NASA Eclipse Photos

These two eclipse photos from 21 August were taken from NASA's Solar Dynamics Observatory, a satellite, launched seven years ago, that looks directly at the sun all the time. Click to enlarge.

Whippoorwill Wrangle

As I sat in the outdoor tub recently, I heard two whippoorwills who seemed to be vying with each other—at least that's how it sounded to me. Conversations and competitions between animals can get quite complex. We humans—with our complex languages and our big brains—tend to belittle the forms of communication we hear going on in the animal world. Caught within the narrow confines of our own kind of information transfer, we are apt to look upon animal communication as primitive and simplistic. We miss the subtle details of how they talk to each other.

So I sat there in the tub, tuning into the dialog that these two birds seemed to be having with each other. The whippoorwill's call is an onomatopoeic one—meaning that their song is essentially identical to their name. These birds sing out—not with the usual “tweet tweet”—but with a robust “WHIP-poor-WILL.” The first two syllables seem to be emitted on the inhale of breath, with the last strong syllable exhaled with gusto. Because the bird calls out on both inhale and exhale, he can go on and on, uninterrupted. And sometimes whippoorwills do—much to my chagrin. They can repeatedly call out through the night, drilling their calls deeply into one's ear and brain.

The two birds I was listening to this night would each sequentially sing out a dozen or so phrases and then fall silent, as if waiting and listening to the other bird, to see what the response was. They called back and forth several times, before they both paused for a while, as the forest silence once again returned. In a few minutes their call-and-response routine would begin afresh—with now one of them having shifted to a new location in the forest.

There obviously was some kind of communication going on. I became absorbed in their game—trying to fathom what the rules were. It was rather like traveling to a foreign country, where I was ignorant of both the language and customs, and was observing a dialog between people and trying to guess what they were talking about.

Was I listening to a whippoorwill contest? If so, were they contesting territory? This late in the season, they were unlikely to be seeking mates—the broods of all of our local birds had already been fledged, so there was no need to vie for a mate. Well, maybe they weren't competing for territory; maybe it was simply to see which one had the more appealing and accomplished call. Or maybe they were discussing some aspect of forest life... such as the lack of mosquitoes to eat tonight.

So, if it was a territorial contest, I wondered which bird might be the challenger and which one the defender. One bird's pitch was a little lower than the other's. Does pitch convey information? Does the more aggressive bird sing at a lower pitch? I also tried to guess which bird's call seemed to be more eloquent than the other. Would the challenger or the defender sound more impressive and resolute? I know that birds often try to bluff each other, and maybe a kind of deceit was going on.

When, after a pause, one changed position, I tried to guess if he was yielding and backing off, or maybe losing interest in the game and simply moving on. On the other hand, birds will sometimes alter the quality of their call—in order to signal that they are possibly acquiescing, when actually they seek to deceive the other into believing they are closer and more intimidating that they really are. It's part of the game.

As in most cases when I am treated to the calls and exhibitions of our wildlife, I am left wondering—with more questions than answers. Their sophisticated communication is yet beyond my comprehension. I've reposed in the tub for a couple of decades now, eavesdropping on their conversations. Bit by bit, I sometimes begin to understand what they are up to. Maybe in another half century—when I am a hundredtwentysomething—I may get it.

Lady Grasshopper

This grasshopper is about 1.5 inches (4 cm) long. The closeup is of her ovipositor, by which she deposits her eggs. Click to enlarge.

Evolution and Fitness

One of the basic pillars of the theory of evolution is the fact that every species gives birth to far more offspring than the planet can sustain. This fact sets up a perpetual competition for survival among species. Those creatures who are the most fit survive in a given situation and pass their genes into the future. Those less fit die out, or never get a chance to procreate. It's that simple.

A key part of this scenario is the fact that tiny mutations randomly occur, each time a newborn comes into the world. The DNA of every species is duplicated at birth with an amazingly high degree of accuracy, but because there are millions upon millions of DNA copies to be made, tiny copying errors will inevitably creep in.

Those errors are precisely the source of tiny variations between otherwise identical offspring. Thus, one baby within a family will slightly be different from another. One sparrow born in Georgia will be a wee bit genetically different from one born in Florida, or even within the same locale in Georgia.

These slight differences rarely have any import, but should the environment—or other external conditions shift ever so slightly, one critter may fare better than another. The Georgia sparrow, for example, may have a slightly more yellow color. That yellower sparrow may be less visible to new predators—who, say, have migrated there due to climate change—who don't see yellow as well. Thus the yellow birds will live to have babies, who will also have the yellower gene. The result: yellower sparrows win the competition for survival.

This is basically how life has evolved on Earth. Every time environmental conditions have shifted, some critters—just by luck—are more fit in the new environment, and they successfully send their modified genes into the future. This amazing process is what has allowed life on our planet to adapt to changing conditions, and then to evolve new life forms to thrive in new conditions. This process would not happen without an overabundance of babies born to each species (otherwise every baby would prosper and never face the prospect of an early death). There would be no competition between their minuscule differences, to see which one wins.

One way to appreciate this magnificent process is to ponder what might happen if life on Earth had settled into some kind of happy stasis, where no competition occurred. What if the number of babies born was exactly what was needed to sustain each species? Wouldn't that be much more peaceful? If that were the case, there would be far less competition, no survival of the fittest, no dog-eat-dog world. Every critter would find its happy place; the lion could even lie down with the lamb.

But what would such a world be like? For one, evolution would simply not occur. Every critter would be content, would be secure, and would be very comfortable. No changes. Everything would become static and unvarying. This might sound nice, but what would happen if a small perturbation in the environment happened to occur? All those placid critters would suddenly be faced with challenges for which they are totally unprepared. There would be massive extinctions. Life, that would long have ago settled into a kind of inactivity, would now be unable to respond. Most creatures would go instinct!

So we might well celebrate what appears to be a brutish form of competition in nature, where too many babies are born and most of them die or get eaten. It may appear to be cold-hearted and devoid of any gentleness, but it has kept life vital, robust, and progressive, for several billion years. Let us be thankful for nature's wisdom.

Eclipse

I was able to travel to a fine location (Casper, Wyoming) to view the wonderful August 21, 2017 American eclipse. I bought a special filter for my camera, to allow these photos. At totality (the last photo) you do not need a filter; that's why the photo has a black background.

Nearly Nothing

There are two truths about our place in the universe that we humans have a tendency to deny. The first is that our personal existence has virtually no measurable or lasting consequence to the world. The second is that planet Earth is quite inconsequential to the universe. Both of these truths have a long history of cultural beliefs that reject them. Our myths and religions have consistently placed humanity at the center of creation; at the peak of it all. Everything, according to these myths, was created with the intention that it was all for humanity. It's all about us.

And what's more, it's all about me. All my life I have believed that the universe revolves about me. Babies naturally feel that way, due to their initial constricted view of life. And we never quite grow out of that view. Every moment of every day my senses tell me that it's all about me.

Both of these myths have been shattered by science, which is a major reason why religion has long been at odds with science. The first blow to the human ego came with the so-called Copernican Revolution—when science clearly demonstrated that the Earth is not at the center of the universe. In fact, in another couple of hundred years science showed that even the sun is not at the center of the universe. No, our sun is at the outer rim of an ordinary galaxy containing hundreds of billions of other suns. Furthermore, our galaxy is only one among hundreds of billions of other galaxies.

Where does that put little Earth? Somewhere far from the center of it all. What's more, recent discoveries have found thousands of planets in our local corner of the galaxy—suggesting that there likely are countless planets across the universe. And one final blow: science appears to be on the verge of discovering that Earth is not the only planet where life exists.

So much for Earth ego. Then how about my individual ego? Doesn't my existence mean anything to the universe? No, probably not. But wait, how about my people or my local corner of the planet; don't I mean something to them? Not likely. Can anyone have a lasting impact? You could argue that Jesus and the Buddha have had a lasting impression on humanity, but most of us fall immeasurably short of them.

Does that mean when I am gone I leave no lasting trace? Not for long. Before I was born I had no impact on the world—by definition. How long after I'm gone will I be remembered? Not long. A very small number of people upon whom I had a little influence may recall me and what I did, but even that memory will soon fade.

These truths are nihilistic thoughts for most people. These truths suggest to some people that our individual existence, as well as Earth's existence, are meaningless. We amount to nothing. It's a real downer for them.

I strongly disagree. It only appears purposeless if you contrast these truths to the false myths that the universe revolves around us; that we are so special. To realize that we are really quite ordinary is a huge comedown.

I think we put emphasis on the wrong things, however, when we buy into these falsehoods that feed our egos. Instead of thinking that we are unique and special, we can accept the truth of our ordinariness. Get over it. What gives life real meaning is what we each can do to help those around us—our local community—in our lifetimes. What can we do to make the lives of those around us (humans, animals, plants) a little better? There's an expression that has pretty much become a cliché, but is relevant here: “Think globally, act locally.” What really robs life of meaning is not that we are nothing special, but to waste the precious opportunity we've been given (this existence we have) on trivial thoughts and activities. 

Enchanting Eden

Every now and then, as I ramble about our pleasant little homestead here in the Shenandoah Valley, I pause to reflect on how beautiful it all is. We moved out to these woods 35 years ago, built a house, and set up a simple lifestyle, living as close to the land as we can. The grounds have gotten prettier each year and we feel blessed to live in such wonderful surroundings.

At times when I'm appreciating the beauty of the place, the thought comes to my mind that we're living in our own little Eden. That may seem a bit of an overstatement, since the biblical Eden is described as a perfectly idyllic place; a sort of Heaven on Earth. Well, maybe our homestead is not quite such a paradise, but it's about the closest I'm ever likely to come.

As I pondered whether or not it was appropriate to equate our surroundings with Eden, I found myself once again pondering the myth of that biblical garden paradise, and what the story means to the human species. I don't think that the biblical tale of our banishment from Eden should be taken literally; that's why I use the term “myth.” I don't use the word to indicate that the Genesis story is false or make believe; just that it is an allegory—a story that contains truths, though it probably did not happen exactly as written. George Washington did not chop down a cherry tree as a kid and then confess his foul deed to his dad, but the story does kind of capture the honesty and integrity of the man.

So, if Eden was that wonderful, why did those ancients leave, many thousands of years ago? Sure, the story is that they were evicted for bad behavior, but I doubt that is the case. I can't ever conceive of leaving my own Eden, and I sure as hell would never do anything to get kicked out, no matter how good the apples taste. It is written that Eve and Adam disobeyed the landlord, but I'm not sure that's true either, and I very much rebel at the idea of their committing some kind “original sin” for which we all are still trying to recover. So I wonder if there might be an alternative explanation for Genesis Eden myth.

The Garden of Eden was likely situated in the Fertile Crescent of the Middle East—also known as the Cradle of Civilization—roughly in modern-day Iraq, where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers flow. The region saw the rise of some of the earliest human civilizations, as people transitioned from hunter-gatherer bands into settled communities, when agriculture allowed humans to settle down and permanently reside in the region, around 10-12 thousand years ago. The Fertile Crescent was indeed fecund. Crops grew exceedingly well in the rich soil, well-watered by these two rivers. The population grew rapidly.

As humans tend to do, however, the Fertile Crescent soon was transformed into the arid land it is today, when farming techniques exhausted the top soil and the trees that were previously cut down no longer could hold soil in place. Human activity literally altered the Garden of Eden into the Desert of Eden. Inhabitants of the region came upon hard times, as the once-abundant agriculture faltered.

Might this human-caused deterioration of the land be the source of the biblical myth of Adam and Eve's banishment from Eden? This was long before written history, so it's easy to conceive of the Semitic peoples of the area describing in their oral history an easier ancient time when farming was rewarding, but then hard times came. They no longer lived in a fertile and productive garden, but had to struggle with depleted land. These people were not evicted from the Garden of Eden—they destroyed it and were forced to move on.

This is a story that humanity has repeated several times. The Maya in Central America caused their civilization to collapse, when their depleted lands could no longer support the growing population. Americans did it in the 1930s in southwestern USA, as they watched the winds blow away their dry dusty land that they had depleted through poor agricultural practices. The world today faces similar soil exhaustion in many locations, as modern agricultural methods destroy topsoil at increasing speeds. Humanity is plundering many more Edens; planet-wide. It makes me wonder if the biblical story of Eve and Adam is, instead of a historical description, maybe a prophecy.

In the meantime, humans have also learned good farming techniques. We now know how to care for the soil, and even improve it. Unfortunately, our greed destroys far more land than we heal.

Meanwhile, I rejoice in the little Eden where I live. This land had not been disturbed much, before we arrived 35 years ago. The top soil is naturally thin and not very productive, but we've improved it over the years. I hope we can be fortunate enough to remain here—working with our Eden—until we depart this world. I hope that we also may avoid any kind of eviction from this beautiful place. I have no interest in becoming a modern Adam.