Science as the ultimate objectivity has always been an ideal not a fact. Scientists are human, too – with mortgages and egos and tuition debt, too.  Most research is at some level politically funded – whether the funder is the Catholic Church, the Exxon Corporation, or government. (We all know how apolitical government is. Right?) Who gets the money for what research – in our culture often a variable of potential profit in the research product – is part of the process. Unfortunately, money as the engine of research comes with a built-in corruptibility factor – sometimes very subtle, sometimes openly controversial, but rarely completely out of the picture.  Which is worse good science with bad intentions or bad science with good intentions?  Add to that debate “whose science” and “whose morality” then define “good” and “bad.” Yeah, I know.

Still there’s good scientists (and some not-so-good) working hard in their labs zealously pursuing “truth.”  There probably is even such a thing as “pure” science happening somewhere in some labs. But even the most ardent and disciplined objectivists among us are still subjective human beings. The process leading up to who gets a lab, how they design the experiment and who does what with any discoveries will always be a function of politics.  The “science” that reaches the masses will always have spin. Most of the “masses” wouldn’t understand the science if you spoon fed it to them straight from the scientist’s mouth. I have great respect for Al Gore’s intentions. I voted for him when he ran for President partially because of his environmental stance. I  have warmist leanings. I am not, however, blind to the inconvenient truth that Al Gore is not a scientist – he “just plays one in a movie.” But science without politics wouldn’t get very far.

And with well-established criteria for peer review and reproducible results, science tends to self-regulate. The global warming controversy really emphasizes the stability of the scientific ideal not its erosion. It’s the old torpedo effect of all human progress – we launch out of the tube in the general direction of our target, we stray off course, we make corrections.

Challenge and controversy have always been a part of scientific progress, whether the battle is between scientists and institutions, or scientists and other scientists. Today’s unavoidable transparency just makes the noise a lot louder and faster – out where we all get to watch and comment. And after all, it is science that brought us the internet – the vehicle of its own exposure.

Climate change is almost a non-term here in Western Washington where the weather is so variable year to year, climate change seems almost normal.  Unlike the rest of the Northern Hemisphere, we’ve just had our warmest winter on record. Last winter we had our taste of the ice age.

But in spite of recent controversies which expose some extremely-careless or just-plain-bad science, there’s some good science behind global warming, too.  Weather extremes are integral to the theory, so discounting the whole idea because your butt’s cold today is definitely throwing the baby out with the bath water.

On the other hand, there’s some very smart people countering the theory and some very good science behind their counter claims. Ironically, the very reason we find global warming so hard to believe when our butts are cold mirrors the reason why global warming has rational skeptics. It really is difficult for us humans (including scientists) to stand far enough back from our tiny little lives to get accurate, objective perceptions. From a geological perspective, the global warming theory itself is just a report on what’s happening right now. Several decades of climate statistics do not necessarily make an arguable trend. Well, obviously it is arguable, but that’s not the same as provable.

But it’s the furor of this discourse that deserves applause. It means awareness of environmental degradation (whatever the cause) has whole-heartedly entered our public consciousness. A recent New York Times article pointed out that therapists are even seeing a trend in environmental issues as a significant cause for family discord. And as much I hate to see families in stress, the environmental dialog matters; and the things that matter most to us should be discussed (and sometimes argued about) in our homes.  An integral environmental consciousness – public and private – represents true progress.

I have warmist leanings.  There’s much more to the theory than whether you should be driving a Prius or a Hummer. But selling global warming as yet another variety of armageddonism is counterproductive and unnecessary. Extremes always create backlash. Most of the noise between warmists and their skeptics is not about whether humans are negatively impacting the environment,  it’s about how, what’s the timeline and what’s the fix.

Anyone completely devoid of environmental awareness at this point is either under-educated, living in impoverished desperation, or choosing to remain intentionally blind. Lack of education and impoverished desperation are both forgivable, and illiteracy and poverty must be addressed as part a holistic environmental dialog.  But intentional blindness, whether motivated by greed or just laziness, is no excuse at all.

But that’s another human foible, isn’t it – it often takes the noise of controversy to force our eyes open. It’s called awakening.

“When people generally are aware of a problem, it can be said to have entered the public consciousness. When people get on their hind legs and holler, the problem has not only entered the public consciousness — it has also become a part of the public conscience. At that point, things in our democracy begin to hum.”

- Hubert Humphrey

Still – I’m glad I saw it again. The visual artistry is worth a second take. I noticed a lot visually that I missed the first time and I look forward to a sequel.

After all, it’s not as if James Cameron doesn’t warn us about the simplicity of his parable. If the stereotypical characters don’t jump out at you early on, by the time you hear the word “unobtainium,” you should have a clue.  James Cameron’s forte has always been special effects.  An old story with a new look works for him (and apparently his audience). Everyone who saw Titanic knew the outcome before they entered the theater.

I suspect James Cameron has great fun making movies, and I think he wants his audiences to have fun, too.  Nothing wrong with that.  Giving the Nav’i elongated canine teeth  is such a clear ploy for today’s vampire popularity that it’s laughable. He probably threw in many of Avatar’s other cliches and plot deficits just for fun, too (perhaps to see if we’d notice).  Cameron’s close enough to my age that I’m sure he saw the same old Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movies on TV that I did as a youngster. In Avatar, the only thing missing when the deus-ex-machina beasties stampede in to save the Nav’i is this:

Click here to view the embedded video.

And from what I’ve read, it seems most people (including reviewers) come away from Avatar with the message they took into the theater beforehand. The rejecters reject the same things they always reject, the admirers admire the same things they always admire.  Appreciating good art is like that – the best art offers each of us an intimate subjective experience. With Avatar, gamers get a techie game, spiritual seekers get transcendence (although some devout reject Avatar altogether as promoting paganism), environmentalists get ecological connectivity, pessimists get to feel depressed because Earth isn’t as sublime as Pandora, optimists get to hope Earth is becoming Pandora.  Lots of good guys and bad guys to go around – with cross-overs and a paradox or two.

Here’s what I walked into the theater with: I am fortunate enough to live in an area where Earth’s vibrant glory is readily accessible and visually competes damn well with anything you can create digitally. This, of course,  keeps me fairly optimistic about life in general and our environmental direction in particular. Though not religious – spiritually, I lean toward nonduality.

Here’s the message I took out of the theater: The  Nav’i R Us.  We are rejecting our small, violent selves and becoming something larger. We are connected to all life, but life itself is a school and there are often mortal risks associated with learning to make the important connections. Ultimately, caring and connectivity will prevail and we’ll choose to banish our small, violent selves.

But the best thing about Avatar is this: popular movies are a reflection of our cultural consciousness. Even if the ideas are presented in elemental terms to reach the masses, ticket sales in response to Avatar’s themes of environmental responsibility and global connectivity represent very positive trends.

I had fun, too.

“Loneliness is like sitting in an empty room and being aware of the space around you. It is a condition of separateness. Solitude is becoming one with the space around you. It is a condition of union. Loneliness is small, solitude is large. Loneliness closes in around you; solitude expands toward the infinite. Loneliness has its roots in words, in an internal conversation that nobody answers; solitude has its roots in the great silence of eternity.”

- Kent Nerburn

via whiskey river

Our formerly feral cats seem very smart. I don’t know whether their innate intelligence helped them survive in the wild, or if surviving in the wild enhanced their intelligence.  I do know neither of them would be stupid enough to leave smelly things exposed in bear country like this brave cat’s humans did:

Click here to view the embedded video.

It took some time after Dodge adopted us before she became comfortable sitting in my lap. She was initially very nervous in front of the television, though she eventually realized my television viewing often created lap opportunities for her.

During her first year with us, I started watching a nature program while petting her.  The nature program was about black bears with some very clear footage of a black bear walking toward the camera. When Dodge noticed the television bear, she stood in my lap and growled. As she continued to watch, she first moved to the chair arm and then to the floor beside the chair.  She alternated focusing on the bear and looking at my face while vocalizing short bursts of alarm to make sure I’d also noticed the bear.

She could not smell the bear, of course, so she was uncertain, but she was clearly familiar with the visual configuration of a black bear.  Was this instinctual? Or had she dealt with bears during her forest life? We’ve speculated that may be what happened to the rest of her litter. (When Dodge first arrived at our house, Dart was her only remaining kitten.)

But whatever the reason, it was obvious Dodge wanted nothing to do with bears.  Even so, she stayed by my side, coaxing, until she convinced me to leave with her. How stupid was I anyway?

At that point in our relationship, Dodge still identified outdoors as the safest haven from any perceived threat, so per her wishes, I let her out onto the deck.  (If you’re thinking she only coaxed me out of the chair so she could get outside  – she also had a cat door she could have used.)

I followed her outside and the first thing she did was walk furtively to the north end of the deck  where she peeked carefully around the corner of the house, so she could see the opposite corner (which the television backs up to). She was apparently checking to see if the bear was still out there. Perhaps her understanding of broadcast vs. live bears was limited, but her accurate spatial orientation between the inside and the outside of the house surprised me. So did her loyalty and courage.

Uncles worked for Weyerhaeuser and although I grew up in Seattle, my father bought a 40-acre stand of timber when I was in second-grade.  Dad’s shift schedule with the Seattle Fire Department allowed for many days at The Acres, as we called it. Over the years, Dad logged enough timber from the property to pay for it several times over.  When I was growing up, many weekends and most school holidays were spent in those woods.  Here’s an old photo of Dad, my sister and me with a load ready for the mill. I’m the short one. (I don’t get to say that very often.) (And don’t worry, as children, we were never actually allowed anywhere near active logging operations.)

Dad and Mom moved to The Acres after Dad’s retirement from the fire department. I actually helped Dad fell a couple of big trees at The Acres the spring of the year he died (of leukemia). I cherish the time I spent with him in the woods during his last year.  He was still harvesting a tree here and there at the age of 82. He was lucky to be where he wanted, doing what he loved, almost to the end. And, in spite of all the trees removed from The Acres over the years, much of it was still forested when we sold the property…. Balance.

The personal little patch of forest I share with Griz is bounded on two sides by a thousand-acre, well-managed tree farm.  There are few days when I don’t see fully-loaded log trucks on the road. But even with all those logs on the way to the mill, visible or expansive clear-cuts are a rare site. Washington State’s Department of Natural Resources and the timber industry itself do a pretty fair job now of managing the timber harvest and preventing blatant environmental abuse. As with all resource management – balance is the key. Not even private land owners are allowed to fall more than several trees a year without a permit now.  Replant criteria and watershed protections are strictly enforced, too.

Yes, there are still abuses around the edges. Timber theft occurs – it’s one reason we have a locking gate and security system. There are independents who complain about and circumvent every regulation. But things have monumentally improved (perhaps thanks to those fanatical tree-huggers).  The environmental rape that occurred as little as 50 years ago (and which extended back 100+ years before that here) is, fortunately, rapidly becoming just a sad memory.

If you’ve ever walked through a clear-cut area (or tried to) as I have, you’d understand that it really is impossible to clear-cut without creating devastation and tragic habitat destruction. But in the loggers’ defense, I understand why clear-cutting is (at least in some areas) the only economically feasible approach. Just getting logging equipment into the forest and moving big logs out once the trees are down creates a significant amount of devastation.  Once you’re there, taking everything and finishing the destruction as rapidly as possible makes some sense. But carefully monitoring and restricting how many acres can be clear cut at a time is important  – habitat preservation within a certain range of the cut is critical for recovery of refugee species after the timber harvest. Rapid replanting and environmental regeneration benefits everyone, including the timber industry.

Having an innate fascination with all things tool, Griz watches the History Channel’s Axmen periodically. Perhaps, it’s because I only see those sections of the show that Griz calls to my attention, or perhaps it’s the way the show is edited in general; but in my opinion, the show should be subtitled “the world’s stupidest loggers.” And I don’t mean to diminish the risks loggers face moving all that weight around in unpredictable conditions (which Axmen actually emphasizes very clearly or perhaps over-emphasizes for dramatic effect). (Logging consistently comes in statistically as the most dangerous [fatalities per capita] profession over fishermen and firefighters.) But I have to file TV logging right up there with other “reality-TV” FUBARs – another sad example where selling the video is probably more profitable than the activity itself. And just like the other “reality” stars, there seems no shortage of loggers willing to voluntarily make fools of themselves for a few extra bucks.

But one thing you definitely won’t see on Axmen is reverence for the trees.  Trying to give commercial loggers the benefit of the doubt, I suppose it’s almost impossible to work that hard and fast trying to turn a profit and still have time (or any inclination) for reverence – for anything – let alone for each tree that falls.

I, on the other hand,  have only been involved in the felling of a few trees. I have always participated in single tree projects – diseased trees, leaners that were threatening buildings, that kind of thing.  I’m sure the commercial loggers would consider it almost recreational cutting -  arborist type work.  I wasn’t even the cutter – I was a cable puller or wedge driver, maybe a choker setter after the fact.  But each case for me demanded a certain reverence. It was always obvious from beginning to end that there was a death involved.  The death of the big old tree was always the final outcome.

There’s a distinctive sequence in the planned death of a big old tree. There’s the long clear droning of the chainsaw as the cuts are made; sometimes there’s the driving of wedges to create the final imbalance; and then there’s the moment when the tree gives in. There’s an agonizing stillness, almost imperceptible cracking noises at first, then slightly louder cracks – a noticeable shudder when the tipping point is reached. As the tree finally topples there’s a groaning sound – almost a death sigh – sometimes the echo of branches breaking (the death tree’s and any collateral damage), then the earth shakes with a distinctive thud when the big tree hits the ground.

This is the one opportunity James Cameron missed with Avatar. He should have depicted a quieter cutting of the big old tree. Rather than all that fire power, the stroke of a laser and then the awesome and devastating impact of a more true-to-life tree death would have been more dramatic. He could have even had the tree fall toward the audience in terrifying 3D. But perhaps, James Cameron has never really watched a big tree die.

I browsed YouTube for a video of what I’m talking about.  This is the closest I could find:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Uh-oh. I feel my logger tolerance waning as I write.

Here’s the thing: The death of a big, old tree is a tragic, awesome and memorable event. At the very least, appropriate reverence should be required every single time.

I’d also hate to get too attached.  Big trees fall. Some have to be cut down.

And most of our trees grew to their glory before we arrived here – without  the need for words or names. They just are, surviving tough conditions right where they stand, beyond analysis or judgments – and they’re mighty nonetheless. Passive endurance resulting in magnificent splendor. Unintentional artistry. (Though some would say it’s intentional.)

Look upward while standing quietly beneath a big tree. You cannot avoid feeling the power. Imagine what it takes to oppose gravity to that extent, processing sunlight, circulating nutrients and water to such great heights?

Big trees demonstrate the great wisdom of nature – they bend to buffeting winds, lean toward sunlight or bow to obstacles as necessary. When partially knocked down, they slowly redirect themselves back skyward, fortifying themselves even more at the bending point. They shed the unnecessary to better endure and prosper. I admire them.

Hard to believe such giants start out smaller than this volunteer western red cedar struggling for a foothold in our driveway gravel. This 3″ youngster was a seed last summer. I pot and replant more of these little buggers than is practical, but it’s hard for me to think of them as weeds.

The great tree symbology in James Cameron’s Avatar pleased me.  Avatar’s popularity demonstrates a positive direction in our collective consciousness. As little as twenty-five years ago, I doubt if Avatar (with or without 3D) would have captured such a large audience. Twenty-five years ago, only us die hard sci-fi types would have gone. Sure, there are probably more sci-fi enthusiasts now than ever before, but Avatar goes beyond sci-fi – it touches our growing ecological and spiritual awareness – our acknowledgment of an immutable connectedness.

A serendipitious tree article showed up in Griz’ Nuts & Volts Magazine last month. An Idaho company, Voltree manufactures a bioenergy harvester which attaches to a living tree and uses the tree’s metabolic processes to create electricity. The small electrical generators do not harm the tree. (At least we don’t believe they harm the tree.) Of course, the amount of energy you can generate this way is limited – these generators are used to power passive surveillance and scientific monitoring equipment. Still, it’s a kind of symbiosis that tickles me.

Voltree’s products are the kind of green technology we’re heading toward  (very slowly) – ways to use our resources without depleting or harming them.  We are starting to make those critical connections – artistically, figuratively, literally.

Of course, you get a lot more energy (quicker) from a tree if you chop it down and burn it to heat the shelter you’ve built with it’s carcass.  (Intentional shock value.)  See my next post Tree Power Down: Timber!

]]> http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/30/tree-power-up-tall-inspiration/feed/ 0 http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/27/in-war-good-guys-always-become-bad-guys-howard-zinn/ http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/27/in-war-good-guys-always-become-bad-guys-howard-zinn/#comments Thu, 28 Jan 2010 05:23:39 +0000 Trish http://blogfromahermit.com/?p=3143 May he rest in the peace he so highly valued.

Howard Zinn (August 24, 1922 – January 27, 2010)

Click here to view the embedded video.

More wisdom from Howard Zinn:

“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”

“Nations are not communities and never have been. The history of any country, presented as the history of a family, conceals the fierce conflicts of interest (sometimes exploding, often repressed) between conquerors and conquered, masters and slaves, capitalists and workers, dominators and dominated in race and sex. And in such a world of conflict, a world of victims and executioners, it is the job of thinking people, as Albert Camus suggested, not to be on the side of the executioners.”

“How can you have a war on terrorism when war itself is terrorism?”

“If history is to be creative, to anticipate a possible future without denying the past, it should, I believe, emphasize new possibilities by disclosing those hidden episodes of the past when, even if in brief flashes, people showed their ability to resist, to join together, occasionally to win. I am supposing, or perhaps only hoping, that our future may be found in the past’s fugitive movements of compassion rather than in its solid centuries of warfare.”

I realize it’s been almost three weeks since I posted.  That probably shouldn’t  bother me or anyone else at this point; though I do wish I hadn’t read all those best-blogging-practices articles before I started this blog. “Three posts per week plus three comments per week on other blogs” always sticks in my mind as the best goal.

Guess we know that’s not gonna happen.

The only difference between this break and others is: I didn’t preplan it – I just let it happen – or not happen.

What can I say:

Spring arrived unexpectedly in January this year so I’ve been outside more – landscape tending and just enjoying.

Been mulling a new book project.

Been indulging in a little traditional January evaluation of my life’s principal elements.

Deep? Nah – more  like deep’s opposite this time:  just being without discussion.

I’ve continued along on Twitter. Follow me there if you’re prone to dire imaginings when I don’t check in.  But other than Griz and the cats, I think I’ve gotten most friends and family trained to tolerate my periodic vanishings.  Haven’t I?

Even Griz and I have mutual consent for periodic unavailability.  And the cats – well, cats are innately autonomous.* I sometimes think their dependency is primarily my perception.

Interestingly, I do value connection and I have learned the blogosphere is about as comfy a connection as you’ll find for us hermits.  On the other hand, I tend to resist obligation (fabricated or otherwise); hence my discomfort with regular posting.

I know resistance to obligation is considered a form of pathology by some.  But these days most nonconformities are considered pathological by someone; and I think acknowledging, accepting and balancing one’s insanities is the key to good mental health for most of us.  So wacko or not, my little problem with obligation is not one of my life’s principal elements I plan to change anytime soon. It’s a part of why I value solitude – I can indulge it without bothering others most of the time.

After all, this is a blog from a hermit.

According to Lao Tzu: “A good traveller has no fixed plan & is not intent on arriving.”

I’ll be back soon.

*ASIDE FOR CAT LOVERS: I was always a dog person in the past. Our two semi-feral cats, Dodge (mother) and Dart (son) are the first cats with whom I’ve cohabited since my childhood.  Now that I’ve become enamored of cats and started to pay attention, I realize defining cats as aloof and autonomous is a generalization.  Cat personalities are as individualistic as human.

When I leave home for 24 hours or more, Dart, our wilder and more routinely-autonomous cat, celebrates my return with unabashed enthusiasm (very similar to the way dogs typically react).  Dodge, the more “civilized” and astutely manipulative cat (some socialization as a kitten), greets my return with initial disdain. She then combines deep purring with intermittent growls and feigned nipping – clearly expressing her pleasure over my return, but simultaneously demonstrating her disapproval of my recent, offensive desertion.

]]> http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/19/blogopause-with-aside-of-cat-blogging/feed/ 2 http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/01/a-ramble-on-lifes-soundtracks-old-music-new/ http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/01/a-ramble-on-lifes-soundtracks-old-music-new/#comments Sat, 02 Jan 2010 05:24:43 +0000 Trish http://blogfromahermit.com/?p=3028 Donna Woodka recently posted this video and the associated lyrics (following) on her Changing Places blog with one of her wonderful theme posts entitled Searching.

Click here to view the embedded video.

As my life goes on I believe
Somehow something’s changed
Something deep inside
Ooh a part of me

There’s a strange new light in my eyes
Things I’ve never known
Changin’ my life
Changin’ me

I’ve been searchin’
So long
To find an answer
Now I know my life has meaning

Now I see myself as I am
Feeling very free
Life is everything
Ooh it’s meant to be
When my tears have come to an end
I will understand
What I left behind
Part of me…

As usual, Donna’s post was good thought-food, though for some reason I wound up thinking more about the music than about searching.  (Well, I did spend some time reflecting on what I might have been searching for in 1974 [the year Chicago released Searching So Long] and whether I found it or ultimately abandoned the quest.)  But the music from her post lingered. Part of the fun of looking back at the music is noticing how perspective gives the lyrics refreshing new meaning.

I wound up wondering at what point the music of our childhood (often our parents’ music) transitions to our own music and not theirs. For some of us, it’s that intentionally cultivated point where our preferred music alienates our parents, but that’s not always true. The methods for teenagers to alienate their parents are many and sundry – and always have been. Music may or may not be involved.

But if you’re a music person (even just an appreciator, like me), important memories always wind up tied to whatever music surrounds you at the time of any life passage, phase or event. Ever after, that music stimulates the memories of the associated events and vice versa. I suppose that’s not so great for those who hang on to the lousy memories – and there is some music which stimulates sad memories for me. But I don’t dwell on the sadness when I hear the music. I just reflect on the lessons learned or losses endured and charge onward to a different soundtrack (or playlist) to snap myself out of the maudlin if I get stuck there.

Of course, like other memories of youth, the music of youth often seems more vivid and lasting than some of the later additions. Psychologically, this has more to do with the youthful memories (and music) falling on a fresh canvas than it does (as some youngsters think) with the terminally declining mental acuity of us oldsters. Yes, there is such a thing as age-related memory loss – but not everyone over 40 is trapped in a downward spiral into dementia. In youth, many things, including music, are hooked into memory as extremely relevant because of their newness. Ultimately, experience diminishes the novelty factor and memories in later life are stored in a very crowded filing system. As we mature, we also get significantly more efficient at forgetting (intentionally or subconsciously) the irrelevant. And our definition of relevant changes dramatically – or should.

But I think it’s important not to get stuck only with the music of our younger years. I continue to allow new music to seep into my life. Since I don’t really have any other handy sources and I don’t spend very much online time listening to music, I frequently listen to fm radio while driving as a method of familiarizing myself with new music and younger artists. This gets me 5+ hours per week of serendipitous music discovery. Though listening to radio may itself be an archaic and outdated (hopefully, not dying) method, when I find something I like, I do have an iPod for downloading it.

Of course, whether a song is on the top 40 (if that still exists per se), which artists are dating each other, and what any of them are wearing is totally irrelevant to me.  But I never was into that aspect of the music scene. And I admit, I’ve never developed a true appreciation of rap. But as a writer, I’ve long appreciated lyrics, and rap has significantly improved the lyrics of all genres. There’s as much talent out there as ever.

The old music is important and meaningful, but I think it’s also important not to get stuck with only your old tunes. Like other retreats we inadvertently wander into as we age – closing the door on the new limits our perspective, our opportunities, and our readiness to keep up the search – and therein may be the passage from mature to just plain old.