Archive for the ‘MY WRITING’ Category

STOP THANKING PEOPLE FOR THEIR SERVICE AND START SERVING

June 23, 2020

The day I arrived back in the US at Travis AFB, later SFO, I was carrying two arm loads of gear from my ship, which I had left about a day earlier in Subic Bay. As I half stumbled with the load along the sidewalk, people would not get out of the way.  I was still in uniform, and I would be until I could dig some civilian clothes out of my luggage, and that wouldn’t happen until after I arrived in San Diego.

That is how I left active duty in June 1977.  Nobody cared where I had been or what I had done, and there was no reason to care.  I filled a billet, I did what many young men did back then, and when my time was up, I rejoined the civilian world. The only things different would be that my hair would remain short—until the quarantine 43 years later—I lined up my shirt buttons with my zipper, and I called a lot of people “sir.”  I was 2 years older as a resident, and back then, that was considered significantly older.  November 11 came and went without my notice.  

For the next 25 years, that is about how things went regarding my past service. I had a few memorabilia on the wall in a bedroom, I drove lawyers crazy by using “sir,” because they expected a doctor to insult them, I guess. I learned a long time earlier that one could use sir in an infinite number of ways, just so the word got spoken. “Aye, aye, SIR!” I once yelled at the executive officer when I left his office having to do something I though was stupid and unnecessary.  I even let loose at an attending my first month, caught myself…and ended up with a “You are full of BULL–uhh-LONEY, SIR.”

It was 9/11 where things changed.  Suddenly, many wanted to get into the service and do something. I remember in 2003 at the AP Stat readers meeting, where a few hundred of us corrected the national AP exams, a couple of teachers were in the national guard and going to Iraq. At the meeting, they asked all veterans to stand. I was surprised.  Never heard that one before. As I stood, there were maybe 10 others in a group of about 200.  Interesting.  It is nationally about 7%.

The next time was Veterans Day that same year when I learned it was a holiday at a school where I was volunteering.  I was so surprised, I blurted out that hey, I was a veteran.  

Since then, there have been yellow ribbons on cars, flags everywhere, especially at football games, and on uniforms the players wore.  We started calling everybody who was serving a hero, which then was used for pretty much anybody who was doing what others didn’t want to do and who never before had been considered one or considered themselves one.  Heroes were also in charge of Abu Ghraib, too, or some of the more unsavory things that we did abroad. The flag got co-opted by one side, even as they did things in its name that the flag most assuredly did not stand for. 

At track meets here in Eugene, veterans and current military personnel are asked to stand before the national anthem. It is a weird and frankly kind of a neat feeling, although again, all I did was fill a billet on a ship.  If I hadn’t been there, some other guy would have had to do it. On Veterans Day, I now wear my ball cap and look for others wearing theirs, too, feeling a kinship over years, countries, and military actions.  One guy a hike with got blown up in Vietnam. He is a biologist and has had a full life. Once, one of the other vets told him that he felt guilty for staying stateside during Vietnam.  

“Don’t ever feel guilty,” the once injured man said.  He wore a hat that said “Peace.”

When Covid hit, I wanted to help.  I was willing to go to the USNS Comfort or Mercy as a medical officer—out of date to be sure, but able to help out in a military setting. It was a big pipe dream, of course, just like going elsewhere to help would have been.  I would have been  another person helping with some medical background, but I didn’t want to be one who got sick and made more work for others. I stayed home, was good, didn’t cause trouble, and did my part not to get infected. 

And so I find it strange, odd, and frankly reprehensible that when public health leaders in the country ask us to wear masks, to socially distance, to not crowd, and basically not to do stupid things, that there has been so much pushback. One of my military veteran former friends said that being worried was a result of watching too much TV.  Armed vigilantes descended on the Capitol here and demanded opening up the state. Wearing masks became a political statement, rather than a simple measure to try to limit the spread of the virus.  People complained that they weren’t being allowed “to live,” when in fact the whole idea of the restrictions was to ensure that more people did live. 

It was certainly a necessary, if unfortunate circumstance that people had to eschew normal human contact. But to don a mask—which can be decorated, like a hard hat or a helmet, or a car—to avoid infecting others and at the same time protecting oneself from infection, seems a tiny price to pay for the ability to again be outside, in public, able to do many things that for a couple of months we couldn’t do.  In Dallas, an increase of 12% absolutely for wearing a mask and social distancing—from 57 to 69%—would cause an outbreak to go from exponential growth to dying out.   A friend of mine went shopping where he counted 8 in 79 wearing a mask. I was surprised it was that high.

A couple of months of being limited in where we could go.  Anne Frank spent 25 months hidden where she was far more restricted than many of us were.  And she ended up dying.  

In Union County, Oregon, a few hundred had to attend church to sing and hold each other, ensuring that in a week 263 would get the virus in a county of about 15,000:  “Science is Real.”

“Thank you for your service” is now said to first responders, medical workers and essential workers. We need to stop saying it and realize all of us have a role in serving right now. We have a role not to get ill, not to enhance the spread of the virus, not to be jerks about it, not run too close to others in parks, or crowd in public.   We had a chance to stop the virus, and right now it looks like we will lose that chance. Wearing masks has somehow become against the constitution, against liberty, the right to infect man, the right to do what one wants, even if it infringes upon someone else’s rights—especially if that someone else is a Democrat.  

We have grown soft as a people. We are so concerned about our rights, we have forgotten about our responsibilities to collectively improve society. We want everything we want now.  But we aren’t willing to compromise a bit on anything that we think infringes upon our rights to do whatever we want without regard to consequences, costs to others, or anything else smacking of collaboration or helping one’s fellow person.

Wearing a mask is serving the country.  Use a face shield if one wants, but do something positive and useful. 

Thank you for…not being a jerk.

Face shields are easy to put on, allow one’s expression to be seen, and protect one’s eyes, which a mask can’t do.

The ball cap is wearing out, but the jacket still fits. 2016.
One can serve by volunteering outdoors, clearing trails. The author (right), Waldo Lake Wilderness, June 2019.
or…one can go on sites like zooniverse and help transcribe data from outer space, biology, physics, social sciences, or here, the names of prisoners at Mauthausen and other places, so that those who died are remembered. I visited Mauthausen, saw the “Gas Kammer” and the places where prisoners either had to jump into a quarry or be shot. It is a deep honor to be allowed to be part of the project.

THE ONLY TIME IN MY LIFE I WAS A RINGER

June 12, 2020

I had forgotten about this event for a half-century.  Or I had repressed it.  Anyway, while I was doing my morning 5-mile walk through the park today, just having seen my thirtieth different wild flower species (a Golden Iris), I thought of how this would be a lost summer for the young men who were on the canoe tripping staff at Camp Pathfinder, Canada, where I learned to canoe trip, nearly 60 years ago. One only has a few years when one is strong, has time, is willing to and can work hard, get muddy, sunburned, wet, cold, bitten by bugs, and travel by pack and paddle through of the most beautiful country anywhere.  I took 25 trips all over Algonquin Park in 6 summers, paddled to South River Village one year and spent two weeks up in Temagami in 1964.

I don’t know what brought the memory deep out of my hippocampus, but this morning I thought of a canoe race I was in 54 years ago–my only canoe race, a two man one, international competition (after all, we were in Canada).  

We staff members at Pathfinder had days off, where we either had to paddle two miles to the car dock from the island camp, or if we were lucky, caught a power boat.  Once there, it was 2-3 miles to the Park Road, and then we hitchhiked into Huntsville, about 40 miles away.  We did our laundry, had ice cream, great food (although it was great at Pathfinder, too, and lots of it), then had to retrace our route back to camp. One night, I went to the local night club at Hidden Valley, a nice hangout, which was still there in 2013 when I came through.  Back then, if one went to H.V., it would be a real late night getting back to camp. Somehow, we all did.

One weekend, and my memory is obviously very flawed, considering I hadn’t thought of this event since LBJ was president, Justin W. and I were approached by I believe the mother of two boys at the camp.  She was a rich socialite.  Her name would be immediately recognized in the clothing industry if I wrote it, but she wasn’t the story.  Justin and I were.  There was to be a canoe race on a lake nearby.  It may well have been Lake Muskoka, but all I remember was a big lake with powerboats.  Justin and I were handed paddles and a canoe, and I can’t remember if we wore PFDs.  We probably didn’t, because back then we thought we were immortal, rather than teenagers.

Justin and I weren’t great friends, and that summer, he was a loose cannon, one day holding on to a rock formation along the park road, head slumped over like he had hung himself. Cars stopped and people actually got out to check on him.  He was lucky he wasn’t cited by the OPP (Ontario Provincial Police).  He was a strong guy, so he took the bow for power, and I stayed in the stern for steering.  I can’t remember the number of canoes, but there were several but probably fewer than 10.  The water was calm, and when the gun went off, we exploded into a fury of foam, power, and testosterone.  Justin was amazing. Normally, I can overcome most bow paddlers from the stern, but he was giving me everything I could handle, and I didn’t want to waste anything on steering if I didn’t have to. My arms were aching like they never had ached before or since. I think the race was about a half mile, certainly not more than a mile.  

We won comfortably, but not a blowout.  Thrilled, we headed back to shore, arms quivering from the effort, but heads held high, very proud of ourselves.

Here is the part I don’t remember.  At first, I thought the camp leaders were present on shore and we had to leave, but a day later, my memory had changed a little. It turns out that thinking about something changes it neurologically, just like observing something in nano space changes it, too.

I think Justin and I got the trophy.  I think so, because I have a vague memory of our having come back to camp with it.  

Briefly.  

Because I also remember, and this memory is fairly clear, that we were not going to keep the trophy, and I have a vague recollection of giving back the hardware.  

How I wish I could remember this, and now as an old adult, wonder what in the world had been going on with the socialite and the canoe race.  I do remember our being told that we had no business being in that race.  That was before the term “ringer,” but today someone would say that she brought in a couple of ringers to win the race.

Today, we recognize a ringer as someone who shows up for a pick up sport who played for a Division I NCAA school. In basketball, he dribbles through your legs and you wonder what happened. If you shoot, he blocks and you have a leather sandwich. 

Justin and I talked about the race only briefly afterwards.  I remember his saying that we were racing against trappers and real woodsmen, and we beat ‘em all.  Thinking back, I wonder if the competition was a bunch of middle aged guys with beer bellies who couldn’t tell a J-stroke from jaywalking, or thought the bow was something you did after a good performance.  But I like to think we beat tough competition.  Of course, today, there would be video and posting on Instagram or Facebook, but back then it was a lot better, because we could make up a better story, sort of like I am doing here.

The following year, 1967, was my last at Pathfinder, and I was head man on four canoe trips.  I thought it was only two, but years ago, Pathfinder put them all on line, and I found my name as “Mike Smith in charge” four times. I decided to check on the trip I had with Justin. I went on Pathfinder’s Web site and found the trip about a minute later. Bless the guy who did this; what a great service to past canoe trippers.  There it was, a two day 12-man trip to McIntosh and Brûlé lakes, a loop I had forgotten about, and which I had mixed up with my last trip that year. On August 7, Justin was second man to me on that trip with four staff, four canoes, 12 men, the Blackbear-Ink portage, my first time over the miler, and the 1 mile Nature Trail portage which I would carry again four days later on my last trip as a staff man, and not again for 46 years, when I carried a canoe over it on a day trip.

Without putting it down.  I texted my wife, saying something like “That mattered.”  She texted back an eyeroll icon with “if you say so.”

The trip Justin and I took was for one purpose: to get every camper still in camp out of camp for one night so the staff could have a break.  That time of year, the long trips were underway, and the camp had fewer kids present. We took the last 8, along with four trip staff.  These guys weren’t into canoeing, but we got them out and back, and Justin was superb. He made sure there was no nonsense, and he helped the third and fourth men on the trip as well.  Nobody swamped, I checked the box “No” on the return where it asked, “Was there any profanity on the trip?” (not until the first portage, anyway) and  the staff had a great night alone in camp.

I gave Justin an AAA, the top rating, for the trip.  He told me he didn’t deserve it. I assured him that his presence was valuable.  He was great. I wonder if we spoke of the canoe race. We probably didn’t.  Too bad.

I’ve got to send in a donation to the Algonquin Campership Fund for Pathfinder. And I think I will send this to the current owner.  Maybe he can give me more information on the great race. Or be glad he wasn’t around when it took place.

I’d never add that trophy to go with winning the 5-10 hp power boat race on Honeoye Lake in 1960, and a bowling trophy at Clover Lanes in 1963, which was still there, too in 2013, but closed in 2016 to make way for Whole Foods.  I got a clock for winning my age group in the 2nd Annual AAN (American Academy of Neurology) 5 km run in 1992, but that and the other two were national events.

I’m still undefeated in international canoe race competition.  

The author back again in a red canoe.. Camp Pathfinder canoe dock; August 2013. Note the red neckerchief I am wearing

Day trip to Little Island Lake (and others). Author in blue shirt in back. I camped at this site nearly a half-century earlier.

JEALOUS

June 8, 2020

I was coring strawberries yesterday, after picking 20 pounds of them at a U-Pick spot out near Mt. Pisgah.  I was glad to get out there, and while the place was jammed, I was directed to a spot where I could be away from others. Picking is the fun part.  Washing is fine, but coring is boring, and going through several hundred berries makes for a long day.

My wife came in and had on a radio show from Doctor Radio from NYU Langone. Dr. Leora Horwitz of Health Care Innovation and Delivery Science discussed work in Covid survival in those who had been admitted to the hospital. It was a long session, so as I cored, put a red berry in a second colander, I listened to a study where people got key information from patients who later were admitted, tracking them until discharge. Wow, a hospital actually tracking something in real time, something important, with a lot of variables.  I would have loved to have spent some time doing that when I practiced.  I was jealous.

I looked over to my wife, saying, “I was trying to do this stuff 20 years ago.”  I was jealous.  I was also exaggerating on the low side.  I was doing it 35 years ago in the case of carotid endarterctomy.  I kept statistics for about ten years, until I finally got tired of beating my head against a wall and started doing quality improvement in a nursing home, since I couldn’t get anywhere in a hospital on the other side of the 110th meridian, which ran down Anklam Road between the two. I’ve often wondered how the nursing home did during these past few months. I proved then that one could decrease reporting of weight changes to the state about 80% if patients were weighed on the same scale. That’s an example of saving money and improving quality. I couldn’t get that information to fly over the meridian.

They did good work at Langone.  They found fully 75% of the patients there admitted survived to discharge.  That is useful information and impressive care, which also made me jealous.  I didn’t see too much impressive care in practice, although I sure tried to steer the place towards it.  Langone looked at risk factors and found that some lung conditions surprisingly did not seem to be problematic  They studied 5300 patients.  Of course, they had a lot of throughput and nice computers, rather than the pen and paper and the work I did by myself in medical records, back in the mid-80s and later.

I listened to the whole show and shook my head, now green with enby, which went well with the red on my fingers, my jealousy giving me a Christmas appearance in June.  I never got the chance to work for a group that really was in to dealing with learning like this one.  That’s exciting, when people are engaged in something bigger than themselves and proud of their work.  I had a little of that in the Navy, but only a little.  

I finished cleaning the strawberries and put the last two trays in the freezer. It was a good start for the season.

I have followed the Covid numbers from the beginning, when US deaths were still grouped by county and state, and we were well behind China.  I’ve watched as Mississippi briefly rescinded open up orders when they had a flurry of cases. Turned out, it was a data dump from the prior weekend.  I’ve listened to people who were concerned about our death rate here in Oregon, when on the same graph as New York, there was no daylight between the line in Oregon and the x-axis.  Here, we flattened the flounder.

I’ve watched, as Britain and the US had peaks and valleys in the daily death count, which seemed to be 5 days of the former and 2 of the latter.  Yep, the weekend.  This sort of data dumping wreaks havocs on the models that we are using to deal with the epidemic.  We had a $35,000,000,000 (worth writing it out) information system a decade ago in health care, and it was shut down during the pandemic, because it was taking valuable time away from patients.  

What in the world is wrong with us?  Or with the generation behind mine, where we counted things, pen and paper, made lists on paper, tracked stuff on paper, and knew where we were very quickly?  If an information system is only used for billing, and it slows down patient care, we really have lost our way.  Now I moved to anger.

Well, we need data inputters to do this.  Fine, put out a call. I will volunteer my time. This is bunk.  The Vice President and the Coronavirus Task Force—remember them?— asked hospitals to “please” send numbers of Covid-19 cases in their intensive care units daily. You don’t say please. You say, “Do it.” Finally, we did it, and our numbers are currently at about 17,000, compared to under 1000 in many European countries, about 300 in Italy now. Italy. Brazil is stuck on 8315, where they’ve been for a month, so they aren’t updating it. We aren’t alone. We do share the same type of leadership, however, as do two other countries in the top five, Britain and Russia.

Please?  From this group?  OK, they put out a flow chart how to get Covid tests in California that had precisely three lines. Remember Dr. Birx holding that up?  Amazing.

How difficult is it for any hospital in this country to count, as of midnight every night, the number of Covid-19 cases and the number in ICU?  You don’t need a computer for this stuff. You need someone who can count, write it down, and call it to a central hot line.  Oh yes, we could use email, too, but apparently our tech savvy populace doesn’t like that.  

It’s disgusting, and if it screws up the models we have, it is going to kill people through lack of timely information.  

Because we cannot do things in real time, we need people go back and “clean” the data, and that takes more time.  Fine, clean the data, but get the preliminary out immediately. We need it for planning.  It is easy to do, cheap, certainly not $35 billion, and it is data that everybody interested in Covid-19 wants on a daily basis.  NYU figured it out, but they are good.

I know Americans really don’t like numbers and counting, preferring nice looking software, glossy paper, and lots of colorful worthless pie charts to make the data “look good” (the human brain does not distinguish angles well, so that pie charts are a sub-optimal way to present data.) I’ve had this tirade before when I learned that mortality data, like for breast cancer, was three years old.  We ought to be able to track diagnoses in nearly real time. They have to be made by a pathologist, and there are a limited numbers of pathologists.  Every week, send the appropriate numbers to a central registry.  That way, we have immediate data, and can later use the 3 year old clean data, to compare and see exactly how much error there is and why. 

This is not the first time I offered to count things. I wanted to do it with medical errors with chart reviews with a three part ordinal score of No Error, Possible Error, Significant Error.  This could have been done in every hospital in Arizona, where I once lived, and we could have had a state wide tally of possible errors.  Oh sure, someone would sue, so those who have never been sued, unlike me, wanted to shut the whole thing down or asked me what kind of software I was using.

My brain, That’s the software.

It is soft.  Gelatinous even. That good enough?

THE JOYS OF CURIOSITY AND COUNTING

April 25, 2020

I miss hiking.  I miss snowshoeing, my last one five weeks ago now, when I soloed into Arrowhead Lake in the Diamond Peak Wilderness with nobody out there.  I knew I would not be going any time soon, and I fondly remember that special day.

Snowshoe tracks on Arrowhead Lake, Diamond Peak Wilderness March 2020

I am fortunate enough to be able to go out and walk, and nearby Alton Baker Park, straddling Eugene and Springfield, has miles of trails in meadow, oak savannah, and riparian zones.  I  cross Alton Baker to get to stores by the UO, and I’ve walked the entire 16 mile river bank loop on both sides.  Occasionally, I do a loop from Knickerbocker Bridge to Autzen Bridge and back through the park coming home.  It is about 4 miles and goes along the Willamette and then the canoe canal.  For the first week, I did my usual walks that I had done before.  

Then I decided to add more distance, going further downstream to the deFazio Bridge.  Because it is spring, I started counting the number of different wildflower species I saw.  I have a good app from the brother of noted trail writer William Sullivan.  For the past two years, I have used the app and a few other books to identify well over 150 species of wildflowers on my hikes over the course of the season.  I almost hit 200 last year.  In the park, I could usually hit 20, and one memorable day got near 30.  

Mind you, many of the wildflowers are weeds, but many of them are pretty, and I’m a non-native here, too.  I started by walking through a neighborhood over to the parking lot by Autzen stadium, past Cuthbert Amphitheater, where I have seen a couple of concerts, down to the duck pond, and the center of the 1 to a billion solar system model, and then upstream along the river to Knickerbocker Bridge and back home.  It is somewhat more than 5 miles and fairly quiet.  There are interesting birds, too.  Two of us are making an analemma at local noon throughout the year near where the big “Sun” is. I get to see rushing water leave the duck pond to go to the Willamette, then the Columbia, and finally the Pacific.  Or the atmosphere.  

But I couldn’t have imagined what I was going to see in the way of flowers.

With wildflowers, like birds, or stars, observing is quite simple: you look, if you don’t know what something is, you try to find it in a book or ask somebody, and eventually, if you see it a lot you know what it is, and after a while know its habitats. What you need is curiosity more than anything else, and I was lucky enough to have a lot instilled in me when I was a kid.  It ranks up there with reading as one of the greatest gifts I’ve received.  In Tucson, I did birding on my neighborhood walks, being called the Bird Man, and 20 species in a day was great.  The Christmas Bird Count included my neighborhood, and then I would push 30 species. I found that telling the difference between a pyrrhuloxia and a female cardinal was easy, whereas earlier I thought it impossible.  Verdins had different calls, depending on the time of year; we had rock wrens in the neighborhood and I heard an occasional canyon wren, in addition to the ever-present cactus wren, the state bird. I am very auditory; I remember people by their voice rather than their face, and I do birding the same way. I may not see a spotted Towhee, but I sure can tell when I hear one.  Lately, however, I have been spotting them more easily.  It’s practice and knowing what to look for.

Two weeks ago, I saw twenty species of wildflowers on a walk for the first time this year.  As I walked through the neighborhood, I saw a non-native pale blue violet growing outside someone’s yard.  By Autzen Stadium, I saw my first California poppy, and by the Science Center I saw the first camas of the year, a lovely five blue petaled plant.  I found a stretch near Frohnmeyer bridge where within 100 yards there were over 20 different species. I saw Hooker Fairy bells and realized the past couple of years I had misidentified a Woodland buttercup.  I went nearer the river and saw a Money plant, 4-pealed pink flowers. Larkspurs and Plumed Solomon seal were everywhere, along with Trilliums and Fringe cups.  Someone picked an Iris that I needed for my count, but a week later two more sprouted.  Near them were a cluster of Fawn lilies.   I learn more each year from the mistakes I have made.  Last year, I learned about salsify flowers, this year, I realized there were three kinds of geraniums with different sizes and leaves. I am picking up on grasses, too.  A few days later, I hit thirty species and ended the day with about 35. I figured that would be the top number. 

Camas

The app is great: I open it, make sure I have the right part of Oregon, the right week, and the right elevation. That decreases the flowers to about half, or 1800.  Wildflower (vs.  conifer, other tree, grasses, etc.) color, number of petals, size of blooms, whether leaves are alternate, opposite, apical or basal, the environment (Disturbed, alpine, rocky, riparian) bring the numbers down often to a dozen, sometimes to three or four. Then I can look at a map, read the description, and see if this is the plant.  

As the weather got sunnier, the counts rose.  I hit 40, then 45, and even 48, getting a sow thistle, Persian speedwell, and yellow oxalis in the last 20 yards, when I wasn’t expecting anything. That’s the other thing about observing; you have to always hope there is something there and at the same time be happy just to be looking and seeing what is there. Sort of like fishing.  I identified a Torlinga crabapple tree, then looked at my feet where I was almost standing in a patch of Lesser Periwinkle.

Today, I was musing how the single dogwood blossom I had seen for the past week had finally gone. For whatever reason, I looked up, which apparently I had not done, being more interested in ground blooms. There above me the whole tree was abloom. Fabulous.

Dogwood

A lot of times, I need to try different colors of the petals to make sure I am not missing something else.  I don’t identify everything but close to 90%.  I write them down when I get home and count them when I am out there.  I count a lot of things, always have, every day, often without thinking and often without knowing what I will do with the counts.  I watch the birds, too.  The other day, a Canada goose landed on the duck pond. As he landed, his feet extended and briefly, he was skimming the water like a water-skier, minus tow rope.  I had never seen that before.  There is a lot of interesting stuff in nature, but one has to look, and it helps if one both knows what one is looking for and at the same time, have the joy of looking for its own sake. One memorable morning in Nebraska, dancing cranes made the whole Platte River bounce for about 2 seconds.  I saw it myself.

https://michaelspinnersmith.com/2018/04/09/the-morning-the-platte-river-danced/

Canada geese young

This past week, I topped 50, then 52, reaching 56.  Some wildflowers are starting to fade. Oregon grape will be gone soon.  Someone picked the iris and the salsify, but I found another salsify near the river and two new irises have appeared.  The Wild roses are blooming now, and one of the plants I could not seem to identify turned out to be Miner’s lettuce.  That gave me 57 for today. And it was raining.

I’m looking forward to what I hope will be a chance to go back up Spencer Butte and this summer into the high country.  Trail work also means a chance to see new wildflowers.  But I am so happy I started looking where I hadn’t looked before.  

It’s remarkable what one sees.

Ladybug on English plantain
Fawn lilies
Plumed Solomon’s seal
Hooker Fairy bells
Red Columbine

DAYSRUNTOGETHER

April 7, 2020

As I began to write this, Bill de Blasio, the mayor of New York City, asked for a nationwide draft of doctors and other health care workers.

Ah, the draft.  I was number 56 in 1969; one brother was number 139; the other was a staff sergeant in the Marines at Da Nang. I ended up going to medical school, joining the reserves there, then spending two years’ active duty aboard the ‘Lou, the USS St. Louis (LKA-116), with two deployments to the western Pacific and having seen just about every country that bordered the Pacific north of the equator.  Just about.

The draft ended in 1973, so if I had not joined, I never would have had the experience of being a medical officer in an organization where medicine was not the top priority.  It had to be that way in the military, but ultimately that was the reason I left. But I never regretted my service. Not once.

In the interim, I have often wanted a draft, and we likely would have been a lot more cautious about entering conflicts if we had one.  A lot of young men—now women—need a time in their lives when they have to follow orders.  A big reason we got out of Vietnam was that everyday America was taking part in the war. People in the military weren’t heroes then, other than the real ones who got “The Medal” or one of the Stars. When I returned home, nobody spat on me, but nobody treated me any differently, either. I was just a young man in the military.  Just about everybody had to do it, unless they had bone spurs or some other often minor condition.  

It was a couple of decades later before Veterans Day actually had meaning for me.  I realized I was a veteran, not something that had often occurred to me for at least 15 years after my service. Really.  

Now we are in a pandemic, with doubling times of deaths recently in the 3 day range, starting to lengthen now to 4-5 days, having doubled 14 times total as I write this, with only four more doublings before we hit 100,000.  You can see why 200,000 (one more doubling after that) is on the table. And NYC needs help, badly.

From what I see and hear, there are times I am tempted to pull out my old bag and go to volunteer, since I doubt there will be a doctor draft any time soon.  Even as out of date as I am, I could certainly screen, talk to families, answer calls (with my upstate New York accent), help with intubations, and probably a few other things.  

But that’s more romantic—and a lot crazier—than reality.  I would likely get in the way, probably get sick, not unlikely become a ventilator candidate, which I would refuse, and die alone, my last days becoming part of the problem I wanted to help, 3000 miles from home.  I’d rather do it here, but as of this writing, we have had our 10th doubling for cases (1024) and our doubling time is about six days. That doesn’t mean we can’t have a huge outbreak by June, but the doubling time is gradually lengthening. Our growth factor (new/prior day) is often under 1, which is good.

I’ve never been a hero, and I am not about to be a martyr, either.  We need to have a solid volunteer corps where people can immediately go to where they are needed, starting close to home. I might be good talking to families who want information.  When I practiced, I did not shy away from talking to families of dying patients.  I didn’t like it a good share of the time, I certainly didn’t get paid extra for it, but that was my job, and I made sure I did it.  I’ve been on both sides of the white coat, and I know how important it is to actually speak to a doctor about an ill family member.  But I doubt anybody will be interested. I am good at knowing when care is futile and when there is no ethical reason to continue, but many others know that just as well and are current.  

That leaves me one other spot on the left coast: the USNS Mercy. After all, I once served on a ship.  I know how to enter and leave one (if not in uniform one faces aft, where the flag is, then one faces the officer of the deck and requests permission to come aboard.) I know the numbering system on board, so if something is deck 2, frame 46, I know it is two decks below the main deck, port side and up forward to frame 46.  This is not rocket science.

I would have a place to stay, no worries about commuting, would be available for all sorts of duties.  After all, that stuff is not easily forgotten.  My hair is short, I line up my buttons with my zipper, I can say “Sir” easily, and most of all, I have this skill.

The Navy wants no COVID aboard the ship. That is impossible.  It will happen. And I recognize that.  But with hundreds of thousands of retired military in southern California, my ending up on the Mercy is not going to happen.

So, the days run together. I have lengthened my morning walk from 3 miles to 5, much along the Willamette River, which is flowing well if a bit low from another dry winter.  I wear a mask now—just a balaclava, so long as the mornings are cold—and count the number of wildflower species I have seen.  I hit 23 today, which is good for this time of year in a limited habitat. The towhees are zzzzttting, the scrub jays calling, with an occasional Steller being seen, cormorants are on one of the river islands, herons are close by, and there aren’t a lot of people out there.

It’s a good time for those few of us who dislike crowds.  I feel sorry for those who can’t be in large groups, especially because life may change after Covid.  I don’t know whether I will ever tutor again in person; I won’t be carpooling to the high country for hikes or for work parties on the trails.  But I spent my first year here not carpooling, and lately, I have been hiking alone, rather than with the Club.  Those are my best hikes, my best snowshoes.

Up in the high country, it will be quieter this year. The new requirements for trail reservations at some of the busier trailheads are not going to be rolled out as soon as planned. The trails may get a rest from the crowds this summer.  I worry about fire season, but if few are in the high country, that removes a large risk.  

Coming home after my walk, I spend time checking the numbers of the epidemic, seeing if I detect any changes. I also do some algebra problems on line and go to zooniverse and pick a couple of projects to help out,  My lap is open for a couple of the lap cats.

I would love to help, and maybe I will get a chance to, but unless things hit the fan big time here, I am best suited to take care of myself and be one less problem, one less case.

Milton’s Sonnet 19:

“…“God doth not need

” Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best 

 “Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state 

” Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed 

 “And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest: 

 “They also serve who only stand and wait.”

English Daisies
Following the CDC (a huge disappointment overall in these times) guidelines. Elections matter.

BEING SOOOO OUT OF DATE

March 29, 2020

In my daily analysis of Covid-19 statistics, I went to a twitter feed by Marc Lipsitch of Harvard, a leading epidemiologist.  I almost became an epidemiologist rather than being a statistician.  I thought at the time that statistics was more appropriate for my math background, but epidemiology might have meshed better with my medical background. It would have been more helpful now.  I probably would have found work as an epidemiologist back then, too, although maybe I wouldn’t have written as much, and maybe I wouldn’t have gone to so many wild places in this country.

Anyway, I never used Twitter, which is my first Luddite confession. I can go online to Twitter feeds without dealing with the rest of the platform.  I haven’t missed it, either. That is sort of how I look at my past.  If I have regrets, I am sorry, I missed something.  If I have no regrets, then so be it.  I look at Twitter feeds online with meteorology, climate change, and now Covid.  Those people are smart, really smart. I wish they would be heard. 

From Lipsitch, I went to a data group about Covid, where they welcomed new people.  I was interested, since I have what I thought were a few data skills, so I clicked on and saw a list of people who gave their skills. 

OMG, I was immediately over my head. I had never heard of Python, at least the non-slithering kind, and at least two-thirds of the recipients (I count that sort of stuff, but it’s kind of low tech) had machine learning, AI (Artificial Intelligence), and a host of other skills I clearly didn’t have. I realized that I was so far out of my league that I left the site.  I then looked at python online and realized that I could probably learn it, but why would I want to at this stage?  First, I need to survive this virus, which at may age is about an 86-95% probability, maybe less because of gender, maybe more because of my current health.  Second, I have done fine the last nineteen years after grad school without doing this.  I never even learned the new statistical program “R,” which was called “old” on the python web site.

You know you are old when the things you didn’t learned when they were brand new are now considered old, and you still haven’t learned them.  

I have gone from being a guy who counts everything in his life and does mental arithmetic for kicks to a has been in the field of data analysis.  If the economy totally meteor craters I am out of luck for any data analyst job.  Nobody wants a guy who as a kid updated batting averages every Sunday from the results on Saturday, doing it by long division. Or can multiply two digit numbers by two digit numbers every time he sees them—during a conversation without missing a beat.  If you have ever talked to me, there is a good chance I once did that. Scary, isn’t it?  

On the other hand, I got back to being me.  I have the data from China, Italy, Spain, Germany, Iran, and the US, and I am checking the UK and Netherlands, too.  I was doing doubling time analysis before I read about them online.  I didn’t need the graphs; I could visualize what the data were doing. I could look at long strings of numbers and decide what ratios I needed to look at: Deaths to Cases, Deaths to Recoveries, doubling time of cases, deaths, daily changes, where a country was on its curve.  It’s not like these statistics are the final word—deaths to cases is definitely NOT a mortality percentage because of lag time—but the change in them is useful.  My watch altimeter I hike with isn’t accurate, but the absolute change is accurate and exceedingly useful.  

So, my data skills and a few bucks will buy one a medium, hot, decaf white chocolate mocha with almond milk at Dutch Brothers, where they know me at the Franklin Street kiosk, but they don’t take cash right now, and I would have to walk up to the drive-in window if I want anything these days. I go by on my 4 mile loop every day.

Italy is slowly seeing the doubling time increase. That’s easier to comprehend than the percentage rise is dropping each day.  While true, it is the first derivative of the curve, and a decrease of something that is increasing confuses people.  Lengthening doubling time doesn’t.  I read a lot, I look at good graphics, which I am not good at creating myself, I do my own poor ones, and because I lost my calculator, I am doing it with a phone calculator until I get a new one.  Heck, last week, when I was having trouble getting back to sleep, I was doing logs in my head.  I got them right.  I made a prediction of the world cases and deaths for the next day and was within 500 for both of them.  

While I can’t do data analysis that will help save the world from this pandemic, I can keep myself busy looking at the data, comparing my conclusions to others’, and when it is all over, go back to tutoring math, explaining things to people who need someone competent  who can do that.  After more than 60 years, I can qualify as that person for at least some things.  The community college has had me for six years, and they still want me.

No, I don’t have Vimeo on my computer, I tried DropBox, and it was a pain, so I don’t use it. I left Oovoo and I haven’t used Viber in years. I still use WhatsApp and Telegram, I can’t make sense out of the Safeway app, and probably a third of the apps on my phone I haven’t used in months, if ever.  

I’ve got a meeting on Zoom next week with the Cascade Volunteer board. A month ago, I had never heard of it.  Should be interesting.  

Cherry blossoms
Great Blue Heron nests

ETHICS AND OTHER THOUGHTS IN THE ERA OF SOCIAL DISTANCING

March 24, 2020

I was one of the first hike leaders in the Club to lead a group hike after the world changed, and I appear to be the last for awhile.  We normally do a Wednesday hike up Spencer Butte, meeting as a group at the bottom, and hiking up 3 miles with 1400’ elevation gain.  Several usually walk up together, although I go ahead if I can, using the hike as both conditioning time and as alone time, unless I end up being the Pied Piper with several breathing down my neck behind me but not passing.  I hate that.

Last snowshoe before I left the high country for quarantine. Arrowhead Lake, Diamond Peak Wilderness, Pacific Crest Trail.

Anyway, social distancing comes naturally to me, since I have always been one of those who stands in a corner at a party, assuming I even go to one.  As hike leader, I started by having the sign up sheet in my control, the bag for money several feet away on the ground ($1 per person), and as people came to sign in, I signed them up myself, had them drop the dollar in and start up the trail.  I went last, which worked worked well.  At the top, I had to dodge a couple of children who were running around and ask a few hikers to leave the larger group which had congregated up there. It’s difficult for many to avoid being close to another person.  I’ve seen it in camping, where people camp near me despite having a lot of area to use, and in parking lots, where they park next to me when there is more room elsewhere.

On the way down, I was last, but I saw the front group too close together following one another.  This is a bad habit on the trail, especially during this time. The Butte gets a lot of use, and somebody trying to pass a large group (it was once 18) has difficulty doing it when the front two are taking their time, and the people in the back just join in the parade.  I’ve not been able to change that. I got back to the trailhead and left.

Later, I got a text from someone telling me the coffee shop was open.  I didn’t answer.  On the trip description, I told people what they did after the hike was their business.  I should have been more forceful, recommending people not go to the coffee shop.  That seemed obvious to me, but we are in a new era: right now, get food, medicine, or exercise.  That’s it.  Not socializing. 

Pandemics have bookended both ends of my life.  I remember dimly the polio ones of summers when I was a young boy; my brother caught it. Now I am old and have another RNA virus to worry about.  

I walk daily in Alton Baker Park, where there are dirt and paved paths close together, the former for only pedestrians.  The problem is that I see pairs of pedestrians, not likely living together, walking maybe 3 feet apart, leaving no space for me. If one doesn’t move behind the other, so I can pass, I have to step off and waiting or even going to the asphalt trail. It’s one of the few times I am less annoyed about unleashed dogs.

The suddenness at which I changed surprised me. On 10 March I tutored at the community college, only wiping down the desk, with close contact with several students. The next day, I went to a meeting with the board of the Cascade Volunteers, feeling a little uncomfortable in the room, sitting about 3 feet away from anybody else.  Thursday, I did trail work, but two of us drove ourselves; others still carpooled. That day, 12 March, the world changed. Friday, I called in to the community college, saying I wouldn’t be coming. I went shopping that night, deciding not to wait another 12 hours, but I was what I would consider now “sloppy.”  Between my age and my sex, I am high risk.  I will not likely qualify for ventilator support should we run low on them. I am 14 days since the last time tutoring, 13 days since the last meeting, 4 days since I went to the UPS store. Counting to 14 matters a lot these days.

Upper Trestle Falls, Brice Creek, Umpqua National Forest. Trail work doesn’t mean one never sees anything; I had my lunch here that day repairing trail away from the group.

Counting the doubling time of cases and deaths matters, too. Increasing the doubling time is a quantitative way to see if we are flattening the curve.  The number of cases in the US is doubling a little more than two days, although some of that is on the basis of more testing finally being done. I am watching doubling times carefully, because it is easy to do, and Increase Doubling Time is a quantitative way of Flatten the Curve. 

Exponential growth doubling time per unit time is easy to learn. Divide 70 or 72 (easier to work with) by the time it takes to double, and one has the growth rate in per cent.  Doubling every two days is a growth rate of 35%; Spain is at 4 days (18%). 

Another way to look at it is that 29 consecutive doubling times are more than the US population, and right now we are between the 15th and 16th doubling times (32768 and 65536).  At a continued rate every two days, in less than a month the whole country would be infected.  If we push the doubling time back to 4 days, we would have closer to two months, same number of cases, but twice as much time to care for them, have more equipment, maybe have some anti-viral treatment.

I have a daily routine right now, and I was happy to see astronaut Scott Kelly suggest that. I learned last night that we can still exercise, so long as we stay apart from people.  My park is perfect for that.  I can walk four miles every morning, the hyacinths, Persian speedwells, wild cherries, and Oregon grape are in bloom.  The song sparrows call; the redwing blackbirds are building nests. A Great Blue heron is at the canoe canal.  Several are nesting upstream.

I just want to get through this time. My wife, the cats, a routine, math, and nature are all a big part of it.  

Riley, adopted from the Humane Society about 18 months ago. We kept the name.

OPEN SCHEDULE AND AT PEACE

March 15, 2020

Last Thursday, I went with the trail crew to work the Clark Nature Trail over in Fall Creek.  Half the crew would be doing puncheon work with the Forest Service crew; the rest of us would do grunt work on the trail.  That was fine by me. I have become more and more comfortable doing trail work, widening trails, removing rocks, closing trails, diverting them. 

We met at the Shell station south of town for our “tailgate season” where we discuss what we will be doing, specific safety hazards and review general safety behavior.  Normally, we then divide up into vehicles to carpool to the trail head, but this time I said I would be driving myself.  I had decided to do that two days before; I didn’t want to ride in close contact to several others. I wasn’t the only one doing this in a group of 60 and 70 year-olds. 

At the trailhead, we had another tailgate session with the Forest Service and a specific discussion of the job we were to do. Several of us started by each picking up a 4 by 4, about 9 feet long, and we had to carry it through the woods uphill a half mile to the work site.  That is a cubic foot of wood, and it was heavy. I hoisted mine and was last in the group heading out.  I wasn’t sure how long I could walk without having to take a break, but I found that by stretching my right arm out along the wood ahead of me, it was like carrying a canoe.  

I stayed in the back of the group, but about half way there, the person ahead of me set his 4 x 4 down to change arms.  I told him I was passing, so I wouldn’t get hit by his wood, went around him and then kept on to the top. It wasn’t a competition, but I wanted to get to the top without stopping, and I did.  I walked back down to the bottom, got a second 4 x 4, and did the same thing.  After that, we did trail work in the mud, making a new trail and closing off an old one with nearby downed branches and logs. We made a small stream diversion, filled in holes from past posts, and pulled out a fence post deep in the ground.  It was a pleasant day in the woods among the pioneer violets, trilliums, snow queens, running streams, giant trees, Pacific wrens and spotted towhees. 

Before leaving that afternoon, I talked with one of the other guys, very experienced from working years for the Park Service.  He is about my age, has had cancer, and drove alone, too.  Neither of us was scared of the coronavirus, but we both knew that we needed to be cautious.  In the woods that day, the outside world had changed.  When I left that morning, many things were still planned, I had  a schedule with some things I needed to do.  When I returned, the stock market had plummeted again, basketball was over, baseball too, my trip to Nebraska in April was cancelled, Forest Service meetings I was to go to, scheduled for next week, became virtual, It was a different country, almost the way it was after 9/11, 1/28/86, or 11/22/63.

I was asked if I were panicked.  I answered no, and I’m still not.  I am at peace. My schedule is empty. I don’t have to get up earlier for anything, although I will still do trail work if I can.  I lost money on plane reservations that I can’t keep, but I am not trapped on another continent or a cruise ship in quarantine.  Or worse, sick. At least not yet. I won’t be tutoring in person, but I can do it online. I can still snowshoe and hike. I am concerned, yes.  Three days ago I was tutoring in the math lab.  Two days ago, I was at a meeting, but I sat separately from others. A week ago, I had two long distance trips planned. Now, I have none.

I read how retired physicians might be able to help.  I am not sure what is meant by help, in that we are at high risk by age and many of us have additional risk factors for severe or fatal illness.  Aside from liability issues, it seemed obvious that prolonged close contact to sick patients led to more severe illnesses among medical workers. Now, if they wanted to have my ideas on system design, that would be fine, but only if we did it by telemetry. 

I want to be one less person who needs to be tested, brought to a hospital, given supportive treatment, and adds more stress to the medical care system. Our hospitals are not geared for this, and nor is our national system, if one can call it that. We got hit with a bad virus that was certainly predictable, if not knowing when. If not a virus, an earthquake would have stressed the system in some areas.  But when one is working to make a profit, getting the right patient mix, advertising, minimizing costs wherever possible, usually by limiting personnel, and asking first about insurance and second what is wrong with the patient, there can be no room in such a system for idle beds, idle machines, or idle people. I suspect many hospitals are near full capacity without coronavirus.  If they haven’t been, they are likely to soon go under.  When everything depends upon workers staying healthy, nothing going wrong, a pandemic is going to be a disaster.  The system is taxed with routine care; here where I live, it is overtaxed and medical issues of the population require month long waits. It is sort of like Canadian care that people complain about.  It isn’t like there is a lot of elective surgery that can be cancelled to free up beds; there is plenty of emergency and necessary surgery, requiring ventilators, every day.  

Many have resisted increased public support of medical care or public health because they aren’t affected by certain conditions.  I’ve long said that each of us is subject to a cancer, a ruptured aneurysm, a drunk driver, or a mutation.  Now, we have an example where any of us can become ill.  Each of us is subject to a virus that has a significant likelihood of killing us. Good public health helps all of us, yet public health has had its budget cut severely in the last decade.  For each dollar spent, public health delivers far more value than any other branch of medicine.

So, as I do the some of the things I like outdoors, hope I won’t be quarantined on the basis of age, or fall ill, I am at peace.  Nothing major to do tomorrow. No big trips on the horizon, no meetings, just a lot of reading, maybe a snowshoe, trail work, or even tutor math online.

I hope that out of this time we find our way to decent coverage of medical conditions, recognize we are all in this together, and make sure public health—where all the major strides in longevity are made—is funded far better than it has been.

For once, being an introvert in a land of extroverts is a blessing.  

Avoid crowds?  No problem.

Pioneer violet (yellow) with Snowqueens

Diverted trail (left), with old trail (right)
The nice thing about trail work is I can usually find time to count the tree rings. This Doug fir was 430 years old, at least.

TIMBER ISSUES

February 29, 2020

Last weekend I went to the annual Oregon Logging Conference, where our volunteer trail crew had set up an exhibit about our trail work and brought several small logs and two large crosscut saws, about 80 teeth each, for people to use, with supervision, to get an idea of how we clear wilderness trails, where chain saws are not allowed. 

The night before, Oregon Wild, an organization to which I belong and donate, demonstrated out front.  I felt a bit traitorous going inside the exhibit hall, but my trail clearing crew has many ex-loggers on it.  They are experienced sawyers and have a lot of woods experience, and I have learned from them.  Showing the public that volunteers are doing significant work to help the public access their national forest is important. 

There is now hashtag Timber Unity, Stand up for Working Oregonians, web page Dear Oregon, which is more of the same, and a year after the attempt failed, Stand up for Oregon, Legislators want to take your guns.  The legislature Republicans have left the state so there won’t be a vote on the cap and trade bill or anything else. Last year, they did the same thing.  They feel put upon as a minority.  Well, I lived in southern Arizona for 37 years and was a minority when it came to stuff that was passed up in Phoenix. We talked about Baja Arizona and seceding, but it was a joke. I feel like a minority in my country right now, run by the rural and put upon folks, who rub it in whenever they can.  Apparently, when the Republicans get put upon, they walk out.  It reminds me of the kind of stuff I did when I was a boy and what some physicians I know did when medicine changed and hospitals had to change, too.

On my way from the car to the exhibit hall, I went by a house with a sign up on a tree: “Log it, Graze it, or watch it burn.”  And one of the first people I saw in the hall had a Trump 2020 hat on.  This is not a friendly group.  Many think we are forcing them all into Priuses and want to outlaw diesel, red meat, gluten free, LED bulbs, transgender, the thought of climate change, think the eastern two thirds of the state should become part of Greater Idaho, and only one side owns the flag.  At least with Greater Idaho, they wouldn’t have any more senators and not another representative, either, unlike the State of Jefferson folks, who think the 40,000 there deserve two and one.  

I hear much about how we have more trees than we did a hundred years ago.  Sure, because then, there was mass cutting without concerns about ecosystems, resources, animals, or anything else.  But there isn’t more old growth now, where carbon storage is huge and the ecosystems fully developed.  I don’t count seedlings as “trees” in that sense.  If we had more trees now, the pictures of the state over the last 20 years would not be an example of how much clear cutting has been done, and Oregon Wild would not have put pictures of clearcuts on the MAX trains up in Portland.

A friend told me her father was a logger many years ago and said everybody thought the forests were infinite.  I also see signs saying that young trees take up carbon at a higher rate than older ones. That’s a tipoff to the fact that the trees are small.  Here’s how I know “higher rate” comparisons are a sign of something small: 

2018 2019

Paul’s Pizza sales    $1 million                $2 million  

Big Cheese Pizza.   $175 million         $180 million

Paul’s has grown 100%, impressive; Big Cheese has only grown 2.9%. Wow, Paul’s is growing more than 33 times faster than Big Cheese.  

But Big Cheese has gained $5 million in sales, compared to Paul’s $1 million.  That is 83% of the market increase. As to market share, Paul’s has increased from about 0.6% to 1.1%.  Now, extrapolation can be misleading, but I could hardly be faulted here for noting at the current rate of increase of market share, it will take Paul’s at least a century to catch up with Big Cheese, which is well named.

A century is about the minimal time period we should let planted trees grow, not 40 years..  Do clearcuts affect the soil long term?  One reference, which was put out by a logging group, pointed to the need to keep slash, the branches and other material, at the site and that the nutrients quickly came back to normal.  It’s perhaps not fair, but the reference looked at only minerals, did not define ions properly (calling them “nutrients”) and said new approaches used non-toxic chemicals, including “agua regia” (sic).  I heaven’t studied chemistry in a half century, but the term is “aqua regia,” a mixture of nitric and hydrochloric acids, a bit toxic.  Another article looked at fungi and bacteria in the soil and found that even 10-15 years after a clearcut, the soil had not recovered.  Compaction from heavy equipment, with anaerobic conditions developing, was a significant problem. It was clear to me that the second article gave a better idea of what was going on than measuring only minerals and ions, and using Spanish where Latin belonged.  Don’t laugh; mistakes like agua regia (even spell check picks up the error) hurt one’s cause. It is the coffee stain on an airplane meal tray. If you can’t check spelling or grammar, what else are you missing?

A significant number of fires start in slash left behind after clearcuts, including the Milli fire in 2018, where Black Crater’s wonderful trail was destroyed.  We used to have “teepees” to burn waste. I remember them when I traveled through the state 50 years ago. Many think we should bring them back; in this administration, who knows, maybe we will.  Never mind that smoke from them and once allowable grass burning once led to a multi-car, multi-death pileup on I-5, in 1988, where 7 were burned to death and 37 injured, many severely, from smoke.  Twenty years later, the rye grass group still had 10% of the fields burning every year.  

These organizations want to go back to the days when we could do all this stuff, but we didn’t know better then, the land was less crowded, and life was supposedly better—assuming, of course, one didn’t get seriously injured in an accident, didn’t die of diseases we can cure today, and one wasn’t a person of color, immigrant, female, different, gay, lesbian, or disabled.

What I noted in the exhibit hall were young parents with several children.  I wondered, while looking at them, how they would adapt to climate change, which is real, to changes in timber management, which must happen, if not now, after this administration, and to health care.  Their representative in Congress, Greg Walden, wrote the bill that would have taken a couple of hundred thousand of them off Medicaid.  He still got easily re-elected.  

Our priorities need to include education, family planning, better access to affordable quality medical care, better environmental stewardship, adaptability to climate and world demographic changes.  COVID-19 is another warning shot by nature.  We would do well to listen. There will be more of these, and neither nature nor viruses cares a whit about jobs, ways of life, families, or those who feel they have a monopoly on “hard work.”

OLC 2019
Using two man competition saw for first logging this year of a trail blocking log on the S. Willamette Trail, February 2020.

WE ALL OWN BEAUTY, NOT JUST A FEW

November 25, 2019

                                  

I had noted the temperature was actually getting warmer as I did the weekly hike up Spencer Butte with the Club.  No, it wasn’t just that I was working hard, but it was cold at the bottom, and it wasn’t nearly as cold a thousand feet higher.  We hike up to the top from the city, 3.2 miles gaining 1400 feet of elevation.  Slower hikers leave earlier; sometimes, I decide to leave early if I am rehabbing part of me, and other times I leave early so I can hike alone.  Often, I have a line of people behind my, liking my pace, but making me feel like the Pied Piper.  I don’t like such a situation, for I tend to walk faster, when I am already at cruising mode, and I get tired sooner.  Once I stopped suddenly on a hike to take a picture and got run into by the guy behind me.  I learned that backpacking through Alaska willows and other brush. Don’t crowd the person in front. They may have to suddenly stop, and they have sharp hiking poles. That can slip. Anyway, the summit of the Butte is finally reached after a series of rock steps, about 130 altogether, not counting the occasional smaller ones, and I looked down on a foggy, cold valley from the land of blue skies and sunshine.

Off to my northeast, the mill in Springfield had a plume of smoke rising in the sky then flattening out and spreading along an invisible barrier like a river.  I could see about fifteen miles of the smoke river, coming first towards me then moving away to the northwest.  

Wow, I thought, a classic inversion.  Warm air normally rises, and it normally keeps rising as the atmosphere usually gets colder with height. Valleys during winter collect heavier cold air as it sinks, and set up an inversion, where warm air rises through the cold air until it reaches the warm air above—not below—and stops rising. I first noted it in southeastern Arizona, back when I was commuting from Tucson to Las Cruces for graduate school.  Once, on a bike, I went through a thick fog bank going up to Mt. Lemmon, breaking out at about 4000 feet into bright sunshine and a dew point temperature, where water will condense into clouds, 30 degrees fewer than just a few hundred feet below.  Those who turned around in the fog missed a sunny day, which was about five minutes’ ride further up the mountain.  

My wife and I hiked through an inversion in the Grand Canyon in February 1989, when the whole canyon was full of clouds and bright sunshine up at Yaki Point.  We hiked down the South Kaibab, entered clouds, then broke out below into overcast conditions.  It was remarkable.  

Jan at Yaki Point, South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. February 1989. Microspikes are on the toes of the boots.
Coconino Sandstone (the largest vertical layer visible), viewed from South Kaibab Trail

Back on Spencer Butte, I waited for others to come up and googled the University of Wyoming’s weather sounding page.  The closest weather balloon released was from Salem, about an hour north, and indeed showed a change in temperature of 0 C (32 F) at ground level and 10 C  (50 F) at 1500 m or 5000 feet.  Classic inversion, I noted, staring at the river. I told a few people about what we were seeing, but nobody seemed interested.  

Back then, I was still posting on Facebook, and I later posted the picture and the weather sounding as a textbook example of an inversion.  Here is another example, with a link to the actual weather at that hour.

Salem, Oregon sounding from 4 am 23 Nov 19. Notice the temperature C, third column from the left, gets warmer as one ascends, from roughly 33 to 46 degrees at 923 m or roughly 3000′ above sea level. Then the “normal” cooling with elevation gain begins. The 98% humidity at ground level suggests fog was occurring. The actual weather was indeed foggy.

Facebook is not the land of people’s liking textbook examples explaining physical phenomena.  I got exactly one comment, a nerd icon, which I didn’t even know such existed. It wasn’t the reason I left the platform, but it was one of the accelerants.  I haven’t missed the sniping, arguing, or ignorance since I left it.  Nope. I try to walk in beauty the way the Navajo Prayer says.

A decade prior, I had been hiking on the South Rim Trail in Big Bend National Park up to the overlook over the Chihuahua Desert.  I was alone, and as I hiked on the rim, I saw an area that looked like smoke, then steam, a quarter mile ahead of me.  I arrived at the area and saw water vapor condensing to form a cloud, right in front of me.  I was on top of a cliff, and the humid southerly wind from deep down in Mexico, had slammed against the cliff, forcing the air upward, where it cooled, since in summer the inversions are usually shallow and break.  Cool air condensed once it reached the dew point, which is higher in summer, and a cloud formed right in front of me.  This is orographic lift, and I was absolutely enthralled at the example I was seeing. 

Condensing water vapor, Big Bend NP, June 2007.

I was naive enough to think that The Weather Channel might be interested in a picture, so I sent one to them.  I didn’t hear anything, not surprisingly, but I was disappointed.

I get great pleasure out of seeing things in nature that are not only beautiful but enhanced because I’ve been fortunate enough to be brought up curious about the world.  A total solar eclipse is beautiful not only because of the color of the chromosphere or the thin strands of the corona, but because it is the resonance of three separate lunar cycles—the synodic, the anomalistic, and the draconic—which every 18 years and 10 1/3 days are almost exactly the same, so that the eclipses repeat every 18 years and change plus 1/3 of the way west around the world. I find that fact fascinating.  

On the Libyan cruise to the 2006 eclipse, an editor of Astronomy magazine discussed eclipses to the audience.  He didn’t mention the cycles, and I suggested afterward that perhaps people might like to know that.  “Nah,” he saiid, “that’s too nerdy.”  

That came from an astronomer.  

Just after the eclipse, Libyan desert 29 March 2006. The next eclipse in this family will occur in Mexico-US-Canada 8 April 2024

Normally, I don’t write about this sort of stuff, because most people aren’t interested.  I would simply say that 

In beauty I walk…

In beauty all day long may I walk.

Through the returning seasons, may I walk.

On the trail marked with pollen may I walk.

With dew about my feet, may I walk.

With beauty before me may I walk.

With beauty behind me may I walk.

With beauty below me may I walk.

With beauty above me may I walk.

With beauty all around me may I walk.

In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.

In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.

My words will be beautiful…

Rim of Four in One Cone, near McKenzie Pass, 6400′ elevation. There were many views of the major northern Oregon Cascade peaks that day, but the rim of snow all along the cone was my biggest memory. In photography, especially in relationships, and likely in life, the little things are often the big things.