Special Pleasures

SPECIAL PLEASURES

by Robert Neulieb

 Imagine trudging along a snow packed woodland path towards home as twilight descends. The temperature dips below zero as you pass a cliff where the frozen cascade will sing and gush in spring, along the cliff where hepatics will display their blues and purples, along the path where red and white trilliums, blood roots, spring beauties will bloom and Dutchman’s breeches and Jack-in –the- pulpits will display their shapes, over the stream opening into a narrow wetland which the marsh marigolds will turn into a golden ribbon, meandering among the trees.

The chill seeps through your jacket and invades your insulated boots when you spot a light in your window and know that warmth and comfort are near. Up the walk to your home where crocuses and daffodils will push aside the snow then inside the door where warmth and the glowing lamp provide special pleasures. A hot chocolate drink warming the innards provides a special pleasure.  A comforting hot shower that seeps through the skin and penetrates the muscles provides a special pleasure.

 Now envision a bubble being placed over this scene maintaining the temperature at 70 F degrees always.  Today, yesterday, tomorrow, and in 6 months the temperature will always be 70 F.  The cascade murmurs, but doesn’t sing or gurgle. The leaves of the numerous flowers provide green foliage, but no blooms, no array of colors or intriguing shapes under the ever- present shade from the trees. The light in the window is welcoming, but not a special pleasure. The temperature inside and out is the same. The choice of drink can be orange juice, soda, lemonade, same as yesterday, tomorrow, 6 month, not a special pleasure.  Lukewarm shower, nice but not special.  Special pleasures become more complex, extravagant even decadent.

The cold and snow intensifies pleasure and anticipation.  Simple pleasure can carry us through.

The Red-Headed Giant

THE RED-HEADED GIANT

By Robert L Neulieb

   The winds of March extended well into April. A constant drizzle was this year’s showers. But Saturday the twins, Jane and John, awakened to blazing shafts of light entering their east bedrooms. Although nearly teens, they still eagerly awaited their first traipse through their “Twelve Acre Garden”---the rocky slope between the lower and upper fields. Spring, before the leaves of the maple grove intercept the sunlight, promised a most pleasant array of floral colors and shapes. But their thoughts mostly focused on the Red-headed Giant. Would anything be left?

   Many rewards awaited their quarter mile jaunt down their farm road through the lower field. Trilliums, both white and red, barely surpassed the number of bloodroots. Among the rocks hepaticas dominated. Marsh marigolds

ruled the lowland at the base of the cliff. Spring-beauties were everywhere. Locating the enchanting shapes of the Dutchman’s-breeches, squirrel-corns and Jack-in-the-pulpits required only a little exploration. 

   But the twins’ thoughts again focused on “The Red-Headed Giant”, the once huge sugar maple renowned for its autumnal display. Years and winds had diminished it

until they renamed it the “Feeble Giant”, yet it still contributed much to their past.  Then as they rounded the last bend before the upper field, they saw it.  The whipping storms had deposited about three-quarters of the giant across the farm road.  “This fall it’ll look like a “Red-Handed Dwarf,” Jane remarked, “with just one branch extending over Trail Creek.”

   “At least we’ll have one more Indian Summer to spot its leaves floating past our yard.  We’d better enjoy it; it’ll probably be the last.  Anyway, getting in the fire wood will be easy.  We may not have to fall any of the scraggly dead elms.”

   “Remember what Grandfather said last Thanksgiving?”

   “You mean the last six at least.  When farming was king your garden and maple grove was a pasture with about a dozen large maples trees including the “Red-Headed Giant”.  The road and yard were lined with even larger and more stately elms.  Elms were the heart and soul of New England villages. “ John added, ” It’s so hard to imagine.”

   For the twins, Thanksgiving, along with Christmas Eve and New Years Eve were always three special nights fueled by fallen branches, many from the giant.  With the large fireplace unsealed, Mother would concoct traditional foods placed in hanging pots swung over the fire.  Their favorite, spoon bread, from freshly ground cornmeal, homemade maple syrup and hand-churned butter became dessert.

   Then Father’s voice, the fluttering fire’s glow, full bellies and youthful imaginations sent a swing soaring over a garden wall, a beanstalk complete with giant crashing to earth, Rumpelstiltskin’s foot splintering through the floor and seven dwarves with their picks and shovels marching off to work in their mine.  As they grew older a bow twanged and an arrow split its opponents; muskets flashed and cutlasses clashed.  Then early settler Jane and Abraham Lincoln John would scoot up on the hearth to find enough light for embroidering and reading.

  Father explained, “Wood is stored sunlight.  You can always recover the heat, but the light is greatly degraded.  That’s why you don’t need blackened welder’s eye protectors.”

Mother would add a new log and describe how wood was made. This turned out to be a favorite, especially for John.

   One sunny spring day, almost like today, the fourth-grade class, suffering from cabin fever, was, let’s say rambunctious. Mrs. Havreworth, trying to quiet the students, finally shouted, “I want you to learn something. In only eight years you will have to be ready for college or jobs. Remember nothing is going to come out of thin air!”

   Both shy Jane and bold John knew the folly of that statement. John couldn’t resist.

“That’s where the wood for your chair and desk came from.”  Well, let’s just say that wasn’t what was needed to calm the situation.

    However, ten days later, Mrs. Havreworth gave a special science presentation explaining that John was correct. The wood was almost completely a combination of carbon dioxide and water united with lots of energy while releasing oxygen. Since the water would have come from the rain clouds floating in air, his statement about “thin air” was basically true. She, indeed, loved this class and slipped in, “Next time I will need a truer truism.” John beamed and Jane wished she would be bolder. Mrs. Havreworth added, “The wood eventually returns to thin air though decay, fire, etc.”

  Seeing that the road would soon be needed, John realized that a busy weekend awaited them. He broke their reminiscing. “Remember sitting on the bank of Trail Creek and shouting “Red-Headed Giant” every time we saw one of its brilliant leaves float by on its way to Miller’s River?”

   “I’ll be there this fall shouting. It’ll probably be our last.’ ”

   “I know that the soil is deeper and richer and “The Red-Headed Giant” parented and grandparented much of our garden’s maple grove, but, Jane, it’s still sad to think it will soon be gone.”

   “Don’t you remember New Years Eve?”

   He felt relief, “Of course, all of those leaves, years and years of leaves, floating down Trail Creek to Miller’s River and eventually into the Atlantic; so many of them stored away in sediment forever.”  

   .

The Magic Sun

THE MAGIC SUN

 Robert L. Neulieb Ph.D. And Marilyn K. Neulieb M.S.

Barren and molten, the new planet earth first orbited the sun four to five billion years ago. Even after the crust solidified and the depressions filled with water, this barrenness persisted. Chemical elements and simple compounds were randomly scattered on the surface. Organization of the elements into complex organic compounds was unknown.

The creation of life over two billion years ago and its subsequent evolution has produced myriads of complex organic compounds from these scattered elements. This creation converted barrenness into living oceans, majestic forests, lush prairies, diverse and productive estuaries and lowlands; it even vegetated the deserts. Hardly a place on earth has been immune from the effects of life. The earth's surface has been transformed from dust, rock and sterile water into life-sustaining soil and seas. The randomly scattered elements of the crust have been ordered into the complex chemistry of life, the delicate petals of flowers, the human brain and numerous living organisms.

Man, too, has created order as exemplified by large cities, complex transportation networks, and facilities for power generation and transmission. But man's work is usually accompanied by disorderly by-products. The barrenness of many strip mines, discussions of creating large areas of national sacrifice in the West to facilitate shale oil production, and the still-denuded mountainsides in parts of Europe which the Romans exploited for timber for ships are just a few of the expanding reminders that man's order has brought disorder. The obsolete, worn, and discarded products of man have not become the foundations of new, more complex products, but rather of junk yards, air pollution and landfills. It is said that trash is man's monument to order.

Waste is an abundant product of natural systems, too. Like the works of man, all living organisms produce waste during life and eventually become waste upon death. Some forests and grasslands produce eighty-five pounds of solid waste per^, acre each active year. Yet nature doesn't have trash heaps. This trash becomes an integral part of present and future order. New plants grow from fallen trees-trees which will soon become soil. Thus, even more life will be supported.

Scientists are beginning to understand why man's attempts to create order seemingly create disorder and why attempts to correct this disorder may, in turn, create even greater disorder. The Second Law of Thermodynamics tells us precisely that net disorder will result from the conversion of energy from one form to another such as chemical or electrical to kinetic or its maintenance . In any system involving energy exchange, there is always created more disorder than order. The net result of the conversion of energy must be the creation of disorder. Yet, natural systems have seemingly repealed this law.  What magic do the natural systems possess? Can man learn the secret?

       The magic is in the sun. The natural systems have not repealed the Second Law of Thermodynamics. They simply utilize the only source of energy readily available on earth that is free of the necessity of causing disorder on earth. Oh yes, the Second Law states more disorder than order is created through the generation and use of the energy in the natural systems. However, much of the disorder can be confined to the sun, the magic sun.         Thus, net order can be created on earth.    In contrast, in recent years man has concentrated primarily on earth-based energy sources. The creation of disorder, at least initially, has also occurred on the earth.This disorder, as it must, has exceeded the order created.

Disorder, such as that caused by strip mining, cannot be corrected by man alone. But with proper planning, man can encourage the sun. The evolutionary process of restoration which is driven by the sun's energy can be shortened when the topsoil is preserved and the water is protected from contamination. In essence, man cannot create net order on earth. This role is reserved for the sun. Man can only assist.

The sun not only has provided and continues to provide the energy for the establishment, development, maintenance and restoration of living processes, but it also provides energy to preserve the order of cycles vital to life. One such cycle is the water cycle which involves the separation of freshwater from saltwater. Many organisms, including man, depend on this separation, this creation of order. The winds driven by the sun's energy disperse this freshwater along with oxygen and carbon dioxide to living organisms around the globe.

With study, ingenuity and determination, the sun's energy may serve many of our needs. Technologies to capture the winds and radiant solar energy are emerging. However, there is no assurance that the use of solar energy will create order on the earth. For millions of years, fires in prairies and forests alike have been started by lightning from sun-driven storms. The magic sun has repeatedly converted prairies and forests into a disordered scattering of ashes. The sun can work its magic for man, but it comes with no guarantees, only opportunities.

Miracle at Centerburg

MIRACLE AT CENTERBURG

Robert Neulieb, Ph.D.

Saturday was another bright sunny July day in the Midwest town of Centerburg.  Ball players and picnickers filled the park at the city’s edge.  Haze restricted the view from Look Out Ridge but promised to yield yet another brilliant glowing red sunset.

The corn behind the fence on the ridge looked stunted and withered.  The small no name stream flowing down the ridge near a park’s edge had been affectionately called tinkle brook by generations of children and the pool at the bottom likewise called the frog pond.  This July no tinkles, no croaks, no splashes.

Then it happened.  At the western horizon a tiny cloud appeared- more gathered and soon the sky blackened.  Ball players and picnickers scurried for shelter to the clash of thunder and silhouetted by lightening.  For more than an hour and a half the rain fell.

On Monday the Centerburg Weekly led with the headline “Million Dollar Rain”.  It was that and then some.  The corn, soy beans and other crops recuperated.  Tinkle brook tinkled for the children; frogs would soon croak and slash in the pool.  Further down in the article the word “miracle” appeared. 

But a miracle?   The dry spell certainly was severe and unusual but hardy unprecedented in the two hundred twenty year history of Centerburg.  One year no “million dollar rain” rescued the crops or made the brook tinkle or frogs croak and splash.  Centerburg farmers have long fretted over too much and especially too little rain.

Yet it was a miracle dating back long before the founding of Centerburg, long before the first mammal opened its eyes or the first dinosaur walked on earth - actually even long before the amoeba or algae evolved.  The miracle was fresh “clean” water falling on a planet largely covered with salty “dirty” water.

Water distillation is a simple high school chemistry laboratory experiment.  The process has been further developed to serve industrial needs.  What makes rain a miracle?  No smoke, ashes or soot – no strip mines, tar sands or oil fields.  Chemistry experiments and industrial processes require that part of the earth be sacrificed.  The sun has all the equivalences of smoke, ashes, soot, strip mines, tar sands, oil fields and so much more as it slowly burns to extinction while radiating energy, some of which strikes the earth.  With rain what is sacrificed is part of the sun!