Redux: Coming of Age in a Trash Forest

My friend Taya and I were out at her parents’ country place, about twelve acres in the western foothills of the Cascades. I was maybe eight, visiting for the first time. Taya was taking me on a tour. We were struggling along, as short-legged people do through dense, early successional Northwest forest. She stopped and took hold of a small sapling. “This,” she said, “is the difference between our land and a park.” And then, shockingly, she stepped on the sapling until it was bowed in two and then snapped it with her boot, killing it dead. Or maybe she ripped it out of the ground with her two hands—she was a very strong girl, I remember. I don’t remember the details of the act. But I do remember that she killed a tree and also the sensation of my mind being blown right out my ears. (Taya’s childhood arbor-cide didn’t presage sociopathy or anything close to it. She’s now a veterinarian.)

I was a city kid, so well schooled in the “leave no trace” ethos of wilderness preservation by school and camp that the idea of killing a tree…it wasn’t that it was wrong. It was that I had never even considered the possibility. Nature was, to me, inviolate, unchanging, ancient and pure. Pristine. It was better than God—less judgmental, more fun to play in, but just as serious and Big. Continue reading

The Last Word

On Monday, Richard kicks off the week by giving history the finger. Galileo’s finger, that is: The middle finger of Galileo’s right hand is a satisfying sight. Not because the resemblance to an obscene gesture is unmistakable (though that’s pretty amusing). And not because such a gesture might suggest that in the end a scientist who suffered persecution for the sin of being correct had gotten the last word—well, two words (though that would be amusing, too).

It would be fun to walk with Helen, she’s always seeing interesting things. This time she’s on her way home from the library and she sees one of her favorite biological events. The 17-year-cicadas are in a genus called Magicicada. It does seem almost like magic to me, or maybe science fiction, the way our timelines line up for just a few weeks, as if we were on planets whose orbits cross only once every 17 years.

Erik tells himself he is ruled by logic. He has written about the benefits of vaccines and herd immunity. And then he takes his kid to the doctor: The sight of one little needle turns me into a raging antivaxxer.

Jessa writes about a researcher who studies plant roots in hopes of addressing the growing global demand for food: The stakes are higher than hunger. Plot the Food Price Index for all of the years of the 21st Century and you get a timeline of social and political instability. Just before major unrest, there’s reliably a spike in food prices.

And Friday, I reduxed a post about a weather phenomenon known as June Gloom (which is also know in the Pacific Northwest, very delightfully, as Juneuary). Hope the weather and your spirits are sunnier this weekend.

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Photo: NASA Blueshift via Wikimedia Commons

Redux: June Gloom

It’s that time of year again: less than three weeks until the summer solstice, and I have pulled out my down vest, wool hat, scarf, and fuzzy boots. Yes, June Gloom is reduxing, as is this post, which originally appeared in 2012. But it’s not so bad. I love my fuzzy boots.

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I used to think the weather was something adults talked about because they were boring. And now that’s me, commiserating with neighbors about the state of our sky, which gave us a glorious, bluebird May and then rolled out a thick cloud carpet on the first day of June. Continue reading

Tackling hunger from the root

In 2050, the global population is projected to stand at around 10 billion humans, and every one of them will need to eat. We already have more than 7 billion people on Earth, so perhaps another three seems like a step-wise challenge in global food security, but the scale of the problem turns out to be immense.

Cumulatively, from now to mid-century, we’re going to need to grow more food than we’ve grown in the history of agriculture – more food than was grown in the first 10,000-odd years since we’ve domesticated crops at scale. At the same time that we’re somehow managing to squeeze more food out of the dwindling arable land that urban sprawl hasn’t paved over, farmers will be coping with a perfect storm of threats.

Take fertilizer. The three big fertilizers are nitrogen, potassium and phosphorus, all of which are finite in their own way. Reserves of potash—salts that contain water-soluble potassium—are limited, and phosphate is more so. Meanwhile, the amount of oil it takes to convert nitrogen gas into ammonium nitrate fertilizer makes it an energy-expensive option. Freshwater will be at a premium—that is, when it’s not flooding—and to expand our farmland we’ll need to move into marginal areas, like salinated or acidic soils. Continue reading

In Defense of the Antivaxxer

I am a man of science. Okay, perhaps not of science, but certainly near it. I’m science adjacent. But regardless, I consider myself to be bound, in the end, by logic and facts.

As such, I like to think that I eschew my beliefs for what the facts tell me. As a very young man, I was very taken by the promise of herbal supplements. But as I came to understand the data (or lack thereof) behind them, I gave up on them. I used to worry about GMOs affecting my health until I dug into the actual science and realized that they are totally harmless (though not necessarily great for developing economies). I’m embarrassed to admit it, but in my overwhelmingly white college I thought that America was post-racial. But well-crafted arguments and data showed me I was wrong.

In every case, I abandoned what I thought for what I could prove. I try to keep an open mind and I tell myself I am ruled by logic. This was the mantra for my book on suggestibility and has become a guiding principle not just in my career but in my life.

It’s also utter self-delusion. The sight of one little needle turns me into a raging anti-vaxxer.

Continue reading

The Cicadas Come, on Little Hook Feet

Fifth-instar cicadas drag themselves up a tree trunk.

 

One evening this month I was coming back from the library. The pollen was at its worst, but I was sick of being indoors and thought I’d sit down on the grass in front of my building for a few minutes. I opened up one of my books, then felt guilty about choosing the world of the book over the world around me, closed it, and looked around.

There were buses and people and trees and birds to look at, but I was mesmerized by the grass. It’s not very nice grass, just whatever happens to grow there and to tolerate regular mowing. What amused me was watching it actively recovering from my having walked on it. Sproing! Sproing! One by one a blade would pop back up, marking my trail.

Then I noticed a different movement.

Continue reading

The Last Word

May 22 – 26, 2017

Lots of reduxes this week — “redux” in this case meaning posts that were posted before but would be nice to reread, if for no other reason than that the authors liked them.

Christie on the line between dryness and drought:  “How much contrary evidence do we need before we decide it’s time to update our definition of normal? At what point do we as humans let go of the past — the way things were, the present that we’re used to — and accept the future that we’ve created?”

I wrote about how to avoid being maimed by a fall: “Physics says the best way to not let gravity hurt you is to make the fall last as long as possible, drag it out, fall as long as you can.  Just keep falling, see if you can outlast it, maybe if you fall long enough you won’t ever be felled, the splat might never happen.”

Michelle on conservation biologists learning to code:  “In 2013, the team members gradually transformed themselves from scientists into scientist-programmers. They learned to code in R and RStudio, track the different versions of their files in Git, and share their work in GitHub. . . . Now, Lowndes says, marine biologists working in the Baltic can much more easily compare their data to those gathered in the Pacific.”

Rose on readers’ inevitable question of where she gets her ideas:  “In the spirit of my former editor, who told me that anything could be a story, here is a post about ideas. Or, more specifically, not having them. This is an ode to all the ideas that have escaped my grasp. Or, that I could never quite catch in the first place.”

Jenny the nature-lover on what not to do when around sharks:  “I took off one of my dive gloves and waited. If she stuck to her pattern, the shark’s next move would take her exhilaratingly close. She turned and cut in toward me, as I expected, and I stayed still and kept my eye on hers as she closed in. Practically on me now, she swiveled slightly, just enough.”

BONUS
Emma’s comment on Rose’s no-ideas post:  “I have those big sprawling ideas too, lots of them, lumbering around like galaxies. I usually can’t see the edges of them and I don’t know if I’m in the middle of them or out in the suburbs. I wander through these translucent landscapes all day. I do dishes in them, try to pay attention to what my kids are saying.”

 

Redux: Something About Sharks

Despite the occasional tragic outcome of such encounters—and they truly are occasional relative to attacks by other wild animals—I love meeting sharks in the wild. So, dive in with me as I recall this experience with Emma the tiger shark in the Bahamas. I don’t know that she was as intrigued with me as I was with her, but I’m happy to report that she left me totally intact.

Here’s the link to my May 2015 post.

 

[photo from unsplash.com]