Foreword
to Johnathan: Two human characteristics that do us great harm are Superstition
and Ignorance. They are deeply imbedded in many of the people and dogma that
surround us. It takes years to root them out. Therefore, the things I write to
you have within them tonics meant to decrease one, the other, or both of these
undesirable elements (no, not the people). Take these mental medicines,
sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet and hope the elixirs do you well.
We
have lived in this house in Mount Pleasant, Michigan more than twenty-five
years. If you look at a map, the state consists of two peninsulas, the Upper
and the Lower. The Lower looks like a mitten worn on the right hand. If the
mitten should ever make a fist, we should certainly be crushed, because that is
where our town is located. If this occurs you will note a decided drop in mail
(in whatever form) from us.
Our house is on the
northwest corner of two streets. It is not particularly
distinctive on the outside, from the other houses in the neighborhood, except
in one regard. When it was a little house it ran away from its mother, playing
hide and seek. It came into the lot to hide not as the others had. They were
taught to line up straight with the road. Ours, not knowing better, set itself
down at an angle to the streets! Its mother never found it and so it
stayed. By this circumstance we made a lovely discovery.
The two windows in
the master bedroom are such that one faces northeast and the other southwest.
During the delicious cool evenings of late spring and early autumn we can leave
these open, and what a breeze wafts through the room over the bed! Joyfully, we
can snuggle under just a sheet, or one, or two, or even three blankets
if we wish. Then wondrous things occur, but need explaining.
Sol, our star,
throws off trillions of photons every nanosecond in every direction. A photon
is the smallest particle of light. This vast storm sweeps through the solar
system constantly. Sol is at a focus of planets, moons, comets, meteorites,
dust and debris. When the light from Sol strikes one of these bodies, the side
of the object toward the great star is lit. The other side is in darkness.
Some evening when
the sky is clear of softball-size hail or other nasty things go out and try to
find the moon, our planet’s only natural satellite. If you see it, perhaps only
part of it shines brightly (on truly dark nights you may also see the rest of
the moon’s surface in very faint light: this is reflected light from the Earth
called “googenshein”). The contrast between the lighted and unlighted parts is
very clear. The line between the two is crisp. This line is called the terminator.
On earth the line
between night and day is not as clear because of the atmosphere. Water and dust
scatter the incoming photons. Nonetheless, this smudgy line separating sunlight
and starlight is also called the terminator. When we can still see Sol, the
terminator has not passed. At the end of night, if Sol has not risen, the
terminator has not passed. How, then, can we tell?
If you live on a
farm, you know the rooster crows at the first light of morning. Our house is
not near a farm, but we have those wonderful open windows in the bedroom. When it is very early but still rather dark
outside, far to the east the birds give out their morning song. They sing for
about twelve minutes. Closer birds pick up the song. When they are through, our
neighborhood birds begin. This morning there were robins, cardinals, blue jays,
doves, a single blackbird and others in the chorus. When they were done, birds
to our west took over, and so the song moved from east to west.
Each group’s start
occurs when the terminator passes over them. On clear mornings, such as today,
sound travels well, and the whole sonata lasted forty-five minutes (to my
ears). On overcast, or rainy days, the ambient noise drowns out some of the
sound. The songs seem shorter.
Before the summer
equinox the songs began very early, say 4:30 a.m. and the local songs occurred
before 5. After the equinox the days grow shorter; the sun rises later and so
to do the songs’ beginning. Today the terminator crossed our yard at 5:10.
Our birds also have
an evening song coincident with the other terminator marking the onset of
darkness. Unfortunately, people are out and about, laughing, playing, mowing
their lawns, and all but drowning out the concert. We may hear the local birds
bidding us goodnight, but often we miss even that.
Morning and evening songs are common to many
diurnal birds. The evolutionary advantage is to alert the others in one’s flock
to start foraging, and to remind them of one’s territory. The early worm is
often caught by an awakened bird. The evening song helps locate the other
members of the group as it settles into a safe haven. This does not seem to
apply to owls, being such solitary creatures, lovely prowlers of the night, but
they are well aware of the passing of the terminators.
Our town is very
close to the 45° north parallel of latitude. During 45 minutes of song, the
earth has moved about 728 miles from where it started, as the earth rotates on
its axis. Hold on to those tree limbs, birds!
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