Nietzsche was right ...

...and I bet he is pleased with himself. Scientific research has confirmed the great philosopher Frederick Nietzsche's idea that "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger". Some negative experiences in life do indeed help people to develop coping abilities which, in turn, help them to manage future life difficulties with greater wisdom and strength.   In verifying Nietzsche's position, science has lagged behind, taking over 100 years after his death to prove this particular premise.  But, scientific research may have also been looking in the wrong place for confirmation or denial of Nietzsche's premise. Hence the 100 year delay.

I don't mean to minimize the thoughts of the deeply intelligent, and intellectual man that philosopher Frederich Nietzsche was, but it is possible that another portion of the living kingdom on earth already had this particular piece of philosophy figured out well before Nietzsche took his first step on planet earth.

Almost eight weeks ago, on Whidbey Island, Washington, an annoying and intense infestation of tent caterpillars hatched, wreaking havoc whereby hundreds of thousands of caterpillars began eating leaves by the millions across the island. Some trees emerged from the invasion almost leafless, pathetic, and seemingly unable to photosynthesize.

Yet, three weeks later, while the tent caterpillars emerge from their many cocoons as moths, the trees have responded to the infestation en masse.   It would be easy to believe that these poor trees would just limp through the season and hope for a better experience next year, getting by on whatever remaining photosynthesis they were able to manage.

Instead, they have responded with a rather endearing exuberance of new foliage, leafing out again just a few short months after their initial emergence from winter.   The result of the tent caterpillar's attempt to destroy has been the opposite of what was expected. Instead of acres of frail, struggling, even dying trees, we have many more trees which look like this:

The trees know the truth about the whole situation. What has not killed them has indeed made them GREENER.   The trees have simply passed that philosophy along to humans and modified a word or two to make this fundamental premise suitable to mankind.

Maybe the trees have other things to say to us as they stand quietly by, leafing out, producing bounty from wasting.  Maybe, we just need to listen a little bit more closely to them and, in so doing, we might find that the philosophy posed by the trees is as wise as Nietzsche.

As a side note, I bet the trees would never ever venture to say "God is dead" as Nietzsche did either.

And in that, lies true wisdom.

Welcomed Home by a Flash of Yellow!

I first noticed two things upon returning home from Shanghai (beyond my husband's love, of course, and the fact that he was graciously driving me home and absolving me of any responsibility during my first day back in the U.S. of A).

I noticed that the clouds in the overcast sky were in three dimensions.  Regardless of the gray, these clouds, unlike the overhead sky in Shanghai, were distinct, textured, and observable.  Between the clouds and my eyes... was a welcome blanket of clean, clear air that allowed me to see the level of detail that made the clouds beautiful, regardless of their color or weather forecast.   Frequently, during the ride home, I gawked at these clouds sprinkled across the gray, overcast sky as if they were the latest iPad, iPhone, whatever.   I vowed never to complain about clouds again.   We'll see how far that promise lasts into the rainy season in Western Washington.

The second thing I most noticed on my return was the Washington State bird perching itself on the feeder right outside my bedroom window:

Despite being the state bird, the American Goldfinch is not a frequent sight in my world. Because these goldfinches molt twice a year, however,  it is almost impossible to miss the bright flash of freshly molted yellow streaking across the sky during late spring and fall.   This one was headed toward the nearest bird feeder, of which we have plenty.   As my beautiful little, freshly re-feathered friend, perched outside my window, I couldn't help but believe that I was being welcomed back to the beautiful, clean air state of Washington:

I'm not naive.  I'm sure this lovely goldfinch was only after the feast at the bird feeder, because he is one of the strictest vegetarian feathered feeders on the planet, refusing to touch an insect much less consume one, unless he is in very dire straits.   His strictly vegetarian diet encourages me to keep full the many bird feeders that are spread across our property in key locations for bird gawking. Despite the bird's true reasons for perching outside my window, I felt special nonetheless.  After my trip to China, I reserve the right to reconstruct reality to suit a naive and optimistic view of the world.  

I can also identify with my little feathered friend here.  The American Goldfinch migrates not by time of year,  not by predetermined GPS setting, but by temperature.   When it reaches zero degrees or thereabouts, these lovely birds just fly south until the temperature warms up.  

This has become one of my more frivolous goals in life.  When it gets cold, simply head south, until it doesn't feel cold anymore.  Who cares what time of year it is?  Who cares about employment?

Oops, that may be where the naive and optimistic view may venture too far...

Eutrophication River

Water is a common sight in Shanghai, China.   Situated in a sub-tropical climate, the city is greeted many an afternoon with frequent deluges that, if experienced without an umbrella, can lead to one bearing a close resemblance to a wet rat.   As water flows through the city, it often looks like this:

One of my first thoughts when I see a body of water looking this way is... Where's the poop?  I realize I am not in a majority by having such a thought about a river flowing gently between its banks en route to a much greater, much larger body of water.  Some days, though, I think it might be better if a majority were having such thoughts while strolling over these eutrophied waterways.  Then, maybe, just maybe, more would be done about it.

It's ironic that eutrophication derives from a Greek word meaning healthy and adequate nutrition, when in fact, eutrophication implies that the nutrition is so much more than adequate that it has forced an ecosystem to fall wildly out of balance.   As too many nutrients are added to waterway soup, the simpler, less complex plants and organisms like algae and phytoplankton "bulk up", enjoying the excess of nutrients as we might indulge a delicious Thanksgiving dinner.  When indulged for an extended period of time, their bountiful diet leads them to reproduce more rapidly than normal, leading to an all too familiar coating of green on the water's surface.   While it may seem pretty to the un-jaded eye, this green coating represents a cycle heading wildly out of balance.  As the green things die, they sink to the bottom and decompose, consuming oxygen as they do, so much in fact that fishes and other oxygen-dependent aquatic organisms suffocate and die.   Compounding the damage to aquatic balance, the over-abundance of simpler plants and organisms prevents the more complex plants and organisms from thriving, thus denying food to some aquatic organisms while the simpler plants and organisms provide an over-abundance of nutrition to others.   As the cycle continues, biodiversity drops, taking the food supply and the overall health of the ecosystem down with it.

Not surprisingly, two of the most common sources of eutrophication are excessive phosphorous and nitrogen.  Sometimes, this excess derives naturally but more often than not, it comes from fertilizer run-off from farms or from poorly treated sewage.  In the large cities, where farms were long ago bull-dozed to make room for more people and an obsession with economic growth, only one logical source of eutrophication makes the top of the list 99 times out of 100.

Hence, the question:  Where's the poop?
And, the logical follow-up:  Why isn't it being treated?
And, the next thought:   When will it be treated?
And, finally:  Before or after we create yet another massive dead zone in our life-giving waters?

A Parklike Setting under a Blank, Featureless Sky

During my two week trip to Shanghai University, I had the chance to speak with some longer term visiting professors.  Among many other interesting tidbits, one of these professors commented on the culture shock experienced to those new to Shanghai.   While contributions to culture shock were many, one in particular captures my time and imagination:   the persistent absence of the sun and its companion blue sky.  It only takes a few days of Blank Sky to understand why this is such a large part of the culture shock.

I voluntarily live in a climate that offers long stretches of time where the sun is absent, the skies gray, and the land wet.   Yet, even in Seattle where such a climate is a frequent source of complaint, the sky seems to retain some texture, no matter how poor the weather or dismal the forecast.  Even on days where even a sun break is out of the question, the clouds vary in color from off white to medium gray to downright brooding.  Regardless of their particular color or height in the sky, simple variety in the cloud cover rescues the city from brooding under a homogenous, colorless, blank sky.   

Yet, more so than the absence of the sun burning brightly against a blue background, the homogeneity of the sky here in Shanghai feels unsettling.  As I walk across campus, I search the overhead sky for anything that breaks this blanket of blank which stretches from one horizon to the next.   Not a single spot of blue nor edge of cloud can be found, much less an indication or reassurance that the sun still exists above this vast and uniform cover of cloud and particulate.  

If I let my mind wander far enough, I feel as if I am strolling inside a science fiction movie, in a wholly manmade environment.  I expect to see the spaceship (or space bicycle as would be more fitting on this campus) to come sweeping in at any moment.   I am transported sometime far into the future, when somehow civilization survives without the variety and unpredictability that is the beauty of nature.  

Wrestling my mind away from its bizarre musings, I return to the reality of the pavement beneath my feet and the insistent whispers of my to-do list.  The list, which I would not mind transforming into a work of fiction, reminds me to walk a little faster so I can return to my duties for the week.   

As I pick up my pace, I can’t help but think.  Tomorrow,  Tomorrow. the sun will shine and clouds with edges will return to replace this blank, featureless sky.  

Tomorrow.

The Eleventh Plague

Western Tent Caterpillar
The 2014 Infestation

All the information on the world wide web regarding tent caterpillars somewhat flippantly refers to the invasion of these multi-legged creatures as a simple nuisance, something that, while irritating, will pass with no ill effect in a few weeks time.  These wise websites say the same for the gypsy moths that will emerge from the cocoons of these innocent caterpillars in another ten days time and inundate porch light and windshield alike.  I am convinced that none of these writings emerge from one who has actually lived through an extreme infestation of these tenacious crawlers.

As one who is now living through such an extreme infestation, I can't help but think of Exodus and wonder if the eleventh plague has rained down on our little bit of paradise.   In the middle of this crazy swarm, I wonder if I'll wake up and some guy (named Moses IV) will be at the door, ordering me to head out to Israel.   With the massive number of little furry legs in incessant motion within stone's throw of my house, I just may take that guy up on his order.

The biggest impact of these creepy crawlies all over every outdoor surface is of course, an emotional one.   I go to bed at night with little legs crawling all over the vision on the inside of my eyelids. Every itch, every tickle on my skin causes me to quickly swat at the offending area, instinctively wanting to be rid of whatever may crawl there.   Every time I go out the door, I need to look up, right, left, and down to make sure I don't step or otherwise crush a caterpillar when I don't intend, thereby causing one or more streams of black and green caterpillar guts to go flying all over the place.  

No, I am not one of those soft hearted folks who couldn't ever stomach killing another living creature.   Some city folk may think they are truly that kind and soft-hearted, but I heartily invite them here to our infestation to test their conviction.   I've killed thousands of these creepers over the last week and I have yet to feel a smidgeon of remorse.  I have become a serial, sociopathic serial murder... with the only good news being that my impulses are constrained to a single non-human species.  

In their current numbers, there are tens of thousands of caterpillars on our few acres alone, emerging from the tents they cleverly formed on the tops of alder trees, well above my reach and the reach of anyone who might have sought to prevent this invasion. Outside of our own property, they are in such massive numbers that two wide brown strips have formed in each driving lane on the nearby road, one for each tire track that reflects the thousands more caterpillars crushed as they try to cross the road. They show up everywhere ... at church, on the dogs, in the grocery store.   Crawl, Creep, Crawl.

Nuisance indeed.   Try sleeping with the sound of millions of legs crawling outside of your house and property.  Try relaxing to enjoy the fresh air when the sound of caterpillar poop rains down from the trees far and wide.  

This is either an addendum to Exodus or a scene from a low budget horror movie.  Take your pick. The impact is the same.  This is war.

Footprints

One night a dog had a dream.   She dreamed she was running on the beach alongside her best canine friend, named Lucky.   Across the sky flashed a message from her Person.  The message looked just like the one that she heard with her ears.  “Come” it said.  The message flashed by her ears again.  “Come” it said, again.  And again.   She heard it.  She kept on running.  In the sand, one set of footprints belonged to her and one to her best canine pal, who not-by-coincidence, was also ignoring the message flashing by both of their ears.  “Come” it said, now sounding more than a little bit irritated.

When the last slice of beach passed away from the pads of her paws and she began to bound into the ocean's water, she looked back upon the footprints in the sand.  She noticed then that most of the time, there were two sets of footprints in the sand.   

But, for the last hundred yards, there was only one set.  Her own.   

This really bothered her and she turned to question her Person about it.   She turned. Turned again. And yet again.  What?  No person.  No canine pal.  It can’t be, the dog thought.  She turned her head round and round and round, looking for her now lost Person and canine companion.

She thought:

"You said you would never ever leave me.  I don’t understand why when I finally decided to come that you would leave me.”

Rising up from behind the rock where she was hiding, the dog's Person now started walking toward the dog.  The dog's best canine pal was safely back on leash and strolling contently alongside the Person. When the Person reached the dog and gently latched the leash to her collar, she said:

“I love you and I would never leave you.  When you see one set of footprints in the sand.  It was then that I decided to train you."

The UnPromotable Wonder

The UnPromotable Wonder has expired, effective September 16, 2014.   While a memorial service or wake might be considered appropriate for an expiration of such a long standing entity in my life, a celebration involving good wine, good friends, and a few hours of carefree, work-free living may be substituted in its place.

In the middle of the celebration belongs the guy responsible for orchestrating what I still believe to be a largely impossible feat.... my promotion from associate to full professor at the University of Washington.   That guy's name is doG spelled backwards.  I still don't know how He made this happen, but I am immensely grateful for the promotion for multiple reasons.   Most of all, I feel that I now have a voice to speak what I feel and think that I haven't had during these very long years of being stuck in the associate professor role.   For many, many years, I've stayed silent for fear of offending aggravating, or otherwise (further) damaging my credibility before my colleagues in my home department and college.   The new title after my name will also help me to chase after funding for future research.  It may encourage students to offer a wee bit more respect in their interactions with me, and it will bring back out my natural desire to socialize and care for my colleagues, now that I don't have the large black outcast cloud hanging over my head that goes along with the failure to be promoted.   Last but not least, the little raise that comes with the new title will offset the financial strain brought on by resigning a third of my appointment this past year.    I am very grateful.

Promotion in the academic world takes over a year and a half.   The process is so exhausting (for the candidate and for those supporting the candidate's case) that doing it all over again two years in a row is highly unlikely.  In January of 2013, I requested that my case be reviewed for promotion.  A small committee (of three) was formed who in turn recommended to move my case forward.  Early in the Spring of 2013, my home department then gave a positive vote, and the case was sent out for recommendation letters from experts in my research community outside the University of Washington. During my annual review in the Spring of 2013, I was told that as long as my letters were very good, my case should proceed smoothly through the remaining hoops.  Over the summer, busy and successful faculty of whom I remain unaware spent a good part of their valuable time writing letters for me.  In the Fall of 2013, I was told the letters were all very positive.  If I hadn't been through years and years of heartache and headache with my home department, I would have actually felt hope that my promotion case would continue upward through the remaining hoops without risk of falling flat on its face.

In November of 2013, however, the case went before my home department again during a faculty meeting to which I (as all candidates) was neither invited nor welcome.   Transparent, the promotion process is not.  The same group of people who voted to push my case forward for promotion were now not so sure of their final vote.  At the end of the meeting, the vote was positive but not a quorum.   If more of my full professor colleagues had attended the meeting, the outcome might have been better, but ten "Yes" votes and eight "No" votes amounts to "Denial".  Usually, the department chair writes a recommendation consistent with the faculty vote.   Surprisingly, my department chair went against the vote and recommended me to the Dean for promotion anyway.  Months later, in February of 2014, the college (of engineering) council then considered the case.   The outcome was a "weak recommendation" and acknowledgement that my case was "complicated".  I then received a letter from the Dean that informed me he would not be recommending me for promotion to the Provost.  The roller coaster marched onward. I was very tempted to simply give up and become a barista (never at Starbucks, however -- I still had standards).

Because some parts of the faculty code were forgotten in this whole process, my subsequent irritation drove me to push back at the system (some might even say that I was bordering on the "B" word).   The faculty code had just been revised to guarantee some transparency in the process, so that people like me didn't feel in the dark about why they were denied nor about what to do in the future to improve chances for promotion.  So, back to the drawing board I went.   Another conversation with the chair in my home department led to a phone meeting with the Dean.  I had questions lined up for all the different possible directions the conversation with the Dean might take, all of which came to a standstill when the first words I heard from him over the phone line were "I've changed my mind."  This happened in March, but having been in the academic and work world for over 20 years, I never believe anything that isn't in writing, so I waited for the official letter before believing I was finally done with this nightmare of advancement in rank.   

This promotion belongs to God... who in the middle of so many who either don't like, don't respect, or don't understand what I do as a faculty member, decided to find the few who would spend a lot of time organizing, leading, and supporting my case and then find one person in the right position of power who would stick up for me.   While I am still shocked (delightfully so) by this outcome, I am even more surprised by how clever God is, not only in how He uses long waits and long suffering for good, but also in how He can work with all His children to get His will accomplished.  

I owe credit to God for this promotion and thanks to the few in the academic world and the many outside of it who have supported me through this long process.   My heartfelt response to God for this gift is:   "Wowsy,  Thanks so much! " 

More importantly, the next step is to drop back from the excitement and the temptation to let my ego get involved in this promotion and instead, turn back to Him for guidance on how I can better serve His purpose for my life in this next phase of it.