19 March 2002

Mrs. Russ's 5th grade class was the epicenter of nervous energy yesterday. Arms and legs in perpetual motion; youthful movements trying to get comfortable in both chairs and in life. Sitting is one thing, sitting still a completely different matter

I was asked to visit the 11-year olds last year, but my schedule being what it was, could not make my date with destiny. Those fifth graders are gone now and new faces have taken their place. On my drive to Grand Marais, I embraced the fact I had achieved a pinnacle in my life: finally, I was a visiting scholar.

For a brief moment, movements stopped when the tall stranger walked into the room. But soon, tongues were being directed at one another, boys pushed and kicked when no one was looking, and girls braided their best friends' hair. It was easy to tell who the troublemakers were because I had been one myself.

A week before, I had received a packet of questions from the class. It had two categories: "what we know about owls", and "what we want to know". I sought out the boy who was curious whether "owls like onions and ketchup, the green kind?" He shyly raised his hand, then his cheeks turned red. His anonymity had been lost. I told him, "no Mike, owls don't like that food, but they do like..…….mice," whereupon I pulled a mouse out of my pocket and dangled it by the tail, accompanied by the squeals of girls and the "cools" of boys. I had their attention. They wanted to know if owls could turn their heads completely around. Toying with telling them of the physiological accomplishments of Regan, in the movie The Exorcist, I instead said "no, only about 270 degrees."

I told them my deepest secret: that I was deathly afraid of the dark when I started in the North Woods 16 years ago. The girls listened with civility, but the boys, feeling their first alpha-male pangs of bravado, dismissed it. In a spontaneous response, someone said I was chicken. I went along with him knowing smugly, that I could have him in tears, crying for mommy and daddy, less than 15 minutes after sundown.

All in all, I was impressed with the information Mrs. Russ had imparted onto her fold. Yet, collectively, the kids used terms like "evil" and "scary" to describe owls. I tried to dissuade that notion, but needed a prop. I put in my video, taken over the past few years of owls doing what owls do best: singing, flying, feeding, and copulating. They knew what was happening when the owls sang and flew and fed, but the copulation might have been a mistake. "What are they doing?" they wanted to know. I said, "they're making baby owls." "Ewwwwww." Just then, Mrs. Russ stood up and whispered to me "ahhh, this seems like a good time to end." The clock had struck 3 and the magic hour was over. I wanted to say, "but wait, this is the best part." Ever the biologist. Ever the erudite. The kids scurried for their coats, some said thanks, and then, the classroom was empty.