Endurance Philosophy

Some links on wildfire and climate reports

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Sun, 17 Oct 2021 13:05:00 +0000

Some links to explore if you're curious about climate reports and wildfires.

NOAA's climate report site: https://www.weather.gov/wrh/climate (You'll have to click on your region to generate the report.)

National Interagency Fire Center Predictive Outlook on Wildfire: https://www.predictiveservices.nifc.gov/outlooks/outlooks.htm

New York Times Wildfire Tracker: https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2021/us/wildfires-air-quality-tracker.html

Fire, Weather & Avalanche Fire Tracker: https://www.fireweatheravalanche.org/fire/

Adventure Shorts: Lunch in Acadia

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 00:22:00 +0000

The other week I was in Acadia National Park. I had done some hiking in the morning, up to the summit of Cadillac Mountain via the South Ridge summit trail. I had come off the mountain, and was driving around in search of a place to stop and have lunch.

There is a one-way loop road that circumscribes the park. Once in this loop there is a gate, where you are required to pay or show a pass to enter. I had a pass, but the line at the gate was all I needed to turn off at this point.

I turned left, and immediately in front of me was a lookout over the inlet, across which one could see Schoodic point, which was where my wife was taking a nature journaling conference. I decided it was a nice spot to eat and pulled up. I backed the car into the spot, popped the trunk, and made lunch.

I don't need much when I'm exploring on my own. I enjoy good food and all, but if I'm not trying to impress anyone, I can get by with some basics.

I had stocked up on provisions the night before, but I had forgot a bag, and I could only carry bread and peanut butter. So I had a Matt's peanut butter sandwich. There are two ingredients in a Matt's peanut butter sandwich: Peanut butter, and bread. That's it. It's highly advisable to have a beverage nearby while consuming this delicacy, but I won't tell you how to live your life.

As I was smacking my lips away, in the spot next to me pulled up a group of older women. They were obviously on an epic adventure of their own. They, like me, had decided this was an excellent spot for their lunch, and, like me, had backed their vehicle up to the view so they could sit on their tailgate.

One of the women got a text from a friend, whom she had let stay at her house while she was gone. The friend had said something like, "Thanks for the escape." The woman asked her friends, "Escape from what?" Like she couldn't figure it out.

At this point, I hadn't spoken to the ladies yet. I was just there, near by.

I said to myself, in my head, definitely not out loud, "Escape from Alcatraz." Obviously. Where else could you escape from? (Askaban, that space prison in Guardian's of the Galaxy; there are other places, but none of them obvious to me just then.)

Not 5 seconds after I had said this to myself in my head, one of the other women said, out loud, "Escape from Alcatraz!"

I had to look around to make sure this wasn't some sort of set up. If it was, I don't know what their end game was because it was never made obvious to me. After being flamboozled by this for a full 45 seconds or so, I went back to my lip-smacking sandwich.

A few minutes later one of the women, with absolutely no provocation on my part, walked over and handed me some of the grapes they were eating because apparently she felt bad that I was eating a Matt's peanut butter sandwich.

This was a few weeks ago. I've had some time to think on it now, and I'm not quite sure those two events weren't entirely unrelated.

What kind of year has it been?

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Thu, 24 Jun 2021 21:58:00 +0000

The 2020-2021 school year ended this past week. It was a year filled with unknowns, emotions, frustration, and long stretches of Zoom induced boredom followed by moments of "why isn't it doing that?" (Like while attempting to get your fourth device to connect to the wifi so you can write with the magic stylus and it worked just a minute ago but now 23 high school sophomores are watching you struggle hard.) The highs were high, and the lows were low. It was very easy this year for students to avert my educatorial gaze by simply hitting "stop video", and yet I made some profound connections with students this year that I might not have if we didn't have a pandemic. There are several thoughts I have in regards to the past 10 months, and here are some of them.

First, I can't help but face the fact that I'm underwhelmed. We got to the end of the year, this crazy year, and it sort of just ended. It left me thinking, "Is that all there is?" The last day was filled with two years worth of emotions and all of the rollercoaster turns jammed into one hour-long staff pot luck. It just seemed small. Don't get me wrong, I have no idea what else I would have done. I don't know what bigger thing I was seeking. I just felt the moment should have somehow been bigger.

I will admit that my reaction there is likely a personal one, and I don't know how widely it is shared. I like moments. I savor them. I tend to place value in them, so it seems natural that I might feel this way. I had a similar feeling when I graduated college, but for different reasons. All that to say: the preceding paragraph aught to be taken with its prescribed dose of sodium chloride.

While sitting at that the previously referenced pot-luck, a colleague asked me what I would tell the September 2020 version of myself if time travel existed. Or perhaps some chronologically transcendent letter box system like in The Lake House. The colleague was actually ambiguous on how the letter would get delivered so I'm filling in the gaps. Anyway, it's the content of the letter, I think, that was really the important part of the question.

There are two things that I thought of. The first was to find the people that help keep me afloat and stick to them. I work with great people, without whom I would struggle way harder than I do. I can say with my whole heart that me making it to the end of the school year in one largish piece with a small debris cloud hanging around in the general vicinity of my head is the direct result of friends, colleagues, and my wife, who helped me stay floating.

The second thing was: don't be afraid to make changes, even scary ones. The pandemic forced our hands in several ways, and anyone who didn't change struggled. As a catalyst for change, a global pandemic isn't great. But, we can't go back. We can't unlearn the lessons we learned this year. I changed some things about my teaching practice this year, partly due to necessity, partly because I wanted to. Most of those changes made my job more enjoyable for me, and more effective.

Part of the underwhelming sensation I've been feeling for the past month or so is tied to this second point. At the beginning of the year, after last spring's fully remote world, I anticipated change on many fronts and on many levels. Literally, the year was going to be different because of the pandemic. It is different not seeing half of people's faces, and having people around you get sick, and all the other subtle and not so affects that ripple outwards just from those two changes. I had a sense at the beginning of the year that whatever happened, it would be quite unlike anything else I've experienced.

I also thought there would be more change on a deeper level. I thought the system might change, just a little. I thought this event, the most traumatic thing to happen in my lifetime, would cause a "what are we doing" affect that might mean we evaluate why we do education the way that we do, why we live our lives the way that we do, and why we treat the planet and each other the way that we do. I'm afraid none of that really happened. Maybe on a small scale, but not in a big way. The system will return to it's previous trajectory, despite the efforts of the small few. For now. It was wishful thinking on my part, and I do understand that in these matters patience is necessary. I thought the general chaos of the past several months might act as a catalyst, but I think it was more like an outgoing tide. It could help a vessel begin a long voyage, but it will also come back in again as the earth-moon system rotates beneath it. So now we go back to our work, the small few, changing the course of that vessel, that monstrous behemoth, by pushing on its bow with swim floaties.

The unsung heroes of this school year were, without doubt, the kids. They were asked (told) to do things completely differently, sometimes on a weekly basis, all while wearing masks and dealing with Zoom, and they did. They were often way more adaptable than some of my colleagues. At the beginning of the school year all the "adults" I know were absolutely freaking out about the school year, and anticipated the students would be doing the same. Do you know what? They weren't. They just showed up and wore their masks and did what they were told to do. (Did that mean I never had to remind them? No. But generally, the kids were great.) Teachers undoubtedly had to deal with a lot this year, but do you know what? We've been recognized for it. In the conversations with strangers, in the appreciation from administration, and the thank you notes from parents and students, we've been recognized. I work with amazing people and they made me feel valued. If we had to do this year again, with the people I work with it could be done. (I wouldn't be excited or anything, but it could be done.) The students this year were the only ones in the building with less power than the teachers, and by and large they handled it with grace and resilience. I'm not sure if they ever got properly thanked for that. So, thank you kids.

There were some realities of the school year that should be addressed.

1) Zoom classes did not really work. They could have, and I believe if education were entirely remote, we could optimize for it, and perhaps create a more engaging product, but the way it was half cobbled together this year did not work well. I'm sure someone learned something on ony of my zoom classes this year, I'm just not sure it had anything to do with what I was intending to teach. This made it a general challenge to get through curriculum, because half of the kids were physically present for half of the material, and not really present for anything else. (If you're a student reading this and you disagree, message me.)

2) A caveat to the above item: The students for whom Zoom worked, it worked well. A small percentage of the overall student population flourished as all-virtual students. They figured out how to make Zoom work for them, and got their work done. I see a space for a small alternative remote high school program here. It could be designed for remote learning, and optimized for that space. It could leave the box (literally and metaphorically) of a traditional high school experience, and make use of virtual and augmented reality, and other technology to create a more engaging experience. The chance of this actually happening is I fear small, because so many people in positions of power in education are relieved to go back to a normal that didn't really work well for those students who would and did benefit greatly from the ability to learn remotely this year.

3) We - teachers - need to up our game. The fact that we don't face, because it's hard, is that the reason our students didn't engage on Zoom is because we didn't find a way to make Zoom engaging enough. That level of work might not have been physically possible. It may have broken some of us. I'm not sure. This truth does not change regardless. My students did not engage because I didn't do enough or any of the things that would engage them. This is not for lack of effort on my part. My heart and soul and some of my body it feels like got left out on the field this year. From what I can tell, I managed as well as the people around me. Teaching is difficult under normal circumstances. It changed a lot this year, and I will be the first to admit that we could have adapted better. The end of the world is no excuse for poor professional performance.

4) This one is a little more specific: Motor breaks work for high school aged kids. They might spend less time in the classroom, but that time becomes more focused and more productive, and they do actually get more work done. 10 minutes of walking and talking and moving around is a price worth paying for that in an 80 minute block. Especially when the kids have to sit in those torturous desks. i will do mask breaks rebranded for a more optimistic time as brain breaks or somesuch thing for as long as I teach, because they just work. What's more, I don't need a psychologist to explain why. There's an explanation, and one that might be interesting to know. But you don't need to know it to see that within 90 seconds of getting the kids outside, they're a completely different group. You don't need to be an engineer to know how to fly a plane.

The truth is, I'm afraid I'm going to miss the pandemic. The sickness and death, no, not that. But as we look ahead to a "normal" fall, I look back on the memories of the past year with a hint of bittersweet. People were nicer to each-other. people asked you how you were doing and they meant it. Not like before, when it was mostly just to be polite. This pandemic killed some of us, and the rest of us became a little nicer people. It shouldn't take teach to do this, but it almost always does.

In the depths of the fall, the uncertainty and chaos that existed (it still exists, it's just not as obvious now), the not being quite sure what the week after next would bring, I couldn't escape a thought that everything in my life before that moment had prepared me to be exactly where I was doing exactly what I was doing. Some of this, I'm sure, is post hoc rationalization. But I look backwards and forwards and right where I am and I realize that I enjoyed doing what I did for the past year.

Many people have said anecdotally that we endured this year and will hopefully never have to do so again, for a long, long time. These people haven't been paying attention. There will likely be another pandemic during our lifetime. This one isn't really even over. The next one might be way more deadly. If there isn't another pandemic in our lives, it will be because they were prematurely ended by the changing climate.

I don't think this is going to be our last school year that gets blown out of the water by our collective world. During the first week that we were all sent home in last spring, I talked to someone whose opinion I value, and they said about the situation: "Whatever happens, it's going to be fascinating." It's been one of the most accurate things I've heard anyone say about the past 15 months. Now, as we take a reprieve for a couple months, looking forward to a system that is far from the one we left in March 2020, those words will continue to be accurate. For all this year has been, we're not out of the woods, not by a long shot. We're not even out of this pandemic, although some may seem to think that we are. I'm wary that what we're experiencing may simply be the eye of the storm. We've made it this far, but the eye-wall coming our way contains a maelstrom beyond our imagination.

There's a movie called The Truman Show, where the main character discovers that he is living in a false reality, where his "life" is recorded and broadcast to millions of tv viewers for entertainment. He learns of this, then thinks of and carries out an escape from that reality so he can go live his own life. (Or become a homeless person, similar to what would happen if you set a foraging pet loose in the wild. They don't know how to do anything because you've been feeding them their whole life. But that's not important.) After this, the show is over. There isn't anything else to broadcast, so it just ends. We - the meta-viewers - then view the viewers and their reactions. What do they do? They just change the channel. This year has been revelation similar in scope to Truman's. Everything about our world has been turned upside down. It wasn't a fluke. It will likely happen again. So what do we do? Just change the channel? Or maybe we'll get up off the couch and face the reality around us.

Brief thoughts on anecdotal evidence and its place in the next decade

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Wed, 16 Jun 2021 15:45:00 +0000

In which, some comments are made on the recent weather; the nature of the problem is considered; a digression occurs; what it means to be normal is examined; an analogy is made; and questions are asked, and answered.

It was hot outside last week. Really hot. Here in Maine, it felt like it did when I lived in Florida. It was so hot you might have thought about how unusual it is for the weather to be this warm this early in the season. You might have then thought; I know that my experience is small and anecdotal. It can't be used as proof of huge phenomena. Right? Right. So you tell yourself. It stands to reason, your brain argues with itself, that while it might be hot - so hot that it endangers other living things around you - this is weather. And as was beat into by some teacher somewhere along the line (and me, in previous posts) weather is not climate.

At this point we can acknowledge that we have a problem. Not the climate crisis, although that is a problem. No, our problem is a people problem. A logic problem. A brains problem. A human experience problem. The same logic which which I refute a climate denier's claim that a cold snowy day in winter is proof that global warming isn't real, means I can't then say a really hot spring or summer's day proves that it's a real phenomenon. Because weather isn't climate. Or, is it? (No, it's not. Weather and climate are DEFINITELY different things. But, please, keep reading.)

The thing about these crazily hot days is that at some point, it is enough. At some point, after enough days, the weather will be affected by the changing climate. There is, there has to be, a day that gets so warm that we must be able to say: This is due to climate change; this is because of global warming.

Weather and Climate

"Climate is what you expect, weather is what you get." - Quote of ambiguous origin.

We are living through a time now where what we are getting is changing what we expect to get in the future. That's the entire point. This is the thing that climate scientists have been warning us of, but we've been too dumb and politicized to understand. It's a situation where the proof that is occurring is also a sign of our fate. The evidence required to convince the most staunch climate denier is also more than we could ever fix. By the time there is enough evidence to convince the most adamant climate deniers, it will be too late to fix the problem. We already have enough evidence to provoke action and change. People, though, are afraid of change.

The ironic thing is that the people who are too afraid of change to voluntarily change their lives now will have their lives forcibly changed later. Not by other humans, but by nature and its apathetic power. The hurricane, mudslide, flood, wildfire, et cetera, does not care whether or not you personally believed in climate change. It'll kill you just as dead either way.

How long does it take for weather to become climate? When the weather we've gotten changes our predictions of what's going to happen in the future, and when this happens in a nature that trends away from a stable, recorded "normal".

In one regard, that happened this year. The news articles that we all have pop up on our phones that say that our summers are hotter than "average" sort of slip that word in without explaining what it really means. In the case of climate data, that average is an average of the data over the last 30 years. Three decades. What used to be the global average life expectancy of a human being, not all that long ago. (Like, a hundred and fifty years ago.)

Incidentally, the invention of the internal combustion engine actually happens to line up pretty nicely with the bend in the life expectancy graphs. While that coincidence isn't necessarily damning evidence, in this case there may actually be some causality. The internal combustion engine literally powered economic growth. Economic growth, in turn, gave people more money to buy stuff, namely better places to live and better food to eat. These two things in part make people more robust, which means they will be more likely to fight off disease and live generally healthy lives. This led to them not dying quite as soon. To an extent, this was scalable. It was also somewhat non-linear. Meaning: eventually we got to the point where big steps were taken, such as vaccines and other medical advances, that had a big return on investment so to speak. The irony here is that we're about to reach the cliff; the levels of carbon we're emitting to fuel our economy (too much) will suddenly make that climb in the life expectancy graph a mountain peak, or perhaps something of a mesa. There will be a steep drop on the other side, as people are prematurely killed by the climate we've created. The trick of the next decade will be to switch the engines that power economic sustenance to truly sustainable engines.

DIGRESSION! Ok, ok. Because I did interrupt myself making a rather important point.

The averages that are used to make a comparison to what is "normal" weather are based on the previous 30 years of weather data that has been collected. 30 years being a long enough time that any micro-trends do not weight too heavily on the measure of the data's center. Bob Henson, who has written on weather and climate for Weather Underground's Cat 6 blog, wrote an article for the Eye on The Storm blog on Yale's Climate Connection that explains this in some detail.

The gist of it is this: The numbers that have been used as a base line over the past decade were created by taking averages from 1981 - 2010. This past January, they were updated as we moved into the 3rd decade of the 21st century. Those averages no longer include the 80s, which happens to be the last fairly stable decade of global temperatures. The new averages (1991 - 2020) shift us 10 years forward, and now include a decade that saw more record setting temperatures than any other in which weather has been observed and recorded.

This, creates a loop. It's sort of a chicken and egg thing. What we expect (climate) is now being altered by what we get (weather). This is a basic definition of climate change. The climate is changing. So what about the cold days? What about the crazy winter storms? Those cold snaps where the thermometer stays below zero?

Imagine you're riding a bike. Motorized, or pedal, the analogy should hold true either way. You're riding your bike along a ridge, and all of the sudden there's a gust of wind. You feel your bike get blown to one side. This is bad. To counteract, you steer into the wind to counteract this. Suddenly, the wind stops. You're now correcting for an affect that's no longer present, and you begin to drive towards the opposite side of the road. One or two gusts is manageable. The wind begins to pick up, not in a predictably manner, but in stronger and weaker gusts sporadically hitting you as you drive along the ridge. Your path along the road strays further and further from a straight line, as you overcorrect. It goes in both directions. You're wobbling. Eventually, a big enough gust comes along, and you topple off the ridge and die in a fiery death. Or a crunchy, squishy one. Depends on which type of bike you went for.

So what?

What this translates to in terms of climate is this: those cold snaps are also evidence of climate change. The climate is a huge complex system and it's turning a bit wobbly. As it does this, it may trend in a certain direction (hotter), but as the system becomes less stable, the extrema at both ends get pushed outward from the center. So now, what we expect is that the temperatures are going to continue climbing for a time. Whether it's just for a bit, or for a long while is up to what we do in the next 10 years or so. That is what we now expect (climate), but what we will actually get (weather) is just going to get a wackier. Freakier storms. Un-seasonable weather will occur more frequently. The system as a whole will become less predictable. As it does this, we get bits of anecdotal evidence. Examples of this are the "hottest day ever"; weeks of extremely high temperatures that we are seeing right now; the storms of the century; the cold snaps in winter; the poor snow pack your one skier friend is always complaining about. These things are evidence of a sort but might not seem to pass the muster of scientific inquiry. They are anecdotes, which are not generally good enough to prove or disprove a phenomenon.

The question then is: how can we use these pieces of evidence going forward? Perhaps they can stand as the last straw for you personally in your internal discussion around climate. Maybe don't wait for the next heat wave. This one might as well be the next one. Things aren't going to just get better. These hot summers and wacky winters aren't a fad; they're not going away any time soon. Even if we - humanity - do enough collectively to slow climate change to a pace that the planet might be able to handle, it's going to continue to get hot for a while. The best case scenario at this point still involves much drastic change, and it's something we will need to be ready to handle.

What do we do now? If you've found this website, and have read all the way down this page, then I think you know there's only one real answer. We get ready to handle it.

On the Origin of a Sweater

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Sun, 30 May 2021 00:30:00 +0000

It can't be that hard...

I love burritos. They are almost as perfect as food gets. They can be eaten for breakfast. They contain all the food you need for a meal, wrapped inside a warm, soft, chewy tortilla blanket. Convenient and portable. A few weeks ago, as I was taking the tortillas out of their plastic bag, I thought to myself, "why can't I make these from scratch? It can't be that hard."

It wasn't that hard. It did require a bit of explaining when my partner walked into the kitchen, which along with myself was lying beneath a dusting of flour. Now, after some practice, I love making tortillas. I can make choices about what goes into them. I have more control over what I'm consuming. Not total control, but more control.

It was a Pandora's Box of sorts. Since then, I've started making bread, and cinnamon rolls, and pasta sauce, and noodles. I began to think about what can be made that we mindlessly consume. And once the pandora's box is opened, it's never a good idea to ask what's on my mind.

The things that clothe us

One of the things universal of human beings is that we are all integrated into these soft, squishy, sort of gross things we call bodies. Unlike a wolf, or raccoon, or duck-billed platypus, our "fur" is less fur, and more just a couple of hairs here and there that pretend to help when you get cold, but aren't really all that effective. Although we are warm blooded animals, naked, we would be pretty useless against anything that's not considered "tropical". Even there, a good rainstorm and slight breeze can be enough to stop any human in their tracks.

So we wear clothes. Humans have done so for a while. A study that used the age of a body lice that lived in human clothes found that humans likely wore clothes at least 107,000 years ago. The clothing that humans have wore has certainly changed over time. Right now, we are living through a time where some people are fundamentally disconnected from many of the products that they consume. It's certainly true for me, and the clothing I wear.

Think for a moment of all the things that must happen for you to wear the current thing you're wearing. (If you're reading this naked, way to be you. For now, think of some clothes that you aren't wearing at the moment.) You may be wearing a piece of clothing that's made from a blend of different fibers. Some of them may be synthetic, or invented by humans, or natural, which is a way of saying the fibers are found in nature. It might more accurately be used to say the fiber COULD be found in nature, and was more likely grown on some very-un-natural looking industrial agriculture operation, in some place you've never thought about.

This creates a snag. To exist in this physical space, there are a few things that are required of us. For instance, we must stay relatively healthy. This entails eating nutritious foods, wearing clothes or living in some sort of shelter to keep us from catching cold, drinking clean water, and sleeping in a way that actually restores our waking selves. In the 21st century, this is easier than ever. Whoa. Sorry. That was my privilege talking. Let's try that again. In the 21st century, for some percentage of the human population on the planet, it can be done mindlessly.

The mechanism for this is what I'm going to call the Giant System. This is a manipulation of people and resources for the well being of the well-to-do. The Giant System has things like supermarkets, where you can go mindlessly buy food, shopping malls, where you can go mindlessly buy stuff, and Amazon Prime free two day shipping, where you can mindlessly buy anything you can't be bothered to stand up on your feet and go buy yourself.

It's a system for buying things, different from the commerce systems humans have participated in due to the way the money flows. The Giant System has a large number of consumers and a small number of producers. It's set up in a way a component of the System that may appear to be a producer, say, a corn farmer, can't actually consume the things they produce without those things being processed by another member of the System. In this way, that producer becomes a consumer, relying on the System for sustenance instead of their own means of production. The Giant System is what makes it possible for me to have clothes that I've forgotten I own sitting in the bottom of a closet. The Giant System is what makes it possible for a person to live an entire life without actually knowing where any of the products they consume come from.

Let's say, for a moment, that you want to circumvent the Giant System that exists so you can wear some clothes. At first glance it would seem the simplest thing would be to produce everything yourself. This may have been possible a few hundred years ago, and was the only way to exist thousands of years ago. When there's not a mall to go to, homo sapiens must find clothing some how. You can still do this, however it requires a bunch of patience. And probably a therapist.

The Shirt, The Sweater, and The Shorts. Photo: Matt Beattie

Right now, as I sit typing this, I'm wearing athletic running shorts from New Balance, a 100 percent cotton t-shirt I got from a sunglasses manufacturer, and a 100 percent merino wool sweater I found at Goodwill, but that was initially from Banana Republic. In all, I've spent about $55 on the clothes I have on my body. (The majority was for the running shorts, which I bought new. On sale, but new.) All this to be comfortable in my kinda-drafty above garage apartment that my partner and I rent. Let's say you're tired of the Giant System, and want to make these three items yourself. Let's say you want to embark on a written journey through a thought experiment where we grow things and make clothes in our minds. Great. Keep reading.

The Shirt

Let's talk about the shirt. It's made from 100 percent cotton, according to the label. Cotton happens to make up 38 percent of the world's textile consumption. Some cotton basics: it's a plant, it grows best in sunny conditions, and it can not tolerate frost.

In order to make a cotton t-shirt, first we have to plant some cotton. Cotton takes about 25 weeks to grow, so we would have to spend roughly half a year tending to my crop (totally naked, of course). Luckily, it only takes about a half-pound of harvested cotton to make a t-shirt. If we were really going for efficiency here, we would plant a bunch of cotton and make a whole outfit from it. You yourself might be wearing multiple items of predominantly cotton clothing. Jeans, for instance, are made from denim, which is primarily cotton. We're not going for efficiency though, so we will wait 25 weeks, harvest some cotton, and move along.

While we're waiting, let's ponder some stuff. Such as: How did t-shirts become so ubiquitous in our culture? What is the point of t-shirts, and why do I have so many? Finally, our t-shirt here is made from cotton. Is there more sustainable or otherwise superior material to use?

The short answer to the first question is: it's the government's fault. And Marlon Brando's. In fact, this may be the only thing for which we can blame both the government and Marlon Brando, and possibly to some extent the hippie culture of the 60s.

Some time between the Spanish American War, which ended up 1898, and 1913, t-shirts were invented. This actual invention is enveloped in a cloud of internet mist. What is fairly well documented is that in the early 1910's, prior to World War I, the U.S. military began issuing t-shirts as undergarments to be worn with soldiers' and sailors' uniforms. In the 1930s, they were beginning to be sold in department stores, but still largely as undergarments. Occasionally in this time they might be warn as a standalone piece of clothing on someone's top half if that person were tailing in the heat, and not by anyone who wanted to impress anyone else.

It wasn't until the 1950s when Marlon Brando wore a thin white t-shirt in A Streetcar Named Desire that t-shirts became a standalone item. They became a symbol of rebellion; a rejection of the suits and ties and blouses of the baby boomers and signal that a teen was not going to be chained down by oppressive formal wear, which was also likely a sign of some race and gender privilege. There is a social cost to not dressing within the expected or acceptable range of wardrobes for a social station. This is why, if you want to receive better service at a store, wear a suit. (Also have a penis.) By wearing a t-shirt instead of a collared shirt with buttons, a person was sending a signal, and that signal wasn't free.

We've far since the mid 1950s. In 2021 it's commonplace for Very Rich White Guys to loaf around in tees and hoodies. T-shirts have become fashionable in a trend where it's considered a luxury to wear items that come "dirty". (For example, jeans that have a "dirt wash".) The t-shirt has utilitarian roots; very early advertising portrayed the item as underwear for single men who couldn't fix buttons.

In the past century, t-shirts have become the the most mindless pieces of clothing that we wear. Morphing from underwear, to a cultural symbol, the tee has ended up a ubiquitous part of the western wardrobe. So common in fact, you may have never thought about where it came from.

The reality is if you own a t-shirt, you've likely contributed to an industry that still uses sweatshops, grossly underpays its workers, and generally gives no shits about the people it uses or serves. The simple (but complex to a caveman) t-shirt, first a piece of government issue clothing, then a 1950s sex symbol, now everywhere, is, in addition to being one of the most common articles of clothing on the planet, the most under-appreciated status symbol in the world. Simply put: if you have a t-shirt, and you've never had to think about where it came from, you're privileged.

And that's why I have drawers literally overflowing with t-shirts that I forgot I own. To continue bringing mindfulness into this void of ignorance, let's consider the cotton itself.

Cotton fabric is a powerhouse textile. However, not all cotton fabric is the same. The percentage of material that's in a garment is far from enough to make accurate consumer decisions as to which option will actually suit one's needs in the long run. (The System isn't necessarily concerned with the long run, which is why I'm sitting here writing this.) The first fact of cotton clothing is that, simply because so much of it is produced, it contributes a substantial amount of greenhouse gasses to our atmosphere in its production and processing. We're not planting cotton on an industrial scale, but all of the cotton that is consumed by the clothing industry has to be grown somewhere, and it requires many resources to do so.

Since we're not planting on an industrial scale, the decision as to which type of cotton we planted in our minds at the beginning of this section is slightly more manageable. By that I mean: we in our little mind experiment won't have to deal with the marginal tradeoffs between organic and conventional cotton. (We in our mind experiment don't actually have to deal with anything, because it's an experiment in our minds.)

The question is: should the cotton we planted in the first part of this bit be organic, or conventional? Organic cotton has been documented to cause less of an impact on the environment than conventional cotton. The details of this can be found in a paper by Kathleen Delate, Ben Heller, and Jessica Shade. The trio also outline that there are some potential issues in moving large scale cotton production away from conventional methods towards organic alternatives. The issue is similar to one faced by potato growers: bollworms. Conventional cotton (and potatoes) are both genetically modified with a compound that is toxic to those animals and prevents them from flourishing on the crop. The benefit of switching to organic growing is that it can be a more holistic approach; instead of fixing problems with bandaids, the "issues" fix themselves as the entire farm ecosystem changes. However, crop yields from organic cotton farming operations are not as high.

While we're at it, let's expand the question: should we have planted cotton at all? Is there something else we could have grown that would have been more effective for making a t-shirt? Our tee needs primarily to be comfortable. We are "breeding" for comfort here, and cotton is comfortable, but it's also fairly ubiquitous. So is there something better that perhaps does not have such a stronghold on the textile industry. It turns out there is. A paper from Brazil compares clothing made from a processed soy plant, clothing made from cotton, and clothing made from a synthetic material called lyocell. The soy-based t-shirt was more comfortable and more durable that it's cotton counterpart. However, the processing that the raw plant must go through is so lengthy that the soy shirt is actually considered a synthetic material. Also, we thought of this too late since we've already planted our cotton, and we're susceptible to the sunk-cost fallacy. Bummer.

Well, that was a lot of pondering. I'm glad we had 25 weeks to do it. At this point, we can go out into our patch of cotton and pick off the mature seed pods. With the cotton baled, we would then have to put it through a gin to separate the cotton lint (the white, fluffy stuff) from the cotton seeds (not ideal for being in a shirt). While my American readers are now vaguely remembering something to do with a guy named Eli, cotton gins have been around for many centuries and were originally developed in India. A simple hand cotton gin would do the trick. (It would also give our arms a workout.) This raw cotton lint needs to be cleaned, since the gin won't remove all of the non-lint material.

The cleaned cotton is then processed into yarn. This is done by taking the lint, getting it wet, compressing it, and then drawing it out into a ropey substance called a sliver. The slivers are then twisted together to make a yarn. Once the thread is made, we can use a loom to turn the thread into a fabric. This fabric would have to be dyed, but we'll talk about that more in the upcoming section on the sweater. Out cotton fabric can be sewn together into a big tube for our torsos and smaller tubes for our arms, with some holes in it for the rest of our bodies to stick out of. (We'll just assume that we, you know, have the skills to do that. Speaking for myself: I most certainly do not.)

Ok. So that's one out of three things done. In real life, I actually wrote this in multiple sittings, which means I'm wearing a completely different set of clothing by this point. We're in a mind-experiment together though, so we can just ignore that fact, and pretend that those are going to be the only three pieces of clothing we'll own. Aren't mind-experiments fun? On to the sweater.

The Sweater

The sweater I was wearing was made from 100 percent merino wool, according to the label. Wool comes from sheep, so after trying our hand at cotton farming, we'll have to become shepherds.

Like having bees, having sheep is something that you probably shouldn't just "do", at least without doing some research. The first thing to say about sheep is they are more than just animals you keep around the house. They are livestock. Living stock. Sheep are a commodity as well as living, breathing, feeling animals. They don't exist explicitly for our exploitation, and deserve respect in this regard.

Our first step in the process of becoming sheep farmers is figure out why we want to have sheep at all, and not some other animal. (In our case, to make a sweater. Specifically, a sweater that I was wearing one day made from wool. It has not escaped my attention that plenty of folks wear sweaters made from the fleece of an alpaca or the hairs of a special goat, and it suits them just fine. But we're sticking to our completely arbitrary and collectively imagined rigor.)

Scottish Blackface Sheep. Photo: Jenn Johnson

Our main goal for owning sheep would be to harvest their wool. Our goal might change over time as we get to know the flock and the breed. With this goal in mind, let's consider wool production. One merino sheep provides about 4.5 kilograms of wool. Now grab a coffee and a pencil (or whatever's handy) and settle in, because we're doing to do some sheep maths.

Using a knitting calculator, I calculated that to make a sweater that would fit me out of merino wool, I'd use a little over 2000 yards. A 180 yard skien of merino wool was weighed at 50 grams, and we'd need to use 12 of them to make the sweater, so in theory we should be able to produce one sweater from the wool we harvest from one sheep. However sheep, like alpacas, are herd animals, so having just one would not be advisable. Sheep can actually die from isolation. It's probably best to have at least 3 to 5 animals to start with. Plus, our math here could be way out of sorts, so we might need the extra yarn anyway. If not, we could make two sweaters and adorably match with our favorite people. We may even be able to make some hats.

Armed with this bit of napkin sheep mathematics, we can move ahead. To ensure our flock is going to have an adequate space to be, we're going to need to buy some stuff. As the saying goes, you need to spend money to make sweaters. To start we need some mode of shelter, brass tacks (buckets, halters, feeding equipment, storage for all of that, etc.), a first aid and lambing kit (because, our sheep are going to make more of themselves), hay and grain, and some land for them to graze. There are also a few services we'll need to consider, like veterinary check ups, vaccines, and deworming. We can definitely count on spending a few thousand dollars, plus the land we'll need, plus another thousand per yer per animal for food and vet services. Added to this will be un-planned expenses, because the one thing everyone who has sheep says is, "Nothing ever goes wrong!" That's not really true. I just made it up. Nobody who has sheep says that. Nobody who has animals says that. Actually, nobody at all says that.

Sheep are eaten by other animals that wander around in nature. We'll need to protect them, since we just learned in the previous paragraph what an investment they are. Also, we need the wool to make our sweater, so we need the sheep to be alive and warm. And while we're reasoning this out, since we're going to plop them on a plot of land without really asking their say in the matter, the least we could do is try and make sure they're not eaten by coyotes. To accomplish this we'll need to do is make sure they have a good enclosure. Fences make good neighbors, especially when the neighbors want to eat your sheep for breakfast. Another possible option for herd protection is to use some sort of guard animal, like a sheep dog. Employing guard animals for our sheep isn't absolutely necessary, and our decision to use them or not would probably depend on where our sheep ended up, how good of a fence we get, and what sorts of predators are out there.

Photo: Jenn Johnson

Another thing to keep in mind is that sheep need specific amounts of minerals in their diet to ensure their survival. Except copper. Copper will kill them. Luckily, our small isolated bubble-verse here doesn't contain any other animals, because all of those other animals would die without copper added to their diet. While we can easily do this in our pretend farm, in actual practice if we're doing to have a small flock of sheep, we'll probably have some other animals as well.

We'll have to tend to our flock for a year, so we can shear their wool. A helpful website has the following motivational quote on shearing sheep: "Anyone can attempt to shear a sheep, but not everyone will do a good job." More than that, you can actually damage the wool and the sheep by not knowing what you're doing. For our flock, we are probably going to want to either hire a sheep shearer who has spent the years it takes to actually know what they are doing, or spend hours learning how to shear sheep so we can then go hire a sheep shearer who has spent the years it takes to actually know what they are doing.

Once the grease wool is sheared, we're going to need to process it so it can be spun into yarn. The wool needs to be cleaned, although agitating the wool too much during the washing process can ruin it for any further use. This cleaned wool can then be transported to someone with a loom who can spin it into yarn. The spinning process is also one that we could spend a few years learning how to do, but for our purposes here, it's probably best to just find someone with that expertise.

Now, we can learn to knit and knit ourselves a sweater. Almost. The sweater I was wearing was definitely not knit by hand, and you'll observe, was a lovely shade of red. If we were making this ourselves, we'd have to be excellent knitters, using a very small set of needles to create such a fine weave. We'd also have to dye our yarn, because if our sheep are that lovely shade of red, it means we didn't read the Protect Your Sheep From Coyotes paragraph closely enough. If it was just me, making a sweater to keep me warm, I don't think I'd care what color it came out. However, since we're doing our best to recreate that outfit I was wearing we'll consider this process.

Next to our cotton patch (have you forgotten about that yet?) we'll have to plant some madder. Actually, our madder would have to be planted some distance away, because it prefers a colder climate to cotton. There is some overlap in the range in which the two plants could flourish, so if we happened to be located there we'd be ok. Also, remember, this is a mind experiment so we can conveniently ignore this fact. Madder (rubia tinctorum) is a perennial flowering plant, in the same biological family as coffee. It's roots can be cultivated and processed to produce the a red color similar to the one of the sweater. To find that exact shade of red, we'd likely have to blend a few different raw materials together and do some trial and error with our processing. Our madder plants will have to be at least three years old to produce harvest-able roots, and should be allowed to grow for five years for the best results.

Once our madder plants are mature, we'll dig up the plants to get to the roots. Once the roots are dry, we will shake the dirt off and then wash them by dunking them in two buckets. The first bucket will get most of the dirt off, and the second will allow us to continue to wash the roots without mixing them back in with any dirt we've washed off. They will then need to be cut. It's best to cut them soon after washing while they are still wet, as the roots can be difficult to cut when dry. They should be cut into small pieces and allowed to dry.

Before we dye our wool we'll have to mordant it, which is a process where we soak the wool in a solution with aluminium potassium sulfate and sometimes cream of tartar. The mordanting process is crucial if our fibers are going to be dyed. Because we plan to dye our wool with madder, we will only use the aluminium and not the cream of tartar when we mordant the wool. For best results, we'll soak our wool in our aluminum solution for a few hours before we plan to dye it.

Our mordanted wool can then be added into a vat with cold water. You can use hot water for madden dyeing, but the cold water will likely give us the brick red colour we're aiming for. We'll also add the cut and dried madden roots and calcium carbonate (chalk). This vat will be left covered for about a week while the dyeing takes place. The wool will then be dried for a day or two, and then shaken to rid the wool of any bits of madder root that have attempted to take up a residence in what is to become our sweater.

This process is the best one to use if we were trying to recreate the red v-neck sweater with our own two hands. In all likelihood, the actual sweater was dyed using a synthetic dye. These were invented in the 1850s, and have been used ever since, progressing in step with advances in chemistry.

Any piece of clothing that has been dyed has been chemically altered. The process of dying is a process of getting molecules that reflect one particular wavelength of light (and absorb all of the others), to bond to the molecules of the fibers that are used to make the thread or yarn that makes up that piece of clothing. It would take years plus an advanced degree in chemistry to understand fully what goes on during this process. Mosty likely, the yarn for the sweater I was wearing was dyed using an industrial acid dye. The process is fundamentally the same as the one we would reproduce with our madder, just on an industrial scale.

The Ethics of Wool

Now for an ethical caveat. If you search for "merino wool" you'll find in the first couple results some websites explaining how you shouldn't buy it because of the way merino sheep are treated. With any animal industry, you'll likely find similar results. We're about to learn about the alternative to "natural" (plant or animal) fibers, which, are basically the same thing as the oil you put into your internal combustion engine bolted to four wheels in which you drive around. The moral of the story is this: they're not better.

Working with animals is something that is going to be a necessity in the coming decades. Doing so while considering the animals quality of life is a viable way of producing goods. We can't revert back to the way things were hundreds of years ago; it would be like putting toothpaste back into the tube. (At least, we can't do it without cutting open the tube.) For example, things like shearing sheep can be done in a way that's harmful to the sheep. In an operation that's designed for maximum output with minimum cost might not have room to consider how the sheep are actually living, which might be a problem with the system more than a problem with that specific operation.

A wool sweater that's bought in any store you'd find in a modern shopping mall - as the sweater I wore was - probably isn't quite as ethically produced as you'd like to think, if you think about it at all. Which I do. The cheapness of those clothes when compared to ethically and sustainably produced clothing is an issue. The way to a sustainable civilization must be financially viable for all of its citizens

It's worth noting that this sweater I was wearing I bought at Goodwill for $10. Before that, though, someone bought it new for much more than $10. You could probably argue that because I bought these sweaters at Goodwill and not brand new, it doesn't drive demand in the same way. You could argue that and I'd probably let you, but without being an expert in wool fiber textile systems, it would be about as meaningful as that one internet blog that defends the daily consumption of one glass (or bottle) of wine, or the one that says coffee, whisky, and chocolate are all "good" for you. By that I mean: I'll definitely reference it in any conversation in which I'm a participant for the foreseeable future, but it's not going to lull me back to sleep at 4 A.M. when it really matters.

At this point, we would knit a sweater. I'm hoping one of you, my dear readers, actually knows how to knit. Please teach me. With two of the three items sorted, let's get around to the shorts.

The Shorts

The shorts are the thing I've been dreading writing about. They are made from entirely synthetic fibers, which from what I can tell, is the modern alchemy. (It's not really. It's just more chemistry, but it does seem like magic.)

The shorts I was wearing are made by New Balance. They contain 3 layers - 2 body layers (I'm not quite sure why there are two) and a liner. The first body layer is made of 86% polyester and 14% elastane, while layer "body 2" and lining are both 93% polyester and 7% elastane.

What the heck are Polyester and Elastane?

At this point, you may be wondering (please, at this point I HOPE you are wondering): What on Earth are polyester and elastane? Polyester is plastic. It's a shortened name for polyethylene terephthalate (PET), which is a synthetic material made ethylene, glycol, and terephthalic acid. It's a human-made thing, so it likely only exists on this planet.

Polyester is a great example of human naivety and the exploitation midset. In the desire to conquer, humans (men, mostly) will lock onto a goal and go to absurd lengths to achieve it. So now, we have polyester. It's a material that can display desired qualities; it can dry very quickly, it's easy to wash, it's lightweight, all things that make a great pair of shorts to go run in. The only thing is, it's not sustainable. It's like wearing gasoline. It's plastic. I'd better hope someone of my approximate height and weight is around in 10,000 years to go for a jog, because my shorts will still be around waiting for them. In our desire to demonstrate our mastery of the world, we've created materials that will destroy it.

The basics of how my synthetic running shorts were produced are these: There is some raw material that's bought by a big company. It is heated up and squeezed through a tiny tube then out through a nozzle. This plastic string is what's then woven together to produce the clothing. Variations on this theme are used to create different materials, like a mesh for the inner lining, compared to more tightly woven outer shell.

Could we actually make them?

Now, to get back to our task. How will we produce polyester running shorts?

Basically, we won't. Since we're not a company with an advanced chemical facility, it's highly unlikely we'd produce these. Or, we might be able to replicate some part of the process that created those shorts, but putting the whole garment together isn't feasible.

The trouble is this: there are not many other options out there. The best alternative to buying new polyester running bottoms is buying new polyester running bottoms that have been made with recycled materials. Even shorts that use natural materials such as merino wool don't use 100% wool. It's a wool-polyester blend, often with lycra, spandex, or elastane added in as well. Companies that specialize in wool products do make shorts that are advertised as "wool shorts", but really, the only wool is found in the inner liner. The shell, the actual material that makes it a pair of shorts and not just underwear, is made of polyester and spandex or elastane.

Conclusion

Where does this leave us? I'm not entirely sure.

On one hand, we need clothes, just as we need food. Our bodies are pretty pathetic, and in order to go to places that aren't the living room, we need clothing of some sort to in some cases, just be comfortable; in other cases it's necessary for survival.

It's impractical to make all of your clothes yourself. We - humans - face a world where systems actively work against the well-being of the planet-human-animal system. Synthetic clothes are not sustainable. However, it takes years of work, a crazy amount of financial investment, and expert level knowledge in experience in multiple trades, to make clothing that would even halfway resemble the ones that I photographed. It's the sort of thing that hypothetically might be done. However, the process of creating even one of the three things I was wearing to sit comfortably inside my house is something I could make a feature length documentary about - one that would probably go in so many different directions as we round each corner in the process.

Like almost everything I spend too much time thinking about, this problem really isn't about clothing. It's about the whole system. We move around outside. We are advertised at constantly about how we should look while we do this. We - humans - are terrible at standing up to the power of these ads EVEN when we know what's going on. So, we spend our money on clothes and gear that we really don't need to go and have ``adventures" that are really just the way that some humans somewhere have to life to simply survive. I choose to go hike 10 miles through woods and over mountains for fun; someone else has to do that to get drinking water for their family.

Could we make all of our clothing ourselves? Not if we wear the same sort of outfits we buy from the mall. Does that mean you should change what you wear? That's not for me to say. Does that mean we should all be more mindful of where our outfits come from? Ab-so-fucking-lutely. What materials am I going to wear tomorrow? I'm still not sure.

Ultimately, this is where the blend of technology and people might come through. This line of inquiry is one of many that humans face right now. We can't go backwards and we can't keep going down the path we're going. I am hopeful that enough people will become curious about the world to push us over a threshold where we might alter course; not back to a simpler time, but sideways to an alternative version of our future.

For now, I'm going to go back to browsing the internet for overpriced running shorts made from "recycled" synthetic materials. Maybe I'll make soft tacos later.

A sheep, probably judging me for wearing a sweater. Or eating too many tacos. Photo: Jenn Johnson

Bibliography

Joobin Bekhrad. The t-shirt: A rebel with a cause, 2018. URL https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20180202-t-shirts-the-worlds-most-expressive-garment.

Forster D., Andres C., Verma R., Zundel C., Messmer M. M., and Ma ̈der P. Yield and economic performance of organic and conventional cotton-based farming systems–results from a field trial in india. PLoS One, 8(12), 2013. URL https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0081039.

Kathleen Delate, Ben Heller, and Jessica Shade. Organic cotton production may alleviate the environmental impacts of intensive conventional cotton production. Renewable Agriculture and Food Systems, page 1–8, 2020. doi: 10.1017/S1742170520000356.

Arthur Fisher. Dyeing methods for wool. Technical report, Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organization (CSIRO), 2017.

Ian Gilligan. The prehistoric development of clothing: Archaeological implications of a thermal model. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory, 17, 2010. doi: DOI10.1007/s10816- 009-9076-x.

Pagan Kennedy. Who made that t-shirt?, 2013. URL https://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/22/magazine/who-made-that-t-shirt.html.

Kirsi Laitala, Ingun Grimstad Klepp, and Beverley Henry. Does use matter? comparison of environmental impacts of clothing based on fiber type. Sustainability, 10(7), 2018. ISSN 2071-1050. doi: 10.3390/su10072524. URL https://www.mdpi.com/2071-1050/10/7/2524.

Micheal Pollan. The Botany of Desire: A Plant’s Eye View of the World. Random House, New York, 2001.

Mike Roberts. Dyeing with prepared madder roots - cold dyeing, 2021. URL http://www.wildcolours.co.uk/html/madder_dye_nest_rubio.html.

Robert R J Ross. No sweat: Hard lessons from garment industry history. Dissent Magazine, Fall, 2006. URL https://wordpress.clarku.edu/rjsross/files/2011/12/ Dissent_Fall_2006-Ross.pdf.

Regina A. Sanches, Joa ̃o Paulo Pereira Marcicano, Maria Silvia Barros de Held, et. al. Organic cotton, lyocell and spf: a comparative study. International Journal of Clothing Science and Technology, 27, 2015. doi: doi:10.1017/ S1742170520000356.

JD Sexton. Raising a small flock of sheep. Technical report, Colorado State University Extension Office, 2020. URL https://goldenplains.extension.colostate.edu/wp-content/uploads/sites/56/2018/12/Raising-a-Small-Flock-of- Sheep-Manual.pdf.

N Williams. History of the t-shirt, 2021. URL https://blogs.furman.edu/ nwilliams/history-of-the-t-shirt/.

Myths of our lives: Good and Bad

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Tue, 02 Mar 2021 14:43:00 +0000

I work in a school, teaching math. When I was a student, I did not enjoy math class. I felt as though there was a "right" way to do the problems, and I certainly did not know that right way. This, in turn, made me feel like an idiot. My assumption was that all of my peers very clearly knew the right way, and the only reason I did not was because I was less good, or worse, than they were.

All of us that are alive believe together in a myriad of collective myths. Most of these are benign, or necessary to avoid total anarchy. We believe in the myth that you must stop your car at a stop sign. We believe in the myth that you need to use money, another myth, to buy food at the grocery store. It's arguable that those myths are necessary in order for society or civilization to exist. Otherwise, we'd live in a chaotic wasteland.

The existence of a good-bad dichotomy is another myth that most of us believe in. It was first posited by Zoroaster (also known as Zarathustra), an ancient Iranian spiritual leader. It spawned into its own religion, Zoroastrianism, which centered around a good vs evil dichotomy. This two-sided nature lead to a belief that the physical world was "bad" and the spiritual world was "good". To achieve gnosis (oneness with God), you needed to shun the physical world and all it's pleasures (anything that brought one out of poverty, physical comfort of any kind, sex, you get the picture), and hope that your prophet was telling the truth.

Even in Zoroastrianism, the earliest example of good vs evil being used to manipulate the minds of large groups of people, we have these issues. When the labels "good" and "bad" or "evil" get attached to things, that's the end of the story. Nothing is absolutely good or bad. The atomic bomb, arguably the most "evil" weapon ever created, can be also be used to power cities in an environmentally friendly manner. Nuclear power (along with wind and solar) could be one of the keys to saving humanity from the immediate climate crisis, yet it's a technology that was developed by one group of humans for the explicit goal of killing a very large number of other humans. If you label it as "evil", you can't allow for any change.

Perhaps the ideas of being good and bad can live on, but in a modified form. Good - having the right or desirably quality - and bad - having an undesirable quality - both have incredibly subjective meaning. Who is the judge of what is desirable? The individual. Something might be desired by one person that is not desired by another. I argue this itself is desirable, because out of these differences we have diversity, and through diversity we find strength. Someone just as capable as myself could argue this is undesirable, because it leads to irreparable differences, which can cause interpersonal rifts and actually leave us worse off. Are either of those opinions better? No, because to be better, we have to apply universal judgements of good or bad, which don't exist.

I say that the ideas of good and evil as we interpret them today, perhaps not as they were originally intended, don't exist. Because of the subjective nature of "good" and "bad", nothing can be good or bad for every person alive. Every human has the capacity to exercise their meaty brains and determine what they desire and what they don't. This will lead to conflicts, but those conflicts could be resolved with less suffering if we humans could detach the idea of what we find desire-able from good, and what we find undesirable from bad. It might create a pathway to empathize with another human being who finds something desirable which you find undesirable. That thing, whatever it may be, makes us stronger as a collective group. Other people who value different things than I do mean my life experience can be richer, but only if I listen to those different opinions.

This, right here, is where organized religions lose me. Treat other's as you wish to be treated, that's fine. Honor thy father and mother, I get it. Have one set of good things that you must work to spread throughout the world, whoa, hold on. It's the elimination of diversity. (Sometimes, literally.)

The beauty of humanity is that we are diverse in our desires, minds, and accomplishments. Other people have done things I find undesirable. This makes me a richer person, that I might learn more about that which I do not desire. Ultimately, I might desire something that, alone, I never would have appreciated. However, if I judge that thing, or that person, as bad, I will not want to talk with them, or listen to what they have to say. I will not want to experience them. When I use the word "listen" I mean something slightly more, something I'm not sure we have a word for now. I don't mean listen as in a TV host, where the next response is canned (dictated by whatever religion you believe). I mean listen as in see, understand, be within, experience. You won't truly experience the other person if you're clinging to a good-bad dichotomy. You'll evaluate "do they agree with me or not", which is a wholly different interaction.

We also must remember the fact that christianity posits the existence of an all-knowing god, and a good-bad dichotomy. If the god was truly all-knowing, there would be no good-bad dichotomy because there would be no free will, and everything would already be determined. You can't have both, but that's a topic for another post.

As an exercise, pick a thing you think of as a "bad" absolute; some thing you think is bad, that can't possibly be good. For example, killing someone else, or not replacing the toilet paper after you use up the end of a roll. Now, think, for more than a few minutes, about that thing. Is there no situation you can think of where doing that thing you're thinking of might have a beneficial outcome?

Good and evil, right and wrong, are myths. They are not real. More than that, our collective belief in them is harmful to many human beings alive right now, and many more that have already died. To truly be open to all possibilities in the future of a world that is rapidly evolving, we must forget this myth. Or, at the very least, remember the subjective nature of these ideas. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To each their own. Horses for courses. One person's trash is another's treasure. There are so many quips and idioms, that we forget how profound they are.

The main takeaway from this is that we live in a world of false dichotomies in 2021 on Earth. Things have to either be this or that. Or, maybe they fall somewhere on a scale; grey as opposed to black or white. Pick your analogy. They all are about as effective. This dichotomized thinking damns us. It puts us in mental boxes out of which it's incredibly difficult to climb. It creates a mental landscape where false dichotomies arise from nothing. The universe is complicated; it's messy. While there are some clear mathematical answers to some very specific questions, there is not one answer to many of the questions we grapple with. (Sorry, Doug.) If there were, and we knew it, life would be instantly boring.

Given the first two decades of the 21st century, one of the few things we can say for certain is that being alive right now is not boring. Certainly not if you're paying attention.

Brief Thoughts on Winter

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Sun, 24 Jan 2021 13:53:00 +0000

It's January 24th, 2021. We are in Portland, Maine. There is no snow on the ground.*

I am a lover of winter, a "winter person". I love bitterly cold mornings, looking out a window at a frozen landscape. I love going outside in the cold, bundled up, experiencing the crunch of snow underfoot. I love to ski, cross-country, where the whoosh of the ski sliding over the snow is an undertone for rhythmic pinch of the poles biting the surface.

There is quite like going out the day after a snow storm. The world has changed into something alien. Somehow, it's comforting, like being under a blanket. The trees and mountains are transformed.

The Mother changes. From green to white. Then to brown, and green again.

Picture this: It's 7:30 in the morning. You're sipping steaming coffee looking at the gold-kissed snow covered trees glistening in the morning sun. This takes 15 minutes. You pour yourself another cup of coffee and then lose track of it seven times while rummaging through the drawers for all the clothing you'll need, then, layer by layer, putting it on your body.

You're fortunate enough to live close to an area where you can play in the snow. You step outside, and breath in the cold morning air. There's a momentary thought of, "Why? This seems nuts. My lungs hurt." It will pass. It is worth it.

The key to your excursion is to remain calm. The fresh corduroy the groomers have laid down in the early morning hours is beckoning, calling, begging you to just rip right out of the parking lot and go crazy. Don't. Ease into the day. Cold things don't force easy; your body is no exception.

You stop a few times in the first couple kilometers to make adjustments, take of a layer, let your body remember the motions. Then, you start to feel the groove. The muscles and sinews working together to fly over the frozen water; your body begins to sing.

This is nirvana, Valhalla, the place you dream of when you can't fall asleep. Those dreams don't do a thing for your insomnia, because your legs become restless with a yearning for snow, but you dream anyway, because you're hopelessly, completely, hooked.

There are phases to this madness. The next phase is Obsessive Weather Website Refresher. You'll drive yourself, and all of your loved ones, mad. Constantly refreshing your web browser to see the latest forecasts. Your browser history will be filled with more weather related URLs than you knew existed before you fell in love. There will be lists. Best looking websites, most reliable websites, best weather radar, etc.

Shortly after this phase is the Mood Swings Depending On Outside Air Temperature phase. This one is brutal. You live and die by the weather. If it's 40 degrees in February, your family members will know to steer clear of you by a good half-mile. If the r-word-that-shall-not-be-spoken happens, you'll need to be placed in solitary confinement.

Pendulums always swing, though. You're loved ones don't have to panic, or spend lots of money on a psychiatrist. Eventually, you'll come back towards the middle. These are my favorite times. The ones when you just simply enjoy what's right in front of you. Sometimes, the snow is great. Sometimes, the snow is crap. Sometimes, there is no snow. All of this is, of course, fine. It has to be. You can't control the weather, not really. (You can, and must, control the climate, but climate is different than weather.)

The next phase is Stay Up All Night Watching Skiers On Youtube. This phase is both exciting and toxic. You'll never be those people on your laptop shredding epic lines or winning world cup races. This isn't to say you won't achieve great things; it's literal. You're you, they're them, that can never be changed. It's probably a good idea at this point to delete all the social media apps on your phone. Stick to books. You can get all the great ideas of things to do without any of the self-loathing.

We have a sign posted on the wall of the wax hut that reads: Any day you don't train is a day someone else does. This is meant to motivate high school skiers, and I think it does an alright job. There is a slight modification I'd like to make on this idea here. Any day you get outside in the winter, regardless of the snow, or the wax, or for how long, or how epic, is a good day. You don't need to win the Tour de Ski like Jessie Diggins just did (holla!) to be a "skier". You don't need to ski the most remote peak in Lyngen, Norway to be a "skier". Quite literally, you just need to step out onto some snow, and put some skis on your feet. Done.

The part where you fall head over heals in love (or just head over heals, period), that will come. The overwhelming appreciation for the beauty of snow, and the serenity of winter, all of that will come next. All you need to do is put the skis on your feet, and take a step.

*Note: It's since snowed a bit, and I can now walk out my door and enjoy winter. This, however, does not dull the point of some of the more climate-oriented comments in this post. Weather does not equal climate.

Most of the "phases" that I have described here, are a direct result of the warming planet causing shorter and less stable winter seasons in the northeast United States, where I currently live. Part of my response, is simply to write about what I am experiencing.

The reality is, if you are not freaking out because of our climate situation on this planet, you might want to start. The next ten years will likely be quite unlike any 10 year period humans have ever lived through. You, and I, are not prepared for what will happen if we do not directly confront the treachery by our species of the only place we've ever lived.

If you want to do something, click this link. If you're a winter person like me, click here to protect our winters.

What are we doing?

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Tue, 13 Oct 2020 23:00:00 +0000

What are we doing here anyways?

The school year so far has been the most interesting professional experience of my life. There are so many analogies to choose from to describe it here, it's overwhelming to think about. Let's go with this one: it's as if you're a truck driver, and you show up to work one day, and everything is exactly the same, except you're going to be sailing a ship instead of driving a truck. Same cargo, same destination, same timeframe. Except drive a boat not a truck. Ready? Go.

All of that, on top of the very real fear of catching a disease that is potentially deadly, while dealing with students and parents who think it's a hoax.

My prediction was that by October, we would be teaching students virtually. I ended up being right about the timeframe, but completely wrong about the reason. A series of fights among members of the student population escalated and was finally caught on video and reported to the police. The subsequent investigation led to the possibility that one of the students might have access to a handgun, and for the safety of all, school should be held virtually.

School should be held virtually, for the safety of staff and students. This is a very modern sentence. When I was in school, it was not uncommon for lockdowns to last for hours. My sister stood once outside on the football field for most of the school day while a bomb threat was investigated. It turned out to lack credibility. The level of technological permeation was different as well. I didn't have a smartphone until I was a sophomore in college. If we needed to use The Interent in a class, a huge cart was wheeled into the room, with laptops that were the size of phone books whose batteries would last about 7 minutes before needing their charging cables.

Now, though, we have a new option. As of about three weeks ago, students began to take part virtually in classes. They're actual students, actually participating, but some of them are sitting at home, trying to obtain a classroom experience while at their kitchen table, or more often, at the desk in their bedroom, or, sometimes, in their beds. So, now we have this option. For the safety of everyone involved, classes will be held virtually. With two hours notice, I had time "given" to me to prepare to teach a class that usually fills my room with students to one with nobody physically in attendance. What could possibly go wrong?

Some things don't really sink in until you do them. Sometimes, you really can't know if the stove is on without experiencing a few second degree burns. Teaching a class of real students entirely virtually is one of those things.

Ninety seconds in and we have a problem. Nobody can see my video. This, in 2020, is to be expected. The thing that has worked flawlessly up to now, that has been an important but not critical part of class, stops working the very next minute after it becomes integral to having class at all. Once the process hangs by that thread, the bolt breaks free and wreaks havoc on the machine. What should have taken a few minutes takes nearly 20.

Teaching in the year 2020 is a little bit like flying a mix of the Starship Enterprise and the raft Tom Hanks builds in Castaway. The Captain (teacher) is sitting in a swively chair in front of several screens of varying importance. Many buttons are present. Microphones and cameras and cables lie strewn across a work surface, and on-screen buttons flash with warnings and alerts, while dings and chimes and horns blare through loudspeakers vying for the operator's attention. "Damage report", you might say, confused momentarily that you might actually be Captain Picard, but this will only get you confused looks from all different directions. Your spaceship classroom flying through the void is being attacked, and the shields are failing. The analogy is almost complete. Teaching in 2020 is exactly like flying the spaceship I just described, if the spaceship were built by chimpanzees using balsa wood, dollar-store-brand duct tape, and a handy piece of used chewing gum here and there, where the air-tight seals are a bit leaky.

The events of the past few months are enough to challenge anyones purpose. People are dying. Is the thing you decide to spend your hours and days doing really worth it? Do you really get anything out of your work? Does your life have purpose?

Ultimately, I have come to the conclusion that it is, for me, but not without my share of frustrations. I have gotten to spend time showing love and care and support to young adults who might never have received it from an adult in a school setting. I have spent time building relationships that are paying off already, three weeks into the school year.

There is a faction of teachers that are seeing this time as an opportunity to challenge every convention that has plagued education for the last few decades. All of the buzzword bullshit that have been seen as solutions are now being put to a trial by fire. These teachers are re-evaluating what it means to teach, and adjusting their course for this new landscape. They are implementing solutions that work now, not ones that will work once we order some new technology and find time for professional development. We are not in the world of film cameras anymore. Yes, big picture solutions take time, but right now we need things that work right out of the box, and things that we already have lying around.

There are, of course, some teachers that are unwilling to change. For whatever reason, they stay on their course, and continue to do things that may or may not work, with little regard for their students well being and apparent indifference to whether or not they actually learn something. I work with some teachers like this. They have been complaining about how poorly their year has been going for about three weeks.

Baked into the reconsideration of education is the question: Why are we teaching students the things that we are? What good is factoring equations going to do them? Most other subjects are more easily applicable. The necessity for english and history are alarmingly apparent in 2020, and science is full of hands on labs that allow students to do cool shit in "real-life". Don't misunderstand me; these subjects are not being perfectly taught everywhere, and certainly have their share of challenges as well. However, it doesn't seem to me that any of these subjects face quite the same challenge math does.

Math is a great subject. In high school, I hated it. Until I took calculus senior year, math was easily my least favorite subject in school. (Senior year it was possibly my second least favorite.) It made me feel inadequate. I was surrounded by adults who kept telling me the importance of mathematics and how I had to "do well" in math to succeed in life. I realize now how much bullshit I was being fed. My mathematics education failed me. Here is my solution to that problem.

One does not need to be versed in the finer points of calculus to lead a productive, successful, and happy life. There is a basic, working understanding of how mathematics is applied in the world that is crucial, yes. That point I concede with no argument. However, the idea that every high school student in America needs to be in a track to get them to calculus is ludicrous. A productive citizen will need an understanding of arithmetic. This is useful in general accounting, understanding pay stubs, navigating taxes, and so on. A certain logical literacy will also go far in forming science-iterate humans. Members of society who can know if a claim made by a source is legitimate or bullshit by applying some logic, and basic mathematical and scientific principles. This, is crucial.

That said, the things that are being taught in math class now are useless to 95% or more of the students. At this point, several of you reading this will cry out. "But what about learning how to learn?" You're right, sort of. Yes, part of being in mandatory grade-school is to learn how to learn. To a certain extent, college is as well. The amount of people I have worked with who used their college degree for its intended purpose is much smaller than the number who have gone on and found meaningful work in entirely unrelated fields. I think we would agree that part of the job of the education system in this country is to cultivate a working knowledge of how to learn. However, it can be done in a way that is not mind-numbing, demoralizing, and in any other way useless to those students.

Students can learn how to learn while also learning useful applicable life skills in any subject. History and Language are very applicable to any human-being alive today. A citizen in any society would benefit from having knowledge of the history of the people, the land, and generally how they are in the predicaments of the present day. In the same vain, without language none of this would be possible.

In mathematics, I believe we have the whole system backwards. Yes, there are students who need to be pushed through the most rigorous courses, because without engineers, scientists, and mathematicians, society as a whole would certainly be left for worse. In addition, though, we need citizens who, while they might not be at the mathematical level of an engineer, do not leave high school hating the subject with their guts. While they might not "succeed" in a traditionally rigorous mathematics curriculum, they need to have a working knowledge of arithmetic and logic, and they must not abhor any problem that in any way relates to math.

In this light, I propose a new way of thinking about mathematics education that serves all students. Applied mathematics can not continue to retain the pretense that it is for the "slow kids" or the ones who won't ever succeed. The idea that college is required for success as a human being must be dropped from the education system. Instead of a mandatory Math 1, Math 2, Math 3 system, take the ideas from Math I, and then offer a range of applied mathematics courses. Mathematics of various industries. A course in how to apply logic to the world around you. Problem solving courses. Mathematics of growing food. Mathematics of carpentry. Money management. Home economics. The list goes on.

Applied Mathematics should be the fun courses. These should be full of students who might actually be interested. Mathematics is a vessel that can, and should, be used to prepare students for real life. It can prepare students to be self-reliant. To truly understand more of the world around them. For thew few that go on to engineering fields, it will look very similar to how it looks now. For everyone else, it must look different.

Lighthouses and Loons

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Mon, 29 Jun 2020 00:43:00 +0000

The transpiring of Father's and Mother's Day leaves me contemplating none other than my father and my mother. I am incredibly lucky that I have two amazing parents. I grew up in a house where I felt loved and appreciated, and I was taught things; I would say that thanks to my parents I came out to be an entirely decent human being.

As is, I believe, typical, my parents instilled in me a love for certain things. The things they appreciate, I also learned to appreciate. This isn't to say that I haven't become my own person with my own passions; I certainly have. However, there are things that I love which are direct descendants of the loves of my parents.

From my father, lighthouses; from my mother, loons.

Let's begin with lighthouses.

Portland Head Light, Cape Elizabeth, ME

At first glance, lighthouses seem to be virtually extinct. GPS and satellite navigation have provided the mariner with a much richer base of sensory input while navigating in adverse conditions. Although some lighthouses have gone dark with the widespread implementation of the aforementioned technologies, most are in fact still shining. While most ships and boats do have GPS and other technology with capabilities which seem to far exceed what amounts to basically a candle on a tall stick, those other technologies are also run by computers. And computers are the most reliable invention humans have ever created. Wait, that's not right. Oh, yeah. Computers break a lot. So, when you're out to sea and your navigation equipment shit's the bed, you can rely on a big candle on a stick to safely guide you into the harbor. Even when the navigation equipment is working properly, lighthouses are used as a sort of backup, to verify you actually are where the computer says you should be.

Lighthouses have had a long history. The first was built in 285 B.C. in Egypt. Before the addition of computers to seafaring vessels, and, for that matter, to lighthouses themselves, they required tending by actual human beings. Lighthouses by their nature are placed in somewhat nefarious locales, and are required to work precisely when the weather turns and the going gets tough. For a time, lightships, floating lighthouses, were assigned to keep station in places where it was too expensive or dangerous to build an actual lighthouse. These have now been replaced by buoys that accomplish the same task with lower cost, and no endangerment of human lives. The stoic nature of lighthouse life has left an imprint on the minds of many romantics. I fear the image of a lighthouse keeper is far more interesting than the actual reality of being one. However, there is still something about these structures that draws me in.

Perhaps it is the metaphor; a guiding light, ever present, no matter the conditions, that may always be relied upon. It's Kipling's If. The lighthouse is an unobtainable goal. A human could never be as resilient as stone, and so it's an ideal to endlessly aspire towards. Perhaps it is the introvert in me that thinks there would be nothing greater than to be with my partner alone in some rugged seaside (or lakeside) location tasked with keeping a giant candlestick lit at all times. I'll admit it: I'm one of those romantics.

The one thing that is certain is that this love affair with lighthouses was instigated by my father, who brought us to visit them on the carolina coast when I was young. I have been to the tallest lighthouse in the United States, the Cape Hatteras light in North Carolina. I now happen to live near the first lighthouse to be completed under the guidance of the United States government, Portland Head Light in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. As it happens, my partner's family were the longest running lighthouse keepers at Portland Head Light. Their names can be seen on a plaque attached to the wall of the building that lists every lighthouse keeper and the dates they served. Odds are, if we're driving along and have a few minutes to spare, if we see a sign for an old lighthouse, we are more likely to stop than to pass it by.

Let's talk about loons.

Two Loons on Arrowhead Lake in Limerick, ME

If you've never laid eyes on a loon, I pity you. If you've never heard their haunting calls echo across the lake as you lie in your sleeping bag looking up at the stars, it's truly your loss. Loons are some of the most mysterious, enchanting, mesmerizing creatures that grace the surface of the earth.

They are, in actuality, water fowl. You can see them peacefully floating on a north woods lake early in the morning, late in the evening, or really, at any time of day. Their tuxedoed bodies are unmistakable. If you have the chance to safely approach one, their red eyes are as ominous as they are beautiful.

They dive down below the surface of the bodies of water they inhabit to catch and eat fish. They in fact have solid bones, unlike most birds, which allows them to be more adept at diving and maneuvering underwater. As a result, when they do fly, they require a runway almost as long as an actual airplane (any where from 30 yards to a quarter of a mile.)

Loons have a wide range, covering most of Canada during their breeding time, and most of the United States during their migration. They are known to travel over 600 miles in a day, and over 800 miles over two days.

At first, loons seem to be enigmatic, although, I think this is largely due to their haunting calls and red eyes. Adult birds do have some natural predators, and are legally hunted for sustenance by the Inuit tribe, however in general the population thrives and is of low conservational concern. If you've ever paddled a lake in the northern US, you have probably seen a loon; any creature so easily spotted must be present in some number. This is not to say that we should start hunting loons or any other ridiculous thing, rather, it is to say that their secrets may be surmised if one simply has the patience and presence to be aware around them.

This is precisely what The Loon Project is about; a group of scientists and volunteers that are studying common loons in Northern Wisconsin. This group has learned much about the species, such as the fact that male loons select the nest site, loons are monogamous, but do not mate for life, and that male territorial battles are fatal roughly a third of the time. (Female disputes, interestingly enough, are much more civil and rarely end in death.)

I have to admit I did not know many actual facts about loons prior to writing this. I had a love for the birds instilled in me by my mother, who would always point them out on family paddling adventures. When I was old enough to paddle a canoe by myself, my parents would get up early (as parents do) put the coffee on, and set out on an early morning paddle over the glass water. I would wake up only slightly later, pour myself a cup of steaming, black heaven, and take the second canoe out from our campsite to join them. We would sit out on the water drinking our coffee and watching the loons bob on the water before diving down to find their breakfast.

While they are possibly not as idillic as lighthouses, I will always point one out when I'm on the water, and I will always take pause and listen to their haunting calls echo over the lake at night.

So these are my two loves, handed down from my parents. I've learned other things from them as well, like how to drink black coffee, how to paddle a canoe, how to generally not be an asshole...the list goes on. These two things though, lighthouses and loons, are by far the most iconic.

For now, all I have to say is thanks Dad, and thanks Mom. To you, my intrepid reader, go find yourself a lighthouse to look at, and possibly climb up if the mood strikes you and it's not going to break any laws, and then get in your canoe and paddle out to a secluded lake to look upon some loons. I promise, you won't regret it.

Adventures with Matt and Lindsay: 0430

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Wed, 17 Jun 2020 02:54:00 +0000

This is the first in a series of posts about Maine Public Lands that is featured on the Adventures with Matt and Lindsay blog. Head over there for more posts about our adventures.

It was Friday night. The last Friday night of the school year. We had made it through; there would be no more standing in front of a classroom trying to get 20 teenagers to figure out a math problem. Actually, there hadn't been any of that for a while, because of the global pandemic that we are living through. So, no more sitting in front of our laptops hoping that our students were figuring out the problems that we had assigned for them on their own.

We decided to celebrate by loading up our canoe, driving north, and generally being very far away from other people for a weekend. It seemed like a good plan at the time. We arrived at the Bigelow Preserve near Eustis, Maine, just before 7:00 Friday night, and realized that we were far from the only people that had this idea. The place was packed. Nine tent sites in the middle of the woods down a dirt road and it was like a zoo. We literally ran around the place hoping that there was a little corner somewhere that we could pop up our tent. There was a site that fit just that description another camper pointed us towards, although, it "didn't have a fire ring." Someone "must have taken the fire ring to make theirs bigger." Hmm. Seems odd. But who cares, we got a spot. It had a great wheelchair accessible picnic table, and a nice flat spot for our 1-2 person Big Agnes tent, which weighs about as much as a half-filled Nalgene bottle. We ate our pre-made warm supper out of a thermos as we got wind-blasted on the shore of Flagstaff Lake. The waves lulled us to sleep, and in fact provided such a cacophony with their splashing that we could barely here the 8 people, 2 screaming children, and 2 dogs that were in the campsite right next to us.

Waves at our first not quite a campsite.

We both woke up at 4 am. This is amusing, because neither of us actually spoke a word to the other. We were woken by a sound; silence. The waves had ceased, the other people were miraculously sleeping, and it was quiet. So quiet, that both of us, without saying a word, or for that matter, realizing the other was even awake, went back asleep. Two hours later, the surf was back up, and we awoke to a dog tripping over the rainfly of our tent.

Over freezer bag oatmeal, we watched a plan. We'd break camp, and gamble. This was a nice little spot, but we could do better. There were free campsites all around the massive lake, we'd surely find one a little more peaceful. (As it happens, we hadn't actually found one at all. The small town set up next to us, with the kids and the dogs, and those tents that have rooms inside them, was actually set up in the day-use picnic area. We had seen this, but not the big "DAY USE AREA" sign, and inadvertently set up in another part of the day use area, which, I feel a little bad about, but does explain the mystery of the fire ring.)

We loaded up our gear (which took one trip to the car), and set off.

To give you some background for the next portion of our foray, allow me to paint a word picture. I used to have a truck. It was silver, had a manual transmission, a hood scoop that wasn't actually attached to anything, four doors, and a short bed with a cap on it. It was a good truck, except for the fact that it was rusting out from underneath, and the fact that I lived in Florida. A Floridian will tell you there is a lot of outdoor stuff to do in Florida. And, technically, they are correct. However, if you've come from literally anywhere else and are looking for an outdoor experience in Florida, you'll probably be, on some level, and at some point, disappointed. So, the sorts of things that you might do with a truck in Maine, like say, drive around on logging roads with a canoe strapped to the roof in search for a put in or campsite, you would not do in Florida, where the same activity would likely get you eaten by an alligator or python. So, I traded in the truck for a car. It was grey, a hatchback, also a manual transmission, had four doors, no hood ornaments, front wheel drive, good fuel economy. It was a perfect vehicle for blasting around the straight as an arrow roads of Florida hauling a triathlon bike in the back. This was all nice. But then I moved to Maine, where the roads are not straight as an arrow, have many potholes, and in some cases, boulders in the middle of them. I traded riding the triathlon bike around for cross country skis and a canoe, and wished very much that I had a little truck to haul those things around in while not worrying so much about beaching my vehicle on a boulder in the middle of nowhere.

So, when we ended up on a logging road that we weren't actually sure connected through to where we wanted to end up, in a car that has very little clearance, it made for an interesting adventure. It was also when I started mentally going through all the possibilities of things that might happen while on an off-road trip and realized that we were not actually equipped to handle, well, any of them. Thankfully, we didn't have to find out what we would have done if anything happened. It took us a very long time, some of which was spent stopped in the middle of the road chatting with a moose, but eventually we found pavement again, fueled up at a gas station, and set out to find our night's site.

Moose on the loose!

Here's where we learned a lesson about people. There are several free campsites that ring the lake, most of which you can drive your car right up to, or at least within a quarter of a mile or so, set up your stuff, and have a grand time (for up to 14 days in any 45 day period.) As it turns out, if you can drive up to it, and it's free, people flock to it like horseflies to horses. We tried three different camping areas, with something like four to six sites each, and they were all full. Some were more than full. One had a full frontal wood pile, like you might find outside of a house in late October.

We had about had it. Between the roads, the seemingly endless searching for campsites, we were ready to throw in the towel. But, as it always seems to happen, there was one spot left to check. Unlike everything else we'd looked at, this one we could not drive to. We had to paddle out in the boat. We found a put in, which was basically a small cliff, managed to work our boat into the water, and paddle off into a moderate headwind. In the boat we'd brought our tent along; in the event the site was empty, we'd set up our tent to claim it. After a short paddle, we found the site, and it was empty.

It's amazing how quickly a day can change from gloomy to peaceful. We set up the tent and paddled back to the car to grab the rest of our wangan. Once we set up camp properly, we set off for a peaceful evening paddle.

Evening Paddle. Sugarloaf ski mountain the left most peak visible in the background.

Then, Lindsay Bear had an idea. Let's get up at 4 in the morning, she said, and go paddle out in the peaceful flat calm morning water. I have many moments when I look around me and wonder if I'm dreaming up this woman who has chosen to be with me. The next morning, my watched beep beep beeped a few minutes before 4:30 am, and I nudged Lindz to see if she was awake. 20 minutes later we were dressed in all the clothes we'd brought, because it was 45° F, and paddling our boat across a flat calm Flagstaff lake towards a bank of fog across from our campsite.

Flagstaff Lake at Dawn

We turned around and looked upon the Bigelow range in all it's glory in the early morning light. Even though there was no one around that could have possibly heard us, we spoke in barely a whisper. Although, we didn't have much to say. It was such a beautiful time on the water, just to spend it with someone I love felt too good to be true. Even though we saw a moose andtwo of the biggest eagles we'd ever seen the day before, we both put the paddle at the top of our list of the weekend's highlights.

Once we got back to camp, we were a bit on the chilly side. Lindsay started a morning campfire, and we huddled around its warmth as it did us the service of boiling water for our coffee and oats. Having nowhere else to be, and not really wanting to get up from the fire, we didn't. Both of us opened up the books we had brought, and we had a lazy Sunday morning after waking up the earliest we'd ever woken u together.

The trip taught me something about people; if there's free stuff that's easy to drive to, you can count on people to drive to it. If you have to work even a little, your chances of success improve greatly. It also says something about the state in which we live. The people in the state value this so much that there are several areas set aside for the purpose of going to them and enjoying their splendor, all with free campsites for the public to use. Maine's Public Lands are an immense resource, one that we plan to tap into as much as we can in this COVID summer. As long as you can find camping far enough away from others, you're all set.

This trip was also a milestone for us; our first two-night trip on our own. We drove home with a great feeling of accomplishment. We'd been a little nervous about our first trip more than one night, and it turned out to be a good one. We got rained on and didn't get soaked, we'd ate well, and enjoyed some early morning paddling as good as any I've ever done. It was exactly the sort of trip that makes you start planning the next one the night you get back. Stay tuned for more adventures to come.

No Exit

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Thu, 04 Jun 2020 13:37:00 +0000

Preface: This post is a bit of a mess. There are several ideas and thoughts that are in my head, and this is the best way I know to get them out. This blog was created for selfish reasons; so I can put my thoughts into soft-reality (bits) and post them. It's a way for me to create a record of what I experience through my days. It is not meant to be from the perspective of anyone else. It's not meant to be correct, or incorrect. It's just meant to be. You may pass judgement on it; that is your prerogative. Although, my purpose here is not to create something for you to judge. It is simply to offer my perspective, for whatever it may be worth. (In my view, not much.) In kind, I am interested in learning more of your perspective. I am not interested in your judgements of mine.

I am at a loss. Frozen. Trapped by an open door. Like a deer caught in the headlights; paralyzed by predicament. It seems there are an abundance of awful things happening. And while I know that reading the state of the world by just reading news headlines trends towards a negative view of the world, I also get a feeling like something fundamental is broken. I don't know what to do to fix it.

I know how to do some things. Not an incredibly large amount of things, but more things than some other people, and fewer things than some others. I know how to fly planes. I know how to play the french horn. I haven't done either of those things in a while. I know how to steer a canoe. I know how to tie up a bear bag. I know how to build a fire. I know how to ride a bike, and ski, and run pretty far. These things don't seem very applicable to the current situation, at least not if I want to help any number of people. I know how to write. I know how to form ideas into sentences. That seems like the most useful skill right now.

The problem is that I'm not quite sure what to say. My experience is one of privilege. I go for runs after dark and in broad daylight without worrying about my safety. I don't think twice about many things that many people have to consider every day.

Shifting Sands

"Most heroes aren't famous, and most famous people aren't heroes." I didn't write that. I wish I had though; it's brilliant. The statement was meant to describe celebrities, I believe. But I think it's applicable to what we're seeing on the news. The heroes of the current situation are the ones that aren't getting attention. The ones fighting for good are the ones that we don't see on the news. The "famous people" of the current situation. By which I mean; the rioters and the looters that are emblazoned on the news are not the heroes.

Real change does not happen in the spotlight. The spotlight tints reality; you can never be sure anything happening in the spotlight is not designed to fool you, or at the very least, tainted by attention. Real change goes by without a second glance.

We're in a time of real change right now. It's happening. What's not yet decided is whether this change will be desirable or not. Will this change result in more people enjoying personal freedoms, or fewer people enjoying personal freedoms?* At present, this pendulum could end up swinging either way. It's difficult to cut through sensationalized news reports and see what is actually going on.

* Side Note: Maybe this isn't about personal freedoms. Maybe it's about safety and happiness. What does it mean for something to be positive in the world? Positive for everyone is an impossibility. Positive for the largest amount of people could leave a potentially huge minority of world citizens suffering while a slightly larger majority gets their way. Currently, I think that "positive" should mean the more people get to enjoy personal freedom to do things without repercussions based on anything but their actions. (If you choose to kill someone, that should be punished regardless of race or anything else.) Ultimately, those freedoms would be attained without diminishing the freedoms currently enjoyed by anyone.

The thing that is most alarming is that we have sides. You're either with us or against us. You're part of this team or that team. There are so many possibly ways to view things, and we willingly throw out all but two. Maybe we really don't have the patience for complicated things. I'm not sure. But putting the advice of medical experts on a side is dangerous. Not wearing a face cover in public as a political gesture is dangerous. I don't know how we come out of this, how we get through it.

I'm not quite outraged yet. Probably not a popular thing to say right at this moment, but it's honest. I'm incredibly frustrated. Witnessing people that I've known for years taking sides is frustrating. Seeing people that I love dearly not taking COVID-19 seriously is frustrating. There seems to be no place for the reasonably centrist voice; where do we go to acknowledge that we have a lot to learn? Where can we exercise the patience that is required for complicated things. Certainly people that came before us, and those of us that are alive now have fucked this up badly. But an eye for an eye is not a sustainable recipe for longevity. Where is the high road now? What path leads to de-escalation?

I write these things as a straight white male. I have all the privileges there are to have. I didn't do anything to earn them. I happened to be born that way. Does that make you hate me? Is that something worth punishment? I can not answer these questions. There is a responsibility for me, and others that are in the same position that I am in, to scrutinize our behaviors. Consensus bias is an awful thing. My experience is not that of everyone. The things that I need to do to be a mindful, global citizen are not the same things that the person next to me needs to do.

Outcomes

I think there are a few possible outcomes right now. I'll start with the least optimistic. It is possible that racism is so fundamentally part of the human condition that we will engage in it as long as we exist. There may be reprieves in the divisiveness, but after Black people and White people learn how to get along, another divide will rush in to fill the void. Perhaps we are so engrained in the Us And Them way of thinking, that we will gravitate towards it no matter how well intended our thoughts and actions. Ultimately, it may be the case that if we were to start tomorrow with literally nothing, and then come into existence as an entirely new universe, that these divisions would become apparent again, and there is nothing we could do about it.

The second possibility is that this is not the case. We are capable of fundamentally changing the way of things. We fell into a trap of racism and sexism and judgement as a results of ignorance. However, we have gone through one enlightenment, and perhaps shall ride through another, one where we accept all humans as they are, and as they want to be accepted. This will eventually lead to us acknowledging animal life, and then plant life. We will one day live in a world where having a relationship with a tree might be as ordinary as friendships between humans are now. This is the possibility that I favor.

Either way, the actions taken right now will affect the outcome. I do not believe that it is predetermined, I believe in free will. I do not think that the first outcome is likely, because that would imply a greater order to things, set by a higher power. The humans that lived before us chose to make life this way, and we are living in the aftermath of their decisions.

What we are dealing with currently is a complicated issue, and not a binary one. Some things have two sides, some have one side, and some have many. There are many perspectives from which people are shouting, and the fact that we are living through a global pandemic, peaceful protests, violent riots, police brutality, and authoritarian behaviors from the President of the United States does not make it any less complicated.

To continue on the theme of the week, a truth of reacting to the world around one's self is that more time is better. An extra handful of seconds might be the difference between an event that is known only unto those directly involved, and one that sparks global protest. These same seconds might also be the difference between a potentially relationship ending rash remark, and the temperance of compassion whose fingerprints are all over long-term partnerships. Things will not get easier on their own. This situation will not fix itself. Over the next few months, these extra seconds could make all the difference in our lives. Big changes happen in small moments. A few seconds is all it might take to forever alter the trajectory of the world, or our isolated bubble-worlds.

And so, as I go forward into the vast unknown, the void spaces that lie before us, I will bring my handful of seconds, and for all that I am, I will use them. As a tool, as a weapon, as a safeguard. Perhaps the deer in the headlights is wiser than it first seems. For that fatal flaw of paralysis might give the animal a more clear understanding of its demise. We stand on the shoulders of giants. Our progress is but an inch more than the sum of our ancestors, all living things, that have traveled ten thousand miles. Let our improvement be that we finally move. We break free of the burden of observation, and step out of the way of the impending chaos.

Let us walk through the open door.

COVID-19 Thoughts III: Phases

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Thu, 28 May 2020 13:27:00 +0000

We're going through phases. Every time I hear someone with a fancy job title who is "important" enough to be on national television speak of Phase 1, or what's going to happen in Phase 2, I almost laugh. Not quite, but almost. If there were ever an example of bullshit artists being employed to calm the masses, this is it. If we lived in a less autonomous society, like Germany or Japan, I probably wouldn't be skeptical. If Obama were president, I probably wouldn't be so skeptical. There are many situations in many parallel universes where I'm not skeptical. But in this one, I am.

We love titles here in America. We love official things. The official truck of NASCAR. The official beer of the NFL. The official nail clipper of the Hoboken All-City Under-45 Pickle ball Team. We yearn for gimmicks on television to retain viewers that create an illusion that they are watching something special and novel, something that they shouldn't miss. Part of this is a separate issue; having many official things leads to more sponsorship opportunities, leading to more money, which is the only reason anybody puts anything on television now. Despite this having nothing to do with sponsorship (yet...), I believe that this has created an cultural atmosphere where we are more willing to buy into things if they are glammed up and have fancy names.

And so, we have phases. Phase I, where many things are still closed. Phase II, where presumably more things are open. Phase III, where, you know what, I'm just going to go look it up.

It's become apparent to me after doing some research that some states are referring to these as "stages". This makes it slightly more palpable from a pure linguistic standpoint; it almost makes it feel as though we're flying on a rocket.

As a precursor to what you're about to read; If you live in Maine, check with the resources provided by the state before doing anything. If you don't live in Maine, check with the resources provided by your state before doing anything. This blog SHOULD MOST DEFINITELY NOT be used as a substitute for information provided by professionals and subject matter experts.

Stage I - Basically, if it's outside it can open. But, you still must follow social distancing guidelines. If the activity you're wishing to do doesn't bring you within 6 feet of other people, or is outside and involves fewer than 10 people, you're probably good. That said, everything on the list to re-open during Stage I must meet the COVID-19 prevention checklist.

Stage II - Gatherings of 50 or less people are generally ok. This stage also will see state campgrounds open, as well as gyms and other fitness centers.

Stage III - This stage is very similar to stage II in that gatherings of more than 50 people will not be allowed. The big difference is that more businesses, specifically travel related businesses, will be able to open, as well as overnight summer camps, and personal services such as tattoo parlors and spas.

It should be stated that during any phase, if you are an out of state resident and you come into the state, you will be required to self-quarantine for a period of 14 days. Wilderness campsites, as referenced in the "Backyard Backcountry" post, opened on 18 May.

With that out of the way, here are some remarks on the general idea of re-opening the economy in phases.

I think the human condition is one of fear of the unknown. The best horror films don't actually show you the monster or villain. Your brain is much better at scaring the crap out of you than any cinematographer. The hidden depths of the unknown are terrifying. And so, many people are pretending to know more than they do about how this will end. It makes us feel safer, and slightly warmer and fuzzier on the inside.

One nice thing about stages or phases is that it conveniently allows us to follow some orders. In Phase I, I do this, in Phase II, I do this, and so on, and so on. There's a cartoon where many people are sitting on a train, and above each one is a thought bubble that says, "Look at all these sheep. I bet nobody else here really sees anything." That reminds me of what's happening now, with a slightly morbid twist. In my mind, the people would be joined by a new character in a mask sitting six feet away, and the un-masked passengers would all be thinking, "Look at that freak." It appears as though we're all heading back to "normal", despite the fact that epidemiologists are sure a second wave of the virus is coming. Despite the fact that the death toll keeps rising, the number of cases keeps rising, restaurants are starting to re-open, and people seem to be neglecting social distancing all together. Because that's the phase we're in.

There is another item that's been banging off the walls of my brain cavity like an empty Hydroflask. Cognitive dissonance is a term that's become relatively widespread in conjunction with climate change. The basic premise is something like this; you're reasonably well informed and are on board that humans are causing the climate to change by burning fossil fuels and generally treating the environment like a pile of shit. You know this, and your friends know this, and you get in your car every morning and burn more fossil fuels when you commute to work. The mismatch between the knowledge of climate change and your daily actions that contribute to climate change lead to a cognitive dissonance, when you're brain basically finds ways to ignore so you can get on with your day instead of cowering in pile of guilt.

This is now something that I experience when I look out the window of my apartment, or go shopping for groceries, or outside for any reason. I have to constantly remind myself that there IS a global pandemic that we are very much still in the middle of. I see people around me seemingly not giving a fuck about social distancing, or wearing masks, or any of it, and then instead of getting into my fossil fuel burning car and community to work every day, I open up my laptop and fire up Zoom to teach another video lesson on graphing lines. My day to day life is affected by the COVID-19 pandemic, and yet I can not see any obvious evidence of the pandemic by looking out my window. Now, there are pockets of people that are responding responsibly, and there are grocery stores I can go to that are limiting the number of customers in the store, mandating customers sanitize their hands and wear face covers, and enforcing one way isles, but it feels like little eddies in a giant river.

I don't feel a solidarity; a people uniting to defeat a foe, albeit a really tiny one that we can't shoot or bomb. The analogy to war is superficial at best. The current feeling would be more akin to a World War II where only half the population acknowledged the existence of Hitler. So while the state government might say we're in Phase I, I think it might be more accurate to say that the portion of the population that actually believes the scientists and professionals that work in epidemiology is in Phase I. The rest aren't in any Phase of anything.

Reopening society after a global pandemic is a big task, and one that nobody currently running anything has had to personally deal with before, at least, not on this scale. Of course it's going to happen in phases, with caution, and careful evaluation at each step to ensure that further reopening does more public good than it does harm. It's also not to say that reopening things won't cause any harm at all. There will always be some background white noise of bad things randomly happening to living people. Wearing a seatbelt is safER than not wearing a seatbelt, yet it won't necessarily prevent you from dying in a car crash.

I suppose if I had to sum all of this up into a short, concise bit, it would be this: The reliance of the people who are in charge of things on "phases" gives me a sense that we, collectively, have an mere illusion of control. Nobody really knows what's going to happen in the fall, when the second wave will hit, or, for that matter, how permanent the changes we are living through will be. We can't handle not knowing, especially when not knowing affects the livelihoods of so many people. So, we willfully accept the illusion. Perhaps knowingly, just to make us sleep a little easier. Perhaps unconsciously, just accepting that other people are in charge. Either way, I believe what we need more than anything right now is the perfect mix of following directions and healthy skepticism. Not everything we are told about the coronavirus is true, demonstrably so, especially from the one person who is supposed to lead our country through rough seas. However, wearing a face cover, staying home, and increasing the distance between you and anyone you don't live with, are the best tools we each have as individuals to employ RIGHT NOW to ensure that this doesn't get much worse than it already is.

What we need is what I will call skeptical obedience. A willingness to go along with experts who do, in fact, know much more about how viruses work than we do, while scrutinizing information beyond a reasonable doubt. Believing everything you see and hear about this virus is just as dangerous as not believing everything you see and hear. It is the duty of medical experts to provide information and care to the best of their abilities, and that is more crucial than ever during a pandemic. It is the duty of you and I, those of us who haven't spend years of our lives studying medicine and epidemiology, to do what the experts say, but also to make sure that we're reasonably skeptical of things that blatantly fly in the face of common sense. Inform yourself from reputable sources, and check your facts.

I know two paragraphs ago I said this would be the short and concise part, and I've summed up what I wanted to say, so I'll end this here. Stay healthy, friends.

Backyard Backcountry

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Mon, 25 May 2020 11:11:00 +0000

As the snow melts, and the cold winter turns to cold spring, and then warm spring, there's one thing on my mind. Camping. As the weather gets "nicer" (read: it's no longer possible to go nordic skiing) I yearn to pack a bag, toss it in a canoe, or simply on my back, and walk off into the sunset with my adventure (and life) partner, Lindsay Bear.

This year, the dreams have been coming. They're coming on hot and heavy. Some days it's all I think about. That's a lie. Some days it's the only other thing I think about besides coffee. There, that's better. The problem is, I don't know if you've heard, but there is a global pandemic. Which means all the plans are thrown out the window.

The good news for the intrepid explorers out there is this: adventure travel is likely going to be one of the first types of travel to resume when we emerge on the other side of this pandemic. The bad news is, the same adventurous spirit that drives us to answer the call of the mountains might also drive us insane sitting around the smaller than ever insides of our teeny-tiny apartments. Seriously, was it this small when we moved in? I could have sworn this place was bigger in February...anyway...

While the state I live in has officially begun to open up campgrounds that are not part of state parks, as well as some backcountry camping, I feel it would be irresponsible to jump off the deep end; my partner and I got some new gear while we were busy not camping (and skiing), and we both would like to be sure the most essential pieces actually work before we trod off into the wilderness to go kick back with the bears.

This brings me to the solution. I was initially thinking we'd start off with a "small" backpacking trip, then realized my appetite for backpacking is definitely such that there's no such thing. Lindsay in one of her moment's of infinite wisdom that I often miss due to the fact that I'm so wrapped up in my grandiose visions of the future, said,"Why don't we just camp in the yard?" I believe I made a face at the suggestion; camping in the yard? How could that possibly be fun? Then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was the perfect idea, and I'd been a little bit of a dink by making a face at it. After a few days of thinking, and, possibly more crucial to the decision, remote-teaching, we both decided that yard camping sounded pretty freaking great.

Allow me to go off on a brief tangent. When compared to the spectrum of stuff you can do, camping is one of the best things to do while living through a global pandemic. I can remember very few moments where I was forced to be within six feet of someone not in my family group while camping at any point in my life. (I did get within six feet of others, but voluntarily; I could have simply not walked a few steps and stayed out of the virulent droplet splash zone.) The only real issue with camping is the privy. The latrine. The loo. The bathrooms. Showering and shitting and urinating are basically the only things that brought me uncomfortably close to other people's germs. Backcountry camping offers an out, if you're willing to live without running water; most backcountry sites either have a site-specific privy, or none at all. Either is fine by me. You've never really been camping until you've shit in the woods in a hole you just dug with a garden shovel that was wondering what the hell it had done to deserve this. So, if you're somehow reading this before planning a camping trip in the summer of 2020, keep in mind the human necessities of existing. You're going to need to poop, and you're going to need to deal with it in a responsible and sanitary way.

This was the backdrop with which we loaded up the car with some freezer bag meals, a bag of instant coffee, our new backpacking stove, sleeping bags, some bug spray, and a desire to wake up outside smelling like a campfire.

After checking the weather forecast one last time, we loaded what we both thought was slightly too much crap into the car, and set off. The most important thing that needed a shakedown cruise was our new backpacking stove. It is a Coleman Dual Fuel 533, which, while not as light as a real backpacking stove, is (I can now say) so much easier to use, the weight might be worth it. It's definitely going to be a great little number for canoe camping, or lightweight car camping a la road trip.

We arrived late in the day, and made camp. The nice thing about using the yard instead of the actual woods is that we had no trouble finding a flat, grassy place to pitch the tent.

Our teeny-tiny tent.

Because we felt we should do SOME walking at least to earn our supper, before breaking out the stove and attempting to light it, we went for a walk around a nearby park. When we returned, we got right down to it. Lindsay defers all camp-stove-related matters to me, which makes sense, because I would also not in my right mind choose to hold a highly compressed little bottle of super-flammable (that's an official term) liquid in one hand, while holding a lit match really close to it with the other. This time, though, the stove worked like a champ. In about no-time-flat, our water was boiled, and we were ready to eat.

I'll say a brief word here about planning: Plan.

But, seriously, make your camp recipes before you actually go camping. You might need to tweak the amount of water you put into a bag, as I found out when the polenta and mushrooms that was supposed to thicken into a nice porridge ended up being polenta soup. It still tasted good, and after all, what else is a shakedown campout for?

We built a fire in a fire pit (something we would likely not do while actually backcountry camping, unless we happened upon a pre-existing fire pit AND had a burn permit for whatever land we were transgressing; do your homework before you go) and sat by it reading. Another piece of equipment we were testing was a homemade bug spray using witch hazel and essential oils, which worked against whatever had been biting us when we first arrived. Something about a fire brings out the inner joy in people. Perhaps it's the shear primal sensation of making heat and light appear where none had before. Perhaps it's simply the nostalgia we get by recreating a memory from our past of That One Campfire to which we've all been. Either way, after reading by the fire for a while, we doused it, and headed into our tiny tent to sleep.

Camp coffee

The morning brought dew. It had dropped down to about 40°F (4°C) overnight, and the grass around us and much of our tent had been soaked with little dew droplets. However, it didn't matter. Sleeping in a tent on the ground makes you not really care as long as you're toasty inside your sleeping bag, which we were. I emerged from my little cocoon and went over to fire up the stove and try out some new instant coffee mix and make Lindsay some tea. This would usually also go along with breaking camp and figuring out how best to dry our dew-soaked rain fly as we move along to the next evening's abode, but since we were in the yard about 30 feet from the car, we just sat with out feet out the door of the tent sipping out warm beverages and taking in the early morning sunshine.

COVID-19 has forced a lot of changes to plans in the past few months. Lindsay and I had planned a bike-packing trip in Iceland, but once the international travel restrictions started dropping, and we started looking into things, like so many other adventure minded people, we decided getting in an airplane was a pretty shit idea. So then the focus turned to things we could do fairly locally with fairly little contact with other people. Backcountry trips were front of our minds for some time, and we will go out and have some in the coming months, staying within our ability level, and keeping in mind that having someone come out to save us would defeat the whole point of the exercise in the first place. It doesn't need to be that complicated though; many of us have access to the great outdoors by literally stepping out of doors. You don't need a campsite to camp; your backyard will usually do just fine in a pinch. And we are most certainly right now in a bit of a pinch.

The morning view

Those of us that strive to see as few people as possible on our trips away from reality are probably really tired of being stuck inside or tethered to our dwellings for the past few months. This weekend being the unofficial start of summer probably makes it seem like we can finally just say screw it and go out anyway, especially with many states beginning to lift some of their social distancing restrictions. That doesn't mean it's a good idea to just go without thinking though. If you've never been back country camping before, take the time to do your homework. Know the guidelines for shitting in the woods. Know the leave no trace principles. Know how to safely sterilize drinking water. The last thing we need is for more people to have to get really close together while they try and figure out how to get your butt out of a situation beyond your skill and ability level.

That said, camping is likely to be one of the safest things we can do this summer.

(THIS DOES NOT MEAN WE CAN IGNORE SOCIAL DISTANCING PRACTICES WHILE WE DO IT. I'm gonna say that again for the people in the back. THIS DOES NOT MEAN WE CAN IGNORE SOICAL DISTANCING PRACTICES WHILE WE DO IT!)

A great staring place might be no further away than right outside your back door. Is it exactly the same as a trip deep into the back country? No. Does it satiate your craving for waking up on the ground in a remote, far away place? Maybe, a little bit. Is it fun? Absolutely. And after all, especially right now, isn't that what we need a little more of? Fun? I think so.

So, if you need me, I'll be in the tent. Tchüss!

COVID-19 Thoughts II: The Walk

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Sun, 17 May 2020 10:15:00 +0000

This is the second post of thoughts related to COVID-19. Most of it isn't mine; because while I was a character in the real-life story you're about to read, I was not the hero. The following italicized paragraph's were written by my partner, after we got back from taking a walk from our home. We live on the outskirts of a city of over 65,000 people, so we walk through several neighborhoods. With that pretext, I'll let you read the rest.

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Once upon a time (for real though), 2 teachers, Matt Beattie & myself went for a walk, leaving behind our phones... but bringing our face masks (because that's the world we live in). Little did we know we wished we had at least one phone with us. We decided to walk the "big loop", getting off the main road and into a cute neighbourhood - as we came around the corner, we saw a woman(mid-40's) struggling to get up the stairs - shaking, unsteady, and then fell backwards from the 3rd or 4th step. SMACK - her back and head against the tar driveway. Running towards her - racing thoughts, unknown neighbourhood, global pandemic, no cell phone to call for help, I send Matt running to pound on neighbours doors to call 9-1-1, while I stay with the woman - trying to stay calm, asking her for her name, where she works (saw a health-care badge around her neck), she was wearing scrubs and looked a bit.... "out of it". I saw she was bleeding on her hand - probably from the fall, but her response was, "it was my dog". So now thinking - great - her dog is going to try and eat me.. but wait - it's fresh blood and she only just arrived home.. > hummm.. Meanwhile Matt returned with a neighbour who initially didn't want to call 9-1-1, saying it wouldn't be the 1st time she's needed an ambulance - but I saw her hit her head, and knowing just weeks ago what it was like to hit my head on carpeted floor from 3ft high was one thing... from 6-8ft high to pavement is another.... I begged him to call for help, but he was still reluctant.

Then... we all turned around and she managed to tremble her way into her house... and them BAM - she fell again, I looked at the neighbour, and desperately asked him to call 9-1-1, when he hesitated again, I ran down the nearest car... Long story short 9-1-1 was called, and the questions they asked... ugg - I know with the pandemic going on, they have to ask certain questions, but being complete strangers to this woman, made answering such questions difficult (temperature, coughing, all the COVID-19 symptoms).

While help was on the way - I asked the woman if I could come in, and if her dog was friendly... "Of course, come in and yes - she is very friendly". As I enter this woman's house - dog greeting me with a bloody sock - leading me to the woman - who is now lying on her couch with her head resting back on her hands - again, resuming conversations about her, keeping her distracted... She said she was a physical therapist, she was tired, and she called her mom and boyfriend. I'm thinking - okay, this is good - but something seems off... alcohol... drugs... something doesn't feel right.

Then comes the fire truck and ambulance - phew! Two men suit up in COVID-19 protective onesies and head inside. What seemed an eternity, answering as many questions as possible - she finally came out, men on either side of her, she was barely able to put one foot in front of the other, and off she went on the stretcher. As the ambulance drove away, we hung back - what about the dog... what about the boyfriend... when will he be home.. Literally 30 seconds after the firetruck & ambulance pulled away - the boyfriend in a BIG-ass truck pulls up... Matt and I thinking - shit, we're dead... His first words were, "was that her in the ambulance", we all nodded. The boyfriend got out, and gave us her whole life story for the past 20 years - she a raging alcoholic, either passed out or barely functioning, in and out of rehab, but a damn good lier (she did not actually call her mom and boyfriend), she just knew that's what we wanted her to do.. sucked me in hard core, and all we wanted was to get her help. Oh, and she's not a physical therapist - she's wears the badge and scrubs to get free stuff, ugg - she played the part well..

The boyfriend thanked us, and we all parted ways, but damn... who knew our 30 minute walk would turn into an hour plus 9-1-1 rescue the inebriated-concussed woman.

Makes you think about your life, what you have, what you don't have, and the people you surround yourself with.
Thank you to all you 1st responders & health care professionals out there - your job is incredibly hard, add a pandemic on top of that - your true heroes.

And from now on... a cell phone will be with us.
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The only thing I would like to add is this: There's a moment in this story that I will never forget. From my perspective, I remember looking to my left and seeing the woman fall. It was a limp body fall, the kind that makes your hair stand up on the back of your neck because when it happens, something is very wrong. Then, my partner started sprinting, and I did too. It took us maybe 10 seconds to get over to the woman. While we were running towards her, I remember thinking that we obviously had to do something to help this woman, but we couldn't touch her. We couldn't get too close. I remember thinking that we didn't have our masks. My partner's heart is several sized too big, and so I remember thinking that if it comes to it, I'm going to have to hold her back, because, selfishly, I want her to not get sick. I remember thinking that this 911 call will be different now. I remember thinking that nobody is going to answer their door to a frantic, un-masked stranger.

Luckily, there was a neighbor outside, and we were able to keep our distance, and everything worked out alright. The world we inhabit is changing, and I don't mean the climate this time. With social distancing and mail-order everything, it's easy to live in a bubble. This was my first real experience with the chaos of every day life in a COVID-19 world. The last time I saw someone get carted into the back of an ambulance, I was out to dinner at a restaurant with a group of 15 people. This time, it was different. It worked, the woman got assistance, and the first responders stayed as safe as they could. Once they had determined the woman wasn't in a life threatening situation, the leader of the team told us that they were,"going to take their time," and they did. They didn't dawdle by any means; instead of going right into her house, they went right into full PPE. This is the world we live in now. It might be for a while, it might not. But the chaos of the world goes on.

Thanks for reading, and until next time, be well.

Crunchy Granola

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Fri, 15 May 2020 13:54:00 +0000

A few months ago, back when we could go outside without wondering whether we'd remembered to grab our face covers, I was standing in a snowy field with way more than 50 people, most of whom were sliding around with long, skinny planks clipped to their feet.

Next to me was one of my athletes. We were at the state championship meet, and we had lots of down time. The skis had been waxed, the course had been previewed, and we had nothing to but wait. We were people watching.

If you go to a nordic ski race, this is an activity I highly recommend. (Second to, of course, actually skiing.)

The results will be enlightening.

Let me start by saying that several people that I have met through the nordic skiing community in New England are on the list of Best People That I Know. At least one person that I met not through the nordic skiing community ended up being a part of the nordic skiing community, and is at the top of the list. (And I'm not just saying that because we're quarantined together.)

Some things that you might notice if you happen to find yourself people watching at a nordic ski race:

First, a lot of people are smiling. This might at first seem counter-intuitive, because it might be something like 5˚F outside before the wind chill, but it's true. My theory is that being outside, even if there aren't green leaves everywhere to nature bath in while running around the forest without any clothes on, is grounding. While you're noticing the many people smiling, you'll likely observe several of them conversing with each-other and laughing.

Second, there will probably be a wide array of colors. At the time we were people watching, my athlete observed that nordic ski people are flamboyant. I don't think flamboyant is quite the right word, but the idea is sound enough. When you're not smitten with it, nordic skiing is kind of an odd think to do. You're going to put slide-y things on your feet, that are longer than you are tall, and then try and slide uphill? Yeah, right. So it would sort of go that the people that voluntarily choose to do this for fun, are perhaps, sort of, out there. Not in any negative sort of way. In fact, that is what I think draws me to the people and to the sport. It's more the sort of out there that, when faced with the choice between buying a navy blue headband, and a navy blue headband with bright pink flamingos printed all over it, will go for the one with the flamingos. (I myself have one covered with pineapples.)

There's a type of person, which I believe I first heard referenced to by Rich Roll in the forward to his book Finding Ultra. It's the reason he chose to refer to his diet and culinary lifestyle as "plant-based" as opposed to "vegan". The phrase was crunchy granola people. (Or possible just "granola people"; I'm not exactly sure, and don't have a copy of the book on hand. Either way, I hope you understand the sentiment.) It was meant to encapsulate the self-righteous soapbox vegans, the ones who, given any opportunity would shout down upon the ignorant fools who do things like wear leather clothing, eat subsidized ingredients that are all they can afford instead of starving because they're too principled to feed their family. The sort of people who, say, make their own granola.

I've been thinking recently about this moment, the one in the snowy field. I've been thinking about it because, well, with all the extra time I've found myself with during this quarantine, among other things, I've started making my own granola. I'm a crunchy granola person. It's no different than buying overpriced granola in Hannaford every now and then. So either, the crunchy granola people are actually the same as the rest of us, or, I have crossed the threshold, and in my relative isolation don't have any reference frame to realize it.

Either way is alright with me.

However, I think there should be a new archetype of the crunchy granola person. It is a person who, all other things being equal, will choose to make something themselves instead of buying packaged in a store. The type of person who chooses to support local businesses whenever practical. The type of person who takes the extra moments to learn about the why of the thing, instead of just accepting the what. The type of person who understands where the things they consume come from, and while they might not be able to take drastic measures like making all their own clothing, or growing all their own food, understands that these things cost more than the small price we might pay for them in the shop or market. It's someone with purposeful mindfulness of their surroundings at every level, from the immediate air around their skin, to the far reaches of the Peruvian plantations from which the single origin beans that wake them each morning come. It is a person who brings inclusiveness into their worldview.

I don't know what the future may hold, now more than ever. That said, I still believe to be true that the "vegans", the old "crunchy granola types" from Mr. Roll's book, that is not the way forward. It's the equivalent of telling a friend who is leading an unhealthy lifestyle that they need to exercise, and then telling them they're "doing it wrong" once they take the terrifying and vulnerable leap and actually begin.

We humans are in a time where, in this country at least, we seem very polarized, and the way forward is anything but certain. We all have things that we wish to preserve for ourselves. For some it's our "American" way of life, for other's it's fruit (you know, literally preserves), and for me and perhaps a few others, it's standing in a frozen field sliding around on long skinny skis. It's a huge task to think of how we are going to go about preserving these things. Might I suggest we start with making our own granola. Or potato salad. Or sourdough. Or cookies. Whatever. Can you tell I like food? Is anyone else suddenly hungry? Anyway, let's start there, and take a moment to be mindful of whatever is around you, wherever you are. It will get you through the first moment, and then you've already gotten part of the way there.

Be well, until we meet again.

COVID-19 Thoughts I

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Fri, 08 May 2020 00:58:00 +0000

The I in the title is not me, but a numeral. As in: These are the first of my thoughts about this pandemic. Let me be absolutely clear: I am not a trained medical anything. These thoughts are just a snapshot, from the perspective of the humanities, as I am human, and that is all I can provide.

I think at this point in time we're all thinking back to a couple of months ago, or at least, I know I'm thinking back to a couple months ago and remembering how nice things were. Little did we know that life as we knew it was about to change, very drastically, and very rapidly. I had four living grandparents two months ago; I now have only three. Two of my grandparent's actually contracted the disease; one of them lived, and one of them did not. That was the first moment that I realized things were serious.

Let me back up a couple of steps; I knew things were serious. I work as a teacher, and we had already begun remote learning at the time that my grandfather past away. We had already begun planning for a prolonged absence from our physical building. I had been reading and listening to the news, and I had a rough idea of what was happening, to the best of my abilities as someone who must get the majority of their information about the world through the internet. The week before we shut down, there was a weird atmosphere in the building. As if we all knew something was coming, but the things we did not know far outweighed the things that we did. We could see schools shutting down across the country, and even other schools in Maine. It was inevitable; the only questions seemed to be when and for how long?

Those questions were soon answered. We left on a Friday thinking we'd come back as normal the next Monday. It was announced on Sunday afternoon that we the teachers would indeed be coming to work, but our students would not be joining us. We spent one day making sure we could video conference, and calling all of our CBA students and making sure they were clear with what was going on. That day was the first day that gave me an inkling for what was to come. One of my colleagues said that day that, "it was only a matter of time before someone we know would be affected by coronavirus." Little did I know that it was going to be me.

The actual event, as most are, was underwhelming. On Thursday night I got a call from my dad, saying that my grandfather was in the hospital with pneumonia, but it was nothing to worry about; he was in good spirits and was strong. The next morning I got a text that he was unstable, then that they were doing CPR, and then that he had past. Just like that, I had become the one. It wasn't a coworker or friend that was going to be affected by coronavirus first; it was my family. After that moment, the reality of it really sank in. I saw people flagrantly disregarding social distancing guidelines and stay at home orders, and I became enraged. My heart rate would rise; I had a physical reaction.

So now, as many states move to reopen after being closed or under stay at home orders or mandatory quarantine, I am cautious. I am wary. I'm reading articles about how there was a spike in cases of the Spanish Flu in 1918 as soon as they lifted social distancing rules in St. Louis, and I'm thinking about the second and third wave of cases that ensued. I'm stressed because I can't honestly decide if the President is just playing a character or of that's the real person. We have at the top of the pyramid a person who flagrantly seems to disregard the things that I hold high in my world view. So now, I am skeptical.

How do you know that it's safe now? How do we know that we can go back to our normal lives? Will we ever be able to? Is 6 feet really enough space to keep between people? If 6 feet is good, wouldn't 10 feet be better? Now that we figured out that all those meetings could have been emails, why would we go back to meetings? When will we be able to have funerals again? When will we be able to have weddings again?

Through all of this, as we now begin to discuss and mull over possibilities for what a return to school will look like in the fall, I think of some advice that my grandmother gave on a family Zoom meeting. The advice came from her very good friend, and it is this: You can think about today, you can think about tomorrow. You might think a little about next week, if it's say, a Friday. Beyond that, you're nuts. There's no use in considering anything beyond next week. To do so is futile; our existence has been shifted, possibly for the rest of our lives, and we're still in it. We're still in the midst of a social and medical earthquake. My fear is that we haven't even begun to feel the aftershocks yet, and the people I witness around me are behaving like we're clear out of the woods.

I would love for there to be a point to this, but I can't think of one. This will just be another bit of bits clogging up the nets, hitting the feeds of the populous. Yet another perspective on the moments we are living through, together in our isolation, uniform in our uniqueness.

Control Theory

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Mon, 06 Apr 2020 18:13:00 +0000

Author's Note: I wrote this when I was in university, around 2013. I think it has some relevance now, which is why I'm posting it again.

So last semester I took a class called "Spacecraft Control." In this course, I was supposed to be learning the details of control theory as it relates to spacecraft flying through...wait for it...space. It had to do with all sorts of interesting things such as aerodynamic braking, outgassing (spacecraft flatulence), spin, wobble, differential equations, and all sorts of fun things. I should note here that this class is the sequel to a class called "Spacecraft Attitude Dynamics," which makes the acronym, SAD. This is appropriate, because while I'm sure the professor was actually talking about spacecraft control things, my classmates and I had no clue what he was talking about, and managed to pass the class by bullshitting our way through the final presentation. Sad, huh?

This is only relevant because of what I want to talk about here today. I was recently asked in another class to think about all the different ways that I am being controlled in my life. Whoa. None, right? I am a free spirit, independent of outside influence, fighting the good fight atop the mound of mindless sheep out there that make up most of America. Well, actually...no. It's naive and frankly, quite stupid to believe that.

The truth is, we are constantly being controlled. Every day. When you drive your car, you are controlled by traffic laws, stop signs, traffic lights, the slow car in front of you, the speed limit, traffic cops. You don't have to listen to any of those things, I know. But when you break the laws there are penalties, and if you don't pay, there are repercussions. More control. When you get to your destination you are being controlled to. At school, you have to go to class, you have to behave a certain way, you have to dress a certain way. At work, you're controlled by your boss. If you don't conform to this controlling power, you get fired. Before you go to school or get a job, you're controlled by your parents. They are the be all end all of your life. They control what you eat, when you sleep, what you where. Not all control is bad. Babies would be pretty much screwed without it. But as we get older we start to realize that our bosses have control over us, our professors have control over us, and so on. So we take control of the things we can to compensate for it.

We do this in all sorts of ways. The picture you have at your desk. The watch you wear. The crazy socks, the colorful clothes. What you eat. The cross pendant or David's star that's hanging around your neck, or the little Buddha that you keep with you. The car you drive. All these things are freedoms you get to take into your own control. But how free does this really make you? Not all that much.

You see, even these freedoms are controlling you. You need to eat healthy foods to be, well, healthy. Or you can be unhealthy, but then you won't live as long, and you are controlled by a primal need to matter to people, rapidly. You may wear a fun watch, but it will still control you because the very nature of time is controlling. Be here at this time, time is always passing, your time might come at any second, tick tock tick tock. You have a freedom of religion, but religions control you too. There's rules to follow and places to be on Sunday and things to wear and the like. And in religions that are focused inward, like Buddhism and Confucianism, there's self control. This might be one of the better types; if you're going to be controlled, you might as well control the controlling.

But there's still hope for you, you might think. What if you're an individual who controls other people? What if you have power? What if you have a lot of power? Well, good for you. But, you are controlled by the people over whom you reside. Unless you're a dictator. But even then, you are no doubt controlled in part by a small group of aids who you trust, some who you actually should, and some who are actually out to get you. What if, by chance, you are a dictator who is above the control of your aids? What if, by chance, you are in control of all the people of the world, and no-one is in control of you.

Wow. This is an interesting (and completely hypothetical) scenario. I won't keep you in suspense. You are still being controlled. You are on a planet in a solar system in a galaxy in a cluster (who knew?) in the universe. Your planet has a magnetic field, and a gravitational field. You can't jump as high as you want. You can't drive a hypothetical car with unlimited power as fast as you want because your speed will be aerodynamically limited. Even if you have power over all the earth, you can still be locked in a room, because you can't walk through walls. You're controlled by your DNA. You're limited because you're a human. The vastness of space is such that you could never master it all because you physically couldn't handle it. You could have power over all the earth and still get hit by a bus and be smushed like a bug. You are controlled by the neurons in your brain. There are things out there that you can not wrap your head around because of the way your brain works. Things you can not imagine because of the world you live on. If you had control over all the people of the earth, you would be in control of a fraction of a pixel in a picture of a fraction of a solar system in a galaxy in a cluster in the universe. There's probably more things you don't know are controlling you than you could ever imagine. Which is simultaneously awe inspiring, incredible, utterly terrifying, and most importantly, terribly true.

So, after thinking through this, the answer is, you're always going to be controlled. Whether it's by social norms, other people, the laws of physics, or the shear fact of your insignificance in the universe, you'll always be controlled by something. And I will too. We can't escape it. We can just be aware of it, take control of the things we can, and let the rest be as it may. Thanks for reading. See you soon.

Forget Me Not

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Wed, 25 Mar 2020 19:09:00 +0000

For Kay and David.

What happens to us when we die? I don't know. I don't think anyone else does either. If anyone ever tells you they do, be suspicious. On the surface it's an interesting question. What happens to us when we die? I, if you were sitting with me, could talk with you for hours about this. About what I think, about what you think, etcetera, etcetera... We'd talk and talk and talk, and maybe we'd make a few good points. But probably, we wouldn't. Because, after thinking about it for about a minute, I don't think it's an interesting question at all. We don't know the answer. We don't know how to find the answer. So, at the end of the day, what does it really matter?

Maybe it doesn't matter at all.

Since it might not matter at all, I think the best thing is just to continue making things up in the same manner we've been doing for all of recorded history. So, in that spirit, here goes.

Regardless of what happens when we die, don't be a dick while you're alive. Try and make the most out of every day. Love your neighbors. Love yourself. Notice the world around you, and try and make it a better place. Find the things that you don't like, and don't do those. Find the things you do like, and do them. Find the people you love, and love them. (You'll have to do some things you don't like possibly, for the people you love. We'll say that's okay.) Regardless of what happens to you when you die, do these things while you're still alive. These are the things that we, you, me, everyone else, can control. Everyday I wake up I can decide how to impact the corner of the world that I inhabit. Some days I give things to the world, other days I take from it. Some days I positively impact my corner, and other days I negatively impact it. We each do this every day we are alive.

Let us now consider the question from the point of view of those of us left standing here on earth. What happens to us when we die? Those that we loved, and those who loved us, come together. There's legal shit that has to go down. Someone gets paid a large sum of money to build you a casket. People who knew you gather in a building and sing songs, and cry, and console one another, and tell stories, and laugh, and remember what you were like when you were alive. They each have a different perspective on your life; now, postmortem, the only perspectives that remain. You become a memory. A collection of memories, in the minds of the people that knew you. The way you spoke, the things you did, the times you laughed, the things that made you smile.

These memories live on for a time. Those people wake up the next day, and continue their lives, and smile or laugh or cry every time one of those memories comes to the front of their mind. The memories get together, and they might cause people to take more lasting action. An event, or a memorial, in your name. To be a yearly reminder of when you were here. A constant joy in remembrance of your life, and a constant reminder of the pain of your absence. This reminder helps carry the memory along. The same stories are told. But, eventually, the people who knew you pass on themselves. The stories are still told, but now they are retold by those who never really knew you. Little details may change. Little details may be left out, or added. You still live on in memories, but they become a little less you. This, is sad.

Over the years, with the little details changing, being added, or omitted, you change a little more. And a little more after that. Until, eventually, you wouldn't recognize yourself. Your name might still be on the banner of the event, or on the plaque by the memorial, but the memories have irreversibly morphed. It's not the real you. You've transformed again, from a memory to an idea. The idea of you lives on. This is what exists in the minds of your descendants and of the descendants of your loved ones. The idea is not immortal, but it is nearly so. Ideas change too. They may be documented in different media, but those media will not last forever. After enough time has passed everything you knew will be different. The sun will die, the earth with it, and everything we know will be gone.

I'm writing this because recently, death has made itself known to me. The first people that I really knew in life are now dead. I don't know what to make of it. It's the same world, just they are not in it any longer. I see the same view out my window each morning, but they're not in it any longer. I've been thinking, what is it like for them? What are they experiencing? But each time I do, I know that I could not understand it. All I have ever known is life. I only know these dimensions; I might not comprehend another. It would be like explaining the concept of flight to an ant, or the internet to Beethoven, or complex calculus to a giant squid. Actually, the squid might understand calculus...

All I can do, all I can comprehend, is what life is like without the ones we love, and how they live on in our memories. Lest we not forget the loved ones we have lost, for there is where the afterlife exists on earth. Heaven on earth is often used to describe beautiful places. But the truth is, it is anywhere you are when you remember those who have died. In those memories, they live.

Author's Note: This post was originally written in the pre-COVID 19 days, where the societal rituals surrounding what to do with loved ones that passed on still involved social gatherings. Now, obviously, we can not do these things. How this affects the grieving process I do not yet know. I don't surmise it will make it any easier.

The Thing About Sloths

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Sun, 12 May 2019 11:07:00 +0000

I recently read The Salmon of Doubt, published posthumously from the hard drives of one Douglas Norman Adams. It is another addition to the brilliant canon of a brilliant man. I for one did not truly realize the breadth of his intelligence until I read some of the more candid bits that are contained in this final volume. There is a quote buried somewhere in the book, amid an article regarding, among other things, palmtop computers, typewriter keyboards, and Branwell Brontë. The quote is:

“My favourite piece of information is that Branwell Brontë, brother of Emily and Charlotte, died standing up leaning against a mantle piece, in order to prove it could be done.

This is not quite true, in fact. My absolute favourite piece of information is the fact that young sloths are so inept that they frequently grab their own arms and legs instead of tree limbs, and fall out of trees.

However, this is not relevant to what is currently on my mind because it concerns sloths, whereas the Branwell Brontë piece of information concerns writers and feeling like death and doing things to prove they can be done, all of which are pertinent to my current situation to a degree that is, frankly, spooky."

Now, you might read this and think to youself, 'No way! How did I not know that bit about sloths!', and then go on happily with your day. Or, like I did, you might think to youself, 'No way! How did I not know that bit about sloths!', and drive your little web browser over to Google or Yahoo! or some such search place (Just not Bing, for goodness' sake not Bing), search the bit about sloths, and find that it's totally bogus. There is no scientific evidence for it.

Of course, this piece of information made it onto the internet, and has been passed around and around by those who either a) believe it, or b) appreciate it. (Notice there is no c) believe it and appreciate it) Which brings up an interesting point, regarding bits of information. People around the internet seem to be all in a tizzy because little sloths don't actually mistake their arms for trees. Which, I mean, even for a sloth, is daft. Arms and trees are rather different. One is furry and hurts when you pinch it, and the other doesn't drop you 90 feet onto the ground when you grab at it. In hindsight, having believed this bit of information for a couple seconds, I feel a little silly. Of course baby sloths don't actually do this. Sloths live in the trees. If they constantly grabbed their arms and fell out of them they wouldn't have survived this long.

At this point, I was beginning to feel a bit sad. I mean how could Douglas Adams, the brilliant man that he was, have gotten this wrong? (The answer is actually quite simple, but we'll get to that later.) Then I realized, that it didn't actually matter. Read the quote again. (The whole thing, if you like, or if you are an efficient sort of person, just the middle part.) Never does Mr. Adams actaully assert that this is a fact. All he says is that it is his favorite piece of information. And here we get to an intersting point about information.

You see, to be information, there is no actual requirement that it be true. This is something that I think many people forget, which is interesting, because there is certainly more information available to us now than there has ever been. We live our lives in a constant state of information overload. It's everywhere. Phones, emails, every where all over your laptop, on the television, on the radio. (Do people still listen to the radio?) All that information about you on the internet that is false, is still information about you on the internet. With information being literally everywhere, it's important to keep the possibility that the information is false in mind. Now, there are obviously places where it is assumed that information is true. When you're reading BBC news bulletins. Or Aljezeera. Even NPR. The job of these organizations is to provide you with things that are factually true. When you're reading other sites on the internet, such as Fox News, or an internet blog, a little more critical thinking is required.

All of this being said, I do not know if Douglas Adams knew this information to be false when he wrote it. There are lots of pieces of information that are out there. For instance, Maine is the only state whose name is just one syllable. Pigs are the only other animal besides humans that can get sunburnt. It is illegal to hunt camels in the state of Arizona. The Bible is the most shoplifted book in the United States. Nutmeg is extremely poisonous if injected intravenously. If you spell out numbers, you have to get to one thousand (1000) before you use the letter 'a'. (For more like this, you can visit this website, or use your favorite search engine to find random pieces of information.) Now, are all of those pieces of information true? I have no idea. (Except the letter 'a' one, I know that one is actaully true.) But they are, in fact, pieces of information. Some of them, like the camel hunting ban in Arizona, are on my top 20 list. Some of them, like the one about Canada accidentally putting an American flag over their parlament building on their two dollar bill, are false, yet I still like them. Others, like the one about Canada putting the American side of the Sault St. Marie locks on the four dollar bill in 1900 instead of the Canadian side, by accident, are true (google it, but google it wisely), and I like them anyway.

The thing about sloths is: regardless of the fact that the bit about sloths isn't true, just try and get the image of a baby sloth mistakenly grabbing it's own arm and falling out of a tree out of your head. You can't do it. I've tried. It's just hilarious. The little guy is just sitting there and then fwoomp! It's brilliant. And you probably smiled thinking about it. Douglas Adams was a satirist, a script writer, a novelist, and brilliant by all accounts. This little bit about sloths is one of my favorite pieces of information as well. Because it's a great piece of information, and also, (this is the bit I said we'd get to later) it means that Douglas Adams wasn't always right. Which, I think, is one of my favorite things about him.

The Real First Post

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Mon, 15 Apr 2019 12:02:00 +0000

So I've been thinking the last post was a pretty shit first post. I mean, it's stuff that I think about, but it's not a good portrayal of what I think about most. So let's find that out. What do I think about most?

Well, I have the most wonderful, amazing, beautiful, sexy, incredible, partner in the world. Much of my thoughts are of her. You don't get to know those thoughts, though. So we'll move on to the next topic.

Skiing. I love skiing. I think about it often. The feel of the skis over the snow. The ecstasy of that full body motion, when you get it right and everything clicks. The arms pushing you through the poles, both legs working together to drive you forward. The feel of the cold air on your face and in your lungs. The sounds of nature all around you. The quietness that can only be experienced after you travel off the highway with your body as the vehicle for some time. I love everything about it.

This is closely followed by cycling, running, and sometimes swimming. For many of the same reasons that skiing occupies my thoughts, these activities do. It's a way to move your body over the surface of the earth, using nothing but food for fuel, and experience the world as you travel along. It's pure bliss.

From time to time I think about politics, social things. Not in the way that many people do, maybe. I think about the actual problems, what would be an real solution. I don't think about the bullshit that occupies most of the news networks. I think about it from the perspective of one little person.

I also think about words. I think about stories of the world that need to be told. Some of them have been told already, and others are waiting in dark corners for wordsmiths to come along and chisel them into works of art. I think about which words to use in these digital pages, which ones to use in my actual, real, tree killing pages. I read a fair amount, and I think about those words as well. Why did the author use this word instead of that? That's a beautiful phrase. Those types of thoughts.

And I think about music. I believe in music. I believe the right song can portray a feeling, an emotion, or a message in 5 seconds where a novel would take 500 pages. I spend a lot of time thinking of the right music for particular moments. When I run with music, I make playlists of the right songs for particular moods. One for daydreaming. One with heavy beats for my feet. I think of moments in life, and work to expand my musical lexicon so I can find the right song when the moment comes. I love to share music with the people I love. I think someone saying, "Here's a song I think you'll like," is an incredibly intimate gesture.

The last thing here worth noting is food. I think about food all the time. What I'm going to eat next, what have a just eaten, what would it be like not to have it. I'm always thinking about food. When I train often and intensely, it's worse. Then I'm always hungry.

So there you have it. That's a snapshot of my mind. The mind that will be telling some fingers to type some more words that you'll be able to read here. I hope you got something out of it. See you next time.

Purpose

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Beattie) — Sun, 24 Mar 2019 16:26:00 +0000

Purpose. I'm thinking a lot about purpose lately. Worth. What are we worth? We get paid money to do jobs, and many people I think just go through life doing their jobs thinking, 'it's just what I do.' Never a thought beyond it. Then one day BAM. It's over.

The thought of wasting away a whole life in this manner terrifies me. The struggle to find purpose is one that I think many people struggle with, but I also think it is one that many people do not. I wonder which is worse.

Finding a skill or a job that you can do and enjoy is one thing. That part is fairly easy. Not a given by any means, but someone growing up in a house with loving and supportive parents it's easy to see what you enjoy and what you don't. For me, it's endurance sports. Cycling, cross country skiing, running, swimming even, triathlon, biathlon. Here's the thing though. In America, anyways, you have to make money to exist. So the question becomes: how can you do what you love, AND make a paycheck doing it?

If life were totally up to me, I'd wake up every morning and walk out my front door onto the groomed skate track, ski 50k over beautiful terrain, come back inside, and warm up by the fire while reading. This, for reasons obvious to anyone who's passed 3rd grade, is unrealistic, unsustainable, and ridiculous. You need to have source of income, and for me, this comes from doing work. The work could either be for another person, like, having a job, or for myself, having my own business. There are pros and cons for both.

I believe that most of life for people who actually give a shit, boils down to this struggle. We live in a time when people can afford to search for their passion. Not all people, although I would like to see a time when this is possible. But some people can afford to search for the thing that they can do that makes them money that doesn't feel a thing like work. Sometimes, we find these things, like my skiing, and now try and figure out how to make money doing them.

What would the world look like if people could just search for their passions? This could be something we actually see, with automation of factory and other jobs. This frees up people, and if we had a universal basic income, truly universal and basic, then people could search. Some are more driven and will reach higher levels of success, and make more money doing so. Others will find passions that don't make them rich. This will be okay though, because their basic needs will be covered. You could search for this passion without worrying about where rent is coming from, where food will come for the table. Some people will use this to do nothing, to play video games, to sit and watch videos all day long. This is ok too.

If there was a basic income that was granted to all individuals, people could game the system by simply having many many children. They could then get all the money for those children, and abuse it. Would the solution be to limit the number of children, or to give vouchers for supplies and not money? It would then not be advantageous to have lots of kids, because all you would end up with is lots of diapers and baby food. It would limit the potential drains on the system, without a hard and fast law that says, "You shall not have more than 3 kids."

The last thing to consider right now, although far from the last thing to consider, is who would run this? In a world where everyone could pursue their passion, would there be enough people passionate about government and social programs to keep them running? I would love to say that I think one way or another, but the truth is I have no idea. I live in my own corner of the world and have no idea if a system like this is actually feasible. I like to dream it might be. I think the world would look a better place this way.

That's all for now. More musings will appear in this space, if you like that sort of thing. I can't promise they'll all be like this. They'll be about whatever comes to my mind. This is the internet, and I can do that. If you don't like it, get your own blog.