Dear Kid,

Once upon a time, there weren’t any trees. Then there were. Then came Arbor Day.

Arbor Day was created by J. Sterling Morton (President Grover Cleveland’s Secretary of Agriculture) in 1872 because J. Sterling thought there weren’t enough trees in Nebraska (where he lived). That first Arbor Day, approximately 1 million trees were planted. Then there were more trees in Nebraska. But not enough for J. S. so the tradition continued.

Arbor Day dates vary because planting seasons vary by climate. For example, Hawaii celebrates Arbor Day on the 1^st Friday in November because of their planting season, and Alaska celebrates on the 3^rd Monday in May. But (in a happy coincidence), J. Sterling Morton’s birthday was April 22^nd and most states celebrate Arbor Day right around his birthday.

There are about 1,000 types of trees in the US (Red Maple is the most common, followed by the Loblolly Pine [I did not make that up], and the Sweet Gum).

In 2004, the National Arbor Day Foundation (yes, there is such a thing) held a vote for America’s Favorite Tree. It did not include a swimsuit competition. Despite heavy lobbying by the Sweet Gum, the Oak Tree won.

Happy Arbor Day. What’s your favorite tree?

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I went to the eye doctor earlier.

The good news is that all the parts of my eyes are in lovely shape. The doctor had a marvelous time exclaiming over the excellent surgery I had years ago.

And oh, the joy of dilated eyes. (For the record I can barely see to type this, so I’m blaming Dr. C for any and all errors.)

Then came the Choosing of the New Frames. Basically, try on 1,984 frames and reject 1,984 frames. Have an in-depth discussion with the consultant about skin color, hair color, style options, and the fact that my glasses spend most of their time on the top of my head.

Green glasses. Ooh, neat. Very cool.

Red glasses. Very fun, very interesting design.

But the winner?

Ah, my friend. You will have to wait until the glasses return from the lab and I get to wear them to see.

In the meantime, I’m going to go close my eyes until they return to normal.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Did I tell you about the Great Eyeglass Catastrophe of 2018?

It’s awful–if you have tears prepare to shed them.

As you know, my glasses belong in one of two places: in front of my eyes so I can read, or on top of my head so I can put them in front of my eyes when I need to read.

Either way, they’re handy.

Both as a vision enhancement device and as a headband.

Because I’ve worn them like this for so long, I have a heightened sense of loss when they aren’t on top of my head (like when I first wake up in the morning). So I don’t worry about them going missing. Because they don’t. Ever.

Until this past Sunday.

I was gardening, the Puppy was sleeping, the mourning dove was building a nest, and all was well with the world. Until I went inside, and discovered that my glasses

were missing.

Gone.

Not there.

I searched. I enlisted Dad in the search.

I looked inside.

I looked outside.

I looked through the garbage.

I looked through the recycling bin.

I went back over all the places I’d been. (Now you know why Dr. Seuss never wrote a book about losing a pair of glasses.)

I just kept assuming they’d show up.

Meanwhile I started wearing a pair of drugstore readers which do almost as little for my vision as they do for my fashion sense. I made an appointment to see the eye doctor.

And continued to whine about it.

So last night after dinner, Dad said he would search again. He went to the car and looked. He went to the backyard and searched. He got a rake and hunted thoroughly.

And eventually he found them.

But not exactly in the condition I’d last seen them.

I’m pretty sure I somehow lost them in the grass. Right before Dad mowed.

Did I mention I have an appointment to see the eye doctor?

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Over the weekend, the Puppy and I did some gardening. To clarify, I did some gardening and the Puppy napped on the grass. It was (in his opinion) a fair division of labor.

While he was napping, a mourning dove was building a nest in one of the evergreens.

In case you are ever reincarnated as a mourning dove, you might want to know the proper methodology for next building.

One: Fly off and find Useful Material for nest building.

Two: Fly back. Land on the driveway.

Three: Holding the Useful Material in your beak, scan the area for predators, marauders, and other birds looking for interior decorating ideas.

Four: Once you’re satisfied that no one is observing, fly up to the Right Branch and begin construction.

Rinse and repeat.

I just loved watching this bird check to be sure no one saw where the next was being built. Mourning Dove in Stealth Mode.

Now I have to think about what to buy as a nest warming gift. Any ideas?

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

This past weekend, we went to a college football game (and by “game” I mean the exact opposite of a game in which some people wore some parts of uniforms and some plays were run on an intrasquad basis. Occasionally a rule or two was even followed.)

But it was a beautiful spring day (I know! I was as surprised as everyone else in Ohio) and it was football and we had a lovely time.

You already know this because you took us.

You also know that I asked a question neither you nor Dad could answer (extra points for me). Specifically, I wanted to know what the “H” on the back of one of the official’s uniform meant. No one on the planet knew (and by “no one on the planet I mean neither you nor Dad knew). I spent some time thinking about it.

“Honorary Umpire” was my best guess once I decided that “Heaven Help Us All” and “Hurry Up with the Next Play” Person were out of the running.

But, being the kind of mom I am, I decided to consult MFtI and I am now an expert on football (the American kind) officiating.

Football officiating teams are supposed to operate like a well-oiled hierarchical machine. In order to avoid injury, there are special exercises designed specifically for the officials so that they avoid injury during a sharp blast of a whistle or a crisp yellow card. Oops, wrong football.

Officials are commonly called zebras because of their striped jerseys. (True Interesting Fact: officials used to wear white shirts, but when a quarterback handed college football referee Llyod Olds the ball at the start of a play, Lloyd got out his Sharpie and the shirts were changed. [OK, I made up the part about the Sharpie. The rest is true.])

If you are you, you call the officials Tweetie Birds, which I like even better than zebras. Attention, World: This is an official announcement that we are now referring to Tweetie Birds and leaving the zebras in the zoo.

On the back of each jersey is a letter indicating the role each official officially holds: Referee, Umpire, Head Linesman (AHA! The “H”!—the Head Linesman is now called the Down Judge but not everyone has gotten a new jersey), Line Judge, Back Judge, Side Judge, Center Judge (in Division I football), Field Judge, and Judge Judy.

Over the years the colors of the hats and jerseys have changed, but no one cares except the people who wash the laundry for the officials. (Who does that? Are there official equipment managers?)

The Referee is the Head Number One Supreme Honcho on the football field. Or at least he was until Instant Replay and the New Rules were introduced. Now he’s a figurehead who gets to explain complicated rulings that make everyone unhappy. If he’s in the mood and his mike is working. He’s also in charge of counting the number of offensive players on the field. At least until they start sweating, at which point everyone out there is pretty offensive. (Sweaty Stinky Man Smell times a lot of men. Lovely. Nose plugs given as part of the standard equipment package.)

The Umpire stands behind the defense and also counts offensive players (just in case there are a different number from the other direction). The Umpire is notable for being the only official wearing a vowel (the others have to buy their own vowels). The Umpire position is the most physically dangerous officiating position. The Umpire is also in charge of making sure all the players’ equipment is legal.

The Head Linesman (now called Down Judge) stands with the chain gang crew looking for offsides, encroachment, and other pre-snap fouls. He marks the forward progress of the ball and is the Keeper of the Chain Clip to mark the first down.

The Line Judge stands at the other end of the line of scrimmage from the Down Judge looking for all the same pre-snap infractions the DJ is looking for. The Line Judge also counts the offensive players because apparently the number of players is a BFD and One Can’t Be Too Sure. The Line Judge is also the timekeeper (or backup timekeeper).

The Field Judge is responsible for checking the conditions of the grass. This is a less important on artificial surfaces. He rules on pass interference, illegal blocks downfield, and incomplete passes. He also counts defensive players because there are more than enough people counting the offense. Most importantly, he’s one of the dudes standing at the goal posts when there is a PAT or FG attempt.

The Side Judge rules on dishes like potatoes and asparagus (just think about it for a minute—it’s funny). He more or less does the same thing the Field Judge does but on the other side of the field.

The Back Judge does a lot of the same things the Side and Field Judges do, and he also has the joy of ruling on “delay of game” infractions.

Now you know.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

In other backyard news, I have completed the Great Birdfeeder Experiment.

I am a terrible hostess in that I don’t keep the birdfeeders full during the winter. Mostly because it’s COLD out there and I believe the birds should be in Florida or someplace with indoor heating.

It’s not that I’m lazy-ha! I laugh at lazy. I just like being warm more than I like being, well, cold.

And as your father decided a long time ago that the birdfeeders were my responsibility (and as the Puppy is far too short to be of help filling them) they go unfilled during the cold. And the rain. And other unpleasant weather conditions.

Yesterday I finally filled them up.

That was not the experiment.

The experiment was waiting to see how long it would take anyone (and by “anyone” I mean wildlife) to recognize that the buffet was once again fully stocked.

The squirrels barely waited until I’d walked away to start scavenging. (I’m not the world’s neatest birdfeeder-filler so there was plenty for them to enjoy.)

The rabbit hopped right by. Apparently “birdseed” is not on the rabbit menu.

I thought a cardinal would be the first one to nibble. I thought this because it sat, staring at the birdfeeder for a long, red moment. Eventually he flew off, sans seed.

About an hour after filling, a mourning dove tucked in for some grub.

Was the experiment a success? Absolutely. I watched from inside (while drinking a Diet Coke) as birds and squirrels amused me.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

(Somehow, MFtI forgot to publish this this morning.)

Way back when you were in Jr High (I think it was when you were in Jr High), you or Pi (or possibly both of you) used a simulation software that looked at a prairie system. As I recall, there were wolves who ate rabbits who ate the tall grass which hid the wolves. And each group reproduced and consumed at a given rate so the idea was to find the right amount of grass, rabbits, and wolves where each of the populations would remain (more or less) constant.

I’m sure there was an important lesson in there besides “wolves eat rabbits” and “look how fast this thing calculates” but I don’t remember what the Important Lesson was. I hope you do. I have great faith that you gained something from our educational system.

The point is that we have something similar happening in our very own backyard.

You remember we had a fox more or less take a part-time seasonal home here this spring?

And you remember that the Puppy dug up a rabbit’s nest? (Maybe I didn’t tell you about that. He found the nest. He was very proud of himself. We quickly removed him and re-covered the rabbits.)

Sometime after the Puppy made friends with un-developed rabbits, we’re pretty sure the fox made dinner of them. And it’s possible that the tall grass (which is more not-grass than grass) was enough to hide him, but only if you were already on the other side of the house.

Yesterday, much to my joy, I saw a rabbit hoppity-ing through the backyard, stopping to eat the not-exactly-grass that grows where lawn should be.

I was about to celebrate our backyard as the perfectly balanced system when I realized I haven’t seen the fox in a while. Probably it moved on.

But possibly the rabbit studied Krav Maga.

In which case we’re going to have a lot of rabbits this summer…

Love, Mom