Defining Work

Defining Work

 

July 3, 2005

My dad knew how to put me in my place.  During one visit, I complained about how hard I was working.  You know, coming home late from work, writing proposals and papers on weekends, not taking enough vacation, etc.  Dad looked at me and said “you don’t really work.  You don’t know what real work is like.  Here on the farm, I do real work.”

OK, so he hurt my feeling a little cause I felt that I was working very hard.  But in a sense, Dad was right.  I did not do any real hard physical work.  My “work” was mostly mental.

Dad’s view was understandable because he had done much hard physical labor in his life.  He grew up on farms in Kansas where children were required to work.  As a young man, he worked in the wheat fields in Canada.  When he moved with his father and mother to Edinburg, he and his dad cleared 20 acres of brush by hand.  He continued to “work” the rest of his life.

What brings all this to mind is the fact that Pat and I are currently preparing our 20 acres of woodlands near Bryan, TX for a little manufactured “cottage” that will arrive soon.  We have owned this property that we dubbed “Woodvine” for over 30 years and have often thought about building on it, but it was just too far from town.  Taking our kids to band or track practice from 12 miles out in the country would consume too much time.  But we really love this little property with its large trees, Wixon Creek, lots of animals and quiet.  Most of the time we can hear no human sounds.  Thirty years ago we had very few neighbors but now there are more.  So the noise level has increased, especially since the road nearby was paved.  But it is still incredibly quiet compared to most other places we might choose to live.  During the last 10 years, when we lived in a motorhome, we would spend a month or two here even though it was necessary to haul water from town.  

Every year when we came back to this place, it was necessary to clear last years growth from the driveway and remove any fallen logs.  The driveway snaked about 1/4 mile through the large oaks of several species, white ashes, winged elms, cedar elms, American elms, black hickory, dogwood, redbud and a few assorted shrubs and vines.  It was just wide enough for our motorhome to enter and no more.  So when we ordered or new home and found that it comes in two sections, each 16 feet wide.  That means that the driveway would have to be widened to a minimum of 18 feet wide to allow passage of the home.  The fellow who would deliver the home visited and pointed out trees that would have to be removed.  Remember that one of the main reasons we are infatuated with this place is because of its beautiful trees.  Thus, we do not enjoy cutting these trees.  Anyway, he pointed out 12 of our beautiful trees that would have to be removed.  Ouch!  “What I would recommend,” he said, if for you to hire a dozer to take out these trees.  They are really too big for you to take down with a chainsaw in time to receive the house.”

“Well maybe he is right,” we thought.  “After all, we are no longer young, strong folks.”  But then I remembered that few dozer operators can distinguish between an oak and an elm.  Thus, our dozer operator might come in doze out trees we wished to save.  Then, what do they do with the trees after they have knocked them down?  Well, in my experience, they push them into piles which also destroys more of our woodlands.  So, Pat and I thought it over and decided that we could “surgically” remove the trees with a chainsaw and while causing minimal harm to their neighbors.  We could then cut up the trunks for firewood and cut and pile the limbs carefully so as not to damage other trees and shrubs.  We had three weeks to complete this project before the house arrived and if we found that we could not finish this project in time, we could always call in the dozer.  Of course, it was also necessary to clear a large enough area in our woods for the home itself.  The cottage is 32' wide and 48' long so it would be necessary to clear an area large enough for this house and for the equipment used for delivering the home.  We had chosen a site on the peak of a ridge so we would have excellent drainage but there was one problem.  There was one very large White Ash tree where we wished the house to reside.  The tree was very old and sick, so I did not mind losing it, but it was gonna be a lot of work to remove.  There were also several other smaller oaks, elms, grape vines and briers to be removed.  

So I bought a new Poulan chainsaw with an 18" bar to help out my very old Mac saw with has only a 14" bar.  That way, when one saw would not start I always had another one to rely on.  

Justifying “work.”  Our ancestors worked.  As they moved across the Appalachian Mountains, they carved little farms out of the native timber with an ax.  As a young man, I once helped my father on our farm, sometimes using an ax to clear fence lines or take out a tree.  But it had been a long time ago, and I began to wonder what it would be like to actually remove a large tree with an ax.  OK, so I cheated some.

 

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Walk In The Woods

Walk in the Woods

 

Carolina Chickadee

December 19, 1998

Shafts of sunlight filter down through the canopy of oaks, white ashes, and elms to the leaf surface of the ground.  Like a spotlight in the theater, they focus our attention on fallen leaves.  The outside temperature today is 66 degrees and the sun is shining.  It is one of those near perfect fall days.

When we arrived here at Woodvine (our wooded, winter home at College Station, TX) over a month ago, the leaves on the trees were still so thick that our satellite dish could barely penetrate them to find the satellite.  Now we get a good signal with little difficulty.  Most of these brown, auburn, yellow and red leaves now carpet the forest floor.  These dry leaves function as a burglar alarm for deer -- they can hear the neighbor’s dogs or coyotes coming by the sound of canine feet on crunching leaves.  The dogwood trees retain most of their light pink leaves that stand in contrast to the dark green background of yaupon and holly leaves.  Dogwood leaves provide almost a perfect match for the color of the western sky at sunset.  

We were due some good weather because when we first arrived, we were met with several days of rain and hoards of mosquitos.  Subsequently, we have had several weather systems that moved through – each providing heavy rains.  At times we wondered if our motorhome might either sink into the mud or float away.  After the rains, Wixon creek flooded over the low bridges leading to town, so that a normal 12-mile trip required a 30-mile detour.  In time the numbers of mosquitos have declined to the point of almost non-existence and the soggy, sandy soil has dried enough to support the tires of a moving 20,000 lb. motorhome.  We realize the advantage of living in a climate where it actually freezes and kills some of the insect varmints -- at least during the winter.

A walk in the woods this morning was delightful.  The usual congregation of birds was present.  Above the treetops, the turkey vultures soared on semi v-shaped (dihedral) wings as they searched for the remains of deer that local hunters shot and could not find.  In a distance, we heard the loud, raucous “wuck-a-wuck-a-wuck-a” calls of the pileated woodpecker.  But it is the small, hard-to-see birds that were abundant.  Both golden and ruby-crowned kinglets flitted about as they foraged from ground level up into the canopies of the largest trees.  (A feminist might complain that some man named the ruby-crowned kinglet, because only the male sports a red crown patch; the crown of the female is yellow.)  The striking black cap and bib helped identify Carolina chickadees.  They worked in pairs as they searched -- sometimes hanging upside down – for spiders under leaves.  A pair of Carolina wrens entertained each other on the woodpile, probably waiting for spring so they can build another nest in their favorite spot -- next to the radiator of our motorhome.  A handsome pair of tufted titmouse showed off their orange sides and black crests in the morning sun.  I can hear the “peter peter peter” vocalization if they are very close.  

Golden-crowned Kinglet

 

But like an astute preacher, I noticed that somebody was missing from the congregation.  Then, finally, it made its appearance.  Almost always seen as a single, shy individual, the brown creeper landed low on the trunk of a large oak and began its spiraled search for spiders up the trunk of the tree -- using its tail as a prop to keep from falling over backward.  Its color patterns closely match the bark of the post oak so that it is almost perfectly camouflaged until its movement gives it away.  When threatened they may flatten, spread their wings and remain motionless to improve the camouflage.

This gang of small birds form some sort of loose alliance when foraging, maybe to help watch for sharp-shinned hawks that have recently migrated from Canada and need a little-feathered protein.  Sometimes we can search for hours in our woods and see very few birds.  Then we come upon a congregation of them and if we do not scare them, they will ultimately come out into the open where a ruby or golden crown color or some other marking give away their identity.  Their alarm system is not triggered by our voices as we chat about characteristics and behaviors, but one sudden movement and they are all gone.  Although humans are likely their worst enemies because of the destruction of mature woods by human development, these birds do not appear to be attuned to the sound of the human voice.  It is quick movements like those of accipiter bird hawks that scare the bejesus out of them.

Pat and I return to these woods every winter while we visit with our friendly dentists, doctors, dermatologists, surgeons, nurses, radiologists, oncologists, optometrists or anyone else who wishes to inject, probe, thump, inspect, scrape, quiz, sample blood and stools, freeze skin, rob or humiliate us.  Every year we return for more!  But while we are here waiting for our appointments, we get to stay at Woodvine – it almost makes this maltreatment acceptable.  Dentist fixed a broken tooth and filled a cavity.  The doctor could not find anything seriously wrong with either of us.  Optometrist found evidence of early stages of glaucoma and cataracts while Pat was obtaining a new pair of glasses (with progressive lenses).  The mammogram was clear.   My high platelet count seems to have undergone a spontaneous remission.  Hooray! Now we are free to enjoy some carefree travel and exploration until we return next year and start the process all over again.

Next week we will unhook the electricity and telephone connections that sustain us in these woods, stow the awning, outdoor rug, and table and head for New Mexico.  Christmas and New Years will be spent on the ski slopes of Taos with children, grandchildren, relatives, and friends.  Pat and I hope to be able to keep up with our three and five-year-old grandkids.  After Christmas, there is a wedding in Colorado, another in California, and a baby in Virginia – guess our next year has been planned for us.

As we enjoy the company of our family and friends during the holidays, we hope that you will also be in the company of friends and family.  May your holidays be a time of excited relaxation, good times and great friendships.  Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

 

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Texas and Woodvine

Texas and Woodvine

February 8, 1997

College Station here I come, right back where I started from...  Yes, we are back in College Station for a few weeks.  Time for our annual physicals, dental checkups, and eye exams.  Found one bad tooth so must extend our stay in College Station until Feb. 19th when a new cap will arrive.   Then we head for other parts of Texas and on to California, Oregon, and ultimately, Glacier National Park and environs where we plan to spend the summer.  Tentative plans are to have a mini-reunion somewhere near Banff, Alberta with Jimmy, Brian, Ellen, and families.  On the other hand, we may not leave College Station on the 19th.  If we decide to have an electric line built on our "farm" we may stay here longer.  With electricity, we can park our motorhome on the farm and maybe live there for a month or more during the year.  The motorhome carries 100 gals. of fresh water that will last about 1 week  - if we use water conservatively.  Otherwise, drilling a water well will cost us about $5000 to reach water at 436 ft. that emits a somewhat sulfurous odor and sometimes exhibits a yellowish color.   A septic tank will be added as needed.  

The farm consists of 20 acres of woodland bordering Wickon Creek whose waters empty into the Navasota River, on to the Brazos River, and ultimately the Gulf of Mexico.  It is located 15 miles east of College Station in the boondocks which means that it is a fairly quiet place.  We sometimes see deer, squirrels, wild pigs, armadillos, coyotes, fox, rattlesnakes, copperheads, and birds in the yaupon thickets.  Alligators, bobcats, and wolves have been seen in the area but we have never had the pleasure of seeing one.  Post oaks, water oaks, blackjack oaks, hickory, pin oaks, American basswood, winged elm, American elm, Ironwood, cedar elm, honey locust, American holly, and white ash dominate the upper forest canopy while dogwood, redbud, possumhaw, yaupon, beautyberries, and farkleberry dominate the understory.   Climbing through these canopies, in search of sunlight, are the vines of heavily-thorned brier, mustang and muscadine grapes, and wicker (used to made wicker chairs).  The ground surface is generally covered with leaves in various stages of decomposition and where some sunlight reaches the ground, smut grass, little bluestem grass, and a few palmetto palms can be found.   The creek is bordered by some very large water oaks, winged elm, bitter nuts and an occasional river birch.   It flows steadily through the fall, winter, and spring but can become intermittent during summer droughts.   Cotton-mouth moccasins and red-eared turtles can sometimes be seen swimming or sunning on logs.  

Although we are in reasonably good terms with the animal and plant life of our farm, at times - and only with considerable attacks of conscience - we sacrifice trees or shrubs that impede access to our property.   Although it is difficult to admit, when we purchased this property over 25 years ago, it served as our private hunting preserve.  Deer, snakes, armadillos, and squirrel were plentiful and we harvested them, barbecued them, and fed them to our friends.  Wild-game barbecue and beer were an almost irresistible attraction to the faculty, staff, and students of the Entomology Department.  We played volleyball in the shade of the tall post oak trees and entertained visiting guests from China, Egypt, England, Israel, Brazil, etc.   When interviewing prospective graduate students, one question I sometimes posed was: "Do you play volleyball?"

After a couple of rather gruesome deer kills, I had a conversion.  It was no longer fun to kill.  Since then, the enjoyment of the farm comes from observing living things rather than killing them.  I have even been known to talk to plants.   In a conversation with one of my friendly water oaks one year, I mentioned a perplexing problem at work - the next year this huge, beautiful, tree died - so now I am very cautious about talking to the vegetation.   Unfortunately, it takes more than talking to kill the yaupon - a relative of holly that is nearly indestructible.  Yaupon covets my driveway so every year it must be radically pruned or the driveway will disappear.  My personal hell will likely consist of yaupon, extracting revenge by pruning my limbs, or mosquitos that will suck on my dead bones for eternity.

As with most things, there are limitations to my conscience about killing things - mosquitos, biting flies, ticks, and chiggers receive no mercy from me.  When they attack, it is very easy to smash their little bodies and there is absolutely no attack of conscience afterward.  Twenty-five years ago, when deer were plentiful, the farm was infested with lone star ticks and chiggers.  Then, fire ants invaded and the ticks and chiggers disappeared.  Fortunately, the fire ants do not prefer heavily wooded areas, so they are only a minor nuisance.  I believe that the ants are the major cause of the virtual elimination of ticks and chiggers, so I coexist with them with little difficulty.   However, the hoards of mosquitos that breed in the tree holes every spring present no similar virtue except to attract swallows and maybe bats.  The appearance of mosquitos coincides with the onset of the hot and humid summer, so overall, the farm ceases to be an enjoyable place.  Consequently, we can leave College Station for cooler environs.  Besides, the mosquitos and black flies of Canada must also eat and seem to relish the taste of Texas, blood.  They seem to have a special taste for blood with the consistency of sludge due to high platelet counts.

 

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Precious

Precious

She was a little out of breath and there was a note of excitement in her voice.  “Come quickly,” Pat said.  “There are two little fawns....”  Lacing up my boots, I wondered if they would still be there when I arrived.  We had been wondering what happened to the deer (Jane and Doe) that we had been seeing periodically.  We think they were a pregnant doe and maybe her yearling daughter (Jane).  We had not seen them in over a week.  But, while walking through the woods, Pat saw the doe first, just across the barb wire fence.  Startled, the doe trotted off, leaving two fawns behind.  Pat came quickly to the motorhome to lure me away from the computer.

When we arrived, sure enough, there were two, spotted, and slightly wet-behind-the-ears fawns.  Their fur was almost completely dry and they were - to use a mother’s word - precious. They were both standing, but upon seeing us, one got a little excited and fell from its wobbly legs to the ground.  They appeared to be only hours old and Doe had not yet taught them to be cautious around strangers.  Now we were faced with a dilemma - how close can we get to these fawns without compromising their wildlife integrity.  Would the mother still accept them if they were somehow contaminated with the dreadful human scent?  With camera in hand I decided that as long as we stayed a few feet away and did not touch them, we might get some interesting photos with minimal risk of stinking the up with human BO.  Those unbelievably large, round, dark, eyes were focused on us and they showed no signs of fear.  Here they stood, in front of their worst enemies in the world (Homo sapiens) and were in the process of imprinting our image on their little brains, as if we were their mama.  They slowly began to drift toward us.  Quickly, I took a couple of photos, and we vacated the premises so that mama could reclaim her offspring.  

After maybe 30 minutes, we could stand it no longer and returned within view of the fawns - maybe 50 yards away - to see if Doe had returned.  The fawns had crossed the fence to where Pat and I had been standing and were trying to nurse each other - mama was nowhere in sight and the fawns were obviously hungry.  Then we heard a snort in the woods - it was apparently Doe who was being very cautious not to return to the fawns until it was perfectly safe.  Again, we reluctantly left to let nature take its course.  This time we forced ourselves to stay away for over an hour.  By then, to our relief,  the fawns were gone and we assume the happy little family was reunited.

 

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Persistence is Profitable

Persistence is Profitable

June 7, 1997

Carolina wrens often favor manmade objects as a site for nest building.  Our pair has been trying to nest in our motorhome.  When I first found them building a nest on the I-beam by the diesel engine in the back of the motorhome, I was torn between leaving them alone and removing the nest before they laid any eggs.  If they laid eggs and then we drove off, the young without parents would certainly die.  My choice was to remove any nests as fast as the wrens could build them and before they could lay any eggs - hoping that this brutal act would discourage them from building another nest in the motorhome and encourage them to build a nest out in a cozy woodpile or something.  But, this pair was persistent.  After I removed the nest near the engine, the wrens built another a couple of feet away by the radiator.  It was very well hidden and required a pole with a hook on the end to remove it.  Having watched them fly in and out, we knew what they were up to.  The third nest was built behind the headlights.  After removing this third nest, we took a small trip for about 3 days, thinking that our absence would surely discourage this pair of birds. 

When building the first nest, the wrens were very obvious - we watched them find pieces of moss, grass, and leaves to carry under the motorhome.  Flying in and out, they would often land on a redbud limb about 10 feet from my window.  From this vantage point, they could check out the environs for predators before entering the nest area.  They were great fun to watch and their song “wheedle, wheedle, wheedle . . .” and “tea-kettle, tea-kettle, tea-kettle”entertained us throughout the days.  After the trip, I did not see them for a couple of days and thought they had realized the error of their ways and had built a nest elsewhere.  Then, one landed on the redbud perch.  Suspicious that they might be up to their old tricks, I searched and found a fourth nest behind the frame near the headlights.  But, this time it already contained 5 mottled eggs.  The birds had obviously developed a new, sneaky strategy for nest building.  This nest was located not 8 feet from our noisy TV.  The adults were apparently not disturbed by weather reports, CNN, and nature stories, during which - according to Pat - I keep the volume turned up far too high.  

Now we faced a real dilemma - to destroy the nest and the eggs was probably a crime against the state -  if not, it would surely a crime against nature.  Having no experience with moving bird nests back into nature, my first decision was to do nothing.  Maybe if we wait till the young hatch, we could then gently move the nest into a hollow log nearby, the parents would hear their hungry youngsters, and adjust their lifestyles accordingly.  

From our human perspectives, allowing the wrens to rear their young to maturity was unacceptable.   Our motorhome carries only enough water to last - at most - two weeks.  We also must dump sewage frequently; therefore we could not allow mere birds to interfere with our hygienic regimen, could we?   When our water pump started sucking air instead of water, it was time for action.  Carefully lifting the nest and the eggs from its location by the headlights I placed them in a hollow log.  Then, the hollow log was placed on top of a post so that it would be more difficult for the various bird predators to find the nest.  We drove off in the motorhome, hoping that the adults would find the new nest location.  After a few days, we returned to find the grim evidence of wren murder scattered in the hollow log and on the ground.  Not only were the eggs gone, the nest was torn apart as the predator searched for more eggs.  Although I suspect our old friend the raccoon, it could have been a snake or even squirrels.  Although I felt a twinge of guilt about possibly being an accomplice in their murder, I rationalize that predators must also eat.  For the raccoon, eating the wren eggs was no more a crime than for us to eat fried eggs.  (I bet the raccoon enjoyed the wren eggs much more than I can stomach a greasy, fried egg.)  The adult wrens were nowhere in sight.  After a few days of not seeing or hearing our old wren friends, we assumed that they had finally decided that maybe we were not very good friends and/or those motorhomes were an unsafe place to rear a family.

To my delight - about a week later - I heard “wheedling and teakettle” out in the yaupon thicket.  After a while, the birds ventured closer to the motorhome where they busily searched for worms in the sparkleberry tree.  By now they must have another nest containing eggs in the nearby woods and are busy eating and storing up reserves so that they would be strong enough to raise their family.  Then, one of the birds - I think it was the larger male - landed on the old familiar perch on the redbud limb outside my window and peered in with a sheepish look on his face.  (Yeah, I know that birds do no have sheepish facial expressions - but this one did anyway.)  

We broke camp the next morning to begin our annual pilgrimage to California.  I had left one of the storage compartment doors ajar the day before.  Upon closing the door, there, in the back of the compartment - on the soft carpet next to a sack of sunflower seeds - was a small pile of moss, leaves, and grass - the beginning of another nest.  Maybe these birds had heard through the thin walls of the motorhome, our talk of going to California and simply wanted a free ride.  If we can take our nest on wheels, why couldn’t they simply ride along?  What bird in his right mind would not want to go to California?  We said our goodbyes to the trees, birds, and briers of Woodvine, turned off the electricity and telephone and closed the gate - fully expecting that whenever we return, these two birds will be waiting for us with moss in their beaks. 

 

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Life is a Greenbrier

Life is a Greenbrier

May 17, 1997

Briers

 

Walking through some of the heavier woods this morning, it occurred to me that a woods full of Greenbrier can be viewed as a metaphor for life.  We have the option to tiptoe, walk, run or blunder our way through life.  Assuming that some of our life-strategies have a genetic basis, I seem programmed to proceed closer to the blundering side of the continuum; whereas Pat is programmed on the tiptoe side.  By combining our life-strategies, we come out somewhere in the middle of the continuum - not a bad balance.  I urge Pat into places she would not dare go alone, and she holds me back from doing the really dangerous stuff.   If we jointly do a little planning, we seem to avoid many of life’s nastier problems.  

On my own this morning, after a jog in the country, I chose to walk home through the woods in my running shorts - not a really good idea.  The thin skin on my freckled legs is not a very good defense against the greenbrier thorns.  Blue jeans are much better.  But, I was in no hurry so there should be no problem, right?  By carefully lifting the brier vines, I could pass under or beside them with no injury to my bare legs or arms.  But, one large brier vine slipped out of my hand and I felt the consequences on the other.  

There comes a time - especially if we get in a hurry - when we all blunder into problems that could have been avoided.  If I walk slowly through the woods, carefully choosing my route, I can generally avoid engagements with brier vines.  If I learn to identify the various kinds of brier, my chances of being punctured on their sharp thorns are minimal.  However, the thought of being chased through these woods in a panic - especially in the dark - seems almost to be suicidal.  On the other hand, I have seen deer run at almost top speed through these woods and somehow avoid the brier.  Come to think of it, maybe the brier has survival value for the deer.  If deer - either genetically or behaviorally - “learn” to identify and avoid brier on the run, would this not give them an advantage for seeing and avoiding life-threatening barbed wire fences?  Some briers have small stems that are difficult to see - these would be difficult to avoid when running.  Also, they wind their way through the shrubbery so that when it appears safe to pass between 2 shrubs by simply pushing back the branches, you may find that a brier vine is growing inconspicuously between the shrubs - often at about face level.  The sawbrier, for example, can inflict serious cuts if you run into it.  It gives the appearance of being a possible replacement for a saw blade - it looks tough enough to cut wood.  It seems to have invested lots of its energy into growing its heaviest and sharpest thorns on the lowest parts of the vine where mammals might try to feed on it.  Thus, it might seem appropriate to visualize brier as a metaphor for all of life’s complications, including disease, famine, pestilence, poverty, ignorance, and others.

However, wait a minute, surely we have taken a superficial view of brier.  Maybe it is more than simply a metaphor for life’s complications, maybe it is a metaphor for all of life.  After all, it is only a plant that is trying to make a living like everybody else.  It is not really an evil plant, is it?  It does not use its spines in an aggressive manner, to master and bully other forms of life.  It uses them only in self-defense.  It is only an illusion that it reaches out to attack as you pass - isn’t it?  One of its ancestors probably had no spines and was just a wimpy little plant that all the other plants and animals kicked around.  Then, for some reason, one weird plant grew a few spines which gave it an advantage of fending off attacks by hungry dinosaurs, bison, deer, elk, cattle, and other large, hungry, plant-eating animals.  Its offspring inherited these spines and maybe added a few of their own, so now there is this “macho plant” that can “kick butt.”  It worked very hard to fend off predators and grow up to the top of the trees to reach enough sunshine to manufacture energy.  Then it had to decide how to distribute this energy - for making babies, growing up, or fighting off the bullies of the plant world.  If it placed too much energy into growing both thorns and bitter or toxic chemicals, there might not be enough energy for reproduction and growth.  Sawbrier apparently made a sort of evolutionary decision to invest very heavily in thorns.  

But, large mammals are not the only predators of brier.  As I followed the growth of one brier winding its way up the trunk of a winged elm, I noticed that it was growing at the rate of about 2-3 inches every day.  Suddenly its growth stopped!  A close inspection revealed a black larva with white stripes was feeding on the terminal bud.  Aha!  A brier which has great defenses against large mammals seems to be very vulnerable to an insect.  Especially, since the brier seems to have few chemical defenses against insects.  The more I learn about brier, the greater appreciation I have for them.  Instead of seeing the brier as a wicked vine, bent on slashing my flesh, I see it as just another part of this marvelous, wild system.  Now, I would no more wish to eradicate brier than I would wish to destroy the sun because it causes sunburn.

Then I find out that some briers have relatively few spines.  Laurel greenbrier, for example, has a few spines on stems that can be reached by a deer - then they climb up 40 to 60 feet into tall trees to reach sunlight.  The bottom 6 ft of stem has spines and the top 50 ft have none.  When installing electricity into Woodvine, I was forced to cut of few of these briers to make way for the electric lines.  They are now in the process of growing back from the roots.  They emerge as a vine about ½ inch in diameter, grow rapidly, and within a few days are 5 ft tall and already have spines.  At first, they provide an apparent but deceptive defense - the spines have a ferocious appearance but are about as dangerous as a child’s rubber doll.  Browsing mammals who are not deceived by appearance should make a tasty meal of these plants.  Thus, it seems that brier spines can provide a real, physical defense or a sort of psychological defense.  Animals who know the pain of hard spines might also avoid a soft, rubbery, plant that appears dangerous.  However, some insects that find it difficult to get a mouthful of the stem, are - with their small mouths - able to graze on the soft spines, thus making the vine more susceptible to large herbivores.

Briers Grow Rapidly

 

But, after all this nature stuff - in some sort of convoluted, illogical way - by genetically controlled, biological imperatives, I instinctively take some primitive pleasure in finding out that I can eat my good friend brier.  Apparently brier has evolved no chemical defenses against human digestive systems - it tastes somewhat like asparagus.  As with other humans throughout history, I take some neanderthal pleasure in feeling dominant over brier - somewhat akin to Aztec Indians eating the hearts of their human sacrifices.  Anybody for heart of brier salad or brier stew?

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Watering the Truth

Watering the Truth

 

January 25, 1998

Do you know the common name for dihydrogen monoxide?  After I read the answer it was very obvious - I was just too lazy to figure it out.  What would you do if someone presented you with a petition to ban dihydrogen monoxide for the following reasons:

1.  it can cause excessive sweating and vomiting;

2.  it is a major component of acid rain;

3.  it can cause severe burns in its gaseous state;

4.  it can kill you if accidentally inhaled;

5.  it contributes to erosion;

6.  it decreases the effectiveness of automobile brakes;

7.  it has been found in tumors of terminal cancer patients.

If you know the common name of this chemical, then the answer is obvious.  If you don’t - would you sign the petition?  When this petition was presented to 50 people who were asked to support the ban of this chemical, 43 signed the petition, six were undecided, and only one knew that the chemical is H2O, commonly called “water.”

This simple experiment won first prize in a Science Fair and was conducted by Nathan Zonher, 14.  It was titled “How Gullible Are We?”  The answer seems obvious.  

But wait!  How can we know that this experiment was really conducted or that the conclusions are valid?  Yes, the results of this experiment were distributed by the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post, and Skeptical Inquirer - but how do we know that they do not sometimes print fiction disguised as fact?  Or we can search the internet and find a website: http://www.idahonews.com/042797/THE_WEST/2331.htm that provides additional evidence.  But still, based on the evidence at our disposal, we cannot know if this story is absolutely true.  Because the story was printed in fairly reliable sources, we might conclude that the story is believable and therefore might be true.  We could phone young Zonher and ask him if this story is true.  He could lie.  Or, if we are so inclined, we could repeat this simple experiment with our friends or random folks on the street.  If we obtain similar results and come to the same conclusion as young Zonher, does that prove his assertion that folks are gullible?  No!  However, it might increase our confidence in accepting his conclusion and the likelihood that the experiment was real, reports are accurate and the conclusions reliable.  

A working notion among many leading scientist/philosophers is that absolute truth is an ideal that can only be approached.  We can never know that a given proposition is true because - according to the methods of science - all ideas are subject to replacement or modification when or if new information reveals a better idea.  Does this mean that we are doomed to eternal confusion - unable to make decisions on important matters in our life?  Of course not!  We gather the best information that we can on any subject and make practical decisions based on that information.  “If it works, it is right,” is a commandment of the pragmatists.  Because an idea is useful, practical, or profitable, does not make it “true,” but it means that if we use this idea again, we can expect that it may again be useful, practical, or profitable.  Then some smart guy modifies this same idea so that it is more useful, practical, or profitable and we will discard the old idea and substitute the new one.  You can take almost any modern appliance to test this notion.  Compare the early computers to modern ones or a primitive telephone compared to a new one.  They were all modified in a step-wise fashion by rejecting the old model and replacing it with a new one.  All ideas, including the so-called “laws of science” are subject to replacement.

But to me, one of the most important consequences of Zohner’s study is that we might expect groups in our society to use his study to convince us of the “truth” of whatever they are trying to promote.  The National Education Association might use this study to reinforce the notion that because we do not all know what dihydrogen monoxide is, this deficiency must be rectified immediately by paying higher salaries to our teachers.  “No human can claim to be educated unless he/she knows all about dihydrogen monoxide,” they might say.  Rush Limbaugh might use it to demonstrate the gullibility of environmentalist “whackos.”  Environmentalists might understand the power of Zohner’s simple petition method to demonstrate the narrow-minded greed of the “money-grubbing” entrepreneurs in our society.

If you can demonstrate the hazards of water to expose the gullibility of environmentalists, could you not use the same method to expose the gullibility of entrepreneurs?  Instead of water, we might choose some toxic elements such as arsenic (As).  A petition could be circulated asking if we should remove Governmental limitations on the every-day use of  “As” in children’s nurseries based on its benefits:

1.  it has been used in the treatment of human disease;

2.  it controls roaches and other pests that carry childhood diseases;

3.  it controls germs to which children may be exposed;

4.  it is used in the production of semiconductors used in electrical child-surveillance equipment;

5.  it is used as a laser material the may find use in the development of safe, children’s toys;

6.  it is used in the production of glass eyes for use in children’s dolls.

7.  it has often been used in the production of parts of children’s toys. 

If the results of this petition agreed with our goal of embarrassing entrepreneurs, we might use the results to demonstrate their gullibility.  If the data does not agree with our unobjective goal, we can always discard the data.  (You might be shocked to know how often data is discarded by “scientists” and non-scientists to get rid of embarrassing data).

But in my mind, all of these organizations would be guilty of using true facts to lead the public to a one-sided conclusion.  Even if we agree with the notion that teachers should be paid higher salaries, or environmentalists should be silenced or that entrepreneurs should be controlled, we might do well to consider the following: “Is it morally as bad not to care whether a thing is true or not, so long as it makes you feel good, as it is not to care how you got your money as long as you have got it.” (E. W. Teale. 1955. In “Circle of the Seasons.”) Good question!  But, why limit Teale’s question to the currency of money?  Why not include power, prestige, control of others and other motives along with Teale’s “money?”  I might rephrase Teale’s notion of morality to read: Is it morally or ethically unhealthy for a society and the individuals in the society to ignore the truth of ideas?   I would not be alone in suggesting that the good of both individuals and society is best served by openness to new ideas, but with strong criticism of all ideas, and strict standards for judging “truth.”  I lean toward accepting the evidence of history over the last few hundred years to support this idea.  One test that we can all give ourselves is to ask: Is there any time in the history of our world when we would rather live than at the present?  Although my own experience is biased (I have only lived in this world since 1936) I would not be willing to give up the (relative) benefits of modern health care, clean food, modern technology, comfortable housing, and more objective thinking that generally characterizes our modern society to live in a primitive, smoky hut and die - worn out - at age 30.  

Anyway, this story of dihydrogen monoxide has triggered discussion in the press and on the internet.  The economics writer James Glassman (Washington Post News Service, Oct. 22, 1997) coined the term “Zohnerism,” which he defines as “the use of a true fact to lead a scientifically and mathematically ignorant public to a false conclusion.”  Can you detect Glassman’s bias in this definition?  It appears to me that he is suggesting that the “public” should be better educated - an educated citizen should know that dihydrogen monoxide is water - as if by knowing this fact the public will unfailingly make correct decisions about other important questions.  Maybe I am rationalizing my own ignorance and laziness, but I do not believe that the only one who answered the question correctly in the petition was the one out of 50 that knew the that stuff was water.  The six who were undecided were equally correct in not signing the petition to ban water.  Does this mean that because these six were indecisive that we should now worship indecisiveness?  No!  I don’t think so - we need decision-makers.  But, maybe we also need inquisitive, skeptical, decision-makers.  Rather than make bold decisions with unverified information, maybe it is often best to make no decision at all.  Or, maybe the best thing to do is to query an encyclopedia or chemistry book for a definition of dihydrogen monoxide before making the decision to ban water.

But also, let’s not be too harsh in our judgment of those who voted for the banning of water.  After all, this was a petition presented by a 14-year old.  How serious can we take the petition of a 14-year-old?  Some who voted to ban water may have taken an easy out just to rid themselves of the pesky kid.  Others, knowing that this was not a serious national referendum, might have come to a quick and spurious conclusion.  I find it difficult to believe that, in a national vote where the merits of banning water would have been openly discussed, that 88 percent would have voted to ban water as in Zhoner’s experiment.

I feel some comfort in knowing that there are built-in, safety mechanisms which generally prevent Democratic societies from committing some major blunders such as banning water.  This conclusion is not meant to justify our ignorance of science and mathematics - of course, there is always room to improve our educational system.  But the importance of knowing that dihydrogen monoxide is water must be balanced against knowing other bits and pieces of information vital to the survival of our civilization.  Where do we best invest our mental energies?  

I personally do not wish to live in a world governed exclusively by chemists or entomologists or lazy petition-takers.  As much as I fear the consequences of human ignorance, maybe I fear control of my life by authoritative figures in government, business, and religion - who often use selective facts to convince us of the “truth” of their views - even more.

A very interesting consequence of this approach to the search for truth is that even this “scientific method” is subject to the same rules.  If a better method is found, the current scientific method will also be replaced!

 

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Washington St. Helens

Washington St. Helens

 

July 10, 1998

When driving north into Washington state on Interstate Five, a symmetrical, snow-covered, mountain could be seen on a clear day.  Then one day in March 1980, the north side and about 1,300 feet of the top of the mountain slid off into the valley below.  It was one of the greatest landslides ever recorded.  Scientists warned that something big was likely to happen because their seismometers were recording repeated earthquakes and there had been several smaller eruptions from the cone of the volcano.  But they were not prepared for the events following the landslide.  Superheated gasses that had built up in the bowels of the mountain were suddenly released by the landslide and exploded across the landscape.  Winds, estimated at up to 700 mph, blasted into the forest, picking up mature Sitka spruce and Douglas firs, as well as lots of rocks, and slamming them against their neighbors.  From the north side of the volcano, the forest was leveled -- except in protected spots behind hills -- over a 230 square mile area.  Most plant and animal life was killed quickly.  The explosion outran the landslide, but the landslide followed, burying forests and lakes under several hundred feet of the old mountainside.  A vertical column of ash rose 17 miles into the sky -- turning day into night for some towns in eastern Washington.  The heat generated by this volcanic activity melted the snow and ice that were on the volcano.  This release of water mixed with landslide material formed mud which washed down the Toutle River, carrying and grinding up homes, bridges, automobiles, and humans.  To understand the immensity and intensity of this whole process requires a visit.  I was profoundly impressed! 

The story of this Mt. St. Helens volcanic activity and the photos took of it, filled the world news networks for weeks after the event.  Many of us saw photos of the billowing clouds, the destruction of the forest and the human suffering and bravery that followed.  So what was so unusual about this event?  Expert volcanologists thought that volcanos vented at the top, releasing magma that build the nice symmetrical cones of volcanic mountains.  But Mt. St. Helens did not behave as expected.  It blew out horizontally so that it was more destructive to the forest that might be expected.  Fundamentally, it changed the landscape dramatically in just a matter of minutes.  Most of us have been conditioned in the classroom to accept the slow, evolutionary-like changes in the landscape.  You know, like the slow build-up of land masses by the subduction of the Juan de Fuca plate, at a rate of maybe 1-4 cm per year, under the North American Plate, or the slow evolution of new species of plants and animals.  We thought of stable ecosystems that endure for long periods of time and change slowly.  

Mt. St. Helens also surprised many biologists.  The process of ecological succession describes the orderly establishment and successive replacement of one group of plants by another after some kind of disturbance to the landscape.  According to theory, a few seeds of plants should recolonize the outer edges of this scoured landscape, followed by the animals that eat the plants, and then another group of plants.   Succession is taking place much more rapidly than expected.  Small pockets of life representing later successional stages survived the blast in protected places.  Plants in these pockets grow and form small, living islands that expand as they reproduce.  Some animals that lived underground such as ants and pocket gophers survived the blast.  About 68,000 acres of forest lands outside the Mount Saint Helens National Volcanic Monument, owned by the Weyerhaeuser Corporation, were quickly replanted.  Some of the replanted trees are now 35 to 45 feet tall.  The Toutle Riverbed, that was filled with rocks and debris, was seeded with clover and grass and fertilized.  Elk numbers increased very rapidly.  In the Toutle Valley, far below the Weyerhaeuser Visitor Center, I counted more than 100 elk from one viewpoint.  These elk rapidly colonized the blasted area.  Their hooves broke through the top layer of ash that had fallen from the volcano allowing the roots of seeds (carried in the digestive tracts of the elk) to take root in the soil below the ash.  Forecasts of forest recovery are now much more optimistic than first estimated. 

Volcanologists have learned from the experience.  Models that forecast these cataclysmic events remain imperfect.  Experts asked when Mt. St. Helens will erupt again, answer that it could happen tomorrow, but it is more likely to take place in about 60 years.  Currently, there is a build-up in the frequency of earthquakes (11 small ones on July 8, 1998) which suggests some increase in volcanic activity.  The lava deposits in the crater of the mountain continue to grow and steam can be seen venting from several places on the growing lava dome.  The “fingerprints” that volcanologists use for prediction -- such as earthquake frequency and intensity, harmonic rumblings of magma, changes in elevations of the dome, carbon dioxide concentrations and other such stuff -- do not forecast an eruption soon.  Experts expect that the volcano will enter a long period of semi-dormancy before it erupts again.  But nobody really knows.

On a clear day, the relatively new Johnston Ridge Observatory provides an exceptional view of the mountain, the crater, lava dome, pumice plain and devastation caused by the eruption.  The visitor’s center at Johnston Ridge also provides a clear analysis of what the experts think happened.  A movie showed a film taken by a photographer -- who probably did not know how brave he was to be standing in the face of such a large explosion.  After the film of the blast and associated activities, the movie screen was raised to show the magnificent, snow-clad mountain in the background through a large glass window.  The audience reaction was “Wow!”

In my mind, exposure to the information generated by this volcano reinforces the notion that we live on these fragile, continental islands of land, that float around the planet on an ocean of molten rock.  When old Alfred Wegener first postulated the theory of continental drift in the early 1900's, his idea was rejected almost universally by the scientific community.  When I went to school, his theory was still subject to considerable skepticism.  Evidence continues to accumulate to support his theory.  But this skepticism is as it should be because most new and old ideas are wrong or incomplete.  The acceptance of  ideas, especially new ideas, must be accompanied by exceptional supporting evidence.  Mt. St. Helens has added a little more evidence to the idea of continental drift.  Ain’t it fun!

 

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