fish is the brook trout, Salvelinus fontinalis, a fine-looking resident of the Keystone State's spring-fed streams. The identity crises continue insofar as S. fontinalis is actually a species of char, not a true trout - but it's close enough for government work.

Best of all Pennsylvania has two official state locomotives, both formerly operated by the Pennsylvania Railroad: the steam-powered K4s (a 4-6-2 locomotive used to pull passenger trains), and the electric GG1 Number 4859, which hauled freight and wartime troop trains. Makes me want to visit Steamtown National Historic Site in Scranton, where the National Park Service runs a locomotive shop, excursion trains, and other steam railroad nerdosity.

Finally, the Keystone State scores major points for the mosaics in the rotunda of the state capitol. Among other things are a turtle (looks like a common snapping turtle, Chelydra serpentina) and a skunk (probably a striped skunk, Mephitis mephitis). Win.

DPRK Donuts

I had a dream the other night that I was on a flight to Japan - a regular, scheduled commercial aviation flight. We had engine trouble, though, and due to the reduction in thrust, we were diverted...to North Korea.

Either I was coming from somewhere in central Asia, or my subconscious has a poor grasp of geography.

Anyway, following a safe landing at an unnamed North Korean airport, the other passengers and I were allowed to roam around the terminal until an aircraft became available to take us the rest of the way to Japan. At this point, I discovered that there was a Dunkin' Donuts in the terminal. I invited a few other passengers to sample its fare with me. I called it DPRK Donuts, which my subconscious thought was hilarious.

The donuts were acceptable. Better, though, was the box, which was covered in propaganda. We folded it up to take home, barely stifling our laughter in front of the very serious-looking donut man.

I think I need professional help. With chocolate frosting and sprinkles.

233 S. Wacker

This building has been in the news twice recently. The tallest building in the world from 1973 to 1998, and currently the tallest skyscraper in North America, the building formerly known as the Sears Tower was recently renamed for some holding company. Many Chicagoans will forever refer to it by its original and proper name. I don't want to live in the past, so I'll just call it 233 South Wacker Drive.

Less infuriatingly, four glass "skyboxes" which peek four feet outside the walls of the 103rd-floor observation deck were added in January 2009. I had a chance to hear one of the project engineers speak tonight. He began his presentation with a picture of Ferris Bueller and friends with their foreheads pressed up against the windows so they could look straight down. The purpose of adding the skyboxes was to enable users to to get Ferris's view without getting forehead prints on the glass. Now, glass-bottom observation ports on tall structures are nothing new - the CN tower has 'em, for example - but the skyboxes at 233 S. Wacker are unique in that (1) they have no steel in the sight lines, and (2) they are retractable. Amazing! The glass floor is hung from an overhead steel frame by the glass walls alone! And, AND, it was a design requirement that the skyboxes retract to be flush with the rest of the outer walls such that they wouldn't interfere with normal operation of the building's automated window washing equipment.

Here you can see the one of the boxes from another box. All four boxes are on the western wall of the building. The steel tubes from which the box hangs are plainly visible at the top of the box.











The boxes deliver on the promised straight-down Ferris Bueller view, as shown below. Those are my feet there, with nothing but three panes of glass and 103 stories of air between them and Wacker Drive.

Finally, just for fun, a picture of downtown (looking north) and a long-exposure shot of the view to the northwest, including traffic on the Kennedy Expressway.

Do not poke the rattlesnake

In June 2005, I had a run-in with a snake at one of my favorite places: the dells of the Wolf River in Menominee County, Wisconsin. Slithering about on the billion-year-old Wolf River basalts was this fellow:

The snake then coiled up and began to shake its tail in the underbrush, making a rattling sound. This got my attention, and I took several steps back to establish and more respectful distance. For the next five years or so, I bragged to my friends that I had stared down a rattlesnake.

In a recent visit to the Henry Vilas Zoo in Madison, Wisconsin, I learned that there are two species of rattlesnake in Wisconsin, and neither occurs anywhere near Menominee County, highlighted in blue on the maps below (range maps photographed at the Vilas Zoo).

This was confusing - I heard the snake rattle! I was traveling Lisa and her parents, so I had to come up with an explanation quickly. The answer came from the kids' section of the Wisconsin Dept. of Natural Resources web site - that's right, the kids' section. Turns out there are at least two non-venomous Wisconsin snakes that twitch their tails in the leaf litter to imitate a rattlesnake: the fox snake (Elaphe vulpina, also known as the pine snake) and the rare bull snake (Pituophis melanoleucus). Humbled!

When I got home, I checked the WDNR's excellent pamphlet, Snakes of Wisconsin, and determined that the handsome reptile in question was in fact a fox snake. The orange head is the giveaway. I'm no biologist, but I think being slightly out of focus is also a characteristic of the species.



While I hadn't faced a hyper-venomous death-serpent, I still consider myself lucky to have experienced this encounter with the herpetofauna of the Badger State. Meanwhile, I'm pleased to announce that I recently did stare down a timber rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus)...


...but this one was behind glass at the Vilas Zoo's reptile house. I'll close with some helpful advice from the good folks at the zoo: