Maggie's Farm

With all of the new talk about obtaining jet fuel from coal (h/t, Classical Values), it's a good time to review the subject of Town Gas.

At the turn of the century, every town in America had a Gas Works, generally adjacent to, but on the wrong side of, the train tracks.

As the local Gas Works, coal was heated under low-oxygen conditions, producing a synthetic gas which lit town lamps since around 1800, and later stoves and heat. This gas - "synthetic gas" or "coal gas" - was mainly CH4 (methane).

"Town Gas" lit the streetlights and indoor lamps of America until electrification.

The chemist Bergius received a Nobel Prize in 1931 for creating a high-pressure efficient method of coal gasification and the production of liquid fuels from coal. There was worry, at that time, about the imminent depletion of petroleum resources.

"Natural" gas, from petroleum wells, did not become available in the US until after WW2, when the gas pipelines began construction. Prior to that time, the gas was burned off at the wellhead. Natural gas is a mix of varying-length carbon-hydrogen compounds. Today, the longer carbon chain compounds are extracted (eg propane) and sold as pressurized liquid gas, leaving the smaller chain compounds to the pipelines - mainly methane and ethane.

A neat little history of the gas business in a Connecticut town here. Basic chemistry of these compounds and prcesses here.

Image: circa 1920 gas ranges. Gas ranges began to appear at the turn of the century, replacing cooking with wood, coal and charcoal. Hence the expression "Now we're cooking with gas."

There is noone I would rather see as Press Secretary than the affable, warm, witty and relaxed Tony Snow. A superb human.

The administration is in desperate need of a good spokeman and a good salesman. He will be that, and more. I have no doubt that he will speak up at meetings.

FOX's loss will be The White House's gain.

There will be a pay cut, and he'll have to move his family, and he had a nasty bout with a GI cancer last year, but who could turn down such an exciting opportunity? He'll accept the job: his country needs him, and I am sure he'd rather be a doer than a talker.

Let's make him begin working six months ago.

The architect Filippo Brunelleschi
(1377-1446) is the giant of Florentine
design. More than anyone else, he is responsible for bringing Renaissance architecture to the old medieval city.

We claim to be Centrist in outlook - not
"moderate," whatever that means. Your Editor in Chief, pictured on right, took this highly-reliable political-orientation test and came out "Centrist." That is good proof. But if we come out "centrist," then who the heck comes out "conservative"?

Or has the "center" moved a bit, over the past few years?

Take the test and find out what you are.

And stop pushing the button below that photo. The video is disabled. What do you think we are?

Dr. Dave had slept with one of his patients, and felt guilty all day long. No matter how much he tried to forget about it, he couldn't. The guilt, and sense of betrayal of his Oath was overwhelming. But every once in a while he'd hear an internal, reassuring voice in his head that said: "Dave, don't worry about it. You aren't the first medical practitioner to sleep with one of their patients and you won't be the last. And besides,  you're single. Just let it go..."

But invariably another voice in his head would bring him back to his conscience, whispering:


"Dave ....

New news about the art and science of hitting a baseball: "Don't keep your eye on the ball." Why? It's not possible.

Auster explains "anarcho-tyranny", as exemplified in Britain. He does have a point.

All About Mary McCarthy - a couple of posts at Belmont. Wizbang comments on Kerry's bizarre claim that McCarthy did the right thing - and this guy wanted to be Commander in Chief? There is a big story here - maybe worth a Pulitzer?

Duke: This was not a normal police lineup. (h/t, La Shawn)

Where are all the Lutherans? Haha. Marg. Revolution knows.

Celebrate NYC, and its secrets: Another goodie from Marginal Rev.

If you haven't seen this: Anchoress on the Cult of Lying - Malevolent Mendacity

Joe Jemail demonstrates how interviewing a witness should not be done. A bad lawyer - post, with video - by the Prof.

Mobbing. An interesting group phenomenon. Something to watch out for in organizations.

Here's an appealing new car. What is it? Story at Owner's Manual. I guess the NYC Auto Show is this week.

Galaxies on a collision course, from the Hubble deep field image:

There are of course a number of Pointing breeds which contain that strange and fortunate DNA which causes them to freeze when bird scent is close, but in the US "Pointer" refers to many generations of breeding of the English Pointer. I have been told that the Show lines can make good family pets, but the Hunting lines seem to Live to Work, like your friends at Maggie's Farm.

Pointers are typically hunted with a bell or a beeper collar to keep track of their location. They are the classic dog for quail hunting, and are a more popular breed in the southern US than elsewhere: in the South, "dog" tends to mean Pointer, and "bird" means Bob White quail.

There are few sights as dramatic as that of a Pointer on point. Photo below is an example. This dog which hunted with some friends in Valdosta, GA in March, is pointing a covey of quail in the palmettos.

Here's an excellent review of all of the basic types of bird dogs.

When Lincoln, with his son Tad, was taking the Presidential train back from Richmond following the fall of Richmond in April, 1865, shortly before his assassination, he saw a Box Turtle sunning near the tracks. He had the train stopped, and went out and played with the turtle with Tad for a while before re-boarding the train.

Anyone who likes Box Turtles is OK with us. They are coming out of hibernation now, hungry, and looking for mates. Don't run them over, and help them across the road. And don't take them home - they don't work as pets, and they like their home territory.

How do I know they are awake? Saw my first one of our local colony, taking the sun yesterday morning. Funny how they always look cheerful.

We have posted earlier on the hazards of being an illegal in Mexico, and the huge obstacles to becoming a legal immigrant into Mexico - while the Mexican govt. takes great joy in dumping their unwanted citizens into the US:

Considered felons by the government, these migrants fear detention, rape and robbery. Police and soldiers hunt them down at railroads, bus stations and fleabag hotels. Sometimes they are deported; more often officers simply take their money. While migrants in the United States have held huge demonstrations in recent weeks, the hundreds of thousands of undocumented Central Americans in Mexico suffer mostly in silence.

Read the whole sorry, hypocritical, ridiculous story, at Ace. Mexico is beautiful, but a screwed-up joke of an irrational country - as bad as Sweden.

From a powerful homily entitled Friendship with Christ by Cardinal Ratzinger, shortly before becoming Pope Benedict last April:

The mercy of Christ is not a cheap grace; it does not presume a trivialization of evil. Christ carries in his body and on his soul all the weight of evil, and all its destructive force. He burns and transforms evil through suffering, in the fire of his suffering love. The day of vindication and the year of favor meet in the paschal mystery, in Christ died and risen. This is the vindication of God: he himself, in the person of the Son, suffers for us. The more we are touched by the mercy of the Lord, the more we draw closer in solidarity with his suffering - and become willing to bear in our flesh "what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ" (Col 1, 24).

This is by Charles Spurgeon, and was recently quoted by a commenter at One Cosmos:

God be thanked for the simplicity of the gospel. The longer I live, the more I bless God that we have not received a classical gospel, nor a mathematical gospel, nor a metaphysical gospel; it is not a gospel confined to scholars and men of genius, but a poor man s gospel, a ploughman's gospel; for that is the kind of gospel which we can live upon and die upon. It is to us not the luxury of refinement, but the staple food of life. We want no fine words when the heart is heavy, neither do we need deep problems when we are lying upon the verge of eternity, weak in body and tempted in mind. At such times we magnify the blessed simplicity of the gospel. Jesus in the flesh made manifest becomes our soul's bread. Jesus bleeding on the cross, a substitute for sinners, is our soul's drink. This is the gospel for babes, and strong men want no more.

Image: C. H. Spurgeon, English Baptist preacher (1834-1892)

I like this piece at One Cosmos as much as I liked Kesler's piece on Passover earlier this week. A couple of quotes:

Faith, on the other hand, is a dynamic engagement with the unknown. Faith, properly understood, is not a cognitive structure or grid to be superimposed upon reality. Rather, it is a psychospiritual probe with which to explore reality--somewhat like the way a blind person might use a cane to to construct an internal image of the dark space around him.

Furthermore, unlike belief, faith should be convertible to knowledge. It is actually a subtle and sophisticated way to gain knowledge that transcends the senses, not a means to provide false but comforting answers and to vanquish curiosity.

Thus, many people of faith are actually "people of knowledge," whereas many so called intellectuals are actually no more than simple "people of faith." You can really see what little genuine knowledge people have when the discussion revolves around something you do happen to know about, whether it is quantum physics or plumbing repair.

and:

The spiritually generative lumin being does not merely report reality. Rather, such an individual imparts reality. You might say that they are a door. Or you might say that they are a way. Or perhaps they are even the life.

The whole piece is worth more than a few minutes.

Image: Storm of gasses in the Orion-Swan nebula, from the Hubble telescope - a storm due to Bush's global warming, claim experts, possibly even worse than Katrina.

America's favorite ground cover, second only to asphalt. It sure does beat grass, because it doesn't get weeds, doesn't need watering, is happy with deep shade, is evergreen, is tough as hell, and doesn't need to be mown. It is an import from Japan.

It's coming into bloom right now, around here. The early-waking bees love those flowers.

Why a curse?  Did you ever try to remove a bed of pachysandra? It's like cleaning terrorists out of Baghdad, except they don't shoot back.

Docks in winter storage.

Aliyah 3-15-06: Galilee   

    We hit the road to the upper and lower Galilee, in opposite order.  A week ago Wed, off with the Ulpan, rising at 530 to get to Ulpan bus by 7 am.  There is a quality of herding cats in such groups, with people meandering off and occasionally back. One girl from Switzerland insists that we stop the bus mid road, as her friend has just arrived at the Ulpan, which we left some ten minutes earlier: she's only three minutes away, she insists. And we stop.  Miss Swiss exits the bus, assuring that we cannot leave, and we learn that her friend is still on the highway, being driven by someone, who doesn't' know Netanya, so can't find us.  About ten minutes later, some reason prevails, and Opher -- our Yemenite guide-song leader-accordianist-pianist-overall core of patience -- negotiates Swissy back on the bus, with assurances that it is easier for her friend's driver to find us downtown Netanya (where another group has been patiently waiting for our now-late arrival).  This was a bit like reverse-hostage negotiation: Opher trying to convince Miss Swiss on-board so that we can be held in thrall en route, rather than mis-en-scene.  When Swissy's friend boards, both of them have a mad on for our not waiting mid-road, rather than going into town. This lasts for a few hours.
    Something curative of the above upon entering "god's vineyard" -- Carmel.  We put Zikhron Yaakov on our right and Haifa north and behind us as we descend into god-will-sow valley, the Jezreel.  "To sow," the word in Hebrew, shares a root with the word, "arm," connecting us bodily with the limb used to broadcast seeds, signs of hope, of future.  This is a very "bodied" land, Israel, also one with sudden, even stark shifts of weather, and we are edging into the season of hope, of spring. Our guide, Sara, points out that this is the best time to see the flowers in the Galilee, before the summer heat wilts them.  Life buds, even blossoms here, sometimes in hidden corners, such as the forests we will visit, in spite of the acrimony surrounding.  Freud, after receiving Stefan Zweig's enthusiastic book about Israel, thanked him, and remarked eliptically, that this is a strange land, from which little art or science has emerged, but only three illusions. (And of such illusions, Freud saw little future.) Freud finishes, it should be studied more.

It is the beginning of Forsythia season in Yankeeland.