Conk

Day 36: As a collector of words, I'm not sure how "conk" eluded me until I was well past fifty, at least insofar as it refers to a bracket/shelf fungus. "A conk on the head" was part of my lexicon, as was the game of "conkers," but both imply a certain degree of injury to one's person. How it could apply to a fungus was beyond me, so I consulted Webster's Third New International, the three-volume reference which holds my desk to the floor. Webster, bless his little heart, suggests that "conk" was probably derived from "conch" (the shell), although he expresses some doubt about the validity of that etymology. It makes sense, certainly, but not all derivations are as simple as they appear on the surface. That said, I have never been conked by a conk, nor have I seen a conk employed in conkers. Even so, the word has conquered my vocabulary in such a fashion that I never pass one without mentally saying, "Conk!" "Bracket" just doesn't have the same ring.

Conk!

Day 146: This is a bracket fungus or shelf fungus, otherwise known colloquially as a conk. Mind you don't confuse a conk with a conker which, as you may know, is a horse chestnut and the implement used in a rather hazardous game played by British children and now banned in most schools. The name "conker" becomes obvious to players in a very short time, but that's another subject entirely. I first encountered the term "conk" in reference to a bracket fungus somewhat late in life and was curious with regard to its etymology. The results of my research into the word's origin were inconclusive, although many experts seem to hold that it most likely originated in "conch" (a shell with a somewhat similar shape), and "conk" is an accepted pronunciation for "conch." Trust me, you would not want to play conkers with conks like these!

Oligoporus Petticoats

Day 143: Just to ensure that none of my readers think I am an insufferable know-it-all, I present to you one of the all-too-frequent botanical puzzles I've come across recently. I have spent several hours trying to move from genus (Oligoporus) to species with a growing sense of futility. In the first place, the visual information I could extract from the specimen was inadequate, but more obstructive yet is the fact that there simply aren't field guides which cover the less common species of bracket fungus, and any scientifically detailed on-line information is locked firmly behind academic blockades which only allow access to those with research-level credentials. My files are full of images titled, "Unknown" or "Identify." Equally, they occupy pages in my mind so that should I happen to stumble across some obscure clue or secret pathway leading to a conclusion, I can follow it. I do not forget these "unknowns"; they haunt my dreams and keep me awake at night.

Why, you might wonder, is this so important to me? For one thing, I believe that knowledge should be easily accessible to everyone, but that isn't at the root of the matter. The seminal reason is that I feel knowledge of Nature increases our connectivity with it, even when that knowledge is something as artificial as a taxonomic designation (in practice, much of botanical taxonomy demonstrates morphologic and/or genetic links, but the regrettable current trend is moving more toward naming species for people). We are more likely to consider "John Smith" a friend than we are "that guy with the glasses and brown hair"; we are more likely to be interested in the habits of a Varied Thrush than we are of "that whistling bird which looks kinda like a Robin." The name...the application of specific syllables to a thing links us to it more strongly than does the simple observation of it.

Monday night, I had dinner with a friend who is an ecopsychologist. In the course of his pursuit of a doctorate in the field, we exchanged many letters exploring Homo sapiens' connections with Nature (or lack of them). Our conversation over the meal set me to thinking once again about the scope of Man's growing disassociation with the natural world. I don't have an answer to the problem, but I intend to do what I can to increase the knowledge of it, even when it means I have to admit I can't identify a species.