Pileated Woodpecker at the Feeder (He couldn't figure out how to get food)

Amazing Owl Ears

Owls are nature’s stealth aircraft—they can fly more quietly than most any bird. Their wing feathers allow their wings to beat and glide through the air so silently that they can swoop down unawares and grab rodents and rabbits for their meals. The leading edges of an owl’s wings are serrated, which reduces eddies of air shed by the wing, and thus the noise.

An owl’s eyes are also amazing organs. They are very large—an owl’s stare from a photograph can be disturbingly intimidating. Their eyes are placed in front of their head—rather than at the sides, as for most birds. This gives an owl stereoscopic vision—excellent depth perception—so it can accurately pounce on its pray. Furthermore, owls use their eyes in the dark.

But an owl’s ears are probably their most incredible sensory organ. The eye of an eagle may be able to pick out dinner morsels a mile or so away, but the ear of the owl is equally impressive. Their large heads and fan-shaped feathers efficiently direct sound to their ear openings—and those openings are asymmetrical on the head. One is slightly higher than the other, which increases their ability to zero in on the location of animal sounds.

But the champion hearer of all is also the largest owl of all: the great gray owl. This bird lives in the far north; in central Canada and up into Alaska. It may be the largest owl in the Americas, but the smaller great horned owl is 50% heavier. Why? In order to keep warm in its frigid environment, the great gray owl puffs up its feathers, insulating its body.

And those ears of the great gray! It can sit on the branch of a tree and hear the sounds of a vole several hundred feet away, under several feet of snow! Think about what that implies about the acuteness of the hearing mechanism of this bird. Snow is a good thermal insulator and a good sound absorber. It does an excellent job of muffling the sounds of a skittering vole—who is comfy and believes itself safe, hidden under a deep snow bank. And what overly confident vole would think that an owl perched a football-field distance away could ever be a threat? There goes another meal for the great gray.

That extraordinary hearing capability of this owl implies yet another remarkable fact: the environment must be exceptionally quiet in that far frozen north. Even the slightest background noise—a gentle breeze wafting or any sound from another animal—would prevent the owl from picking out that buried vole. That silence is precious to the owl. It never gets that quiet in the States. The great gray owl had better remain in its isolated north country.

Hey, How About Some More Sunflowers Seeds?

Extra Terrestrial Life

A question has hovered in the minds of people over the eons: Does life exist elsewhere in the universe? I have written before on this subject (“Life Out There,” 11/20/08). It’s an ongoing question that we’ve been unable to answer so far, but now seem to be closing in on. Several exciting initiatives recently have been launched—and some of them are providing tantalizing information.

There are fewer questions whose resolution would have a greater impact on us than: “Are we alone?” Many people have invested lots of energy into a belief system that the Earth is unique in the entire universe, and thus solitary in harboring life—especially intelligent life (whatever that is). Others are convinced that the conditions that fostered life here are common throughout the vast universe and thus life must be common. They argue that, even though Earth’s life-favoring conditions are incredibly rare, there is such an unimaginably large number of stars, that those conditions must have been duplicated many places.

This is similar to the ancient debate over whether the Earth sat at the center of the (then-known) universe. Arguments about our place in the cosmos raged on in those times, until science progressed to the point that the answer was found: we’re far from the center.

Similarly, our understanding is now growing about the possibilities of life elsewhere. In the last few decades we’ve discovered extremely tough species (dubbed “extremophiles”) in places here on Earth where we’d previously doubted any form of life could survive: scalding hot pools in Yellowstone, frigid locations in Antarctica, the sunless depths of the ocean. Simultaneously, NASA’s probes have discovered environmental conditions on other worlds in our solar system—a few moons of Jupiter and Saturn—that are quite similar to those tolerated by Earth’s extremophiles.

The December 2009 issue of National Geographic describes very recent results of astronomical studies that have identified nearly 400 planets orbiting stars other than the sun. Many people have long suspected that there must be planets circling other stars, but the proof has been lacking until now. Now we know: over 300 of the nearest stars have multiple planets! And those that we can detect thus far are just the bigger planets (far larger than Earth). Projects are underway that will soon be able to detect Earth-sized planets in the next few years—and even begin to analyze the contents of their atmospheres (if they have any).

Just as Johannes Kepler finally proved that the sun (not the Earth) is at the center of our local universe 400 years ago, we’re on the threshold of discovering if life on other earths exists—or not. Stay tuned.

Mother Nature's Ice Sculpture

The Larger Picture

One consequence of human evolution is that we gradually come to understand a larger and larger slice of the truth of our universe. Although we have physiologically evolved slowly over millions of years, the evolution of our cultural and mental dimensions has exploded over just the last ten thousand years or so. The development and growth of scientific understanding is directly due to that rapid cultural evolution.

Science has relentlessly progressed in a very consistent and logical manner. That is its principle attraction for me; it’s not a capricious thing, it doesn’t wander aimlessly, wasting time. I can depend on it; I can trust it. But it’s not the logic of science that is the key here—it’s the manner in which our understanding grows. Pure logic may be the essence of mathematics, but it’s only one tool in the search to grasp the larger picture. (Bernd Heinrich, one of my favorite writers on biology, nicely describes this idea.)

The search for knowledge cannot be a quirky, random process—especially if it’s scientific knowledge we seek. It must be directed and intentional. We must have some sort of idea where we’re going—some tentative expectations, some rough hypothesis. And here’s where a good dose of logic does help. It can guide the search and even alert us to significant observations.

The next stage of this investigative process is where true science—the search for reality—is crucial. We might have expectations about what we may find, but a true scientist will never ignore unexpected or anomalous observations. One should never reject observations that are unexpected. One should never become attached to one’s hypothesis or theory—that’s dogmatic and fallacious reasoning. The quest to expand human understanding has repeatedly faltered and bogged down in the quicksand of dogma and rigid belief.

It is, in fact, those seemingly inconsistent observations that have frequently led people to a larger picture of reality. Anomalies can be clues to the truth. They are often telling us something very valuable: that our limited viewpoint needs to be opened up, widened, even modified. If we choose to ignore the oddities (to stay ignorant!), we choose to limit ourselves to an inferior apprehension. We get locked into a belief that becomes increasingly like a straightjacket. That ossification of belief happens in all areas of human perspective—not just science.

So let me keep my eyes and mind open—not being distracted by every whim that comes along (that’s why I need that initial hypothesis to guide me)—but also not rejecting ideas and observations that don’t fit my prejudices. They just might hold the key to it all.

Weeping Peach Blossom (Time for a taste of spring)

Higher Cooperation

Every living thing is imbued with an elemental drive to survive and to procreate. This is fundamentally a selfish urge. All Earth’s creatures act in their own self-interest, in order to live and to succeed in the struggle to send their genes into the future. But if we go overboard in our selfishness, we’d end up the lone survivor on an isolated island, unable to reproduce at all. So our self-interest must somehow be checked in favor of the wider interest of the survival of the species. We all innately know that we must cooperate at some higher level.

Even plants are able control their selfish urges. Recent research shows that the fierce competition between plants for light and nutrients (think weeds in the garden) is not wholly unbridled. Clever experiments have shown that a plant will send out its roots and leaves as fast and as far as it can, trying to get the jump on its competitors. If others of its own species surround a plant, however, it will check its growth, so as not to be a threat to them. Its root system will be limited—giving adjacent same-species plants an opportunity to flourish and to propagate the species. Even plants cooperate at a higher level.

Plants and animals behave this way because an evolutionary process drives them to do so. They can’t “think” about cooperation or competition; evolution has simply infused them with the appropriate “wisdom.” Even cognizant animals (such as Homo sapiens) are often not aware of the consequences or meaning of our actions that promote cooperation—we just do it. (Creatures who were possessed of an unlimited selfishness died out long ago—maybe when they found themselves all alone on that island, with no potential mates.)

But we humans are able to be aware of the consequences of what we do—of the impact of our actions. It’s something that separates us from most other animals. We can look back at what we did and connect the dots. This is a way for morals to enter the picture, when we come to understand the benefits of certain positive behaviors. Morals can give us good reasons to check our self-interest, if we choose to heed them.

And we can also understand—unlike plants and animals—that what we do impacts not only nearby but distant beings as well. We can come to appreciate the exquisite balance and interconnections between all creatures. We can come to revere the many facets of this wonderful creation. Yet, too often we seem to act selfishly, even to the point of harming ourselves and other species—despite our capacity to be moral animals and cooperate at a higher level. Can we learn to act as wisely as plants and animals?

Jack Frost Rendering

An Ebullient Bird

In the midst of winter, birdsong gets rare around here. The major reasons for birds to sing—out of sheer joy or as a warning to competitors—are now absent. There’s little joy in foraging for food in frigid weather, and the time of rivalry for mates is long gone. Most birds quietly endure—with at most an occasional outburst of scolding chatter (at each other or the cat).

There is one local bird, however, who seems to be undaunted by the cold: the Carolina wren. On the coldest of winter days (even nights!) this little guy may suddenly burst forth with a perky song that makes me think of May. While all other birds crowd ‘round the feeder, jousting for position to get at the sunflower seeds, the Carolina wren may be seen hopping gaily about, investigating crevices and nooks—as if food was the last thing on its wee mind.

Wrens are native to North America. The single wren species inhabiting Europe is the Winter wren—which took the reverse trek across the Bering Strait eons ago. The Carolina wren—as one might expect from its name—inhabits the southeastern U.S. It’s one of the larger wrens. It is brown, potbellied, portly, and humpbacked, with a long, bold white eyebrow. It moves in perky, jerky hops from one place to another—constantly looking around, as if seeking some kind of mischief to engage in. One of my bird books even says that this bird “carries the connotation of lasciviousness”!

It loves tight confines—constantly poking into nooks, crannies, and hidden holes. It will nest in peculiar places, such as mailboxes (my neighbor once had one in there for a few weeks), tin cans, and even coat pockets on clotheslines! We’ve had them steal into an outbuilding when the door was left open for a few hours, and set up a nest in a secluded shelf corner. (Then you can’t close the door for a while!)

When I first noticed the Carolina wren years ago I mistook it for a nuthatch in my naiveté. They’re the same size, have a similar slender bill, and exhibit the same perky moves. They are also the only local bird who can prance down a tree trunk, head first. I quickly learned, though, that while nuthatches are gray, wrens are brown. Simple difference.

I also used to confuse the call of the Carolina wren with the cardinal. Both are loud and clarion-like. But there’s no confusion for me in the midst of winter’s grip, when I hear a song. The cardinal maintains its stoic silence, leaving the sudden bursts of buoyant aria to the Carolina wren.

Cotton Ball Tree

Dumb Cats

My sister and I have had a running repartee for many years, about the relative smartness (or dumbness) of cats and dogs. She insistently contends that cats are way better than dogs, when it comes to cerebral acrobatics. Cats look smart, behave regally, are extremely wily, can read your mind, are fetchingly clever, etc. Her list of intelligence adjectives seems endless.

Since she’s my older sister, and I was taught to respect my elders (mostly by her), I have rarely refuted her extravagant claims—not really agreeing with her, but not really arguing either. I’ve nobly held my silence on the matter.

My experience has been quite the opposite, however. For some 40 years my household has been continuously inhabited by both feline and canine critters. I have found my dog buddies to be considerably cleverer than the resident cats. Dogs learn faster and easier than cats do. Dogs better understand and respond to the spoken word. A dog wants to be trained how to be a contributing citizen, whereas, although you may be able to demonstrate the tiniest bit of schooling in a cat, it will cooperate only if it gets exactly what it wants. One may call that intelligent, but I call it just devilish manipulation.

Nor have I wished to ardently proclaim my dear sister to be wrong. I have been willing to concede that there just might be a cognitive difference between West Coast cats and those here in the Shenandoah Valley. Just maybe they have a subspecies of feline out there that enjoys prodigious amounts of gray matter. I’ll grant that there’s a chance it’s possible… though exceedingly improbable.

But now comes proof of my sister’s bogus belief; and from no less an authority than a professor at Canterbury Christ Church University in Kent, England. We all know, of course, that the Brits are very erudite and trustworthy folks. Psychology Professor Britta Osthaus (note this is coming from a woman, Sis) says cats just do not understand cause-and-effect connections between objects. “They performed worse than dogs,” says Dr. Osthaus. “If we know their limits we won’t expect too much of them, which in turn is important for their welfare. I am not trying to say cats are stupid, just they are different”

Sorry, Sis. I’ll try my best not to rub it in.

The Run in Snow