This term Thorndon School is working on an inquiry project about birds.
On the 7th of May, we went to the Karori Wildlife Sanctuary. First we had a talk with a bird expert called Tom. He took out some feathers and we had to identify what bird they were from. He also told us about and showed us some of the opossum traps they use to keep opossums away from the birds. After some talking, Tom took us on a tour around some of the sanctuary. We saw and heard lots of native birds and learnt about them. I have to say that it was very exciting and we all learnt a lot. The other classes also went to the Wildlife Sanctuary as well, but on other days.
In class we have been watching some DVDs and YouTube clips about different birds to learn about them. We have also visited the library and are reading loads of different books about birds. We have also started to write reports on birds. Some people are writing about birds that are endemic to New Zealand, like the Kiwi, and some people are even doing extinct birds. We have to have at least 3 sources to take notes from. We used the internet and books to gather information. Then we put our notes under sub-headings, organising the notes into categories. Some people have started their draft of their report, while others are still taking notes.
One last thing, our class has our own Birds Wiki. It has information on birds, video clips of birds, and you can add information to it anytime! The wiki address is:
http://thorndonbirds.wetpaint.com/
Check it out!
By Lilly
Monday, May 19, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
A Tale For A Dark Stormy Night
The Cellar
When we bought the house, I was three years old, not quite old enough to know what was going on. My parents were opening up a Greengrocers at the front, which was what it had been used for when it was new, in the thirties. The cellar, they agreed, would be excellent for storing potatoes and the like. The house was drastically renovated, and was moved into in 1999.
That was a little over nine years ago. Birthdays came and went, I got pimples; our cat was born, lived, and died.
And all that time, I stayed utterly terrified of the cellar. It started when I heard It moving in the cellar, which happens to be directly underneath my room. Then I heard It bringing in It’s kill. At first, small things- sparrows and rats, even the odd cat. But as It grew, so did the size of It’s prey, which had become dogs, cows, and the occasional lost child. My parents thought I was paranoid to be scared of a room, and I knew that they wanted to arrange a visit to a psychiatrist for me. It wasn’t particularly scary, not the room itself- just a large, stone cellar, with four walls and a ceiling.
My mother grew more and more irritated at my behaviour- I had grown thin and pale, and jumped at sudden noises. But that was only because It had started talking to me.
'Come,' it said. 'You know just as well as I, it won’t be long now.'
That scared me beyond anything I had ever known before. I had tried to run away, many times, don’t get me wrong. But each and every time, I was found, and put back in the room above the cellar. At long last, driven to breaking point by my phobia, my mother decided to teach me once and for all that there was nothing in the least frightening about the cellar. I shrieked and fought, howled and bit, wept and pleaded, but it was all in vain. She dragged me down into the cellar by the hair, opened the door, and told me she would come back for me in ten minutes.
And then she did a terrible thing.
My mother locked the door.
It came shambling towards me, jowls stained with the blood of previous victims. It howled with glee even as I screamed with terror, only one option left open to me. So I took it. I ate it.
After all, that’s what I did with all the kill it used to bring me.
The problem is, however ...
I’m still hungry…
By Hannah Saul
When we bought the house, I was three years old, not quite old enough to know what was going on. My parents were opening up a Greengrocers at the front, which was what it had been used for when it was new, in the thirties. The cellar, they agreed, would be excellent for storing potatoes and the like. The house was drastically renovated, and was moved into in 1999.
That was a little over nine years ago. Birthdays came and went, I got pimples; our cat was born, lived, and died.
And all that time, I stayed utterly terrified of the cellar. It started when I heard It moving in the cellar, which happens to be directly underneath my room. Then I heard It bringing in It’s kill. At first, small things- sparrows and rats, even the odd cat. But as It grew, so did the size of It’s prey, which had become dogs, cows, and the occasional lost child. My parents thought I was paranoid to be scared of a room, and I knew that they wanted to arrange a visit to a psychiatrist for me. It wasn’t particularly scary, not the room itself- just a large, stone cellar, with four walls and a ceiling.
My mother grew more and more irritated at my behaviour- I had grown thin and pale, and jumped at sudden noises. But that was only because It had started talking to me.
'Come,' it said. 'You know just as well as I, it won’t be long now.'
That scared me beyond anything I had ever known before. I had tried to run away, many times, don’t get me wrong. But each and every time, I was found, and put back in the room above the cellar. At long last, driven to breaking point by my phobia, my mother decided to teach me once and for all that there was nothing in the least frightening about the cellar. I shrieked and fought, howled and bit, wept and pleaded, but it was all in vain. She dragged me down into the cellar by the hair, opened the door, and told me she would come back for me in ten minutes.
And then she did a terrible thing.
My mother locked the door.
It came shambling towards me, jowls stained with the blood of previous victims. It howled with glee even as I screamed with terror, only one option left open to me. So I took it. I ate it.
After all, that’s what I did with all the kill it used to bring me.
The problem is, however ...
I’m still hungry…
By Hannah Saul
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