Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Free stuff in a cold universe



It is night in the Colorado Rockies and it’s brutally cold. Above the tree line, vast snow fields glimmer in pale moonlight. The few alpine animals that survive here, such as marmots and pikas, hibernate or munch stored grasses in their burrows, surviving from stored fat that was laboriously accumulated during the short summer growing season.

This is a severe ecosystem, where energy is meager and survival is not assured. It is an effective laboratory to illustrate the physical world in which we live and the preeminent role played by energy.

In the world of our everyday experience, smartphones and supermarkets, commuter trains and college tuition, we measure abundance and scarcity in terms of money. But money is a human invention, a proxy for effort and achievement, risk and reward. In the stark physical universe we inhabit, energy is the only true currency.

We can see that on a macro scale by viewing the development of human energy infrastructure across the ages.  The Deutsches Museum in Munich, Germany, offers a sweeping view, from the discovery of fire to the latest in nuclear fusion research. (If you can’t visit in person, a virtual visit on their website is highly recommended).

Human history has been fraught with efforts to wrest energy from our physical world and to direct, store, and utilize it. It is no accident that northern realms far outpaced the southern in this regard. Winter is a harsh taskmaster, and failure is met by death. Northern societies were stressed and challenged by their low available-energy environment, compelled to innovate to survive.

Abundant sunshine and warm temperatures made human survival much easier near the equator. But without the challenge of fundamental survival, there was little drive to innovate and develop beyond basic needs. Fires for cooking and oxen for plowing were more than adequate for thousands of years.

It is interesting to contemplate the particular circumstances that brought us to this point. Eons ago, a massive collision knocked the Earth off its perpendicular axis. This tilted axis gave us seasons – spring, summer, fall, and winter. The periods of balmy weather invited humans to migrate away from the equator, but the winters drove them to innovate. This innovation led to energy and transportation and manufacturing infrastructures which created great wealth. Most likely, you can thank that giant whack for the British Empire, the iPhone, and the Mall of America.

Which brings us to the topic of free stuff. What stuff, exactly, is free? In the context of the physical universe in which we exist, it is not likely that much of anything is free.

We have been told that the air is free. But is it? For air to be useful to us, we must breathe, inhaling and exhaling, and exchange carbon dioxide for oxygen. All this requires energy, the only true currency. Air is not free.

How about wind? We are assured that the wind is free. But to harness it, one must build and maintain devices, whether a sailing vessel of the old British Empire or an advanced wind turbine. Just ask the people of Portsmouth, RI, who are tearing down a broken wind turbine and are left with an unpaid $1.5 million mortgage. Wind is not free.

But surely water is free, isn’t it? Water for sustenance, water for irrigation, must be treated and transported. The Romans built elaborate, expensive aqueducts to support their citizenry. The City of Attleboro, likewise, spends millions to provide clean drinking water. Water is not free.

In all of the above cases, we must expend energy (or funds representing energy) to utilize what many consider free resources. There is no free stuff. Consider that alpine marmot, hibernating in its burrow as the temperatures plunge below zero. His survival depends on husbanding the energy he has stored as fat. He knows in his genes that nothing is free.

So in this silly season of political theater, beware of promises of free stuff. We always pay – it is the nature of our universe.






Wednesday, February 10, 2016

A fickle winter



New England winter

Winter has been fickle this year.

Freezing cold, then spring-like warmth, followed by a double whammy of Nor’easters, winds battering our homes and felling trees. The bushes and crocuses don’t know whether to bud or hibernate again. As we don’t know if it makes more sense to break out our shorts or parkas. A dilemma.

Weather like this has never happened before, we are told. Historic. Unlike the great glacial ice sheets that covered the land or the warmth that melted them. “Has never happened in recorded history,” we are told. But recorded history is so diminutive compared to the thousands of millions of years preceding our epoch.

Yet somehow life has flourished. We have flourished. And most likely will continue to do so, God willing and absent a huge meteor strike. Which is exceedingly improbable, yet possible.

Winter, whether freezing or less so, remains a time for reflection.

Many years ago, we as children loved to camp out in the barn on a stormy winter night, the snow blowing thick and sideways, the mercury headed below zero. But the barn was shelter from the wind, with the lowing of cows and the gentle whickering and stamping of horses, a refuge. Nothing pleased us more than to cuddle a puppy in the hayloft, sweet smells of dried alfalfa and timothy permeating the air, wrapped up in blankets and snug for the night, while the wicked storm raged outdoors.

Now, we join in the New England glories of winter sports. For some, skiing mountain peaks. For others, snowmobiling on trails in New Hampshire or Maine. And others, ice fishing in the frozen north, or snowshoeing the forests trails of Rhode Island to Massachusetts and Vermont and beyond. Unlike our forebears, we like to stay active. Perhaps because necessary doings, milking the cows and tossing the hay and shoveling the manure, are no longer an imperative. Yet we feel an ancestral drive to do something.

But winter is also respite. All of God’s creatures rest, and recoup, and prepare for the spring to come. And when it does, life bursts forth.

And so we plan. Tomatoes, basil, parsley, corn, pole beans, spinach. The garden is taking shape in our minds. Traditional rows or wide rows, raised beds or containers. The form of our garden-to-come is subject to intense deliberation. But, while intriguing, it is not vital. Now it is mostly a matter of recreation rather than the bulwark against hunger it once was.

Yet, still, the garden is important. Symbolizing our connection to the earth, it provides us with healthy food and a healthy pastime. What wonderful meals we will prepare.

The weeks will grow progressively warmer, the grass will green, and spring will come. These tales of winter will fade quickly. Memories of shoveling and skiing and snowmobiling and snowshoeing will meld into gardening and sailing, golfing and other summer pursuits.

It happens every year.  And we are blessed to experience each one, silly not to recognize and appreciate each passing season. Time quickly passes. While life grows more complex, and our burdens increase, remember such childhood pleasures as cuddling a puppy in a hayloft. How could life possibly be better?