This will probably end up looking a lot like the previous post (about climbing a mountain). That's because walking in the woods gives me inspiration, or at least something more interesting to write about. Or it might end up looking like a somewhat snarky, very public journal entry that no one really wants to read.
Yesterday was a day off from any sort of nocturnal Shakespeare related shenanigans, and as such was a day of relaxation. For me, safely housesitting in a remote part of Vermont, that meant straightening things up, doing dishes, and cleaning. Yes, for me cleaning is relaxing and I genuinely enjoy it. Why? I wish I knew, but I count it as a blessing rather than the alternative. After the cleaning was done I took a jaunt through a marsh with Scout (who is a dog, in case you had any doubt) and got to bed at a reasonably early hour. So it was that I awoke early (though not as early as usual) this morning. It's nice being able to sleep for a nice long bit of time.
Upon waking I promptly made tea and settled down to watch a couple episodes of Doctor Who (half way through season 4 for anyone who cares). That done, feeling a bit fat after eating left-over pancakes and maple butter, I took my book for a walk. If you've never tried walking with a book I recommend it. Assuming one is not the type of person who frequently trips over one's own feet walking and reading is a fun, (somewhat) productive form of exercise. I find that if I read while sitting around I get all fidgety, so walking is the perfect fix.
After finishing the book I decided that yet another walk was needed. Longer this time, and perhaps accompanied by my iPod. Scout was all for the idea so we set out with no particular destination in mind and although I love music I soon shut the 'Pod off. Walking in nature is better when you can hear the world around you.
The path took us out through the woods until, seeing an area off the trail that was attractively clear of undergrowth, we veered off. We went up for a bit, then down into a river of ferns so thick that I couldn't see where I was walking. Had it been a river of water I would've drowned, or at least ended up swimming as I stepped off a ledge and fell a good few feet down into the ferns. Then there was a similar river of blackberry and raspberry bushes (luckily devoid of sudden drops).
At last I found what I had been unknowingly looking for. An isolated beaver pond in the middle of nowhere. Pristine, undisturbed by man. Or that's how it seems at first. Then you look up at the horizon and realize that the mountainside across the way has two wind turbines that dwarf even the tallest trees around them. It's somewhat eerie to see them standing there, silent, like two massive giants frozen in place. Then you forget about the turbines as a several herons rise from their nests and take wing across the pond.
By the side of the pond was a little canoe, just big enough for one person and some gear. In this case the "gear" was Scout. I'd been to the pond a few times but I wasn't very sure about taking Scout out in the boat. Still, I wasn't really surprised when she jumped in and lay down very nicely in the bow of the canoe while I knelt behind the aft thwart.
At the far end of the pond was a stand of dead fir trees, a lonely and gray as the post-apocalyptic ruins of a sunken city. Five of the trees had huge nests in them which, from past experience, I knew belonged to the herons I'd seen before. As I approached I saw something plummet rather gracelessly from the lowest of the nests. It flapped a few times and managed to safely crash into the weeds near the trees. A moment later I saw the fledgling heron stalk out of the cattails and sawgrass. It looked a bit disgruntled I thought. What followed were several (hilariously futile) attempts by the ungainly bird to fly. At last it settled for climbing to the top of a leaning fir tree to rest.
Scout and I continued around the pond, saw a beaver which slapped it's tail on the water as it dove away from us. Scout nearly leaped out of the boat in surprise and it took me a few minutes to persuade her to lay back down. The last thing I wanted was to end up tipping over in the leach infested water. After that little encounter we went back to the far shore, followed by a none-too-sneaky beaver. Luckily it didn't decide to make any more noise.
The adventure on the pond done we walked back to the house, took a quick detour to pick bunch-berries and so ended our jaunt.
Now I'm writing this, waiting somewhat impatiently for 5:30 to roll around, at which time I shall, like a dope fiend, feed my addiction to the spotlight by becoming Lysander for the second night of A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Took a Trip Up Blue Mountain
*All names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved (and because the names I came up with are funnier than the originals).
Blue Mountain is not blue. It's green. It's roughly two thousand feet high with a long ridge-like peak that runs east-west. The slope is gradual until the last few hundred feet at which point the ground turns rocky and juts up rather sharply to the peak. The top of the mountain is as forested as the rest of the mountain which somewhat ruins the view, but it's a pleasant enough hike, nothing too difficult (although some circumstances tend to make it a tad more... exciting) The lower half of the mountain, like much of the state of Vermont, is covered by a mixture of evergreens and deciduous trees, but the higher up you go the conifers win out.
On the day of the hike the sun was shining brightly, the sky was a bright blue with perhaps just a few fluffy clouds to make things interesting. In short it was the perfect day for a hike. My companions, Orlando and Norton, were in high spirits as was I. Our goal seemed perfectly reasonable. To walk over the mountain. The distance is roughly three miles (although straight line measurements of distance are, in fact, inaccurate when climbing a mountain without a path or a compass) of gently sloping hillside but for the uppermost part of the mountain. We started from Norton's house, the idea being that we would climb over the mountain to reach Orlando's house which lay on the far side.
After several small slopes ,each of which earned a "Is this the mountain?" from either Orlando or Norton, we at last began our accent in earnest. Of course, it wasn't long before we found something far too interesting to be ignored. It was a pile of trash. But not ordinary trash, oh no, this was the good type. The type that consists of old farm equipment, cars, and all manner of farm detritus collected over the past fifty to a hundred years. There was a plastic canoe, several metal lockers of the type you might find in a school. These sorts of dumps aren't especially unusual around farms, but I always get a somewhat uneasy feeling around them, especially when they're randomly in the woods. I have no explanation for the feeling. Maybe it's because after walking for a quarter of an hour through the woods one begins to feel at ease with the forest and the sight of such a pile of twisted metal and trash seems an abomination.
After banging about the dump for a bit we elected to continue up the trail which, at this point, was becoming more than a bit waterlogged. After only a few minutes of walking we inexplicably and without any discussion bid adieu to the trail and began to wander into the woods, secure in the knowledge that as long we were going up hill we would end up on top of the mountain. Eventually.
It turns out that distractions abound in the woods. There I was thinking the trash heap would be the most interesting thing we would find, but I was so very wrong. Orlando spotted the rocks first. Immediately we began walking at a right angle to the hill so as to come to the bottom of the strange pile. It turned out that the rocks were all cut granite blocks that appeared to have been dumped there into a pile that created a great spur off the side of the mountain. Of course we couldn't leave it unclimbed.
After Norton took several photos of Orlando and I posing heroically at the top of the pile, and then climbed up himself to join us, we followed the spur back toward the mountain. Strangely there were railroad tracks and cables between the blocks of granite. As fascinatingly random as the rock pile was (it being in the middle of the woods on the side of the mountain and all) what we found at the end of the place where it connected to the mountain was much more interesting. There was a towering cliff which sloped away up the mountain down which ran a sheet of water which sparkled in the sunlight. At the bottom of the cliff was a pool which, had it not been frozen, would surely have had a nude nymph bathing in it. My overactive imagination aside, it was amazing spot.
We spent a bit of time enjoying the fact that the spot was so secluded, and deciding that we would have to come back, then resumed our trek. Just above the pool, in the shadow of the mountain's peak, we hit snow. I had expected this, but my companions were more than a little disgruntled... As the snow grew deeper moral grew worse until, at last, we hit the top of the mountain (which looked much like the rest of the mountain, except that the slope was gone). By that time the snow was up to our knees and disgruntlement had turned to cold, pant-soaked, depression. I was quite beside myself with the adventure and wanted to continue down the mountain so over protests from Norton that we should turn back, I started down the far side.
Orlando soon took over the position of leader, breaking an efficient trail through the snow which, as we were on the north side of the mountain, was deeper now. At this point the sun was westering and even Orlando, who had hitherto been fairly sure of our chances of success, began to falter throwing in his lot with Norton who was now beside himself with worry that we would die once night fell, and swearing a blue streak at the depth of the snow. Neither of them were particularly convinced that I knew where I was going.
Somehow I managed to lead our little expedition from the rear, steering us in what was essentially a very wide left hand turn down the slope. Once we saw a house tucked away in the forest far below and my companions insisted that we go to it just to find a road and get off the mountain. Luckily I insisted that I knew where I was going (which I did, thank you very much) and we avoided the potentially easier, but decidedly less epic solution. Instead I climbed a tree, got our bearings, and we continued our downward progress.
To make a long story short I shall leave out the various debates, direction changes, and depressed comments that plagued our decent. I'll gloss over the swampy bottom land, leaping streams, and then following those streams. Eventually we came to the crest of a hill and after spending so much time without seeing signs of civilization (not counting logging roads it had been a while hour!), we came to a fence line at the edge of a field. Orlando broke down and actually hugged the fence post, Norton was only slightly more reserved in his reaction, simply stand there praising the post as though it were his savior.
That was basically the end. By a stroke of luck we came upon Orlando's sister on a walk and she guided us to our final destination. Success had been achieved!
I'm afraid there will be some lasting trauma on Norton's part, due to the depth and persistence of the snow and Orlando seems unlikely to ever go on a walk in April again, but I thought it was a good time...
Blue Mountain is not blue. It's green. It's roughly two thousand feet high with a long ridge-like peak that runs east-west. The slope is gradual until the last few hundred feet at which point the ground turns rocky and juts up rather sharply to the peak. The top of the mountain is as forested as the rest of the mountain which somewhat ruins the view, but it's a pleasant enough hike, nothing too difficult (although some circumstances tend to make it a tad more... exciting) The lower half of the mountain, like much of the state of Vermont, is covered by a mixture of evergreens and deciduous trees, but the higher up you go the conifers win out.
On the day of the hike the sun was shining brightly, the sky was a bright blue with perhaps just a few fluffy clouds to make things interesting. In short it was the perfect day for a hike. My companions, Orlando and Norton, were in high spirits as was I. Our goal seemed perfectly reasonable. To walk over the mountain. The distance is roughly three miles (although straight line measurements of distance are, in fact, inaccurate when climbing a mountain without a path or a compass) of gently sloping hillside but for the uppermost part of the mountain. We started from Norton's house, the idea being that we would climb over the mountain to reach Orlando's house which lay on the far side.
After several small slopes ,each of which earned a "Is this the mountain?" from either Orlando or Norton, we at last began our accent in earnest. Of course, it wasn't long before we found something far too interesting to be ignored. It was a pile of trash. But not ordinary trash, oh no, this was the good type. The type that consists of old farm equipment, cars, and all manner of farm detritus collected over the past fifty to a hundred years. There was a plastic canoe, several metal lockers of the type you might find in a school. These sorts of dumps aren't especially unusual around farms, but I always get a somewhat uneasy feeling around them, especially when they're randomly in the woods. I have no explanation for the feeling. Maybe it's because after walking for a quarter of an hour through the woods one begins to feel at ease with the forest and the sight of such a pile of twisted metal and trash seems an abomination.
After banging about the dump for a bit we elected to continue up the trail which, at this point, was becoming more than a bit waterlogged. After only a few minutes of walking we inexplicably and without any discussion bid adieu to the trail and began to wander into the woods, secure in the knowledge that as long we were going up hill we would end up on top of the mountain. Eventually.
It turns out that distractions abound in the woods. There I was thinking the trash heap would be the most interesting thing we would find, but I was so very wrong. Orlando spotted the rocks first. Immediately we began walking at a right angle to the hill so as to come to the bottom of the strange pile. It turned out that the rocks were all cut granite blocks that appeared to have been dumped there into a pile that created a great spur off the side of the mountain. Of course we couldn't leave it unclimbed.
After Norton took several photos of Orlando and I posing heroically at the top of the pile, and then climbed up himself to join us, we followed the spur back toward the mountain. Strangely there were railroad tracks and cables between the blocks of granite. As fascinatingly random as the rock pile was (it being in the middle of the woods on the side of the mountain and all) what we found at the end of the place where it connected to the mountain was much more interesting. There was a towering cliff which sloped away up the mountain down which ran a sheet of water which sparkled in the sunlight. At the bottom of the cliff was a pool which, had it not been frozen, would surely have had a nude nymph bathing in it. My overactive imagination aside, it was amazing spot.
We spent a bit of time enjoying the fact that the spot was so secluded, and deciding that we would have to come back, then resumed our trek. Just above the pool, in the shadow of the mountain's peak, we hit snow. I had expected this, but my companions were more than a little disgruntled... As the snow grew deeper moral grew worse until, at last, we hit the top of the mountain (which looked much like the rest of the mountain, except that the slope was gone). By that time the snow was up to our knees and disgruntlement had turned to cold, pant-soaked, depression. I was quite beside myself with the adventure and wanted to continue down the mountain so over protests from Norton that we should turn back, I started down the far side.
Orlando soon took over the position of leader, breaking an efficient trail through the snow which, as we were on the north side of the mountain, was deeper now. At this point the sun was westering and even Orlando, who had hitherto been fairly sure of our chances of success, began to falter throwing in his lot with Norton who was now beside himself with worry that we would die once night fell, and swearing a blue streak at the depth of the snow. Neither of them were particularly convinced that I knew where I was going.
Somehow I managed to lead our little expedition from the rear, steering us in what was essentially a very wide left hand turn down the slope. Once we saw a house tucked away in the forest far below and my companions insisted that we go to it just to find a road and get off the mountain. Luckily I insisted that I knew where I was going (which I did, thank you very much) and we avoided the potentially easier, but decidedly less epic solution. Instead I climbed a tree, got our bearings, and we continued our downward progress.
To make a long story short I shall leave out the various debates, direction changes, and depressed comments that plagued our decent. I'll gloss over the swampy bottom land, leaping streams, and then following those streams. Eventually we came to the crest of a hill and after spending so much time without seeing signs of civilization (not counting logging roads it had been a while hour!), we came to a fence line at the edge of a field. Orlando broke down and actually hugged the fence post, Norton was only slightly more reserved in his reaction, simply stand there praising the post as though it were his savior.
That was basically the end. By a stroke of luck we came upon Orlando's sister on a walk and she guided us to our final destination. Success had been achieved!
I'm afraid there will be some lasting trauma on Norton's part, due to the depth and persistence of the snow and Orlando seems unlikely to ever go on a walk in April again, but I thought it was a good time...
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Lambing, not kidding.
First lamb of the season today! And what a way to start it off... Normally a lamb drops and is up in good time, getting down to the business of nursing before even drying off, it's absurdly long tail wiggling like a soaked weasel. Or something. That's a disgusting analogy.
At any rate, today's lamb was not normal. For one thing she is, quite literally the black sheep of the family. Glossy black with a big white spot on her forehead. Like Black Beauty if Black Beauty were a sheep instead of a horse. Perhaps that shall be her name... A black sheep might not seem strange but for the fact that her parents were both white and (supposedly) have no genes to trend toward blackness. There's always one odd one. For another thing she was so weak she couldn't stand, which is where all the fun began.
After Dad had been up to see the sheep he called me and let me know that we had a lamb down, and would I go check on it ASAP? Of course I said yes cheerfully, it being a good excuse for a walk and the first lamb of the season. By the time lambing is all over I'm sure I shall accept the task of lamb-checking under duress, but this morning it seemed like fun.
Unfortunately the weather didn't wish to cooperate with my plan of walking, but being stubborn I refused to drive a mile up the road. The wind was howling, luckily pushing me from behind. There was even a bit of snow, just to make things that much more interesting. The walk back, into the wind's cutting teeth was just as much fun as it sounds.
Upon reaching the barn I found the new mother caring quite well for her lamb. Of course, the second she saw me she took off with the rest of the flock as they scurried for cover from what ever horrors I was about visit upon them. Sheep are very dramatic.
The baby needing to nurse, but too weak to stand, my only course of action was to capture the mother and secure her in a way that would allow me to get the baby on her teat. I managed to separate her from the flock, herd her into the barn, and block the door with a large watering tub... Which she promptly jumped over leaving only the lamb and I.
After reassuring the little bundle of damp blackness I left the barn, crook in hand, to call the mother to task. As I closed in on her I reminded her that she had brought the lamb into the world and now had a duty to care for it. Apparently sheep don't take to guilt as readily as humans for she simply loped a bit further away.
After a harrowing chase through a waterlogged pasture I managed to catch the delinquent ewe and pulled, pushed, coaxed, and cajoled her into the barn where I managed to tie her in a corner. The lamb had managed to bury herself into the hay, so it took a bit of looking to find her, but once I did it was time to have her nurse.
For ten minutes she nursed, at which time she began to look quite bored with her current teat and began searching for another one. I had been kneeling, hunched over, next to her holding her head up to facilitate her feeding so I was more than happy for an excuse to stand and turn the ewe to access her other side. Once again the black lamb set to with a will and by the time she was done I could feel her little belly bulging. She still couldn't stand, but she would last until milk replacer could be acquired.
When I released the ewe she gave me several looks that ranged from heart breaking timid to scathingly angry, then bolted. I knew she would be back for her baby so I left the barn and it's in habitants to their own devices.
As things stand now the lamb (whom I've decided to call Blot, rather than Black Beauty, the latter being far too pretentious) is still a bit weak, but making progress under the watchful eye of us humans. We shall see what the coming days will bring (more lambs, in all likelihood).
At any rate, today's lamb was not normal. For one thing she is, quite literally the black sheep of the family. Glossy black with a big white spot on her forehead. Like Black Beauty if Black Beauty were a sheep instead of a horse. Perhaps that shall be her name... A black sheep might not seem strange but for the fact that her parents were both white and (supposedly) have no genes to trend toward blackness. There's always one odd one. For another thing she was so weak she couldn't stand, which is where all the fun began.
After Dad had been up to see the sheep he called me and let me know that we had a lamb down, and would I go check on it ASAP? Of course I said yes cheerfully, it being a good excuse for a walk and the first lamb of the season. By the time lambing is all over I'm sure I shall accept the task of lamb-checking under duress, but this morning it seemed like fun.
Unfortunately the weather didn't wish to cooperate with my plan of walking, but being stubborn I refused to drive a mile up the road. The wind was howling, luckily pushing me from behind. There was even a bit of snow, just to make things that much more interesting. The walk back, into the wind's cutting teeth was just as much fun as it sounds.
Upon reaching the barn I found the new mother caring quite well for her lamb. Of course, the second she saw me she took off with the rest of the flock as they scurried for cover from what ever horrors I was about visit upon them. Sheep are very dramatic.
The baby needing to nurse, but too weak to stand, my only course of action was to capture the mother and secure her in a way that would allow me to get the baby on her teat. I managed to separate her from the flock, herd her into the barn, and block the door with a large watering tub... Which she promptly jumped over leaving only the lamb and I.
After reassuring the little bundle of damp blackness I left the barn, crook in hand, to call the mother to task. As I closed in on her I reminded her that she had brought the lamb into the world and now had a duty to care for it. Apparently sheep don't take to guilt as readily as humans for she simply loped a bit further away.
After a harrowing chase through a waterlogged pasture I managed to catch the delinquent ewe and pulled, pushed, coaxed, and cajoled her into the barn where I managed to tie her in a corner. The lamb had managed to bury herself into the hay, so it took a bit of looking to find her, but once I did it was time to have her nurse.
For ten minutes she nursed, at which time she began to look quite bored with her current teat and began searching for another one. I had been kneeling, hunched over, next to her holding her head up to facilitate her feeding so I was more than happy for an excuse to stand and turn the ewe to access her other side. Once again the black lamb set to with a will and by the time she was done I could feel her little belly bulging. She still couldn't stand, but she would last until milk replacer could be acquired.
When I released the ewe she gave me several looks that ranged from heart breaking timid to scathingly angry, then bolted. I knew she would be back for her baby so I left the barn and it's in habitants to their own devices.
As things stand now the lamb (whom I've decided to call Blot, rather than Black Beauty, the latter being far too pretentious) is still a bit weak, but making progress under the watchful eye of us humans. We shall see what the coming days will bring (more lambs, in all likelihood).
Monday, April 11, 2011
Revelation Pt. 2
The sun refuses to rise today. Or maybe it has risen but refuses to shine. Either way it's past eight in the morning and dark enough for me to have a light on. I'm a morning person because I like the sunrise, the sound of the birds that greet it, the way the fog settles on those foggy days. Today is one of those days I probably would've been happier if I'd stayed in bed listening to the rain drum on the roof. The upside to a showery day in April (beside May flowers) is that rain prevents me from reveling in the majesty of Spring and forces me inside, which means I feel trapped unless I do something, and the something I choose to do is write. So, I shall continue where I left off last time. Hopefully the lightning doesn't abruptly end things. It's getting closer.
-When we left off it had been revealed that animals (that is, the ones who are not domestic, which is another conversation all together) have a technology that, despite what we've been told, far outstrips our own. However it was unclear what that technology was, so I shall elaborate on that topic now. A brief caveat: My expertise in this area only pertains to the animals of the Northeastern US. In southern climes things may be very different as far as organization goes, but I do not doubt that they are just as advanced. -
It seems that while humanity has been visiting profound havoc on the natural world, thinking it completely defenseless, the natural world has been quietly working behind the scenes on projects that dwarf anything we can conceive of. Two fairly crucial flaw that allows wild animals to so thoroughly outstrip us, technologically (and perhaps morally) speaking, is this: They think ahead. I don't mean a few days, weeks, or even years ahead. Wild animals think generations ahead. Some humans do this too, you say, but I would argue that not nearly enough. Amongst the beasts of the woods it is considered selfish to do anything that does not benefit later generations. The same can perhaps be said for humans, but few people acknowledge it.
The second flaw is that animals are not in the habit of destroying one another. At least, not for the most part. Consider what would have happened if, in ancient times, the civilization of the Greeks had not fallen. Rather than having years and years of wasted times (affectionately known as the "Dark Ages") the growth of humanity as an educated people may have continued until, by now, we all would have been even more highly advanced/enlightened than we are now. Or something. You can ask the alternate history novelists about that. As a rule I tend to not enjoy alternate history.
But back to the animals. I keep getting off track. Their technology, while ahead of ours, is nonetheless based on the same principles. Yet it is fundamentally different in that the beasts shy away from plastics and synthetic materials and instead use only what is readily available in nature. It's difficult for humans to understand (I don't quite understand it myself), but I shall try to explain nonetheless.
The basis of animalkind's computer network (and therefore the basis for much of their tech) is trees. Each tree in a forest is connected, usually through contact of the root system with every other tree in the forest. Ingeniously the animals used the connections, in conjunction with tiny electrical impulses generated in various ways (usually involving static electricity), to form a giant living computer. The only downside to this system is that each forest is, in effect, isolated from the others. The old style solution to this was to use grass and other vegetation to form tenuous networks, but unfortunately humans (unknowingly) ruined that system with roads an such. Luckily for the animals they had the foresight to begin the development of a plant breeding program that allowed them to create long ropes of roots that could be taken (via mole tunnel or similar means) under the roads to connect the networks. The solution has, so far, been effective.
For years they have worked to build hidden bases of operation in strategic locations all over the world. Within these (most of which are caves) the creatures have created screens, specialized control panels, and complex maps of the world around them. With the information processed at such bases they are able to keep a close eye on their environment, and with the Network, to broadcast the information around the world giving each group of animals, no matter how disparate, a complete picture of the world around them.
-My, look at the time. I thought I would be finished by now, but apparently not. There is still much to tell, but perhaps not all at once. It's probably best that I keep the information spread out rather than bunching it all together like this. They monitor our communications after all, and a search might be enough to get me shut down.
Until next time then.-
-When we left off it had been revealed that animals (that is, the ones who are not domestic, which is another conversation all together) have a technology that, despite what we've been told, far outstrips our own. However it was unclear what that technology was, so I shall elaborate on that topic now. A brief caveat: My expertise in this area only pertains to the animals of the Northeastern US. In southern climes things may be very different as far as organization goes, but I do not doubt that they are just as advanced. -
It seems that while humanity has been visiting profound havoc on the natural world, thinking it completely defenseless, the natural world has been quietly working behind the scenes on projects that dwarf anything we can conceive of. Two fairly crucial flaw that allows wild animals to so thoroughly outstrip us, technologically (and perhaps morally) speaking, is this: They think ahead. I don't mean a few days, weeks, or even years ahead. Wild animals think generations ahead. Some humans do this too, you say, but I would argue that not nearly enough. Amongst the beasts of the woods it is considered selfish to do anything that does not benefit later generations. The same can perhaps be said for humans, but few people acknowledge it.
The second flaw is that animals are not in the habit of destroying one another. At least, not for the most part. Consider what would have happened if, in ancient times, the civilization of the Greeks had not fallen. Rather than having years and years of wasted times (affectionately known as the "Dark Ages") the growth of humanity as an educated people may have continued until, by now, we all would have been even more highly advanced/enlightened than we are now. Or something. You can ask the alternate history novelists about that. As a rule I tend to not enjoy alternate history.
But back to the animals. I keep getting off track. Their technology, while ahead of ours, is nonetheless based on the same principles. Yet it is fundamentally different in that the beasts shy away from plastics and synthetic materials and instead use only what is readily available in nature. It's difficult for humans to understand (I don't quite understand it myself), but I shall try to explain nonetheless.
The basis of animalkind's computer network (and therefore the basis for much of their tech) is trees. Each tree in a forest is connected, usually through contact of the root system with every other tree in the forest. Ingeniously the animals used the connections, in conjunction with tiny electrical impulses generated in various ways (usually involving static electricity), to form a giant living computer. The only downside to this system is that each forest is, in effect, isolated from the others. The old style solution to this was to use grass and other vegetation to form tenuous networks, but unfortunately humans (unknowingly) ruined that system with roads an such. Luckily for the animals they had the foresight to begin the development of a plant breeding program that allowed them to create long ropes of roots that could be taken (via mole tunnel or similar means) under the roads to connect the networks. The solution has, so far, been effective.
For years they have worked to build hidden bases of operation in strategic locations all over the world. Within these (most of which are caves) the creatures have created screens, specialized control panels, and complex maps of the world around them. With the information processed at such bases they are able to keep a close eye on their environment, and with the Network, to broadcast the information around the world giving each group of animals, no matter how disparate, a complete picture of the world around them.
-My, look at the time. I thought I would be finished by now, but apparently not. There is still much to tell, but perhaps not all at once. It's probably best that I keep the information spread out rather than bunching it all together like this. They monitor our communications after all, and a search might be enough to get me shut down.
Until next time then.-
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
A Lengthy Excuse/Revelation Pt. 1
I was watching a pair of crows playing just now. They dipped, dove, wheeled and banked with the precision of a flight of military jets going through maneuvers. Unfortunately for the military their jets will never be as graceful as those two crows. It's simply impossible. They would have to make their machines living organisms before they could move with such perfect fluidity and grace. At any rate the comparison made me recall something that had hither to fallen by the wayside of my mind, although it is an issue that everyone should be aware of.
There was a time a few years back when I realized something quite profound. Namely, that animals are far more advanced than humans. Animals, in this case, meaning wild ones rather than domesticated animals. At any rate this realization explained many, many things that I've often wondered about.
It all began with hunting season, that time of year when I engaged in weight resistance training by slinging a gun on my shoulder and sneaking through the woods as though I might actually be able to find something. It probably won't surprise you to learn that I don't take defeat well, especially when said defeat comes at the hands (or hooves) of ruminants. I don't meant to insult anyone, but it has to be said, ruminants are not the brightest of creatures. Now, I'm sure you have plenty of stories of farm animals "outsmarting" their human captors, but in reality the animals always end up losing. Not so in the case of my hunting and the deer evading. They never lost, at least not to me. No, they remained safe and sound in their sun dappled glens while I trudged forth every morning to come back with nothing but a lungful of disgustingly fresh air.
To explain the fact that an ungulate could evade such a mighty hunter as myself, I dedicated my morning walks to making up excuses. Maybe if my mind hadn't been so preoccupied I would have had some success, but were that the case I would never have realized the truth. It began as an excuse, but the more I thought about it the more I realized it must be true. Prepare to have your mind blown. It became clear to me that wild animals are not nearly as primitive as we think they are. In fact they are far more advanced than we are, to the point where they can hide their technology in plain sight. For time immemorial humans and animals have had a kind of war on. It has been a terrible, bloody affair and many travesties (mostly on the part of mankind) have been committed, but at long last the beasts of the forests have gained the upper hand. There is no going back now.
In the beginning things were fairly equal, men had pointy sticks but animals had sharp, pointy bits that could easily rend the flesh of a frail human. When the first hunter realized that he was, in some ways, inferior to his prey, an arms race sprang up between humans (and their traitorous animal companions) and the animals who refused to be dominated. Of course, there are those who say that domestic animals were more of a sacrifice to appease humanity rather than traitors, but that's an entirely different story. At first humans seemed to be winning, they came up with increasing brilliantly destructive ways of hunting animals. But nature did not despair, her creatures are endlessly resourceful and at some point in time the animals, although they remain strangely nonviolent (but for a few instances), surpassed us technologically. This can be considered a grand feat considering the fact that they lack opposable thumbs. Life will find a way.
-In part two I will give a brief overview of the technology of the animals, and explain how crucial to our survival it is to have this knowledge.-
There was a time a few years back when I realized something quite profound. Namely, that animals are far more advanced than humans. Animals, in this case, meaning wild ones rather than domesticated animals. At any rate this realization explained many, many things that I've often wondered about.
It all began with hunting season, that time of year when I engaged in weight resistance training by slinging a gun on my shoulder and sneaking through the woods as though I might actually be able to find something. It probably won't surprise you to learn that I don't take defeat well, especially when said defeat comes at the hands (or hooves) of ruminants. I don't meant to insult anyone, but it has to be said, ruminants are not the brightest of creatures. Now, I'm sure you have plenty of stories of farm animals "outsmarting" their human captors, but in reality the animals always end up losing. Not so in the case of my hunting and the deer evading. They never lost, at least not to me. No, they remained safe and sound in their sun dappled glens while I trudged forth every morning to come back with nothing but a lungful of disgustingly fresh air.
To explain the fact that an ungulate could evade such a mighty hunter as myself, I dedicated my morning walks to making up excuses. Maybe if my mind hadn't been so preoccupied I would have had some success, but were that the case I would never have realized the truth. It began as an excuse, but the more I thought about it the more I realized it must be true. Prepare to have your mind blown. It became clear to me that wild animals are not nearly as primitive as we think they are. In fact they are far more advanced than we are, to the point where they can hide their technology in plain sight. For time immemorial humans and animals have had a kind of war on. It has been a terrible, bloody affair and many travesties (mostly on the part of mankind) have been committed, but at long last the beasts of the forests have gained the upper hand. There is no going back now.
In the beginning things were fairly equal, men had pointy sticks but animals had sharp, pointy bits that could easily rend the flesh of a frail human. When the first hunter realized that he was, in some ways, inferior to his prey, an arms race sprang up between humans (and their traitorous animal companions) and the animals who refused to be dominated. Of course, there are those who say that domestic animals were more of a sacrifice to appease humanity rather than traitors, but that's an entirely different story. At first humans seemed to be winning, they came up with increasing brilliantly destructive ways of hunting animals. But nature did not despair, her creatures are endlessly resourceful and at some point in time the animals, although they remain strangely nonviolent (but for a few instances), surpassed us technologically. This can be considered a grand feat considering the fact that they lack opposable thumbs. Life will find a way.
-In part two I will give a brief overview of the technology of the animals, and explain how crucial to our survival it is to have this knowledge.-
Friday, April 1, 2011
With the Spring Comes New Beginnings (And Snow)
In the spirit of Spring time, and because it's time for to have that creative outlet again, and because I'm trying desperately to follow through on things I start, and myriad other reasons that I can't even comprehend right now: I'm back. It's the first of April, the Day of Fools. Perhaps it says something about me that I would choose such a day to return to the keyboard. Hopefully it doesn't. Regardless of whether I'm a fool, firsts are great days to start things. I know, I'm not technically starting, but my last post was made in January and everyone knows that in interweb time three whole months is a lifetime.
So, to begin, as though you were not already aware, it's snowing. Which means it's time for me to begin fantasizing about spring weather. Spring is my favorite season, without any doubt. All that new green growth, lambs, calves, the smell of mud. The feel of mud. The adrenalin rush of riding the tiny strip of high ground that is your only chance of not bottoming the car out. And of course there are all the songs about Spring and the fun that can be had in that season. There were a couple of "spring days" earlier this week and last week, days when the temperature was in the fifties, the snow was melting thick and fast and the grass was beginning to show through, and the birds were singing like angels. I went out in my tee-shirt and cavorted, it was beautiful. Yes, spring is a good time to be alive! Or it will be when the snow stops and melts away... Mother Nature, you're such a tease. I love it.
So, to begin, as though you were not already aware, it's snowing. Which means it's time for me to begin fantasizing about spring weather. Spring is my favorite season, without any doubt. All that new green growth, lambs, calves, the smell of mud. The feel of mud. The adrenalin rush of riding the tiny strip of high ground that is your only chance of not bottoming the car out. And of course there are all the songs about Spring and the fun that can be had in that season. There were a couple of "spring days" earlier this week and last week, days when the temperature was in the fifties, the snow was melting thick and fast and the grass was beginning to show through, and the birds were singing like angels. I went out in my tee-shirt and cavorted, it was beautiful. Yes, spring is a good time to be alive! Or it will be when the snow stops and melts away... Mother Nature, you're such a tease. I love it.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
On Time Travel
Boredom can do wonderful and terrible things to the human mind. What has boredom done for you? Here's what it's done for me. Its made me think about a little thing called time travel. This is an enormously complicated subject, and people much smarter than me have thought about the same thing and come to many, many different conclusions (mostly that it can never happen). My thinking is along these lines: Wouldn't it be cool? I could see all sorts of things... Real knights in real armor, dinosaurs! Wait... What about... Here is the vision of time travel that I have come up with at this point. It will probably change as I think on the subject more, but for now this is what I have. Many of the questions posed here are ones that I've posed to myself, note how most of the answers are less than satisfactory.
WARNING: The following will not answer any questions. It may, in fact, make things less clear.
Imagine yourself in a world where time travel has been invented. It would is like living in a world where the airplane just came into existence. At first people are incredulous, everyone is asking for proof. Gradually that proof is given. The inventors, clearly geniuses of the highest caliber, bring back knick-knacks from the dawn of time. A living dinosaur, Abraham Lincoln's hat, other brick-a-brack. Once proof is given people start to speculate about what time travel can do for them (because, as we all know, the individual comes first), then slowly but surely they consider what it will do for the world at large. Can we travel to a better future or back to a better time in the past? Yes, of course, it's a time machine.
On the day of the first public demonstration no one works, everyone is riveted to their televisions waiting to see video of... What? Knights in armor? Cowboys? Kennedy's assassination from a different angle, showing once and for all who the killer was? What ever it is, the world holds it's breath. The machine never appears to leave, that's how precise it is, it leaves and comes back before we even know it's gone. The world is confused, that was so very anticlimactic. But no matter, let us see the video that's been brought back. Some people are ecstatic that they chose to show the building of the pyramids, others not so much, but everyone realizes that what they're seeing is real.
Sounds great, doesn't it? On the cusp of a new age of humanity, an age where time is elastic and you can relive any moment you wish. Boeing will probably make the first offer to buy the revolutionary technology, or maybe Microsoft will snap it up, or perhaps Google. There will surely be a bidding war that wil make the inventors of the miracle device the richest men on the planet. Even if the aforementioned geniuses don't sell, those companies will all surely find the technology in their hands by some means. As production begins the richest people on earth snap up the first models. Things go wrong, people die, it's all very high profile. All other news takes a back seat.
Scientists (and pseudo-scientists of course) all offer dumbed down explanations of the workings of the machine, but the one thing they make clear is that there will be no "Back to the Future" scenarios. We've ruled out a single timeline, they explain. Rather any change in past events spawns an entirely new timeline which then carries on with into an altered version of future. Thus would be time travelers can go back to their chosen moment, do what ever they wish, and return to the present with impunity. After all, no one will know what they did in that time, since traveling into alternate realities is not the function of the time machine. So we can go back three or four times to the tomb of King Tut, steal all his gold multiple times over and become rich! What a concept.
Almost before the concept of Temporal Immunity has been explained the human rights groups are all over it. How can people simply travel back in time and change everything. What if, because of the action of an indiscriminate traveler, World War Two dragged on for another ten years? What if the Cold War escalated into World War Three? These are extreme examples, but they could easily happen. Is it ethical to relegate humanity, even if it is the humanity of another timeline, to the horrors that would result? There need to be regulations in place to prevent such happenings.
But they don't understand, the scientists say in rebuttal. One cannot police time travel. If a regulatory body was established they would have to send a representative with ever single time traveler, just to be sure that no shenanigans ensued.
Then make it so! The detractors respond.
While that debate rages across civilization as a whole, other more thoughtful people begin to consider what time travel means for humanity as it stands at this moment. The first conclusion they come to is this: Time is now irrelevant. When you can relive a single moment in time over and over and over time means nothing. Holidays will never be celebrated again, birthdays are gone, the calendar, wall clocks, all meaningless. The only events that hold any meaning are life and death. It is a brave new world. An incomprehensible new world.
Some of those less inclined to think of the consequences, or profits, of time travel pose different questions. Can we go forward? The scientists take a break from their various defenses to give the answer: No. Of course not. If each new event creates a new timeline then trying to go into the future would be impossible. It would be like navigating a road that is continuously changing, or climbing a tree where branches randomly grow or fall away constantly. In other words, the intrepid time traveler who goes forward faces certain doom. In that case, the askers ask, how does the traveler who goes back in time get back to this one? The scientists hem and haw. They have no idea, of course.
Why doesn’t the machine effect our timeline, why create new timelines, those who long to change that single unfortunate moment in their lives ask? Simple, someone answers, if it did that you would have no idea. Perhaps there is a machine that does that and we don’t know it. Maybe your life already has been changed.
* * *
Welcome back to the here-and-now.
There you have it, my vision of a future with time travel. I just reread it just now and realized that I traveled through time several time (past tense to present tense and back) but I fixed that, but that's beside the point. My point is... No, I don't really have one, I just thought that maybe others would enjoy these thought provoking suppositions.
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