As I've said many times, Trish and I love to spend time on the water in a human-powered watercraft called a canoe. 

By the way, did you know canoes have been around for at least 10,000 years? A dugout canoe discovered in Nigeria was carbon-dated to about 10,500 years ago, and another dugout canoe found in the Netherlands was carbon-dated to approximately 10,200 years ago. 

Since those ancient times, canoes have drastically changed civilization, being crucial for human expansion to remote islands, such as throughout the Malay archipelago to Australia and New Zealand. Canoes became essential tools for trade in North America and other continents. And now they are still used worldwide for recreation and even Olympic events.

In arctic areas, innovative people like the Inuit and Aleut modified the basic canoe design by covering them in skins for hunting and fishing in freezing water. This is how kayaks evolved from canoes. 

Anyway, Trish and I are not hardy enough to brave freezing waters, so our 2026 paddling season is quickly coming to an end. As October comes to a close, we watch carefully for any days that have warm temps and low wind. We managed to get out on two perfect days in the last week, paddling over eight miles one day and six the next, exploring coves and shorelines. It was glorious. (PHOTOS 1-2)

In one area we found numerous stick nests built in dead trees over the water (see below). At the time, we speculated about what birds may have made these nests but failed to come up with a likely answer. They are far too small to be bald eagle, osprey, or great blue heron nests (all are common here). (PHOTO 3)

After we got home, I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out, and I discovered that these are nests of the double-crested cormorant. 

Cormorants are common at the lake, but they do not typically breed in Missouri, which explains why we have not seen nests like this before. The weather this year has been so weird that a group of cormorants must have decided to not even bother to keep flying north and just breed here instead.

PHOTO 4 shows double-crested cormorants on their nests.

Photo Credits:
- Canoeing photos, including older cormorant nests - Stan C. Smith
- Double-crested cormorants in their stick nests - DepositPhotos

I just want everyone to know that this squid actually exists. I have not personally seen one, but it makes me happy to know they are out there, going about their daily squidy business.

Behold, the striped pyjama squid. These cephalopods live in the Indo-Pacific Oceans of Australia, and they spend most of their time buried in the sand with only their eyes sticking up, so they can ambush prey, such as shrimp or fish. I think it's a pity that they hide under the sand so much—they should want to show off those beautiful stripes, don't you think? Besides, as squid are wont to do, they are capable of changing their color to blend in. Their normal state, however, is the striped pyjama look.

By the way, if you're wondering why it's spelled pyjama instead of pajama, this is became much of the rest of the English-speaking world spells it pyjama, including Australia, where these creatures are found. Some people call it the striped dumpling squid.

Interestingly, these squid mate head-to-head (SEE THE THIRD PHOTO). The female then stores the male's sperm in a pouch under her mouth until she is ready to lay her eggs (kind of like when Napoleon Dynamite stores tater tots in his pockets until he is ready for a snack later... but I digress). When the female is ready, she lays her eggs in a safe place, then squirts the sperm over them to fertilize them. When the tiny babies emerge from the eggs, they are already proudly adorned in vivid pyjama stripes.

Photo Credits:

- Top squid photo - DepositPhotos
- Middle squid photo - Scubagirl85, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
- Bottom squid photo (mating squid) - Scubagirl85, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

In which we contemplate these flying fur balls and inquire about their rather unusual name.

Recently, I've had opportunities to observe and photograph several different types of bumblebees. For example, THE FIRST PHOTO is a tricolored bumblebee we saw in Minnesota. This was the first bumblebee I had seen with orange bands on its abdomen.

There are about 250 species of bumblebees worldwide. THE SECOND PHOTO is a vestal cuckoo bumblebee (not my photo... these live in Europe). This is the only bumblebee I've seen photos of that has white bands on its abdomen. 

Bumblebees (in the genus Bombus) usually live in small colonies of about 50 to 400 bees (honeybee colonies can have up to 100,000 bees!). Like honeybees, they are typically eusocial, which means they have division of labor within the colony—the queen lays eggs, the other females (workers) go out and gather pollen and nectar and care for the young, and the males (drones) exist only to mate.

Cuckoo bumblebees are an interesting exception to this. They are what we call brood parasites—they do not make nests or form colonies. Instead, queen cuckoo bumblebees invade the nests of other types on bumblebees and kill the queen. Then they lay their own eggs in the nest, and the workers of the other species actually feed and raise the invading cuckoo bumblebee's young. Cuckoo bumblebees got their name because the birds called cuckoos do something similar—they lay an egg in the nest of another bird species, and when the baby cuckoo hatches, it shoves the eggs that were already there out of the nest, and the mother bird feeds and cares for the baby cuckoo. Very rude.

By the way... the largest bumblebee species in the world is Bombus dahlbomii, also called the moscardón, from South America. They grow to 1.6 inches (40mm) long, and they have been described as "flying mice."

Okay, let's look at why these insects are called bumblebees. The name is fun to say, but where did it come from? 

First, a shout out to Scotland, where the bumblebee has the coolest colloquial names, including the drumbledrone and the foggy toddler. And long ago, they used the name dumbledore (which is where J.K. Rowling got the name for her Hogwarts Headmaster).

Before the early 1900s, bumblebees were widely known as humblebees. Back when Charles Darwin (and all of his contemporaries) wrote about these insects, they called them humblebees. This name resulted from the humming sound they make as they fly.

So, when did the name change to bumblebee? In a famous book on bees written by Frederick Sladen and published in 1912, he still called them humblebees. However, by that time the newer name was starting to appear. In fact, many people consider Beatrix Potter's 1910 book, Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse, to be the biggest factor in the momentum of this name change. Mrs. Tittlemouse is deeply troubled by squatters making mossy nests in her yard. The squatters happen to be large bees, and their leader is Babbitty Bumble.

So, a fictional character, Babbitty Bumble, led to widespread use of the name bumblebee. THIRD IMAGE.

Photo Credits:
- Tri-colored bumblebee - Stan C. Smith
- Vestal cuckoo bumblebee - René Cortin, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
- Babbitty Bumble - Original Beatrix Potter illustration from Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse (1910) - Public Domain

Um… this is a hard one! Let’s think about this. Usually, when we see something expanding, such as a balloon or a baking muffin, it is expanding into the space surrounding it. It has somewhere to go as it gets larger. But the universe is everything that exists, so how can it expand? Well, it doesn’t help our floundering brains that these balloon and muffin analogies are simply inadequate.

Remember, the universe is everything. It cannot expand into anything else. At least that’s my working assumption.

First, we need to understand the bizarre concept of infinity. An infinite amount of something means there is no end to whatever that something is. You cannot count to infinity because it is theoretically impossible. There is no end.

Let’s consider the expansion of infinity. If you have a number line that goes all the way to infinity, it goes on forever, right? Now, imagine that you stretch that number line out so that there is more space between each number. If you do that, you haven’t created more numbers—it’s already infinite numbers. Instead, you’ve simply expanded the number line. There were infinite numbers before you expanded it, and there are still infinite numbers after you expanded it. Well, space itself is infinitely big before and after expansion, but now there is more space between the numbers. The same concept applies if the numbers (points in space) are not in a straight line but are scattered in three-dimensional space. Like a bunch of raisins in a muffin that is expanding as it cooks.

Wait… how do we even know the universe is expanding? Because, when we look at all the other galaxies, we can see they are all moving away from us. This can only happen if the universe is expanding.

However (this is where things get really bizarre), we have repeatedly confirmed by observation that the farther away the galaxies are, the faster they appear to be moving away from us. Huh? Yes, and the data is astoundingly consistent. The only way to explain this observation is that the galaxies themselves are not moving—but the space between them is expanding.

Is that possible? It is if you realize that space can be dynamic, not just static. In other words, space can change. Einstein’s general theory of relativity allows for space, on a very large scale, to expand or contract. The space of our universe happens to be expanding now. But remember, it is the space that is expanding, and the solid objects (galaxies) are not actually moving through that space, they are moving with that space as the space expands. Again, consider the raisins in an expanding muffin. The raisins are not moving through the substance of the muffin, they are moving with the substance of the muffin as that substance expands.

Of course, you have to remember that the “observable universe” includes only what we can see—limited to things that emit or reflect light that has had time to travel to us. So, we don’t truly know if the universe is finite or infinite. But the idea of the expanding space of the universe still holds true.

Okay, as a non-physicist, that’s the best I can do with this question. Now I have a headache.

Photo Credits:
- Expanding universe - DepositPhotos

While spending a few days in Kansas visiting family, I went to Quivira National Wildlife Refuge with my brother Shane to look at wildlife. I was thrilled to find two awesome snakes that we do not find here in our part of Missouri.

THE FIRST PHOTO is a bullsnake (also called gopher snake). Nonvenomous. I haven't seen one of these sizable snakes in several decades. Bullsnakes, which grow to six feet (1.8m) long, are constrictors that often prey on rodents such as gophers, mice, voles, and ground squirrels. Bullsnakes can be feisty when you first approach them. This one tried to crawl away, but when I crouched in front of it to take photos, it coiled to strike, hissed at me, and rattled its tail (many harmless snakes rattle their tails, a way of making predators think they are rattlesnakes). As you can see, bullsnakes are truly beautiful creatures.

THE SECOND PHOTO is a western massasauga. Venomous. This is the first massasauga I have ever seen in the wild, so I was beyond excited about it. Massasaugas are rather small rattlesnakes (14 to 36 inches), which means they deliver a relatively small dose of venom when they bite. This makes them less dangerous than larger rattlesnakes. But still, the venom is a powerful hemotoxin (it destroys blood cells and damages other tissue), and a bite could become serious without medical treatment. These snakes are nocturnal in the summer, but in October they often move around during the day, so I was lucky to be there at the best time of the year to find one.

This snake was even more spirited than the bullsnake. As I approached, it went from zero to grouch in about two seconds. They are best appreciated from a safe distance.

Even if you don't care for snakes, you gotta admit these two are pretty cool critters. Right?

Photo Credit:

Both snakes by Stan C. Smith

Trish and I both are fascinated by insects. We're also fascinated by evolutionary phenomena like Batesian mimicry (when a harmless living thing has evolved to look like a dangerous living thing for protection). Like a harmless scarlet snake resembling a venomous coral snake. Or a harmless viceroy butterfly resembling a toxic, nasty-tasting monarch butterfly.

One of our favorites is the flower fly, also called the hoverfly. They are harmless flies, but each species closely resembles a stinging bee or wasp.

These critters rarely sit still, so it's not easy to get a photo, but THE FIRST PHOTO is a narrow-banded pond fly (a type of flower fly) that I photographed recently on our trip to Minnesota.

Notice the cream-colored markings on the black abdomen, which resembles that of a bald-faced hornet (trust me, you don't want to mess around with bald-faced hornets).

When flower flies are in the air, they even hover and maneuver about like stinging bees do. It's quite convincing, and it's difficult to tell what they are until they land. Then, if you look closely, you'll see that flower flies, like all flies, only have two wings. Bees and wasps, on the other hand, have four wings. Also, when at rest, flower flies normally hold their wings outward like in the two photos, whereas bees and wasps fold their wings down the length of their back.

But the illusion obviously works. Numerous controlled experiments have shown that predators do indeed avoid flower flies far more than they avoid harmless other flies that are not examples of Batesian mimicry.

THE SECOND PHOTO is a black and yellow striped flower fly, which resembles a ground hornet (also called a yellowjacket... again, not a critter you want to mess around with). But again, notice it has only two wings, and they are held outward while the insect is at rest.

What about you? Have you seen any cool examples of harmless animals or plants that resemble harmful ones (Batesian mimicry)?

Photo Credits:

- Narrow-banded Pond fly - Stan C. Smith

- Black and yellow striped flower fly - DepositPhotos

A few ruby-throated hummingbirds still come to our feeders, but most of them have moved on south in their migration. As one of them headed out, it pooped while zooming away, leaving us a nice artistic gift on a vertical surface of our deck railing.

I call it "Hummingbird Self Portrait."

If you see it, you see it. If not, it might help to squint.

Art can be found wherever you look for it.

Photo Credits:

• - Ruby-throated hummingbird - DepositPhotos
• - Bird poop art - Stan C. Smith

Lately, I’ve become fascinated by cool examples of animal camouflage. One that came to my attention recently is the Vietnamese mossy frog. Take one look at this frog, and you can easily guess where it spends most of its time: near edges of water where there is an abundance of moss. 

They are found in northern Vietnam, especially on the banks of rocky streams in the forested hills. Like most frogs, they are predators, feeding on insects like crickets and cockroaches. They usually hunt at night, and during the day they sit very still on the moss or clinging to rocks, looking very much like a clump of moss.

Have you ever tried to locate a creature that is capable of “throwing its voice”? I suppose the more official term is “acoustic ventriloquism.” Some animals, such as bullfrogs, cicadas, and some birds, can direct their calls away from their own body, making it extremely difficult for predators to precisely locate their location. Numerous times, I have tried to zero in on a calling (buzzing) cicada, only to fail… even when I’m only a few feet away from the darn thing. Well, Vietnamese mossy frogs can “throw their voice” up to four meters (13 feet). This confuses predators, and it also confuses rival males who are looking for a fight.

Okay, one more exceptional fact. Like most frogs, Vietnamese mossy frogs lay their eggs in water. Interestingly, the gender of the tadpoles that hatch from the eggs is mostly determined by the temperature of the water. In warmer water, nearly all the frogs will be male. Cooler water will produce mostly female frogs.

Photo Credits:

- Frog sitting on green moss - DepositPhotos

- Frog on white background - DepositPhotos

A young woodchuck has recently been making daily visits to the area right behind our house. Maybe it's interested in the sunflower seeds the birds haphazardly fling everywhere while at our feeders.

It has been scampering away whenever I go out there, defying my efforts to get a good photo... until recently. Finally, it let me get reasonably close for a few photos (FIRST PHOTO).

Let's dig into this woodchuck business.

First, what the heck is a woodchuck, anyway?

Sometimes, people get confused about woodchucks because they are called by so many colloquial names: groundhog, marmot, groundpig, whistle-pig, thickwood badger, monax, weenusk, land beaver, and Canada marmot, among others. Regardless, the scientific name is Marmota monax. It is one of several species of marmots. Two other species, the yellow-bellied marmot and hoary marmot live in mountain areas of western North America, but not here in the Midwest.

Woodchucks are rodents. Specifically, they are a very large type of ground squirrel. They grow up to 14 pounds, making them the second largest rodent in Missouri... the beaver is the winner, growing up to 90 pounds!

Wanna know something cool? Baby woodchucks are called chucklings (SECOND PHOTO).

Woodchucks did not get their name from wood or from chucking things. The name actually comes from the Algonquian name for this animal, wuchak.

Still, the name has resulted in my all-time favorite tongue-twisty, rhymey question and answer:

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

A woodchuck could chuck as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood.

I won't bother talking about Groundhog Day, which is a kind-of holiday based on a rather silly superstition. After all, I'm sure you've seen the movie... again, and again, and again...

I could go on and on about woodchucks (because they're awesome), but I'll wrap it up with my admiration for woodchucks as master burrowers. Whenever these chubby rodents dig a burrow, they bring about six cubic feet of soil to the surface (which is actually very good for the soil). The burrows are often over twenty feet long, with side chambers for various purposes, including a pooping chamber. The nest chamber is lined with dried grass and leaves to make it comfy. And, wisely, woodchuck burrows not only have a main entrance hole, they also have a spy hole (which doubles as an escape hole when necessary).

Next time you see a woodchuck, tell it Trish and I said hello.

Photo Credits:

- Woodchuck adult - Stan C. Smith

- Woodchuck with young - DepositPhotos

Candy has been such an important aspect of society for so long that people cannot imagine a time without all those delectable little sweet treats. But surely candy hasn’t always existed, right? Who can we thank for coming up with such a terrific idea? Or, depending on your perspective, who should we thank for a devastating idea that has resulted in millions of people with sugar-induced health problems?

First, we have to put a definition to the word “candy.” I think it’s obvious that human ancestors—way back before they could even stand upright—discovered honey, and they ate the stuff like candy. After all, many animals do that today. But scooping up handfuls of honey and slopping the stuff into your mouth while swatting angry bees does not really qualify as eating candy. I think candy needs to be intentionally made from two or more ingredients, including sugar, into a small, portable form that can be carried around and eaten when convenient. Let’s use that as our definition of candy.

It's safe to say that honey was the main ingredient of the first types of candy. Why? Because honey was available long before the concept of sugarcane refinement.

But we cannot know who the first humans were to create portable, compact sweets using honey because it happened so long ago. However, Neolithic and Bronze Age (roughly 12,000 to 3,200 years ago) sites across Europe, the Near East, and Egypt show that people used honey as a sweetener and preservative, and they created honeyed cakes and fruit preserved in honey. So, at some point in time before12,000 years ago—probably long before—people figured out how to mix fruits, berries, and seeds with honey and let small portions of this stuff dry enough to be portable. I would consider a small mass of dehydrated honey with nuts, dates, figs, or raisins embedded in it to be candy, wouldn’t you?

There is also evidence that ancient humans created date “cakes” and fruit jellies by concentrating fruit with honey or boiling down fruit juices, essentially making something portable like modern-day Fruit-Rollups. Again, I would consider this candy.

Eventually, about 3,000 to 2,000 years ago, refined sugar from sugarcane first became prominent in India and Southeast Asia. And, as you know, refined sugar allowed candy production to explode and become a world-wide phenomenon. For better or for worse.

Anyway, we simply cannot know who that first person was to make honey-based, portable candy. I wonder if they could even imagine it would lead to malted milk balls, circus peanuts, cotton candy, lollipops, Nerds, Snickers, and my favorite: Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

Photo Credit:

Ancient human eating dried honey snack - Midjourney