Maggie's Farm

Do we love hydrangeas at Maggies Farm? Yes, we do. And the mini- version of Snow Queen, Wayside's patented Pee Wee, is the best darn plant. Even the leaves are good lookin'.

James Q. Wilson's The Moral Sense made plenty of sense to me: the notion that moral considerations are hard-wired parts of human nature. Harvard's Marc Hauser is working on the inborn "moral grammar," and he is interviewed here, in Am. Scientist. He even gets into the animal precursors of moral behavior:

In many ways, our understanding of animals is not even ripe for the picking, because almost all of the work that is relevant to morality entails studies of what animals do as opposed to how they judge what others do. Thus, we have beautiful accounts of how animals behave during cooperation and competition, including observations of how individuals respond to personal transgression, such as taking food in the presence of a more dominant animal. But what is missing are observations and experiments that systematically address what counts as a transgression or expectation for helping or harming, when the observer is not directly involved. In the same way that we can judge an act as gratuitously violent even when it doesn't concern us directly, we want to understand how animals perceive violations of social norms, including what they expect and what they consider anomalous.

Delacroix's (1798-1863)Diary and Letters are excerpted at Roger Sandall. Learned about his work in art history about 90 years ago, but knew nothing about the man himself. What a tender, strong, determined, and honest fellow.

On life:

Think of the blessings that await you, not of the emptiness that drives you to seek constant distraction. Think of having peace of mind and a reliable memory, of the self-control that a well-ordered life will bring, think of health not undermined by endless concessions to the passing excesses that other people's society entails, think of uninterrupted work, and plenty of it. Nothing is better than having some task to perform each day.

On painting:

The enemy of all painting is grey. To speak truly, there are neither lights nor shades. There is a color mass for each object, reflected differently on all sides. I discovered one day that linen has green reflections and violet shadows. I notice that it is the same with the sea: I expect this law applies to everything. The special charm of watercolor, beside which any painting in oil always appears rusty and yellowed, is due to the inherent transparency of the paper.

On l'amour:

To the studio at nine o'clock. Laure came. We continued with the portrait. It's an extraordinary thing, but although I wanted to make love to her all the time she was posing, as soon as she began to leave rather hurriedly as a matter of fact I did not feel like it at all; I suppose I needed time to collect myself.

I need a mistress to keep my flesh in subjection. I'm terribly worried about it, and struggle with my better self when I'm in the studio. Sometimes I long for any woman to come along. God grant that Laure comes tomorrow! Saw Cogniet, and the picture by Gricault, also the Constables. It was too much for one day. Came home about five o'clock. Spent two hours in the studio. Great want of sex. I am utterly abandoned.

Read the selection here, with some comments. You will like him better afterwards.

Re-posted from August, 2005

"Redskins": One Indian's View

In a piece by Tucker at Town Hall: "The federal Trademark Trial and Appeal Board has already ruled that the word Redskins is racially derogatory and offensive." My reaction to such nonsense:

I am Iroquois, by partial but adequate blood. You can see it in my face if you look carefully, but it mainly comes through in my eyes - I can see stuff outdoors that the Paleface cannot. Baby snakes and quiet birds and a rustling leaf and a turtle just thinking and a canvasback hidden in a snowstorm and a red-tail in a cloud. I love the name Redskins. Or Chiefs, or Indians, or anything that reminds us of our ancestry here in the New World.  I do not know why almost any reference to Indians is racist. And I hate the undignified racial and ethnic whining and victim talk from Indians or from anyone else. Everyone should be thanking their God or gods that they are in America. And every human should grant themselves the dignity to not be a complainer. It is childish and reflects poorly on the complainer.

In fact, I don't even mind "filthy savage," which Mrs. Bird Dog has been known to endearingly (?) label me after an unbathed and unshaven weekend clearing brush and drinking Ballantine Ale and covered with sweat and bloody scratches from prickers and branches. It's sort of a badge of pride - our Indian ancestors were not exactly emerged from the Stone Age and we did not bathe and did not change our clothes, and probably smelled terrible, and, compared to Samuel Pepys, we were savages for sure. We were happy to burn people, cut off their genitals and eat them, scalp them, and torture them, and we were always fighting with our neighboring tribes for fun, for glory, for land, or for no reason at all. Our people looked red because of the red-tinted bear fat we anointed ourselves with in the winter to keep warm. We didn't have central heating, or down parkas. Stone Age, although there was a culture worthy of anthropological study, if pre-literate barbarian culture is your bag. So I say quit it with the hyper-sensitive PC BS in our name - I would prefer that the Indian past be remembered rather than erased, stone axes and all.

So Hello Atlanta, Hello Dartmouth - quit erasing us - we were tough deer-hunting, enemy-slaying, stoic, happy-to-die and short-lived braves, and hard-working squash and corn-planting and oyster-picking squaws. Our old ones crawled off into the woods to die when they felt they couldn't keep up. We had a concept of dignity. We learned to handle pain and a difficult life was what we expected. In the Northeast, our greatest discoveries were maple syrup, corn, squash, and tobacco. Good things. We got here first. Probably by mistake, while chasing a herd of Musk Ox across the Bering land bridge and getting lost in a snowstorm, and losing our GPS in the snow, so we deserve no credit for adventurous exploration.

So call us whatever you want, (I prefer being called "Chief") but just don't forget us. We are part of the American heritage, but we were on the wrong side of history. It happens, and we died, mostly from new diseases like colds and flu introduced by the earliest fishermen and explorers long before the Pilgrims, but alcohol didn't do us much good either: Indian Brave like firewater too much. Not your fault, white man - you had your own problems and your own views, and we had no idea what was happening, and in a sense, we are lucky that you English saw us as even human, with souls, thanks to your Christian educations. True Indian braves, like cowboys, never complain.

(Photo: An Ogalala Chief, 1907)

Re-posted from August, 2005

I will not defy the copyright to post the New Yorker cartoon in which a scholarly, bored-looking gent in his armchair tosses his half-read book over his shoulder, with the caption "The man who knew enough."

The immediate issue is whether you know enough about cement and concrete. Here are some facts, with some links to read more.

Cement is the glue of concrete, which is a sort of man-made sedimentary rock. When an "aggregate" or "filler" such as sand, gravel, etc is added to cement, plus water, it's called concrete, or mortar when the aggregate is fine sand.

Cement is produced by heating - burning - limestone and clay. The addition of  a little gypsum at the end makes "Portland Cement," which is what all cement is nowadays. The trace of gypsum slows the curing, so it can be worked with more easily.

Water is a critical ingredient of the final product, not just to make a usable mix, but as an actual ingredient of the chemistry of solid concrete, which is a (non-organic) hydrate. Thus, during curing, concrete likes some splashes of water from hose or rain to gain maximum durability. (Thus cement doesn't "dry", it "cures".)

Concrete takes 28 days to mostly cure, but it continues to slowly cure for months thereafter by integrating water molecules into its structure.

Various versions of cement were around long before the Romans, but they were masters of its use, producing theirs with lime and burnt brick or ash. When they wanted to make light-weight structures, as for the roof of the Pantheon, they put empty clay jars amongst the concrete. They didn't think of reinforced concrete.

The art of cement production was lost after the fall of the Roman Empire, and its use only resumed in Europe in the mid-18th C. Reinforced concrete was patented in 1849 by a French gardener who used wire mesh around which to build concrete flowerpots.

A brief history here. Story of Roman concrete here. The chemistry of cement here. Photo of new partially-completed front path leading to a local wigwam, demonstrating a nice foundation of reinforced gravel concrete, with the stones being mortared on top.

A prince decides that he is ready to get married. Determined to marry a very smart woman, he sends his pages to scour the kingdom to bring him the three smartest candidates they can find.

When the three are bought to him, the prince puts them to a test. Either a white hat, or a red hat, is placed on each of the ladies - but they cannot see what color their own hat is.

The winner is the first to name the color of their hat. They are given one more piece of information: the prince says: "Everyone who sees one or more red hats, raise your hand." All three raise their hands.

After two hours of deep pondering, one lady finally raises her hand with the correct answer.

What was her answer?

Answer tomorrow. This one is not as tricky as the one last week, but it does take a little bit of thought. The Dylanologist got it in three minutes. When you get it, please do not post the answer on Comments.

Ignore Continuation page below -

Nicholas Lemann, Dean of the Columbia School of Journalism, takes on the new medium of the internets in The New Yorker. Yes, he does discuss Glenn Reynold's book. While terming blogs "amateur hour," (surely there is truth in that), he also notes the long history of such sorts of publications. A quote:

The “new media” of later Stuart Britain were pamphlets and periodicals, made possible not only by the advent of the printing press but by the relaxation of government censorship and licensing regimes, by political unrest, and by urbanization (which created audiences for public debate). Today, the best known of the periodicals is Addison and Steele’s Spectator, but it was one of dozens that proliferated almost explosively in the early seventeen-hundreds, including The Tatler, The Post Boy, The Medley, and The British Apollo. The most famous of the pamphleteers was Daniel Defoe, but there were hundreds of others, including Thomas Sprat, the author of “A True Account and Declaration of the Horrid Conspiracy Against the Late King” (1685), and Charles Leslie, the author of “The Wolf Stript of His Shepherd’s Cloathing” (1704). These voices entered a public conversation that had been narrowly restricted, mainly to holders of official positions in church and state. They were the bloggers and citizen journalists of their day, and their influence was far greater (though their audiences were far smaller) than what anybody on the Internet has yet achieved.

Read the entire interesting piece. My opinion? No blog, or blog cartel, can put out the material of the Sunday NYT. Bloggers are people who like to write and think but who have day jobs, and they are often people who find their views under-represented, or non-represented, in the MSM, and want to spread them around as best they can. If Murdoch bought the NYT, 50% of the blogs would wither on the vine, and Captain Ed might have a new job in New York.

We have done a couple of pieces on Pogo, our favorite cartoon strip by our favorite cartoonist, the late Bridgeport boy Walt Kelly. Here's another:

Re-posted from Aug 29, 2005

Zulu Time, and Weather Bloggers

In the NOAA and other hurricane and weather reports, they commonly notate Greenwich Mean Time with a suffix Z (or sometimes GMT), and spoken as "Zulu". The military, aviation, and commercial shipping commonly operate on Zulu time.

Why "Zulu"?  The story goes back to the great navigator, mathematician, and Salem, MA sea captain Nathaniel Bowditch (1773-1838), author of The American Practical Navigator - also known as "The Sailor's Bible" - which remains in use today. He divided up the world's time zones, one hour per 15 degrees of longitude, assigning each one a letter of the alphabet. Longitude 0, running through Greenwich, England received the Z. That story is here. 

Jean Lee Latham wrote the classic Carry On, Mr. Bowditch, which I remember fondly from 6th Grade, and which, along with Richard Henry Dana's Two Years Before the Mast, nurtured my love and respect for the sea and ships.

For weather bloggers, we like Weather Underground, and Stormtrack for big storms.

Take more time if you need it. Answers on continuation page, below.

There are only two locations on earth where you can walk one mile North, then one mile East, then one mile South, and end up where you started.

What are they?  Answers tomorrow (I doubt our brainy readers will need them by then, but it might take a bit of thought).

The architectural origin of the steeple lies in the belltower, and the origin of the belltower in the watchtower.

Medieval watchtowers, like this one in Umbria,

 and this one in San Gimignano, the town of towers,

used bells, guns, and fire to signal each other in time of trouble. Church belltowers, at first identical to watchtowers, were often separate from church buildings through the early renaissance. You had to place those bells up high to send out the sound. Here's a famous one, which is the belltower of Pisa's Duomo (c. 1100):

In time, the belltowers were integrated into the architecture of church and cathedral buildings. Without clocks and watches, you couldn't be called to church or prayer - nor would you know what time it was (except for sundials) without the bells sounding across the villages and fields. And they were a regular reminder of Christ's presence during the day. (But how did the bell-ringers know the time? That's another subject.)

Canterbury Cathedral (c. 1300) has the Gothic integration of tower. It took 63 men to ring its heavy bells; six men alone to ring the heaviest:

More modest English parish churches had bell towers on the roof (Holy Cross, Greenford Magna, Middlesex - much of the building c. 1500):

Puritan (Congregationalist) Meeting Houses in the US typically had no steeples, as part of their purifying their congregations from papistry, vanity, and other fanciness (no bells, no stained windows, no singing, 6-hour sermons, etc). They didn't even want to call them "churches, " and you went to "meeting", not to church, where the God of Grace played second fiddle to the God of Truth. This is the Rocky Hill Meeting House (c. 1785) in Amesbury, MA:

By the early 1800s, steeple bell towers came back into acceptance in the US, along with singing. I can imagine the debates between the stodgy old-timers and the young folks in their Building Committees. Many old New England churches are meeting houses with steeples (and pillared porticos too) added generations later, leading to steeple engineering problems in later years. Here's an example of an added steeple in Alford, MA (c. 1740):

Belfries, containing the bells and their mechanisms (and bats), usually have/had louvers to direct the sound up and away from the church itself. Oftentimes a steeple - the tower which supports the belfry, is roofed by an elegant spire, leading to the stereotypical appearance of the 19th Century New England Congregational church - which has since been copied by all sorts of denominations including Catholics - seemingly unaware of the Puritan, anti-Anglican, anti-hierarchical, and anti-Papist theological origin of the architecture:

We always need to be reminded that a "church" is not a building - it's a congregation of people who seek God through Christ ("whenever two or three of you are gathered together"). The building doesn't really matter, but having a special place never hurts. I think the spires are optional. 

Here's a nice piece on church bells.

YouTube of Dylan doing All Along the Watchtower here. (with JJ Jackson, Winston Watson, and Bucky Baxter)