Friday, December 19, 2014

Bird Count 2014: I'll Have Some Coffee With My Grouse

Water drops on branches
Last weekend, I went on the annual Audubon Christmas Bird Count with Ms Ball and Ms Hermes. The CBC is an exercise in what's called "citizen science." Ordinary folks help collect data and send it to scientists, who then analyze it. Folks walk or drive through a designated territory and count how many and what kind of birds they see. They send this information to the local coordinator who then sends the information to the National Audubon Society.   This was my second year of tagging along. Instead of being cold, snowy, and bright, as it was last year, the weather was warm, wet, and foggy this year. Ms Ball kept saying that it smelled like spring...
Ms Ball looking for birds.


I drove us around the usual parts of Carlton County, including Jay Cooke State Park, while Ms Hermes kept careful watch through her binoculars and Ms Ball kept a running tally of bird species and numbers. We saw lots of chickadees, of course, and redpolls. I spotted a robin, the only one of the day. 

Ruffed Grouse
We also saw four Ruffed Grouse in the State Park. One flew up into a tree and sat there for quite some time, enough time for me to get a photo, though not a very good one. I have a lot of pleasant memories of going grouse hunting with my dad. We'd walk through the woods in the autumn, or rather, I'd walk a good distance behind him for safety's sake, and while he looked for grouse, I'd pay attention to the autumn wildflowers and fungi...

One set of exposed mouse trails.
Ball, Hermes, and I did some walking up at Oldenburg Point in the Park. We didn't see many birds, but we saw a lot of exposed mouse trails. Mice (and similar creatures) burrow under the snow, building networks of trails as they go, but then when the snow melts, as it did last week, the remnants of the trails are visible. This reminded me of cross-country skiing when I was a child. One time, my dad thrust his ski-pole into the snow, and when he pulled it up, he found he'd speared a mouse! 
And another set of trails.

Often, as we drove and walked, we'd stop for a bit and just look and listen. Sometimes, Hermes would pish for chickadees. I've come to expect this day to be a wonderfully calm and quiet exercise in looking and listening, two activities our over-scheduled, rat-race of a society doesn't value much...
Just a portion of the spread.

When we stopped for lunch at the Jay Cooke State Park River Inn building, however, the peace and quiet turned into a riot of food and laughter! 

Once again, we brought too much food. Ms Ball made her focaccia bread. There were the obligatory garlic-stuffed olives, along with roasted pickled peppers, mozzarella, potica, and various kinds of cookies from Gannucci's Italian Market. I brought some noodle salad with a spicy peanut dressing, some panettone (which I did not bake!), and a green bean dish with shitake mushrooms and a fermented black bean sauce.

Ms Ball with green-bean walrus tusks.
Just like last year, some food-related hijinks ensued, as both Ball and Hermes like to play with their food. They gamely agreed to pose for the camera.
Hermes making potica-eyes.


The highlight of the meal, however, was something very simple and elegant. Ms Ball had brought a thermos of coffee (which she made with cinnamon) and some china cups and saucers to serve it in. She remembered to bring cream and sugar, too! Ms Hermes and I hadn't had coffee in a long time. (I probably hadn't had a cup of java in more than 20 years!) It was just what we needed on such a damp, chilly spring winter day.
Such an elegant indoor picnic!

Once again, I invited my favorite "bird nerds" to come orchid-hunting with me this spring--it didn't happen last year, but maybe this year it will...

I hope you all have a great break, filled with peace and quiet, walks in the woods, good food, and laughter. See you in 2015!

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Frozen Flowers, Living Poems

Winter is Poetry Out Loud season at Marshall. As I walked through the halls during the weeks leading up to last night's School Contest, I heard students practicing their poems, reciting them under their breath as they went about their days. Over the last two years, I've noticed that Cole B prefers to pace up and down the front hallway as he memorizes his poems. In the past, I've advocated walking outdoors as a memory-aid. This year, Alex M found that walking the school trails helped her to memorize her poem.

Whenever I walk outdoors, in any season of the year, bits of poetry often come to mind, but in the Winter this happens more frequently, perhaps because the cold and the lack of greenery drive my attention inward...

Winter came quickly this year, and I think it caught a lot of plants off-guard:  as I walked the Munger Trail a couple weeks ago, I was amazed at how many flowers were still visible. I kept coming across flowers that had been frozen in place.
Frozen flower on Munger.

I was especially happy to find residual evidence of the Bottle Gentian. I've never taken photos of this flower at this particular stage of its life, after the blue blossoms have faded and turned into seed-pods. 

Bottle Gentians on Munger, faded and gone to seed.
(One of my long-term goals, by the way, is to take photos of my favorite flowers at each stage of their lives, so these photos contribute nicely to that project.)
Bottle Gentians on Munger; photo heavily edited with Snapseed app.
Looking in Leif Erickson Park just last weekend, I found additional Bottle Gentians and was able to get a close-up that reveals the seeds inside the pods. 
Look closely, and you can see the Bottle Gentian seeds inside their pods; taken in Leif Erickson Park.
Then, on the Lakewalk that same day, down near Canal Park, I came across a group of flowers whose petals had obviously been blown by a strong wind. The angle of the petals and the remnants of color really caught my eye, and although it was quite cold out, I took off my gloves and starting shooting. I didn't get many shots, because my hands started to freeze, but I like the two below...
Petals blown by the wind and frozen in place in Canal Park.
All these skeletal flowers, reaching up out of the snow, reminded me of one of my favorite poems by John Keats, the great British poet of the Romantic era. It's just a little fragment, a draft of an unfinished poem, but I've never forgotten it since I first encountered it in college...
Another shot, edited heavily with Snapseed.
This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood,
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calm'd. See, here it is--
I hold it towards you.
                                 --John Keats

It's a genuine, heart-felt utterance, perfectly captured, as if from the middle of a really intense conversation. It's beautiful, and a little spooky, since the speaker is imagining how he might, once he's dead (as he knows he soon will be) haunt the person he's speaking to...

I recently came across a blog-post by a scholar who is likewise interested in this poem; he's written the best (and most in-depth) examination of this poem I've ever seen; I recommend (especially to my AP Lit students) the sections on the sensory imagery in the poem. 

Poetry often claims to keep the dead alive--alive, at least, in our memories (think of the last lines of Shakespeare's famous "Sonnet 18": "So long as men can breathe or eyes can see / So long lives this [the poem], and this gives life to thee"). And you never know--the poem you read in class today (even if you don't now understand it or see any value in it) might help you in the future to deal with loss, to understand pain, to make sense of your experiences.

"This Living Hand" by Keats has done all of that for me. 

I first read this poem in a Brit Lit course I took at UMD from a professor named Joe Duncan. I took several courses from Joe. He was my Advisor, and we became friends. Even after I graduated and went on to grad school, we stayed in touch, writing to each other until the week he died. 

Joe, who had written a book on John Milton (the blind 17th-century poet who wrote Paradise Lost), was himself almost totally blind. He always taught with the lights off because glare of any kind made it impossible for him to see or read. He used to wear a visor indoors, for the same reason. He was the only college professor I ever had who used a seating chart--without one, he couldn't really identify his students. We all had to sit in the front rows and pledge always to sit in the same spot. Whenever Joe read a passage to us, he had to hold the book about two or three inches from his eyes.

Joe was no taller than I was; he was very thin, with a crooked spine, and a funny, shuffling way of walking. He had some facial tics, probably as a result of his blindness but perhaps also because of some other ailments, and he used his hands a lot when he talked, but not necessarily in a way that clearly emphasized what he was saying. I remember how his hands would float slowly through the air as he talked...almost as if he were conducting music that none of us could hear. 

He was from Kentuky, and although he had lived in Minnesota for forty-some years, he still had a very pronounced accent. He also had a strange laugh--the noise came on the inhalations, not the exhalations--and he suffered from some kind of speech impediment. Certain consonants gave him a hard time. 

All of this made some students uncomfortable. I remember one classmate telling me she couldn't take the stress of watching and listening to him. Indeed, it was, at times, a bit painful because he often looked and sounded like he was suffering while he talked. You had to learn how to listen to him, train yourself to hear him. It was easy to dismiss him as strange, or weird, or not worth the trouble...

But if you took the trouble, you discovered that he was very perceptive--he often saw (or sensed, rather) more than we realized. He was an intelligent, conscientious, and compassionate teacher with a great sense of humor. 

He lived near campus, and I used to encounter him as we both walked to and from UMD (Joe couldn't drive, of course, and I didn't have a car then). On several occasions, I walked him home. I can remember one afternoon in particular when we were waiting to cross Woodland Ave. If I hadn't grabbed his arm and held him back, he would have walked right into the path of an oncoming car. Joe couldn't see much beyond a distance of three or four feet, and I think he generally just trusted drivers to stop for him. I remember thinking right then that he was going to get killed one day, crossing the street. 

Sadly, I was right. After he retired, he moved back to Louisville, Kentucky, and was hit by a car as he walked across a street. I never learned all the details. I don't think any charges were filed against the driver. 

As I mourned the loss of my friend, I was haunted by visions of his hands. Joe's hands always seemed to look younger than the rest of him--they were large, strong, and healthy. In the weeks after his death, I would catch myself staring at my own hands, thinking, "they're not mine--these don't look like my hands!" I would stop, mid-gesture, and look at these unfamiliar hands, turning them over and over, fingers outspread. After several such episodes of confusion, it finally struck me: I was seeing his hands, as if they were attached to my arms. Visual memories of his hands were superimposed over the sight of mine, as if he were speaking through my bones, saying,

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb, 
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood,
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calm'd. See, here it is--
I hold it towards you.
                                --John Keats

Once I understood what I was seeing, these hallucinations stopped happening. I rather missed them. When someone you care about dies, you try to hold on to every little bit of them that you can, every possible memory, even when you don't realize that's what you're doing. Sometimes, your senses collaborate in that unconcious effort. It's also fairly common to feel a (completely irrational) sense of guilt when someone dies--why wasn't I there, to pull him back from danger? 

I no longer think of Joe when I look at my hands, but I always remember him when I read Keats's poem. These eight lines bring him right back to me:  I see his face, I hear his laugh, and I watch his hands, forever floating through the air as he stands before me in that unlit room, asking me what I think of "Lycidas."*

Poetry conjures the dead. As we walk through these cold, dark winter days, among the frozen flowers of a vanished summer, it would be wise to carry some poetry with us, lodged firmly in our memories. We might need it someday.



* If you want to read a great short story about a teacher learning to understand Milton's elegy with his students' help, try this link to John Berryman's "Wash Far Away."

Monday, December 8, 2014

Monday Miscellany: Massive Catch-Up Edition!

"Monday Miscellany" posts contain lots of links to a variety of sources that I find interesting...

The School-wide Poetry Out Loud Contest is coming up this Wednesday, on December 10th, from 7-9 pm in the Chapel. I hope you all will attend. To give you a taste of what you might see, I've included some videos below from my classroom contests. Enjoy!
 Ethan F, reciting "Powwow at the End of the World"
by Sherman Alexie.

Sean S, reciting "Abandoned Farmhouse" by Ted
Kooser.

Megan C, reciting "Advice to a Prophet"
by Richard Wilbur.

David K, reciting "Hysteria" by Dionisio D.
Martinez.

Riki L, reciting "And Soul" by
Eavan Boland.

And here's another kind of video...




Here's an article on the value of literature.

Here's an article about how to get more out of your reading by using an idea index (I think this would be helpful for English 12 students).

Here's a good article about Creative Commons.

Here's an article about how curiosity can help you learn.

Here's a video that I want all seniors to watch, for two reasons. First, it's an important response to the death of Eric Garner and the recent protests that erupted after the grand jury decision not to indict Officer Pantaleo. Second, it's one of the best flash mobs I've ever seen, and during our Random Acts of Shakespeare unit, you'll be doing flash-mob-like activities. Here it is.



Also, and this is long overdue, the links to the senior blogs are up on the Student Portal, so faculty can navigate there pretty easily. The screenshots below may help. I know the students would love to have you read and comment on their work!
 

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Fruitful Failures: *Frankenstein* Drafts and Capstone Questions

View along the LBSP "Bog Walk" Trail on 10/18/14. Those are Tamarack needles on the water.
A couple Saturdays ago, I drove up to the Bemidji area where I like to take photos of Lady Slippers and other orchids. I knew there wouldn't be any orchids blooming at this time of year (it's a bit too late now even for Autumn Coralroot, I think), but I thought I might get a head start on my goal for this spring.

I've only been hunting for Minnesota orchids since about 2010 when I first spotted a patch of Yellow Lady Slippers on the Munger Trail. And it's only been a couple years since I started driving up along the Lady Slipper Scenic Byway and exploring the [X] Bog Scientific and Natural Area (SNA). But even then, I started setting goals for each year's orchid (and wildflower) season. 

My goal for last year's season, for instance, was to take photos of the Stemless Lady Slipper, and I was able to fulfill that goal during a visit to Lake Bemidji State Park. There's a lovely little "Bog Walk" Trail there which is beautiful in all seasons. Lots of Stemless Slippers grow there. 

Stemless Lady Slipper, Lake Bemidji 
State Park, spring 2014
My goal for spring 2015 is to find a large colony of Ram's-Head Lady Slippers that grows in this region. (I'm told there are about 2,000 plants in one area.) I've had a couple folks tell me about the general area of this colony, and my research tells me that I'll find the Ram's-Heads in Barott Bog, a place I have yet to see on any map. I think Barott Bog is between Pimushe Lake and Little Moose Lake, somewhere in the vicinity of Forest Road 3862, but that's all the information I have...
Ram's-Head Lady Slipper
photo credit: 
aposematic herpetologist
via 
photopin cc 
I drove up to this area a couple weeks ago to try to get better acquainted with it, and I thought that maybe, if I walked around in the woods along FR 3862, I might be able to glimpse some Ram's-Head seed-pods which form after the blooming season is over. I thought it would be easier to navigate this area after some of the vegetation had died back...

It was a nice idea, and I had a lovely day, walking around in the woods--which were golden with the Tamaracks at the peak of their fall color--but I didn't spot any Ram's-Head seed-pods. They would only have been about four inches off the ground, and rather tiny. The woods were still so thick with life and color that I didn't really have any chance of finding the colony. But I did get a better sense of the place, and I really enjoyed the attempt, even though it failed. On the drive up and back, I saw NINE Bald Eagles (I almost got a photo of one), four Swans (two pairs, in flight), and lots of lovely Pitcher Plants. 
Catching my reflection in the Pitcher Plant's reservoir
Tamarack Needles in their golden glory



Will I find the Ram's-Head colony this spring? I don't know. Maybe. I hope so. Maybe it will take several years. I'm okay with that. Sometimes--usually, really--that's how it goes when you're working on a project, when you're doing some research, when you're trying to solve a problem. You have a goal; you think you have some ideas for reaching that goal; you try some things. Some strategies work; others don't. But you don't give up, and you don't get upset. You appreciate what you learn from your failures, and you try another strategy. --And you enjoy every step of the process. [Update:  I found a colony of Ram's Heads in the spring of 2015, thanks to a tip from a friend. You can read about it here.]

* * * * *
Right now, my AP Lit students are struggling with their Frankenstein drafts. It's been taking them longer than they expected to get their ideas figured out, and I've asked them to do some difficult thinking about some really challenging topics, but that's the way it always is, and that's the way it's supposed to be. Some of them have had to scrap their original thoughts and start over, and try another approach. I've had good conversations with Ethan F, Megan C, Jeremy S, and others who have come in for help.


The [X] Bog, with cedar fronds partially covering the still-green moss
Some seniors are experiencing a similar process as they complete their college essays. I was talking to David K yesterday during lunch, and he was telling me how he had abandoned his original drafts and started fresh. That's what you have to do. If you only ever stick to your first thought, you're selling yourself short. You'll never discover what you're truly capable of if all you ever do is cling to rough drafts, first thoughts, spur-of-the-moment ideas. It's only when you keep thinking, trying, and working, that you find out what you can really do.

I remember back when I was working on the first chapter of my dissertation: I thought I had finished it, and I was very pleased with it, but then I discovered that another scholar had already published my idea! I was devastated. Six months of work down the drain. My dissertation director John Dings, one of the best teachers and mentors I've ever had, helped me to see this as a great opportunity to strengthen my idea. He urged me to see this other scholar, not as a rival, but rather as a helpful source, as a positive influence on my work. John made me realize that if I could find the vulnerabilities in this person's work (and therefore, of course, in my own), I could use this experience as the foundation for a new, and much better, idea. And that's what I did. Was it easy? No! But John was right--my work was stronger and better because I met this challenge. I thought much more deeply and discovered a line of thinking that carried me through the rest of my dissertation. 
This time of year, the [X] Bog is carpeted with a multi-colored mixture of live, dead, and dying vegetation.

In Advisory, seniors are beginning to work on ideas for their Capstone Projects. They're just beginning the same kind of process. Here, however, we're asking them to start with what they love, with what they enjoy, for "a true Capstone Project has its roots in the students' genuine academic and personal interests, pulls together past experiences and future goals, and generates intellectual curiosity and creativity" ("Senior Capstone 2015," emphasis added). Whenever I get some free time, I get out in the woods somewhere and try to find interesting plants, beautiful flowers, and fascinating fungi. It's what I love best, and every time I make a discovery or see something new, I laugh out loud with joy--I can't help it--it makes me happy. It never feels like work, and even my "failures" are fruitful. 

Whether you're working on a paper or trying to come up with a Project idea, try to develop the right "Habits of Mind." Be willing to think creatively and ask lots of great questions. Set some goals, throw out some ideas, take some risks, start over (and over, and over), and try again (and again, and again), laugh at the joy of discovery, and fail fruitfully!

Friday, October 10, 2014

A Conspirator is Revealed! Part Ten of The Case of the Lady Slipper Stalker

[This is Part Ten of The Case of the Lady Slipper Stalker. See also Parts OneTwoThreeFourFour-and-a-HalfFour-and-Three-QuartersSuggestions for My Dear ReadersA Note from Mrs HudsonFive,  A Plea For HelpSix, SevenSeven-and-a HalfSeven-and-Three-QuartersEightA Most Ingenious Theory, and Nine.]

After much furious--and, unfortunately, wasted--activity, Ethan F solved the Second Coded Message last night!  
Ethan's email

It turns out that it was much less complex than I originally thought. Also, rather unfortunately, several of my devoted former students stayed up late, neglecting their own studies, to help me--needlessly, as it turns out. I wish to thank them most profusely: Calvin K, Ian P, and Sean S, if I could send you Chocolate Pie, I would! They put in some serious computational labor!


I thought we were getting somewhere with "Did u bake pz?"
                             
Their Futile Labors
The Riddle was almost complete nonsense--at best, one ought to have derived from it the number eight. And one can quickly convert the number groups into text, if one knows that an octal numeral system conversion tool is needed.  
A Conspirator is revealed!
I am happy to say that all my faculty suspects are in the clear for this incident. My deepest apologies to Mr Diener and Mrs Birnbaum

The Culprit, at least in this instance, is young Thomaz N, from my AP Lit course, whom I have mentioned before and to whom I fondly refer as "Horselegs," because of his mis-reading of a passage in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.  
The Previous Mention of Thomaz "Horselegs" N
He wrote the riddle, though perhaps not all on his own, as I am informed by Ethan F that Jeremy S may have helped with the writing and certainly with the delivery of this message. Mr Mattson's sighting of the lovely Mrs B in the vicinity of my classroom was, as it happens, a mere coincidence. You might also remember, my Dear Readers, that I suspected Thomaz of being an Anonymous Commenter on Part Eight of The Case.  
"Horselegs" begins to give himself away...
Clearly, young Thomaz is a suspicious character who craves my attention, and I must keep my eyes on him and his comrades...  Of course, none of this nonsense brings me any closer to solving the original puzzle: the identity of The Lady Slipper Stalker (the person who left the Photo in Question on my car).

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Another Plea For Help! Part Nine of The Case of the Lady Slipper Stalker

[This is part of The Case of the Lady Slipper Stalker. See also Parts OneTwoThreeFourFour-and-a-HalfFour-and-Three-QuartersSuggestions for My Dear ReadersA Note from Mrs HudsonFive,  A Plea For HelpSix, SevenSeven-and-a HalfSeven-and-Three-Quarters, Eight, and A Most Ingenious Theory.]

I brought the remainging slices to an English Department
meeting, & one English teacher ate THREE slices! Can
anyone guess the name of that gluttonous Anglophile?
(It certainly wasn't me!)
What a week I've had, Dear Readers! I've been busy making and delivering slices of Chocolate Pie to various Suspects and Commenters, which made for a busy start to the week. I was hoping that the pie-recipients might let slip some clues while in the throes of a chocolate-induced ecstasy, but no such luck, Dear Readers. Clearly, I am dealing with cunning and careful conspirators.  


The Donation
Then, I had to make sure that the Twenty-Five Year Club received my donation, and when I returned to my room late Tuesday afternoon, I noticed a piece of paper on the bulletin board by my door. It was yet another Coded Message, but one of a Higher Order than the last one, consisting of both a riddle and some kind of number puzzle. 
A Second Coded Message

When I showed it to Mr Mattson, he suddenly remembered that he had spotted the lovely Mrs Birnbaum on campus after school on Monday, the 6th. He said she was walking in a most determined but yet surreptitious manner towards my classroom. He is quite certain that she must be the one who delivered (and perhaps also composed) this second Coded Message. (Perhaps we should promote her to Suspect #1 status?)

The numbers, my Dear Readers, are beyond me. I notice only that both 145 and 163 repeat, that there are ten groups of three digits, that no single digit higher than 7 is represented, and that there are 

  • three zeroes, 
  • nine ones, 
  • one two, 
  • two threes, 
  • five fours, 
  • five fives, 
  • three sixes, 
  • and two sevens. 
I somehow feel that this is not a simple substitution cipher, like the previous Coded Message. I did have a chance to show this puzzle to some of my students, and Lillian M said right away that she thought it must be some kind of matrix problem. I was advised to show it to Ethan F, who promised to work on it as he travels out of town next week. I also asked Tiffany W to take a look, and her eyes lit up with exitement at the prospect of this challenge! 

I sent an email to three of my suspects, asking them if they knew anything about this Message. I present their responses below: 
Such Charming Denials!
In their defense, I do think the Message had probably been left the night before, as I said above, by Mrs B

During Wednesday's morning assembly, Mr Pearson asked to look at the Message. He seemed to confirm what my students had said, that this involves some kind of matrix problem. Pearson said a "two by two" matrix is needed to solve it. (I have no idea what that means!) Of course, he could say anything mathematical, and I would have no way of judging the validity of his words.

As far as I am able to understand, I think the numbers for the matrix must be derived from the Riddle, and at that point, a graphing calculator can be used to turn the number sequence into letters... Perhaps this online matrix calculator will help? 

So, I turn my attention to the words of the Riddle, which has nine lines. The "octo" in October means "eight," as October was, in Roman times, the eighth month of the year. I assume the Riddler makes reference to Chariots of Fire, the 1981 film about the 1924 Olympics which took place in Paris. The film is about a Scottish runner, Eric Liddell, who refuses--because of his religious principles--to run a race on the Sabbath (a word that is associated with the number seven). Mr Mattson told me that the DVD case for the movie features a picture of a runner wearing a jersey with the number 451 on it. I am a bit baffled by the reference to a German student, but perhaps one will read this and help me out! (I begin to sense an international flair to this Riddle, and the French and Scottish references make me think, of course, of Madame Greenan!) 

I find the last line of the Riddle most intriguing. The imperative verb "Ponder" makes me think of two former students, though I really don't think they have anything to do with this. Although I know nothing of football, I do know that there is a football player named Christian Ponder, who wears a seven on his jersey... I'm not sure which "name" I should "ponder," but I wonder if it's a place-name, because I am then prompted to look "South West," but south west of what? Am I to "ponder" the name by which the writer signs his/her work, "October Riddler"? I'm not sure that gets me anywhere, but it makes me think of the Batman villain, the Riddler! The earlier reference to a "Roman origin" made me look at a map of Europe to see what is southwest of Rome, but that didn't seem to help, either.

Later today, Mr Diener sent an email to the faculty, urging us all to look up at the sky tonight, in a southwest direction. Notice the numbers 730 and 732 in his message...
Just another Cryptic Response from Suspect #1
Is Mr Diener's "yup" an indication that he knows what was in the Message? Or was he unaware of this Message, as he claimed to be, after eating my "truth serum" pie? The link in Mr Diener's email takes one to a NASA site where one can check on the current location of the ISS (International Space Station). Are these the names I am to ponder? NASA, ISS? The site includes some other numbers, which I reproduce here.
Are these numbers helpful?
Are Mrs Birnbaum and Mr Diener working together? Was Mr Pearson being helpful or was he bamboozling me? Is the Language Department being drawn into this conspiracy? 

I am left with these very perplexing questions, but when I got home today, I found in the mail a most sweet and colorful thank-you note from the family of the Ely Scholar (my DNR-intern friend), a family whose youngest member is a boy named Noah who just happens to be the grandson of the lovely Mrs Birnbaum! This beautiful art-work serves as a most pleasant distraction from puzzles and riddles. Noah's message, at least, is clear!

I am informed that this note depicts, in part, a Lady Slipper
I don't think I've ever received a sweeter note! 
Well, my Dear Readers, consider this post another Plea for Help. I am interested to know what you think. The Riddle advises me to seek the help, yet again, of the League of Mathematical Scholars, so perhaps they will come to my aid. In the meantime, I will continue to examine the artistic intricacies of young Noah's note...

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Guest Post: A Most Ingenious Theory

[This is a guest post written by Jonathan T at the urging of Dr Nygaard, and it is part of the The Case of the Lady Slipper Stalker. Jonathan is now officially an F-Wing Irregular.]

Why I believe the Lady Slipper Stalker is Mr. Diener

Upon request by Dr. Nygaard, I am to share with you my theory regarding the identity of the infamous Lady Slipper Stalker. As stated above, I believe the identity of the LSS to be none other than Mr. Diener. I developed this theory shortly after the post regarding the second Ziploc bagged surprise (the one containing the coloring book and coded message). 


To uncover the identity of the LSS, one must look deeper than the obvious “hints” provided by the supplied items. The first thing I thought about was where one would procure a wildflower coloring book. Beyond the obvious “the internet” answer so many of my fellow Marshall students seem to like, I believe a national park, like perhaps Jay Cooke State Park, would be a very plausible location for the procurement of such a coloring book. This points the finger at Mr. Diener because, as many of you know, he works at the park.*

At this point, I went a little deeper into the evidence provided by the items. As Dr. N pointed out, the LSS had used four plastic bags to house their mysterious gifts twice in a row. Someone willing to take the time to do this twice would undoubtedly enjoy order and would likely display similar traits in other endeavors. However, other items in the parcel pointed in the opposite direction. For example, the coded message, another thing seemingly right up Mr. Diener’s alley, was rather disorderly. The lines were of rather variable length, the spaces between words were wildly variable, and the unusual orientation of the message on the paper all pointed to a haphazard, rushed job. This note was therefore likely created by an individual who may be disorganized or rush through things. 

These contradictory clues, in my mind, could only point to one person. In Marshall’s community of teachers I feel only one person displays a strong affinity for order, as well as disorganization. Those who have taken a class taught by Mr. Diener will surely remember the infamous power-point presentations, every time polished and perfected to the letter. Countless hours were surely spent making sure they were clearly ordered and typo-free. Students will also remember his well planned out curriculum and syllabi. 

On the other hand, students will surely also remember the “back room,” a place containing disorganized heaps of scientific equipment, props, and seemingly random items all threatening to tumble to the floor at any second. Students may also remember activities like the rock/mineral test and the chaos of students running around the classroom trying desperately to remember their halite from their graphite. 

I believe the LSS can be none other than Mr. Diener because he displays the simultaneous levels of meticulous order and haphazard disorder that can be found in the items left around campus by the LSS.

Jonathan T

*Mr Diener now works at Gooseberry Falls State Park (Dr N).