Turkey Feather

Under the mocroscope at 200X. It looks like the terrain around here: a series of ridges and valleys.

Odd Life

I have written a few times in this blog about the origins of life on Earth, as well as the search for life elsewhere in the universe. (“Unlikely Alone,” 2/28/13, “Goldilocks Globe,”1/30/11, “Extra Terrestrial Life,” 1/22/10, and “Life Out There,” 11/20/08.) When scientists talk about looking for extraterrestrial life, they often qualify their efforts as seeking for “life as we know it.” They are cautious enough to recognize that alien life-forms may not resemble ours—especially since more and more examples of extreme forms of life have been discovered right here on our little planet. Just a few decades ago science did not expect to find examples of the so-called extremophiles that we now know flourish in hot, acidic, deep oceanic, and underground locations.

A new arm of research is currently examining the possibility of life-forms here on Earth that even further stretch our current concepts of what life is. Life, “as we know it,” (so far) is carbon based, water immersed, and uses proteins made up of 20 kinds of amino acids and DNA that uses four kinds of chemical bases. We know, however, that nature contains about 100 types of amino acids and a dozen or more kinds of bases. Why does our type of life employ only a small fraction of the available chemical compounds? Could it use more? Could other forms of life use other compounds? And is carbon the only basis of life—why not silicon? Could liquids other than water be the basis of life?

These questions are increasingly being asked and explored by some scientists. They feel that it is possible that there may be other types of life living right alongside us, but we have heretofore ignored them, because our expectations of what life is have been too narrow. These scientists' explorations are being broadened to seek life forms that may be odd (to us).

This issue of alternative kinds of life is even more relevant, as we go looking for life elsewhere in the universe. In the 1970s, two NASA Viking missions to Mars were explicitly designed to test for Martian life—past or present. The Viking landers took samples, ran tests, and at first seemed to indicate they'd found life. A closer look forced NASA to declare the tests negative, however. No Mars life in those samples...or so they thought.

At the present moment the rover Curiosity is rummaging around in Mars's Gale Crater, checking to see if conditions there could once have supported life. NASA is careful to caution that this time they are not looking for life, just signs that conditions could once have been amenable for it. They've learned the lesson of getting too specific in the hunt for life.

But the newest scientific studies suggest that we may still have biochemical blinders on, when it comes to looking for life elsewhere. If there are unrecognized life forms sharing Earth with us, what even more odd forms might exist somewhere “out there?” Perhaps we should open up our minds even more.

When life first emerged on Earth—some 3.5 billion years ago—it may well have consisted of more than one chemical basis. As time passed, our type—carbon and water based—may have come to dominate. Evolution may have favored our kind of life and either eliminated the others as unfit, or relegated them to the margins, where we simply haven't noticed them. During the 150-million-year reign of the dinosaurs, mammals existed only as small critters who kept under cover and avoided the big reptiles. If you were to ask a dinosaur about mammals, he'd probably have shrugged (I believe they did have shoulders), having no clue that mammals even existed.

It's amazing what we open ourselves to when we let go of our selfish, narrow-minded viewpoints—whether the object of our attention is life forms, religion, food, or musical tastes. We have so much to learn. One of the biggest barriers to wisdom is our inability to step outside ourselves.

Rose-breasted Grosbeak

This is the first time this bird has visited the feeder. It usually keeps to the deeper forest.

Wood Burning Joys

We have heated our domicile solely by burning wood, for over 30 years now. I have enjoyed the many satisfactions of wood burning, but recently read an article that added one more pleasure to the process. But first, let me count the ways that I find heating the house with a wood stove fulfilling.

First, gathering wood is excellent physical exercise. I think it was Thoreau who ticked off the numerous times that wood burning warms the body and soul: when you cut it, when you haul it, when you split and stack it, and finally, when you burn it. Being well into my Social Security years, cutting and collecting wood helps keep me young. (Well, OK, it does force this aging body to do hard work, which is therapeutic.)

Second, we save lots of money over conventional heating methods. We are fortunate to be surrounded by woods and our logs come free. Just the cost of some sweat labor and a chain saw are the price we pay. 

Third, wood is a renewable resource. Trees are continually growing around here. We're not burning nonrenewable fossil fuels.

Fourth, there is the satisfaction of being self-sufficient and free of being forced to rely on the whims of the volatile fossil fuel markets. There is something important about holding onto one's autonomy these days, through developing some proficiency of being able to take care of yourself. We can't depend on governments and businesses to be as reliable as they once were.

Fifth, all these years of handling wood, as I cut, carry, split, and stuff it into the stove, have given me the pleasure of coming to know and appreciate wood...even revere it and the trees that provide it. I love the smell of freshly-cut red oak and the way its straight grain yields to my splitting maul. I love being able to cut up a hardwood tree that a strong wind has toppled—saving me the danger of felling it myself—and using its heat value before it has a chance to begin rotting. I love being in the woods, looking up at those majestic trees, feeling a deep reverence for their great size and longevity. They both dwarf and provide for me.

If these weren't enough reasons for enjoying burning wood, I recently added another one to my list. An article in a magazine described how the wood stove has traditionally been a focal point of the home. Warmth radiates from it—filling the interior space with cheer. People cuddle up to a stove. They gather round it and enjoy each other's company. Wood stoves literally build community!

In contrast, a furnace relegates the source of warmth to the basement, or hides it in a closet. We feel no coziness with a furnace and have little understanding of or familiarity with it. There's a thermostat on the wall—put there by an expert, whose operation we only dimly comprehend. We listen to it click noisily on and off. When it suddenly quits working, we call another expert in a panic to come fix it. We have no real involvement with or understanding of a furnace.

 

What have we lost in trading our wood stoves for furnaces? Some people would say that we've thankfully lost messiness, inconvenience, and a sore back. Good riddance! I think there are some tangible benefits to burning wood, however. In fact, I've just listed six of them! That said, I have to admit to looking forward now to some warm days, when the windows are open and those balmy breezes waft through. (Now I labor in the garden.)

Six-spotted Tiger Beetle

This beetle (Cicindela sexguttata) is a forest beetle that likes to gobble ants, spiders, and caterpillars. Unlike their cousins, the ground beetles, these guys forage in broad daylight, their shell shining spectacularly. (Click to enlarge.)

Charming Chickadees

Watching some birds come and go at the feeder recently, I found myself focused for an extended period of time on a few chickadees. They, along with tufted titmice, are the most prevalent species of bird to dine on our offered sunflower seeds. Being the most common of birds, it can become easy to disregard them, allowing my attention to be drawn to those rarer species that less frequently visit the feeder.

There are two varieties of chickadee here in the eastern US: the black-capped chickadee, which lives to the north of us and the Carolina chickadee, which inhabits the southern states. It challenges the most inveterate birdwatcher to be able to distinguish between these two subspecies. The challenge is even stiffer where we live, since we occupy the borderline range between them, and the two species even interbreed around here—fostering what might be called the “Hybridized Black-capped Carolina Chickadee.” 

This cute bird is our smallest bird at the feeder—deferring to any other bird that wishes to muscle in. Only the hummingbird is smaller, and it prefers the sugar feeder. The perky and acrobatic mannerisms of the chickadee always fascinates and charms me. Interestingly, although it is the most timid bird and thus at the bottom of the avian pecking order, the chickadee is the tamest of birds around humans. If I stand still just a few feet from the feeder, one of them will soon land close to me, give me the cute eye, and proceed to choose a seed. They can even be trained to pick seeds out of the palm of your hand—something I would like to try someday.

As I was watching a couple of them the other day, it suddenly occurred to me that they looked a little like perky penguins—all decked out in their formal black-and-white attire. Their throat and the cap of their head are inky black, with a blindingly white triangular patch running from their bill, under the eye, and back to the nape of their neck. Or maybe they resemble diminutive, plump Catholic nuns. All three of these formally-attired creatures are cute (unless, of course, you were once a little kid under the eye of a stereotypical stern nun in a strict Catholic school).

 

Although some 8-10 chickadees will congregate as one happy family at our feeder during the cold months, they are in the process of pairing off and choosing nesting sites at this time of year. They will mate for life—a fact that I can't verify, because I can't tell one from the other, since male and female appear identical to me. There's a lot of jousting going on between (what I assume to be) males, as they compete for the better nesting locations. Proximity to the feeder is the most highly-valued territory.

Sometimes it's a good idea to place focused attention to the more common things in life. We can do well to remind ourselves just how special they are, which then reminds us how wonderful it all is.

Bess Beetle

Also called patent leather beetle. Can you guess why from the photo? They are in the stag beetle family, because of their anterlike mandibles, which the males use to fight over ladies. He was about an inch long.

Click to enlarge.

Digital or Analog?

Is the fundamental nature of the universe continuous or discrete? Does matter come in lumps or waves? Is the material universe intrinsically a digital or an analog thing?

It's an ancient debate that has relentlessly been waged for over two millennia in the Western world. (I can't speak for the Chinese; they may have been arguing about it for 5,000 years or so.) The pendulum periodically swings toward the discrete side, as scientists view the natural world as made up of particles: discrete elements like atoms. Then it will swing the other way for a period of time, as those who view nature as continuous will gain the upper hand. The dispute carries on today.

The ancient Greeks were among the first to draw opposing sides on the issue. Aristotle and his camp saw the world as continuous, while the atomists saw it as discrete. Long before technology advanced to the point that the existence of atoms could be demonstrated, their actuality was presciently posited by Democritus and his followers.

Look at a river. The flowing water looks continuous. No matter how much you subdivide it—down to a trickle or even a drop—it appears to the naked eye to be the same thing: a clear, unbroken liquid. So Aristotle and his buddies reasoned. And yet we moderns know that water is composed of discrete molecules of H₂O; tiny discontinuous entities. Modern chemistry shows us that the water molecule is further composed of atoms of hydrogen and oxygen—which are themselves made up of protons and electrons...just finer, discrete lumps of matter. 

But wait: we don't need to stop at these particles. Protons and electrons are made up of quarks and leptons...still finer particles. But wait again: modern particle physics knows that another way of looking at these most fundamental building blocks is that they are apparently composed of continuous energy fields. Some physicists call the newly-discovered Higgs boson a particle, some call it the Higgs field. So these most fundamental particles can also appear to be like “ripples” in continuous energy fields. 

Now we seem to be back to the analog. And so it goes: Is the universe continuous or discrete? Analog or digital? It seems to depend on how fine you look at it and your preference. The debate goes on.

Another conundrum of this type can be encountered when one considers light. Ever since Newton's time (18^th century) one scientific camp has considered light to be made up of particles (photons) and another camp views light as waves. Quantum mechanics entered the fray in the early 20^th century and added its weight to both sides of the argument. Is light particles or waves? Discrete or continuous? Well, the discomfiting thing about quantum mechanics is that the answer is never definitive. The answer always seems to be: depends; could be both. Depends on how you look at it. That's no help!

So here we are in the 21^st century—still not sure if nature, at its heart, is analog or digital. The debate rages on. Will we ever find an answer? Maybe a more pertinent query is: Are we even asking the right question?

Spring Dandelion

Who says dandelions aren't gorgeous? Click to enlarge.

Siberian March

I have been collecting daily weather data for nearly 30 years now: high/low/average temperature, precipitation, etc. At the completion of each month and year I play with all my data, computing things like total precipitation, average temperatures, heating and cooling degree days per month and season, the winter's amount of wood burned, monthly electrical usage, snowfall, number of days of temperature extremes, first and last days of frost, drought and heavy rain spells, and a few other eccentric calculations.

That's why I know that March 2013 set a 30-year record for the coldest March, here on the old homestead. When a month's average temperature is 3-4 degrees above or below the long-term average, we can subjectively feel it. When it's 7-8 degrees different, we really feel it! All month long this March felt very chilly to us and the month's end statistics confirmed our impressions: the average daily high temperature was 10^o below normal! The days of March simply refused to warm up.

March may metaphorically come in like a lion and exit like a lamb, but this one stayed Siberian the whole time. Those normal, warm, late-March afternoons induce plants to bud and bloom, as they prepare themselves for a showy April. But not this March! Wisely, the buds kept themselves tightly rolled up from the cold, and the daffodils hunkered down close to the ground, leery of poking their delicate heads into the frigid air.

We stayed mostly inside, stoking the wood stove far more than usual, as we chomped at the bit to get outside and prepare the garden for another summer's bounty. Warm up, dammit!

In stark contrast, last year brought an unusually warm March—the days' high temperatures were 18^o higher than this year. Eighteen degrees! That's the equivalent of having last year's March be as warm as April, while this year's March was more like February! Now, that two-month spread has got to be confusing to Mother nature's flora and fauna. Yet they've dealt with it, rolling with the hot or cold punches.

Climate doubters will scorn any thoughts of global warming, in the face of an unusually cold month like this March. They simply misunderstand the difference between climate and temperature. As the climate gradually warms, cold spells will still visit us. In fact, colder temperatures at our latitude can be directly chalked down to a warming arctic region, because the warmer weather up there disturbs and forces the jet stream farther south, bringing that chill down here.

I don't mind a cool early spring period, however, because it keeps those delicate blossoms under wraps longer than usual, so they are less likely to be damaged by a late April frosty night. After last year's warm March, we lost all of our fruit crop, because the warmth had made all the blossoms open too early. They all got zapped by that April night's chill. Maybe this year the fruit trees will bear a bounty!