Skiing: Luxury or Necessity?

Many consider skiing to be a luxury, a most enjoyable leisure activity well suited to the middle and upper class as a highly effective way to consume disposal income. Snowboarding, on the other hand, is simply a universally effective means to aggravate skiers.  But, I digress.

In my younger days, I used to ski a lot, preferring the downhill variety to cross-country for the accompanying speed, thrill, cool clothes, and fashionable status.   Several years have passed, the exact number of which do not need to be stated here.   During that time, I matured, at least in theory... although how much is up for debate.  I grew to love cross-country skiing over its downhill counterpart, not simply because my joints were more likely to survive the experience but also because the peace that came with every passing stroke of ski and pole was hard to find anywhere else.

Herein lies one of the very few downsides of spending the winters in Florida.   Opportunities to ski have become much fewer and farther between.   Nevertheless, every year, when I return to the Pacific Northwest in late March, I make a day to ski in the middle of the craziness that is academic life. This single day of skiing has become an annual ritual.  As I head out in the wee morning hours on my one precious day every year, I find that I am heading to the hills for more than peace and quiet.  Unlike the early days, when all I thought about while skiing was skiing, I can now think about so much more because skiing has become automatic, much like riding a bicycle.

As my thoughts wander here, there, and everywhere, many of the half baked ideas or research problems that have lingered in the back of my mind, unsolved and unresolved, gradually start to become much more clear.  This incubation process is both a result of and a delight with spending hours in this forested alpine world that is both immensely beautiful and profoundly silent.  The blanket of snow that still covers these slopes in early spring has a wonderful way of quieting the natural silence of the forest even further.

In the middle of this silence, my mind naturally wanders to the problems, the dilemmas, the quandaries that have remained unsolved.  Whether they be in research, in teaching, or in relationship, these unsolvables are transferred to a special storage container in my brain.  On skiing day, when all the other cares of the world disappear and the world is white, clean, and at peace with itself, my mind unlocks this Pandora's box of unsolved problems and ponders them ... without my conscious bidding.

As the miles go by underneath the quiet swish of my skis skating along the snow, many of those problems that seemed to be more cerebral spaghetti than pathways of reason, unravel, reform, and reshape over and over again.   Some remain spaghetti at the end of the day, but many become clear, ordered rational solutions to take back home and to work where the cycle of grant proposals, new students, and new projects will soon begin again.

After packing the car up from a long day of trekking through the snow, my body is tired, my heart at peace, and my mind unusually calm.   

I wonder if I can deduct my ski pass and mileage as an employment expense.  

Probably not.   The IRS would likely not understand nor allow.  

Where am I?

Usually, it takes a little bit too much alcohol, awakening in a strange country far, far away, a mid-life crisis, or similar handicap for me to ask this question of myself.   This morning, however, no such extenuating circumstance could be blamed for my befuddlement.   No drugs, no jet lag, no alcohol, no external influence was involved.  I think.

The story goes like this.  Yesterday,  after one of those mind boggling drives through far too much summer traffic forced us to spend six hours traveling 240 miles, Barry and I arrived at my mother-in-law's house in McMinnville, Oregon.   A complete dinner, a conversation, and a movie later, we were all in bed with visions of cooler weather dancing in our heads.  No such cooler weather was anywhere in the immediate forecast, but it certainly didn't hurt to fantasize about it.

In the midst of a deep, steamy sleep, I heard a small noise.  Opening my eyes, I came face to face with a large ball of black fur, in the middle of which lay two large brown eyes framed by two very perky and expectant ears.   What was a small noise in my dreams was now clearly recognizable as a strong whine from an otherwise quiet dog.  There was no question in Belle's mind that at the rather early hour of 4 a.m., I was going to roll out of bed to talk her for a walk.   By the time I finally found her collar and her leash, Belle was quite agitated and it took only a few feet from the front door to figure out why.   This 4 a.m. bout of diarrhea was followed by the 5 a.m. distress, the 6 a.m. walk, and the 8 a.m. rousing when I decided to give up hopes of sleeping and get out of bed for good.  

By the time I walked out the door to search for my morning latte, the lack of sleep (or age or some other defect of personality) was making me a little dimwitted.   I was totally unprepared to turn the corner and find a pipe spewing large quantities of water into the yard, attempting to make waterfront property out of the front lawn.   A little panicked that this house wasn't quite ready to be converted to a houseboat, I loaded Belle into the already overheated car and searched to and fro for something that looked like a water supply valve (although I would have happily settled for the on/off switch for the sprinkler system).  After an unsuccessful round of searching, I called The Spouse and not surprisingly, could not reach him... this was a result of the recently passed commandment that "Thou shalt not have thy cell phone on while playing golf".   After pursuing another round of equally unsuccessful options, I called 911.  The lake in front of the house was continuing to expand at an alarming rate.  The woman on the other end of the call was quite gracious, and I was repeatedly apologetic for calling with what might have been a non-emergency if you weren't looking straight at Old Faithful heaving forth directly adjacent to the foundation of a home.  

I was beginning to think this wee little drama would end well, when the 911 operator asked "Where are you?." It took me a few seconds to realize I had no idea where I was. All the mail was delivered to a post office box.  The house had a number on it, but no street signs were anywhere in sight.   And, there was no one around to ask this deep but important question:  Where am I?

I felt beyond stupid saying "I dunno" into the phone.  

Surely having to control the urge to laugh at me (which I understood), the 911 operator was able to track down my address based on the tiny disconnected bits of information I did have available to me.   Henceforth, she also tracked down the water company for me and the house no longer has visions of becoming a houseboat in the near (nor distant) future.  

Where was I?  Without luxury of GPS, internet, or other assisting technology, I had no idea.  

Today was a good reminder that keeping the basics within arm's reach is almost as important as keeping cell phone, text, e-mail, twitter, and facebook nearby.  

At the time of this writing, Belle is sleeping it all off, quite peacefully at the other end of the air conditioned living room.   She knows where she is. She's among her people.  She doesn't need a GPS, the internet, or 411 directory to tell her anything more.  

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.