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Gratitude for Science

Sep11

“The Devil’s beating his wife,” the Colonel used to say when rain fell during sunshine. There was a brief moment this morning when that happened. It was beautiful, and I reflected on the phrase, such an innocent reference to domestic violence. Normalizing words, phrases, and ideas softens their impact and can lead to complacency.

Last night’s rich sunset portended today’s rain.

There are holes in the narrative of yesterday’s assassination in Utah. American Muckrakers outlines provocative elements that suggest a false flag, and it’s sickening to read and makes a lot of sense. Question the prevailing narrative on this one, and question mainstream and liberal media who are reporting spurious details as fact.

And this evening’s sunset continues the day’s pattern of intermittent rain and sunshine.

Before I read that, though, I was pondering with great sadness how Republicans react with horror and even compassion when it’s one of their own who is shot: But where were they on June 14 when Minnesota state representative Melissa Hortman was assassinated, her husband and their dog killed also, in their home, and two other Democrats injured? Why wasn’t the flag ordered half staff nationwide for her? Where was the federal outrage when the CDC campus was shot up last month?

Where is the federal compassion and call for justice for the 39 murders in US school shootings so far this year? Where is the national coverage of yesterday’s school shooting in Colorado? Locally, and quite timely, the Paonia Players are taking the stage as part of a nationwide creative endeavor to speak out against gun violence. Enough: Plays to End Gun Violence takes place in more than fifty communities on October 6, and in Paonia, Colorado at the Blue Sage Center for the Arts.

Gun violence is a problem, but a bigger problem for me is that I can identify with the hateful people. I don’t much care that a rightwing mouthpiece was assassinated as a result of the gun culture his tribe venerates. My sympathy falters when I feel someone has brought their suffering on themself. And that’s a failure inside me, of the human I want to be. And a very scary world view.

This is why I practice. And pausing, waiting for more information, allows my heart to remain open, to soften, to hold it all, including the possibility that yesterday saw one of the most nefarious double reverse false flag psy op killings ever on US soil. Was Charlie Kirk killed by a bumbling amateur who strew evidence all over the scene, or by a highly skilled, well-paid and protected, professional sniper? All I’m saying is, question the narrative.

At the intersection of gun violence and science, this conversation between Dr. Eric Topol and Dr. Peter Hotez, both renowned scientist-physicians, explores the scope, the financial motivation, and the ramifications of the staggering ignorance behind an organized assault on global health and world peace by the anti-science movement in the US. Dr. Hotez himself receives frequent death threats. Between the Kirk assassination and the CDC attack, I’m sure he’s more concerned than ever about his numerous upcoming public and university talks.

I’m grateful my worst woe right now is the ongoing dental drama. Yesterday the dentist finally agreed to x-ray my whole mouth. “The good news is there’s no infection,” she said. I waited for the bad news, but there wasn’t any. Just that for whatever reasons, I’ve suffered adverse consequences from a routine procedure. I’m still not quite satisfied with the investigation, but was enthralled with the 3D x-ray. The problematic crowns are winking bright white in the image.

And wrapping up with gratitude for science, this photo essay in The Atlantic reminds us of the scourge of polio that was eradicated in the US when I was ten. When and where did I get my polio vaccine? This is one of those moments when I miss my mother to tears, unable to ask her. I remember the smallpox vaccine because it left a scar on my shoulder for decades, but could not recall the polio vaccine until I reached the last photo in the essay (oh yes, now I remember: just a cube full of sugar helps the medicine go down – I probably asked for seconds).

Original caption: “This little girl swallows a lump of sugar served in a paper cup, and receives a few drops of the Sabin oral vaccine and protection against polio, on July 18, 1962, in Atlanta, Georgia. Scientists say the dread crippler could be wiped out eventually if everyone took the vaccine, but comparatively few people are taking it, except in communities which have had threatened epidemics or have been put on crash programs.”

As I was working on this post, the sky got even more spectacular. I missed a giant lightning strike by a split second, then realized I could pull images from video so I set the phone in the tripod (hello, science? the phone camera, I mean!) and filmed ten minutes of celestial glory.

I was only sad that I couldn’t be everywhere at once…
And then the color left the sky and that particular cell moved on east over the mountains. But long after dark the rain continues to come in waves and lightning to brighten the night.

Eyes of Wonder

Aug30

I’m grateful we finally got some rain. Yesterday it was overcast all day, drizzled off and on, and the clouds gave a good shower midafternoon. Not enough to make puddles, but enough to make the top layer of clay almost muddy. Little Wren shivered in her Thundershirt and wanted to cuddle all afternoon as I frantically plowed through R.F. Kuang’s surprising, delightful, allegorical, and ultimately very disturbing novel Babel before the digital library reclaimed it today.

I was grateful to wake this morning to sunshine on a cool early autumn landscape with clouds climbing the mountains on their way out of town.

I finally steeled myself to check on the potato harvest in the garden beds, and wasn’t too disappointed. I dug one plant’s yield from each of the small red potatoes and the Yukon golds. The red potato gave a pretty good harvest, and the first gold one did not, so I pulled a second gold and got a sizable handful. Both these potatoes did pretty well considering the grasshopper plague that never let the red ones flower at all, and only allowed a few of the golds to bloom, before demolishing the foliage. I was surprised to dig up what I presume was a skin from the seed potato of the bountiful Yukon gold.

I finally got a good look at the little silver stray that’s been streaking away after only a ghostly glimpse for a couple of months. Or, I think it’s the same cat, a pretty little thing. Topaz was fixated out the window when I walked by and when I stopped to stroke her she growled, but not at me. Only then did I look out and see what she was staring at, and who was staring back at her. It didn’t stay long: I was on my way to let Wren out, and thought it best to get it over with before Topaz wanted out again, to preclude a cat fight. The cat streaked through the fence and left Wren prancing at the gate. I have told Topaz many times since her dear brother’s untimely demise that if she wants another cat she can bring one home, but I guess not this one.

This morning we went for another ramble on soft damp ground through the cool woods, greeting trees we’d not seen for awhile.

We found ourselves at the North Pole, so named the first year I lived here when it designated the northern boundary. I’m grateful I was able to buy the field, forest, and canyon beyond after awhile, so now the North Pole marks the halfway point. We continued on until we came to the Survivor, and sat with her for awhile. She never ceases to amaze me, still living green nearly a century now since she resisted someone’s attempt to cut her up. I always ponder: did she fall over first, or did she get cut first and then fall over? Either way, she’s an inspiration to the power of stoic resistance and determined persistence. All the trees tell stories.

At the base of a decaying trunk, a baby piñon and an even younger juniper grow side by side in harmony.

We follow the course of a natural storm drain to slowly amble home. I’m grateful for the aimless nourishing hour we wandered the woods, remembering again connection, reflecting on those halcyon days when it was all so new. For decades with big dogs it was all new every carefree day. How much has changed, now carrying the weight of the new reich; through a darkening lens, yet still able to see with eyes of wonder so much beauty, and with such sweet, quiet little animal companions. Everything changes. 

More Froglets!

Aug11

I’m grateful that there were plenty of windows of opportunity to visit the pond over the weekend. A massive wildfire northwest of here about eighty crow miles covers much of the state in smoke depending on which way the wind blows. When it blows from the south these days, we have good air; when it blows from the north, as it’s been doing the past several nights, the air quality shoots up over 110 and many of us have to stay inside. I’m grateful it’s not worse: friends from Chicago to Syracuse have been experiencing the worst air in the world on occasion over the past couple of weeks, due to even more massive wildfires in Canada. So when I get a window of clean air I make the most of it, and visit the pond.

Despite jaw and tooth pain as my mouth settles around new crowns and attendant complications, I’ve “gotta eat sometimes,” as the dentist kindly reminded me. So I’ve enjoyed eating homemade brown sugar-cinnamon poptarts for breakfast the past few days. Amy recommended the recipe and since that was always my favorite flavor poptart growing up I had to try it. Pretty good for a first effort, and not that hard to make. Not perfect, either, so I’ll have to make them again.

After breakfast, or sometimes before, I visit the pond, where fewer and fewer tadpoles swim and more and more froglets crowd the edges. They’re in the rushes, on the lily pads, among the flagstones, under the flagstones, out in the grasses. This evening I took a quick look and had to step very carefully to avoid stepping on some: little froglets everywhere! They’re so tiny they get a little tangled in the grass stems when they startle and try to hop to the pond for safety. Wren could catch and eat them easier than she does the grasshoppers, but she’s been very responsive to my admonishments to leave it.

Above, four froglets cluster at the edge, and a nearly-turned tadpole rests in the warm shallow just above the tiny snail on the brick. In the detail below you can see a fifth froglet’s leg peeking out below the brick, underwater.

At the slow north end, where algae has collected, I couldn’t count the gathered froglets, and kept getting closer, and closer.

I hadn’t thought about what the soles of a froglet’s feet look like and it kind of surprised me to see the little bumps. I think these are the toes beginning to develop, but that’s just an educated guess. After seeing how far they’ve ventured from the pond already and how fragile and vulnerable they are, I may need to use my next window to lay out some branches and build a few rock piles; I certainly won’t be mowing again this year.

After a weekend of adventures and work and smoke and play, Wren and I both rest.

Wonder

Aug8

Little froglets everywhere…

I wonder if this frog has thoughts or feelings about her “mini me” sitting in front of her.

Evolution of a sunset. Last night I caught the sun going down below the clouds and smoke, and wondered whether to wait and see if it got any prettier…

Then when I turned around to walk home, I realized I’d missed the moonrise. Oh well. You can’t have everything. I’m grateful for plenty of wonder every time I turn around.

RX: Metamorphosis

Aug3

What a marvelous sight greeted me at the bottom of the stairs this morning! Topaz was watching a baby bull snake lying still on the floor. I only saw it when I took a step and it wiggled away. I fended off Wren and picked it up gently. It was so gentle and calm, and curled and crawled around my hand as I considered the best place to release it, but it never panicked or thrashed.

After I released it into the wood pile, where I hope it finds enough mice to remain there forever and live long and grow big, I came back inside and tried to put her collar on Topaz as she knelt at her food bowl, the way I often do. I reached around her neck with the bell and she jerked and flipped around wide-eyed. I tried again now that she knew it was just me, but she wrenched away; after I washed my hands she accepted the collar willingly as usual. I’m grateful for the little dose of wonder that started my day.

One reason I practice gratitude is because of my innate pessimism. Well, I can’t say innate in the sense that I was born with it, I’m not sure I was. But it came to me early through a series of prophetic dreams that started while I was still in single digits. So this article about likely societal collapse didn’t shock me as it might some of you, should you choose to read it. History shows that increasing wealth inequality consistently precedes collapse, contends economist and international relations expert Dr. Luke Kemp in his new book Goliath’s Curse, which analyzes 5000 years of human civilizations’ collapses.

“…as elites extract more wealth from the people and the land, they make societies more fragile, leading to infighting, corruption, immiseration of the masses, less healthy people, overexpansion, environmental degradation and poor decision making by a small oligarchy. The hollowed-out shell of a society is eventually cracked asunder by shocks such as disease, war or climate change.”

Last night was Zoom Cooking with Amy. We chose a simple pasta sauce made from sautéed zucchini, which we blended with some garlic, parmesan, salt&pepper of course, and a little pasta water. We spooned that into our bowls, topped with pasta and more parm, and I sautéed a handful of frozen snow peas from the spring garden in the hot zucchini pan.

Sound familiar? Kemp lays the imminent demise of our so-called civilization at the feet of “leaders who are ‘walking versions of the dark triad’ – narcissism, psychopathy and Machiavellianism”; and while he says that a fundamental transformation of society on a global scale could save our species, “the large, psychopathic corporations and [world leaders] which produce global catastrophic risk” make self-destruction more likely.

This reflects, to one degree or another, my fundamental world view since I was a child. It’s less popular and less acceptable than believing in aliens, so I don’t articulate it often. It’s something of a relief to read it so clearly outlined by a scholar of human cultural history.

Kemp suggests that “even if you don’t have hope, it doesn’t really matter. This is about defiance. It’s about doing the right thing, fighting for democracy and for people to not be exploited. And even if we fail, at the very least, we didn’t contribute to the problem.”

Hope is a conundrum for me. It can mean a passive wish for good things, but I prefer the interpretation of Joanna Macy, who died last month at 94, that hope is a verb, that how we live matters, and that this time in history is one of great unraveling and also of the potential for a Great Turning.

My life’s trajectory continues to lean into celebrating this fragile, spinning globe and all the Life that supports our tiny existence. It’s really a question of perspective, of world view: Domination or collaboration? Each of us chooses how to live, every living moment of every day.

Though it’s taking a lot longer than from tadpole to frog, I’m grateful for my own metamorphosis through the years. And grateful to photograph a fully formed froglet flying through the water—next challenge: film it.

Froglets!

Aug1
I didn’t see the one hiding behind until I zoomed into the picture.

Now that I know where and how to look for them they’re all over the pond, in various colors with tails of various lengths. I saw one kick through the water like a grownup without any tail, too fast to catch on camera. This little one hung out under the rush flower for a long time—see the nubbin of tail? The rest of it already metabolized. And then the shot of the day, below.

Perspective

Aug1

It’s been such a joyful journey to watch these little creatures grow. I’ve felt like I had a pretty good handle on their development, checking on them a couple of times a day, noticing the first tiny hind legs developing, and then seeing the forelegs on a few yesterday. I sent a picture to Dr. Amphibian, and he asked if any were coming out of the water onto land yet. Well I think not, I thought, If I’m just now seeing the forelegs, but I didn’t say so. I’m learning.

As I was leaving pondwatch last evening, there was a flicker in the rushes, a hint of a hop, and it was gone before I could be sure, but I thought I saw a froglet! A baby garter snake also escaped my camera; thinner than a pencil and quick it slithered off the flagstone and swam across the pond to disappear into the rushes.

Pondering what my friend had asked me, I came down to the pond this morning with fresh eyes, a shift in perspective. I looked more closely into the marshy ground with an open mind. These curly rushes over the years have grown roots to the bottom of the pond and created their own little land masses. When I noticed a baby frog right away, I had to laugh at my hubris, to think that in my couple of superficial visits a day I was keeping up with their development!

I knew the tadpoles had been clustering around the edges of the rushes for a week or two, but I hadn’t thought to inspect the rushes themselves for froglets. I only saw the tadpoles who swam away from the edges when Wren or I came close enough to disturb them.

There are still five or six adult frogs hanging around, some as big as the palm of my hand.

But the froglets, they’re only the size of one thumb joint—and yet perfectly formed complete miniatures of their parents! I only saw half a dozen, but now I know how well they hide I’m sure there are far more than I counted. The habitat is perfect for them: the rushes are partially submerged, providing a lattice over pockets of warm shallow water. As they make their metabolic transition from herbivores to carnivores, they can find the exact niche they need in any moment somewhere in the spongy rush islands, and when they’re completely transformed into froglets they can climb all the way out.

Seeing one perching on a lily pad was absolutely the best part of my day.

The pond is rich in other lives as well. Dragonflies, damselflies, water bugs, spiders, and apparently enough tiny animals to feed a thousand froglets. I’m profoundly grateful for the way each day enhances my perspective.

A Quiet Day at Home

Jul30

I’ve found another way to use the last few drops of maple syrup that always linger in the bottle after you think it’s empty: it floats on the latté foam! A sweet treat, a small triumph.

I’m grateful for a quiet day at home with pretty clean air inside and out, for accomplishing some household projects inside and out, for tender connections with nature throughout the day.

We took a nice long ramble through the woods this evening, and found somewhere new. It’s a small thrill to find myself somewhere new in my old familiar forest.

This morning at the pond another something new, another small thrill: The first frog’s forelegs!

And this evening, something else new, a little meeting of the minds on the side of the pond. Look at these vastly different organisms all getting along despite belonging to three different phyla: the snail, Mollusca; the tadpole, Chordata; and the dragonfly nymph, Arthropoda. How is it we humans can’t get along better? We’re all the same, five levels down the animal classification tier from Phylum to the smallest division. As members of the same species, we have a lot more in common with each other than we have different.

I’m grateful for all that is good in my life, and all the gifts of this precious day that will never come again.

Legs!

Jul21

Let’s get the food shot out of the way first, because simple and delicious though this lunch was, it wasn’t the highlight of the day. Pretty much the same thing as the past two days, except with havarti instead of cheddar, no egg, and some chopped tomato and apricot included with the onion greens pesto, mayo, and bean mashup. I’m grateful I’ve learned that good food doesn’t have to be complicated, fancy, or difficult.

And in fire news, it was mostly cloudy with some drizzles today which must have helped the firefighters across the western slope a lot, and certainly made for a more comfortable day for those of us with challenging lungs.

But for today’s big JOY: I was beside myself this afternoon to discover that some of the tadpoles have actual legs! At last!

I needed a second opinion, so I asked Topaz to investigate since she could get closer to the water than I could. She confirmed my assessment, and suggested I bring down the husband camera.

There are two legged-ones who show up in this video, one near the beginning and one at the end. I might have missed another one or two…

Husband camera confirmed, and I was especially delighted to catch this one with just the bare beginnings of legs. Most of those I observed tonight, maybe three percent of all the tadpoles, had slightly better developed legs than this one.

As though mama is keeping tabs… As far as I know, each of these images is of a different tadpole. I’m grateful for the gift of being able to observe the miracle of metamorphosis in real time in my own backyard.

Joy Anyway

Jul21

I’m grateful for ripe tomatoes (not grown here) and Olathe Sweet sweet corn, salt, pepper, mayonnaise, and homemade bread.

I’m grateful for a couple of days of reprieve from the smoke, and that the teams have most of the fires somewhat contained, and that they have stayed safe. Despite the heat, I’ve been able to get some work done in the garden mornings and evenings, including covering the remaining cabbages with screen cubes, and thinning carrots which grew even though their tops got munched.

I’m grateful it was cool and clear enough on Friday to leave the house open overnight, which made it cool enough inside on Saturday to cook. I threw together a potato-pepper-onion-garlic-cabbage-corn-black bean fry with Penzeys Arizona seasoning to use in burritos for the next few days, and dug out a specialty tool I bought last summer to slice the corn off the cob. My first time using it lacked precision but was effective.

It was cool enough to make a batch of apricot jam, but still too hot to process it, so I gave away a few jars and froze a few. I’m grateful to have learned that apricot jam freezes well.

Wren’s been a bit put out that she hasn’t shown up here for awhile, so she took a break from frog hunting to pose nicely this morning. So did a big frog, right by my feet, but then she sensed Wren coming!

It was hot early again today, so when the sweetest neighbor stopped by on her walk to pick up her jam, I invited her to cool off under the sprinkler. Then I went inside for breakfast, two little waffles with the last of the sweet cherries I picked up on Thursday, some yogurt, and of course, real maple syrup.

I’m grateful there have only been a couple of bird strikes against the windows this summer. But today the total doubled with two in a matter of hours. They both hit the south windows, despite the fluttering prayer flags. The first was a young female Bullock’s oriole, whom I set in the shady apricot tree; the second, a young house finch who might have been drunk on apricot mash. I put her in the juniper near the feeder where they all hang out. I’m grateful that both birds recovered.

I don’t live an exciting life. It’s not like I’m wallowing in active joy all day every day: far from it. I spent most of today inside, too hot to do much of anything besides read, meditate, and clean the kitchen. But I do cultivate contentment by practicing gratitude every day. I’m aware of horrors happening the world over: there are at least 35 wars going on which are devastating people, cultures, and the environment. The US government has lost its moral compass and spun off in an inconceivable direction. The planet is burning, flooding, quaking, drying, crying, aching from our species’ misuse of it.

And still life goes on. Everywhere, all the time, life is hatching and dying, growing, playing, eating, aging, changing. I’m aware of this, also, and of my good fortune to live this simple life, this rare and precious human life, immersed in nature. Sometimes it’s pretty hard. It’s been a rough ten days with the heat and the smoke, and the mental poisons that still trouble me despite mindfulness practice. In the midst of all that is naturally tedious or trying in this human life, almost every day I experience moments of joy. Maybe not many, and most of them small, but by remaining receptive and aware, I find them everywhere.

Though the reason for it is harsh, the smoky sunset light is lovely. On our stroll the rescue horses next door thundered up to the fence to greet us. After a mutually curious visit, they moved on and left us in pensive, contented silence, grateful for a weekend enriched by many bright and colorful moments of joy anyway.