On microclimates and Sunday afternoons

San Francisco has nothing on us. Eccentric Californians brag of the Golden Gate City’s microclimates as if they were of their own doing. Stolid Kansans, on the other hand, are quietly satisfied with their widely spread, mostly predictable weather.

New England is more in the San Francisco camp, with sometimes wildly divergent conditions (Mount Washington; currently 36°F with fog at the time of this writing).

But we need not venture so far afield to establish New England’s street cred. Our local newspaper reports of “heat-related issues” at a nearby Wrentham, MA, graduation ceremony (“Hot times at area graduation"). Fourteen audience members were reported to require treatment for heat exhaustion at the outdoor ceremony on Sunday, June 5. Proximate cause: temperatures in the mid 80s with a hot, blazing sun.

At nearly the same exact time, 20 miles to the south as the crow flies, a sound sailing yacht departs her slip on the Providence River for an afternoon sail. Conditions are initially comfortable, with a high, hazy sun and moderate winds. Proceeding south into the upper reaches of Narragansett Bay, the breeze freshens, reporting 17 knots with gusts to 20 out of the south. Tacking down past Rocky Point, the wind strengthens further and the clouds thicken. As we clear the wind shadow of Patience Island, the full force of the wind, having a straight shot up the bay from the open ocean, brings us the chill of the Atlantic deeps. Reported conditions: cloudy, 62°F, and with gusts to 23 knots, the wind chill is in the low 50s. Time to don long sleeves, fleeces, and jackets.

Tacking into a strong breeze is always challenging. The boat’s forward velocity is additive to that of the wind, and with the wind chill and salt spray, it can be quite nippy. The boat heels dramatically as the bow plunges into the waves, lifting huge sheets of spray that are (mostly) deflected by the dodger. The wail of the wind in the rigging and the pounding of the hull can be near deafening. Having reached the limits of our comfort zone, we come about and head back north. Now, with a fine breeze at our back, the relative wind drops dramatically as the boat’s speed is subtractive. The vessel returns to an even keel and moves gently with the swells, noise abates, quiet and warmth return; it seems, as if by magic, a new day.

A few hours later, tied up in the quiet comfort of our slip, the crew relaxes. With a few rays of the setting sun peeking from beneath the clouds, we celebrate our warmth, unaware of the “heat-related issues” not so far to our north.

On being green

I guess we were green before our time.

Down on the farm, we recycled anything that might be useful. Clothing was handed down from eldest to youngest, knees and elbows patched and sewn with fresh buttons. Some of the other kids teased us at school, but we maintained our equanimity based on our innate sense of exceptional efficiency. Any surplus clothing or shoes was boxed and shipped, once or twice a year, to exotic, far-flung relatives in Sicily. I don’t know if they were teased or admired, but at least they had good American denim for school, patched as it may have been.

Vegetable peelings and table scraps (meat and fats excluded, but including eggshells), went into the compost heap. When properly tended, the compost literally combusted, but unhurriedly, and reduced its contents to a rich, black soil, populated by enormous quantities of ravenous red earthworms whose effluence enriched that soil. Any excess meats and fats, not suitable for compost, were supplemental delicacies for the farm dogs who were responsible for rodent control, protecting the chickens from varmints, and general security and hilarity.

When baking foods in the oven, any other item that might hitch a ride took advantage of the heat. For instance, a pot roast bakes for 3-4 hours, and several loaves of bread could share the last 30 minutes. A fabulous book expounding this principle is “How to Cook a Wolf”, by M.F.K. Fisher, a prolific food writer of the mid-twentieth century who offered instruction in efficiency and good cheer to a war-weary America.

Bottled soda pop was a luxury. Kool-Aid made from our own, delicious well water and the powdered mix was a favorite beverage. And Kool-Aid poured into ice cube trays with popsicle sticks inserted yielded tasty, cooling, frozen treats a few hours later. No air conditioning in summer, but broad porches welcomed picnic-style suppers in the waning heat of the day as the sun surrendered to the night, crickets serenading loudly, and heat lightening flickering on the distant horizon.

Lights were turned off when not needed. The upstairs rooms were not heated in winter, but thick layers of blankets provided more than adequate warmth. In summer, cooling was provided only by ventilation from the open, screened windows.

Finally, sternly instructed to sleep, at least one wayward child eagerly consumed the transportation and mystery of good books, under the blankets, burning up a flashlight’s D-cell batteries.

In spite of that, overall, we were deeply green. We just didn’t know it.

Sanitary antics

“Employees must wash hands before returning to work.” This sign was found in the restroom of a famous Seattle-based coffee franchise. Why do they focus on employee cleanliness? Because even a short list of foodborne illness vectors contains such delicacies as campylobacter, hepatitis A, shigella, E. coli O157:H7, salmonella, and other lovely organisms. And if customers were to become ill from eating at this establishment, that would not be good for profits.

One of the most simple, cheap, and effective means to prevent foodborne illnesses is to have employees practice strict sanitary hand washing procedures. Hence the signs. But there is one small problem – the public often share the same restroom facilities with the employees, and the sanitary habits of the public cannot be underestimated.

Knowing that, the food service provider posts a sign instructing her employees to follow a strict hygienic procedure. The instructions on this sign are as follows:

1. Water
2. Soap
3. Wash (for 30 seconds)
4. Rinse
5. Dry
6. Turn off water (with paper towel)

Why turn off the water with a paper towel? Obviously, because if a previous user of the facilities did not practice good hygiene, the faucet handles might be contaminated with one or more of the lovely aforementioned disease vectors. Gee, I wonder if that applies to the door handle as well?

There were a few problems at this particular establishment… in spite of the sign, there were no paper towels. Only a hot air hand dryer. And the door most unhelpfully opened inward. So how is one to shut off the faucets and open the door without contaminating your hands? And if you, a customer, can’t do it , then how can the guy behind the counter do it?

I recommend that when you run into a situation where you can’t satisfactorily exit the restroom with assuredly clean hands, you need to complain to management that his employees can’t either.

Fun with numbers

The publisher of our local paper entertained us with some numerology in his most recent column ("Unfollow this link shortener", Feedback section).

Among the baubles are this one: “Take the last two numbers of the year of your birth, add what your age is this year, and you’ll get 111.” Except when you don’t.

No magic here, after all, because we are only saying that the year of your birth plus your age should equal the current year.

But to get 111 in particular, another condition must hold – that “you” must have been born in the last century. My nephew, for instance, born in 2001, calculates out to 11, not 111. And Abe Lincoln, born in 1809 and 202 years old, yields 211.

The leftmost digit (hundreds position) does carry some information, however. In the case of Abe Lincoln, 2 indicates how many centuries his birth is removed from the current one. And in my nephew's case, zero hundreds likewise indicates that he was born in this century.

Number puzzles can be fun. For me, the most fun comes from decomposing them and poking around the edges. Not mind-bending stuff, but pleasant over a cup of coffee on a rainy Sunday morning.

Perfect order, perfect horror

“Perfect order is the forerunner of perfect horror.” This “Thought for the Day” was offered in the ABC News “Today in History” feature on 4/26/11. Credited to the great Mexican writer Carlos Fuentes, you are left on your own to ponder his meaning. Google itemizes over 5,000 websites that contain the quotation, mostly compilation sites that aggregate famous quotations, they offer nothing to the question of meaning. One writing blog posits that Fuentes is offering advice on how to write horror fiction à la Stephen King.

The quotation comes from Fuentes’ epic historical novel Terra Nostra written in 1975. In a chapter titled “Stages of the Night” set in Rome, Brother Julian is instructed that the night has seven stages: “crepusculum; fax, the moment at which the torches are lighted; concubium, the hour of sleep; nox intempesta, the time when all activity is suspended; gallicinium, the cock’s crow; conticinium, silence; and aurora”. Brother Julian rebels at this arbitrary partitioning. “The night is natural... and its division into phases a mere convention…”

Brother Julian concludes that “…perfect order is the forerunner of perfect horror; nature rejects that order, preferring instead to proceed with the multiple disorder of the certainty of freedom.”

In a later section, one of Fuente’s characters dreams "I travel from spirit to matter. I return from matter to spirit. There are no frontiers. Nothing is forbidden to me.” Absolute freedom seems the theme.

So rather than Fuentes giving us advice on how to write horror novels, I believe he is making an observation on the relationships between order and security, risk and freedom.

At one time, children played in the dirt, knee-torn trousers, scabby elbows and all. There was no hue and cry to equip them with alcohol hand wipes and helmets, and yet they thrived. In our security-burdened psyches today, perfect safety is the goal. As a result, we have arrived at such warped outcomes as TSA agents fondling the nether regions of 6-year-old girls and their great grandmothers.

The expansion of the nanny state has grown largely on citizens' fears and their desire to be safe. But unwilling to content themselves with personal choice, your neighbors are asking legislators to limit your choices as well. I don't personally smoke nor consume trans fats, but who am I to say that you can't enjoy a French fry? Laws banning foods or behaviors or practices remove from the individual the necessity to exercise common sense, to take personal responsibility for their life, to actually live their life.

Living entails risk. To be alive is to be exposed to risk. One could and should take reasonable measures to mitigate risk, but beware that in the act of doing so, you are always trading off freedom for security. For that reason, it is important that the bulk of these tradeoffs be made by personal choice, not a stultifying government.

Recognize that dreams of perfect order result in the nightmares of its victims. Witness Nazi Germany and the Soviet archipelago.

Accept some risks, manage them, and live your life. Remember that the only way to be perfectly safe is to be perfectly dead.

A season in the sun

Although growing up in the age of tractors, have you ever seen a team of horses turn a furrow? Their heaving breath and clomping hoofs work hard to cleave the soil. Have you felt your bare toes melt into the crumbled, rich earth?

Have you seen a belching tractor pull a gang of moldboard plows, each turning a fresh furrow of rich, fragrant earth, the plows themselves shiny as mirrors from the friction of the soil? These are the memories of our agricultural past. Man’s struggle to till the soil has advanced from pointed sticks to hoes to horse drawn plows and then tractors and crawlers. There seems to be no end of our escalation of power, our ability to rend and tend the earth.

After the first plowing in May, when the soil is still moist but dry enough to be pliable, the turned furrows are allowed to dry in the sun. Flocks of birds swoop down to devour the bonanza of exposed earthworms, but many more of the earth-richening creatures escape below to safety .

When the earth has dried a bit, gangs of steel discs are pulled across the fields to break down and level the soil. If you were to walk into this biologically active sea, you would sink to your ankles in a velvety, fragrant mass. There is nowhere on Earth like a field just prepared to be planted. The sheer potential of the soil, the thousands of tons of corn or wheat or potatoes to come, waiting only for adequate sun and rain.

The seeds are planted in straight rows with military precision. By the end of May, green tendrils rise in discernible rows as the early crop begins to assert itself. Taking sustenance from rain, sun, and soil, the potential of many tons of crop yield begins to assert itself. By July the crop is over knee high and vibrant green. In August, just taking a tinge of brown. In September, ready to harvest.

If the autumn rains come, mud is the enemy. Tractors gang up to haul harvesters and combines through the muddy fields. The crop must be dry enough to avoid must and rot, but leaving it in the field to decompose is not an acceptable option. Whole corn stalks can be fed into choppers that blow huge silos full of aromatic silage to feed the cattle over the long winter.

In December, January, and February, when deep snow and the cold of winter blanket the land, the barns are warm with the lowing of cattle, consuming their rations of sunshine from the silos. Soon enough, though, new furrows need be plowed.

But for now, a little rest.

How to retire a millionaire

Say that you were starting out your working career all over again and the challenge is how to retire, 50 years later, a millionaire? Let’s neglect for a moment that in 50 years from now (2061), inflation will have rendered "millionairehood" quotidian. Instead, imagine this is 1961 and you are surveying the last half of the 20^th century for your best chance to retire in 2011 as a millionaire. Which would you choose?

1. Play the lottery, $2 per day, 5 days a week ($10 per week)?
2. Invest that same $10 weekly in a Standard and Poors 500 stock index fund?
3. Marry a cop or schoolteacher?

Although there is an argument to be made for door number 3 (Forbes, "The Millionaire Cop Next Door"), let’s focus on choices 1 and 2. In order to analyze these choices, we will need a little math. (Yes, your high school algebra teacher was right – you will find this stuff useful).

Playing the Lottery

Playing the lottery is a popular choice because it is relatively painless. Spending a couple of bucks a day has little opportunity cost, i.e., you are not depriving yourself of coffee or hot dogs or paying the rent or other such daily necessities. But what are the odds of winning a million bucks? Let’s take the Massachusetts Cash Winfall lottery as an example. This game of chance costs $2 and asks you to pick 6 numbers of 46. In order to win the jackpot, you must select the proper winning numbers, each with the following odds:

1^st digit 1 out of 46 (2.1%)

2^nd digit 1 out of 45 (2.2%)

3^rd digit 1 out of 44 (2.2%)

4^th digit 1 out of 43 (2.3%)

5^th digit 1 out of 42 (2.4%)

6^th digit 1 out of 41 (2.4%)

Those odds don’t look too tough. With over 2% chance of selecting the correct number for each choice, you should be a big winner if you just play the game 50 times, right? Unfortunately, that’s not how probability works.

To calculate these odds, you must multiply the probabilities (1/46 x 1/45 x 1/44 x 1/43 x 1/42 x 1/41), which yields a vanishingly thin 1 out of 6,744,109,680. If you were required to select the numbers in the exact sequence in which they were drawn, this would be your odds of winning. Fortunately, the lottery does not require that you match the order of the numbers drawn, so the above odds can be reduced by taking into the account the number of different ways (orders) in which the winning number could be drawn.

The first winning number could be drawn as any of the 6 digits, the second as any of the remaining 5, the third as any of 4, etc. So the total number of ways that the winning numbers could be drawn is 6 x 5 x 4 x 3 x 2 x 1 = 720. We can now divide 6,744,109,680 by 720 to determine your actual odds of winning – 1 out of 9,366,819. To put this into perspective you would need to buy one ticket per week for 180,000 years before approaching certainty of winning. Did you really think it would be easy? How many million-dollar lottery winners do you know?

How about the popular Powerball game? It requires that you select only 5 numbers (and then that pesky 6^th Power Ball). This game is rigged to make your odds much worse. The first five numbers are drawn from a pool of 59:

1^st digit 1 out of 59 (1.7%)

2^nd digit 1 out of 58 (1.7%)

3^rd digit 1 out of 57 (1.8%)

4^th digit 1 out of 56 (1.8%)

5^th digit 1 out of 55 (1.8%)

Multiplying these probabilities and then dividing by the number of ways the numbers could be drawn yields a friendly 1 out of 5,006,386. But that must then be multiplied by the probability of selecting the final Power Ball number, 1 out of 39, yielding the overall odds of winning as 1 out of 195,249,054. Feeling lucky?

Bottom line, you could spend an entire lifetime squandering $10 on lottery tickets each week and your odds of hitting the big one are still much less than being hit (multiple times) by lightning.

Playing the stock market

Everyone knows that the stock market is risky. But it is orders of magnitude less risky than playing the lottery. Since 1950, the Standard and Poors 500 stock index has returned an average of 10.8% on your investment. (Yes, that includes the recent financial meltdown).

What would happen if, as an eager young worker, you resolved to put $10 each week into an S&P 500 index fund? Further assume that your account grew tax-free (e.g., an IRA or 401K), and that all earnings and dividends were reinvested. At the end of a 50 year working career, you would have accumulated a million bucks if your average stock market returns were in the neighborhood of 10.5% (see nearby chart).

Now the stock market has no guarantees and it is certainly possible to lose capital, especially in the short run. I would no more recommend that you put all of your money in the stock market as I would urge you to bet it all on the lottery. But $10 per week is a cheap gamble on the market with far greater odds of gaining you a million bucks than hitting the lottery. Here’s my advice – play the lottery for fun, play the market for retirement, and keep some money safe – at least a 6-month emergency fund. That gives you the best odds overall of retiring a millionaire.

Of course, you could always marry a school teacher.