Stranger and Truer than Science Fiction

Sometimes after watching an episode of the Star Trek TV series, I think that the designers of the space aliens' costumes and makeup need to go back to school, so to speak.  Not to a costuming course in drama school.  And not to a makeup academy.  Instead, they need to return to fiction-writing school to give more thought to what an alien that developed on another planet might even be like.

I tend to think this way not after reading an astronomer's analysis of conditions on other planets.  Instead, my thoughts incline this way after seeing pictures or reading about forms of life in the ocean on our very own planet Earth.  Evolution has come up with some "costumes" and "makeup" far beyond the imagination of any science-fiction writer or director.  And the strangest ways of being a living being can be found in our oceans.

Just take the matter of virtually all space aliens on Star Trek having two symmetrical sides, right and left (just as do humans and all other vertebrates).  A simple exception in the ocean to such symmetry are male fiddler crabs, which have a claw on one side of their bodies much larger than the claw on the opposite side.  (Thus the whimsical appellation "fiddler" we have given them.)

Nature had already gone a step even further away from requiring animals to have two sides when the invertebrates previously evolved.  Sea anemones, sponges, and jellyfish are all circular in design.  Imagine a Star Trek director instructing a person in a spherical costume to "face the camera."  Evolution had an even greater imagination when it came up with the starfish's "costume," giving it five arms -- an odd number, of all things.

Another area in which I think science-fiction writers have been outdone by Nature has been in that of eyes.  I have seen a TV space alien made up with one additional eye on its forehead, or even with an extra pair.  (It would take more work to mask over the actor's real eyes and give them a single, centered eye, like the Cyclops in the ancient Greek epic Homer's Odyssey.)

Contrast that prosaic eye-on-forehead thinking with the idea of a whole ring of small eyes around a circular cookie-shaped body.  To make that many-eyed circular costume even stranger, don't space the tiny eyes at even intervals, but place some a little closer together and others a little farther apart.  That is the approach actually taken by the blue-eyed scallop of Australia. Moreover, what a colorful touch in the pinhead eyes being blue!

Now, please don't misunderstand me.  I am not really trying to criticize science-fiction writers.  I do recognize that science fiction is really more about our human societies than it is about what exists on other planets.  (I also recognize the limitation of trying to make an alien costume that allows a person to fit inside.)  My aim is not criticism but amazement.  I am amazed at the immense variety of "costumes" of the beings in our oceans, demonstrating again that life's possibilities are even greater than our own human imaginations.

~~~

Do you think we might draw a lesson from the strange variety of species?  Or would that be carrying our imaginations too far?

One Sun and One Moon

The reading of a poem by a designated poet has now become a regular part of U.S. presidential inauguration ceremonies. The first reading was at the inauguration of JFK in 1961.  The already well-known and highly esteemed poet Robert Frost brought a copy of his new poem "Dedication" to read.  No inaugural poet has had to face the elements and imperfect technology the way Frost did.  I remember watching on TV. Frost stood at a podium where an electrical fire had been put out; a bitterly cold wind rattled the sheets of paper he held; and the intense sun blinded his eyes.  The sun won out.  And so, unable to read further, Frost finished by reciting from memory an older poem, "The Gift Outright."

Over the past decade or so, inaugural poets have been less known, but that has not meant that their poems, usually written for the occasion, have been forgotten.  I remember in particular there having been quite of bit of favorable comment about the poem "One Today" read by Richard Blanco at the Obama inauguration in 2013.  The comments about the poem afterwards on radio and TV showed how it had been especially accessible and meaningful to many.  In his poem, Blanco employed the opening image of "one sun" rising in the eastern U.S. and moving across the continent to depict and tie together the varied lives of people as they awoke and arose to their day's regular activities.  Occasionally, a specific detail added depth to the more general descriptions:

"My face, your face, millions of faces in morning's mirrors,

...on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives --

to teach geometry, or ring-up groceries as my mother did...."

The poem continued the theme of unity by using the phrases "one sky" and "one moon."

That modern poem came back to my mind when I recently read, of all things, an 8th-century Buddhist stanza.  It was by Yung-chia Ta-shih, and goes like this:

"One Nature, perfect and pervading, circulates in all natures,

One Reality, all comprehensive, contains within itself all realities.

The one Moon reflects itself whenever there is a sheet of water,

And all the moons in the waters are embraced within the one Moon."

Even when I was in early elementary school, and read introductory books about astronomy, scientists knew that the planets of our own solar system varied in whether they had one moon, no moon, or more than one.  Astronomers' inventory of our universe is now so vast that we have numerous examples of the variety of moons that orbit about each planet in many planetary systems.  We also now know that other planetary systems sometimes have not a single star but a star system at their center.

If our own solar system did have more than one sun, or if our Earth had more than one moon, I would hope we would still have poets to remind us that we are all ultimately one people.  And also have poets to at times stretch our minds a little farther, by reminding us that all Life on this planet is ultimately One Life.

~~~

Is there some way you try to come back to an awareness of our unity amidst differences?

(The Japanese print is in the public domain because its copyright has expired.)

(The Buddhist verse is taken from The Perennial Philosophy by Aldous Huxley, © 1945, p. 8.)
(The 2013 poem "One Today" by Richard Blanco can be read at this external link:  "One Today".)

Big Skies

My wife grew up in a moderately hilly landscape in Michigan.  When she first moved to a city on a flat, coastal plain, she missed the open vantage points that had been provided back home by the tops of hills.  And so, she found herself appreciating the freeway overpasses as substitutes. Nevertheless, the shortcomings she experienced in a flat terrain were offset by a payoff:  Being on a flat landscape made the sky seem exponentially larger.  And so, my wife immediately recognized the experience the 20th-century American author Willa Cather had described in one of her novels.  Of flat New Mexico, Cather wrote:  "Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky.... [T]he world one actually lived in, was the sky, the sky."

Seeing the vaulting sky above a flat terrain is like viewing a movie on a wide screen in a movie theater, as contrasted with watching it on an old-fashioned, confined TV screen.  Although experts on movie history tell us that in the 1950's it was the need to compete with television that prompted the creation of CinemaScope and Panavision, I wonder if it was not also the popularity of westerns at that time.  Those wide-screen formats were perfect for depicting the grand open plains during U.S. frontier history.  Even though one 1952 western could not escape critics' pointing out its mediocre content, the movie's title recognized the power of the majestic ceiling above that open land on which the humans traveled.  The movie's title was simply "The Big Sky."

Not that a wide view of the sky is always delightful.  I remember as a kid road trips in the family car when a wide view of the sky revealed the vastness of storms developing on the horizon -- no way to steer around them!  As I remember that image of threatening skies, I also recall a part of U.S. history that most of those movie westerns barely mentioned.  Namely, that as European-Americans expanded outward and westward under a big sky, they confined native Americans to smaller and smaller pieces of land.

Our American love for wide, open spaces continued from frontier times even into the 20th century.  That love paralleled those 1950's westerns, as post-World War II suburbs sprawled out from cities more heavily on their western sides.  People still moving westward, still hungry for something.

Beneath the saga of U.S. history -- as told through the lens of our relationship to a big sky and a wide horizon -- lies, I think, a broader human desire.  It is the desire to feel that our lives are not constrained.  It is the desire to feel that the possibilities for life are so wide that they reach out to an unconfining horizon.  If that is so, what we might really need is not simply to look out across a greater distance, but to pause and look up more deeply into the sky, and into ourselves as we do so.  Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, "The sky is the daily bread of the eyes." If that is so, maybe what we need is not just a larger portion of sky but the habit of savoring it more deeply and more thoughtfully.

~~~

Whether your physical vantage point is confined or more open, are there any occasions during the day when you look at the sky?

(The Cather quote is from Death Comes for The Archbishop

 by Willa Cather, © 1927.  Book VII, Ch. 4.)

(The Emerson quote is from his Journals entry May 25, 1843, as quoted in

 A Dictionary of Environmental Quotations, ed. Barbara K. Rodes, et al., ©1992.  68.44.)

(Stormy-sky photo by Fir0002/Flagstaffotos used under a Creative Commons Attribution NonCommercial Unported 3.0 license.)

The Secret Lives of Mushrooms

Probably even before I was in kindergarten, my parents warned me that the mushrooms that occasionally popped up in neighborhood yards should not be eaten because they could be poisonous.  To emphasize the point, they explained that you could not tell by appearance whether the mushrooms were poisonous or not. And so, when cooked mushrooms were first served up to me on my dinner plate, I simply looked at them, thinking, "You cannot tell by their appearance whether they are poisonous or not."

Although I now know a bit more about mushrooms, I wish I had learned more about them back then.  I might have appreciated them more.  There is a lot most people do not know about these strange beings. In fact, mushroom "plants," for the most part, lead secret lives.

I referred to mushrooms as "plants" in the preceding sentence, putting the word in quotation marks because they are not classified by biologists as being in the plant kingdom. They do not have green chlorophyll to convert sunlight into sugar through photosynthesis, as do trees, shrubs, and grasses.  Instead, mushrooms are a sophisticated form of fungi, serving a role in the creation of rich soil.  What we see above ground are the reproductive bodies occasionally "flowering" up from the base below ground, producing spores rather than seeds.  (Perhaps it was the sudden appearance of mushrooms at night that led to mushrooms having been associated with fairies.)

I did omit one detail in my confession about being afraid to eat cooked mushrooms:  As kids, we did not usually call them "mushrooms." We said "toadstools" instead.  That name engaged my childhood curiosity.  I think I secretly hoped that I might catch sight of a small toad comfortably seated on top of one of the "stools," even though toads were farther and few between than mushrooms where we lived.  (Is there any end to the things a child wishes for?)

Having now gotten well beyond my childhood caution about possibly dying by poisoned mushroom, I have a couple of times picked one, but not to cook it.  Instead, I wanted to get a closer look at the underside of the cap.  Hidden there are what seem like a hundred thin leaves radiating out from the center, all looking like the fanned pages of a book.

In illustrations in children's books, mushrooms have been part of the imagined world of exotic animals, elves, and fairies.  When mushrooms rise from the rim of the unseen body below ground they sometimes form a rough circle, imagined to be a "fairy ring."

As a child, I never really believed in fairies. Nevertheless, I do like to occasionally think about silent mushroom bodies living their own lives below the surface of the ground.  Millions of them, all around the Earth.  Silently living and waiting.  Unhurried.  Waiting not for us, but for the right conditions to reproduce.  Just as they did for over half-a-billion years before there were any humans around to hurry, and to believe.

~~~

Have you ever been surprised by suddenly appearing mushrooms?  Where?

(The photo of the pair of mushrooms is by Ezhuttukari.

The photo of the clusters of small mushrooms is by Stu Phillips.

Both are used under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported licenses.)

Of Nests and Love and Nurturing

It is a tale of tender, parental care -- among both humans and birds.  It is also a tale of love, even among the birds, dare I say, even if instinctive.  The story will eventually lead to the family of a virtually forgotten 19th-century author.  But let me begin with the matter of those birds.

The contemporary naturalist David Attenborough, in his TV series and book Life on Earth, pointed out how so much of birds' instincts, behavior, and time expended is centered on nurturing one thing:  the egg, and, of course, what comes from it.  He wrote, "Birds... have to incubate their eggs and that is a very dangerous business."

Now shift back over a century to the Centennial Exposition of 1876, a world's fair held in Philadelphia.  Among the exhibits was a display of the now famous artwork of John James Audubon, who introduced Americans to many of the birds of the North American continent. The critical link in this story is that among the fascinated viewers of Audubon's art was a twenty-nine year-old woman named Genevieve Jones.  Audubon's work engaged with two of her own interests.  Growing up, she had learned watercolor painting from her mother. And she had collected bird nests while accompanying her doctor father on his buggy rounds to patients.

Genevieve Jones

"Gennie" Jones became captivated by the idea of creating a book similar to Audubon's but covering the 130 species of birds that nested in the state of Ohio, where she lived with her parents. She hoped such a book would enable people to do something she had been unable to do as a child -- identify such nests as that of a Baltimore oriole.  The immense project was undertaken, with Genevieve and a friend learning how to make the life-sized lithographic drawings.  Her brother helped collect nests, and her father financed the project.  Neighborhood girls helped hand-color the prints.

Then tragedy struck.  Only two years into the project, with only part of the book published,

Genevieve caught typhoid fever and died.  Nevertheless, just in the way that birds do not abandon a nest after one of the chicks dies, the Jones family committed themselves to completing the project.  The mother learned how to make illustrations more scientifically precise than she ever had.  The technology of the time required transporting the sixty-five-pound printing stones to a printer 50 miles away in Cincinnati. After seven more years, the project was completed. Illustrations of the Nests and Eggs of the Birds of Ohio, with text by Genevieve's brother, was published in 1886.

The full story of Genevieve Jones, her family, and their book is told in America's Other Audubon by Joy M. Kiser (© 2012).  I am struck by how the matter of parental nurturing weaves throughout the tale:  Birds nurturing their young in nests.  The parents of Genevieve nurturing their daughter's love of art and of Nature.  The entire family contributing to the Illustrations of Nests project.  And all of that nurturing symbolized by those all so natural nests.

~~~

Do you have any remembrances of nests or of birds nesting?

(The quote about birds is from

 Life on Earth by David Attenborough, © 1979,  p. 195.)