Let's Get Geological, Geological

As a recently married nephew honeymooned in Italy—Venice to begin—I thought of Vesuvius 300 miles to the south and the eruption in 79 that buried Pompeii and Herculaneum. This volcano that last erupted in 1944 looms near a Naples today with a population well over 3 million.

Of course, here in the US we have our own volcanoes for experts to monitor and to worry about. A 2018 update by the US Geological Survey listed the five most dangerous as Mt. Kilauea in Hawaii, Mts. St. Helen and Rainier in Washington, Redoubt in Alaska, and Mt. Shasta in California.

For many folks volcanoes may seem too remote to give much of a thought to much less a second one. But a lot of us here and abroad are primed to take a beat down from the forces that may be unleashed during the course of our lives.

No less a part of the equation of geological processes is the fact of our human population exploding in the past century—may go from 3 billion to nearly 9 billion in my lifetime. And we are anchored onto a moveable crust and subjected to a whirlwind of threats.

Think of our major metropolitan areas, and what a checklist. Earthquake zones, check. Volcanic zones, check. Flood zones, check. Tropical storm zones, check. Tornado zones, check.

We are but passers-by when compared to, say, Vesuvius, which is estimated to be 17,000 years old. The Social Security actuarial chart has me most likely making it to a little over 84.

Take heart those who have reached 65, 1 of 4 expected to reach 90, 1 of 10 to make 95.

Geologists routinely spout numbers in the million and millions of years. No, billions—the Blue Ridge Mountains, 1.2 billion years old, but youngsters compared to South Africa’s Makhonjwa dated to be 3.5 billion years old.

Like a 22-year-old, and then me. The Himalayas? Children, as mountains go. Merely 450 million years old. Punks. Like an 8-year-old. Okay, maybe not punks. I know some sweet youngsters around that age.

Perhaps these timescales are on my mind because I see so many references to 2030 and 2050 and 2100 as part of climate assessments. I’ve got a chance, 10%, at 2050, or nearly.

Thirty-one years seem so far off? Hurricane Hugo’s 30^th anniversary approaches. Thirty years ago? Nah, for a lot of folks seems like yesterday.

Teacher Slams Boy Into Brick Wall

Okay, so I resorted to clickbait in the title. Did it work? I may know within 48 hours via pageviews. That number runs mostly in a tight range except for the few times I dabbled in politically-tinged musings.

The story—and we’re talking about a decade ago—is simple as these stories sometimes are. Some lads from a rival high school seemed intent on provoking a fight during halftime at our stadium. About half a dozen as I recall came over to the home side, squared off with some our lads, and before much of anything happened, a number of adults intervened and corralled the would-be brawlers. Teachers, admin, a parent too, and law enforcement.

And, yes, I helped in the intervention. I grabbed one of the visiting wannabes and physically pulled/pushed him away from the scene and forced him to the wall of our concession stand.

Now, were the last five steps of our little dance to be on video, it would show me at a walking pace approaching the wall with him pretty much under control—pretty much—and pressing him into the bricks with my full weight.

Was he passive? Not until his adrenaline slowed down a bit.

Did I slam him into the wall? Not hardly. I see the word slam and think a car hitting a tree at 40 or 50 mph or Hulk Hogan taking Randy Savage to the mat.

Did the bricks hurt? I’m sure they did.

Why did I do that? He didn’t have a shirt on, and he was sweating. Nothing really to get a good grip on.

Did I have a chokehold on him as one of my students has said several times? No, but my right forearm was high on the back of his neck until he gave into my weight. I had at least 60 pounds on him.

Did he say anything? Yes, but I’m not going to repeat any of that.

Did I say anything? Yes, I told him he was done. Several times.

By the way, there was a plainclothes officer leaning against the wall while I was manhandling—yes, that would be the word—this kid. I asked the officer, who was much bigger than I ever was or would be, if he wanted to step in. He answered, nope, I seemed to be doing just fine.

I escorted the would-be-ruffian to the main gate, several times warning him not to think about anything other than getting off campus. At the gate, I reminded him that he was a long way from home, in another county, and his best choice would be keep moving in the parking lot, get in his car, and get back to where he came from.

As it happens, I don’t watch the news, or so rarely do I that it’s easier just to say I don’t. In the morning, I scan the headlines from a variety of news sources and commentary sites. Sometimes I will read the opening paragraph. What is clear to me is that stories often trickle out over several days, and at some point nearly all disappear into the muck that is 24/7 news and commentary.

Of course, we live in a world now of video via phones—sometimes recording the full event, sometimes just a snippet.

Perhaps, I could have had my viral moment. Ten seconds or so that could rocket around the country, maybe even the world.

I could have been the brute, the beast, or a contender in the hot flash of video fame.

Maybe a million hits for an event that had none.  

With a Capital N

A friend, who is kind enough to read some of my posts, even more kindly sends along comments from time to time. His last message was appreciative of my observations about the natural world—I would say Nature, with a capital N.

Somewhere along the way—early teens I believe—Nature became more than a playground, at the beach in Florida, or chasing through the woods in Minnesota. However, despite my inclination to find respite by myself out there as opposed to inside, I am no dewy-eyed Romanticist.

Witness the world that I see, the red fox carcass picked over by Turkey vultures, the fox that killed rabbits, the hunting hawks overhead diving after prey, the minnows fleeing bass. Yep, it’s that jungle as advertised.

Let me tell you a story. Earlier this week I watched 2 dozen geese take off to the northeast from the lake and as they rose to treetop level, they began a turn clockwise to the south. Except just as they were clearing the lake’s airspace, all but 3 suddenly made a sweeping turn counter-clockwise.

The larger group circled back over the lake and pointed themselves southward. The first 3 also then swung back toward the lake, but just as they reoriented over the water, one of them turned hard right and flew off by itself due north. The other 2 continued after the rest of the flock.

Now at this point, my mind could easily construct a human-flavored conversation among these birds a la Over the Hedge or Ants. At the very least, a “What the hell” from the 3 lead birds when the others turned away.

By the way, much honking was going on, so it’s not like some kind of stealth operation was underway. See, how easy to overlay a human sensibility.

Let me tell you another story. Last week I saw two Red-tailed hawks flying wing-to-wing over the lake for two passes and then they landed on the same limb of an oak at waterside. Two firsts for me, a pair flying together in formation like that and two sharing the same limb—I have seen two egrets do the same.

One hawk was clearly larger than the other, and it was the larger one that lifted off first and began circling out over the water again. After several turns, the calls began, not the piercing, shrill cries I hear with hawks, but a softened cry. Within a few moments, the smaller bird that had been looking off up the hill, joined the crying one in the air and off they flew.

Mating pair? Parent/offspring? I do not know. But, as I said, nothing I had ever seen before.

Now what I would say to my friendly correspondent is that these scenes appeal to my sense of Nature as opposed to human world where, as I told him, so much stuff is made up. That is not word for word, but close enough to reflect my thinking.

Was my life any better, or worse for that matter, for bearing witness to such scenes? Taking time to take in the natural world as my biological clock keeps on ticking?

Well, let me take the larger leap. When I say Nature, I mean to include the entire universe, which includes humans. Surely, that is expansive enough for a capital N.

Since I am a self-proclaimed scale and complexity guy, I am awed by scale of the universe—time for U-niverse? I am also awed by the complexity of the mechanisms, the forces, the tiniest to the largest, the sheer detailing of it all. Capital A. So, capital N.

But, dewy-eyed? Hardly.

P.S. First bald eagle sighting of 2019 this afternoon. Awe-some.

Two Degrees, Plus or Minus

Just before I began writing this morning, I checked the reporting stations locally for the temperature via Weather Underground. The range for the 19 locations was 31.1-36.9F. I tossed one out—registering 49—which I think suggests direct sunlight, perhaps enclosed.

By the way, the elevation differential for the sites runs about 250’.

My new wireless temperature gauge—showing 33.1 at the time—is no high grade, professional model, and its tolerance is plus or minus 2 degrees Fahrenheit. But, apparently the reading is in the ballpark of mostly about right, not too warm, not too cool.

In the past month or so I’ve watched various discussions about climate and geology that fuel such heated discourse and policy debate. Whatever flavors you might prefer, oh they’re out there. From solar cycles to CO2 levels to magnetic disturbances to geological business as usual.

Although I am no fan of cold weather, I do have a rooting interest in enough chill hours (below 40 degrees) for my fruit trees. But will not want freezing temperatures to harm tender buds. Somehow it all needs to be just about right.

Of course, CO2 is critical to plants and trees and so parts per million (ppm) do matter. Too few shuts down photosynthesis and more than enough is not productive. Obviously, professional growers using greenhouses are very necessarily on a need-to-know quest to optimize their crops.

All this information got me thinking, what about greenhouse worker safety, and by extension the rest of us. Oklahoma State University recommends alarms sounding when interior CO2 levels reach 2,000 ppm, which is 5 times the current atmospheric level. I am not in the quibbling mood regarding that assertion, and so just let it go.

At 5,000 ppm OKU folks think fatalities will occur.

Well, that sums up the issue. Except that "'Data collected on nine nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarines indicate an average CO2 concentration of 3,500 ppm with a range of 0-10,600 ppm, and data collected on 10 nuclear-powered attack submarines indicate an average CO2 concentration of 4,100 ppm with a range of 300-11,300 ppm,' according to a 2007 National Research Council report on exposure issues facing submarine crews".

The report goes on to state few health problems seem associated with the CO2 levels.

Say what? You know, I want to be informed, I want to understand the world as it affects me, us.

Egads! Enough.

Current temperature, 35.6F. Say it with me, plus or minus 2 degrees.

Winds, Unknown

Where the stock market will settle on December 31^st  of this year, I do not know. Where the stock market will settle on January 31^st, I do not know. Nor do you for that matter. A corollary, your stock has no value until you sell. As for loans against the value, that is for loaners to stomach the risk.

Another corollary, the value of your home unknown until you sell. As for equity loans…. Or your car. Or your collection of Betty Boop memorabilia. Unknown. And unknown.

The high and low temperatures for February 1^st where you live? Unknowns.

Number of hurricanes for the year? Unknown. Earthquakes over 7.0? Unknown.

Suicides in the US? Unknown. Above or below average, unknown.

Soybean crop in your state this growing season? Unknown.

Average price of movie tickets for the year? Unknown? Top-grossing domestic movie, unknown.

Broken bone this year? Unknown.

Unexpected loss of family member or friend? Unknown.

Okay, got it. Life’s thin ice over a moving current. How thin? Unknown.

Of course, thinking too much about any of this uncertainty is no way to live. Unless your thing is risk management.

Lightning striking you? Over an 80-year life span, about 1 in 80,000.

Dang sharks chewing on you? Around 1 in 2.7 million. The bees, and the like, have it—1 in 54,000 to be stung.

Killed by a mountain lion, around 1 in 132 million.

Hmmm, that lightning number doesn’t strike me as reasonable. National Geographic claims 1 in 700,000 to be killed annually, 1 in 3000 to be struck in a lifetime.

National Lightning Safety Institute is going with 1 in 280,000 chance of a strike during a year.

The British Medical Journal, 1 in 10 million. They also assert a 1 in 100 chance of dying from any cause this upcoming year.  

So, 99 out of 100 of us are off the hook this year, right? Unknown.

Happy 2019, People!

P.S. I am reminded of an administrator telling me that sometimes they—other admin—had to let Kaple be Kaple. Well, who the heck else would I be?

Unknown.