Environment – Page 3 – Nourish-n-Cherish

What is April to you?

April is many things to the poetic brain, to the romantic at heart. It even somehow manages to give a tinge of optimism to the incorrigible pessimists amongst us.

It is the month of gorgeous signs of spring in the bay area. Hillsides filled with green grasses and wildflowers in hues of yellows, pinks, purples & oranges everywhere. It is difficult to not be buoyed up in spirits when spring gets going like this around us. The butterflies flit, bees buzz, woodpeckers peck (drill?), tulips push up through the soil, flowers burst forth from buds, barren trees cloak themselves in new leaves.

Life, it seems, wants to be up and about.

April is not just when Spring is in its glory:

📜 It is the month of poetry – I picked up a bunch of poetry books from the library the other day, and have yet to get to them. It is the thought that counts.

🌎It is the month for our dear planet Earth – well Earth Day, but I really think we should dedicate a month in which we consume more conscientiously, make choices that help our only home and all that.

📚It is the month that has a day dedicated to Books – World Book Day. I found my pace of reading especially slow this month given everything, but I still clutched them inhaling the scent of my dearly beloveds that night – too tired to read, but too stubborn to put it away and fall asleep. Someone must’ve rescued them, for I saw them in a tottering pile on my bedside table in the morning, and smiled.

🧬April 25 is also World DNA day.

This month, I found myself wandering the planet, wondering where the time went, and watching in awe as the goslings hatched, and the bird parents showed us good parenting. I found myself being inspired by humans achieving remarkable things, finding time to do the things they love, pondering on what is inherent via DNA and what can be changed via nurture, being taken aback by what we are capable of doing to one and another, and so much more.

I did not even feel my usual sense of helplessness as my to-do list remained stubbornly long. It is a list and has a right to exist, I told myself. Spring cleaning can wait, to-do lists can wait (maybe it is why we have World Workers Day on May 1st – to remind us to get back to that list)

What is April to you?

A disruption of ducks

There is a curious rhythm to the days after our India trip. The usual things still occupy our time – school, work, projects, commutes, the changing landscapes of nature, and all the rest of it. Maybe it is the throes of a winter season, or the fact that after the intense ceremonies of the beginning of the month, the quiet is disconcerting, but we felt on edge.

Like the hedgehog, we found ourselves peeking out of our hidey holes to see if life is normal, and finding that it is, were somewhat taken aback. Do you mean to say that we must plan to prune the roses?

Oh well, all right. If you insist, I suppose.

One morning, the son and I finding ourselves at a loose end decided to take a bike ride to dissipate some of this energy.

“Amma! Look – I just saw a hedgehog peep out.”

“Oh nice! It is close to February, so it must be checking.”

“I didn’t see if it saw its shadow though – we were going too fast!” said the son.

It was a lovely day – the feel of wind against our cheeks, the gentle cumulus clouds overhead, and the bay hosting a large variety of birds. We stood there taking in the beautiful sights when hundreds of birds took flight all at once, and then, as though nothing had happened, flocked back to their original place a few moments later. The son and I had a number of ideas as to what caused the disturbance, each more juvenile and silly than the next, but left us cackling all the same.

No one could deny the beautiful shared experience of the disruption – the birds heaving in one smooth cacophony and the humans ashore fumbling quickly to capture the sudden movements and failing miserably.

It reminded me of the book I was reading the previous day, On Duck Pond – By Jane Yolen Pictures by Bob Marstall.

on_duck_pond

As I walked by the old Duck Pond

Its stillness as the morning dawned

Was shattered by a raucous call:

A quack of ducks both large and small …


An understanding quickly dawned:

We’d shared a shock, and now a bond

And I was feeling very fond,

Of everyone on old Duck Pond.

As always the day out in nature surrounded by the fabulous clouds, the sun’s rays, the beautiful lights of the ocean, the stories the son and I swapped on our ride, the birds, first signs of spring in the wildflowers by the bay, had weaved its magic, and we returned home refreshed in mind and spirits.

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P.S: A group of ducks, as Jane Yolen mentions in her book, are known by a number of names:

A raft of ducks

A paddling of ducks

A badelynge of ducks

Also, bunch, grace, gang or team.

🍁I Found A 🍁🍁Million🍁🍁 Bucks 🍁

“It rained last night, did you hear?” the son said the first thing in the morning as he crept groggily downstairs.

I confessed I hadn’t. It had been a late night – one fraught with beeping alarms, low-battery carbon monoxide filters, very cold temperatures, and a spate of international phone calls. I remember peeking out at the full-ish moon before finally collapsing into a warm bed, but not much else. In fact when the alarm went off in the morning, I was in the midst of a strange and confusing dream in which somebody was giving me a recipe. I can’t remember the details, but I also remember my first thought being – what a strange recipe!

Luckily I shook all memories of frog chutneys and slime pickles aside and made for the open air. The air was fresh – the Earth beautiful after the rains, and I was not going to miss it.

I was rewarded with brilliant cloudy skies, rain-drop topped leaves, and quiet birds shaking their wings and beaks throughout.

I stopped to marvel at the casual beauty that lay there in front of me – the lake not realizing the perfect reflection it provided to the mountains in the distance, the fall trees closer by, and the still groggy white heron on the opposite shore. All just there for anyone wanting to see it. Sleepy, dewy, cloudy, misty.

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I stood there trying to remember the chemical names that were responsible for the brilliance of the colours reflected before me: carotenids, anthocyanins and tannins. I wondered at the wisdom of these trees: realizing that it was time to stop photosynthesis and let the tannins and cyanins or whatever take over without any fanfare, and producing the most breath-taking show for the world to revel in.

🍁Carotenids : the pigments for the orange and yellow colors

🍁Anthocyanins: the pigments that are responsible for the purples and reds.

🍁Tannins: responsible for the brown color.

Almost instinctively, I looked around and found myself alone. Alone in a bustling suburban area – the only one who took a quick detour and stopped to admire the lake on my way from somewhere to somewhere. It felt nice. Special. Like I had won a million bucks.

November is already on its way out – 2023 is already on its way out. The trees have put their show on, on time. I gave myself a little scolding: My Christmas tree was not up yet. “But I did have some beautiful poinsetta plants beaming their reds at me in the morning, that was something! “ I said to myself heading to a small park bench, and there: I found a million bucks.

I left it there for the next lucky person to find, and went on my way, a smile playing on my lips.

Who said the universe did not have a sense of humor?

🍁Sauntering🍁,🍁Strolling🍁, 🍁Scrunchfesting 🍁

The son and I pranced into the house with our bouquet of fall leaves. We went for a walk to feel the nippy November air on our faces. While out there, we ran after leaves fluttering down in the winds, and indulged in the inevitable scrunch party.

“No one saw us jump and scrunch in the leaves, Appa!” he said entering the house wind-blown and happy.

“Are you sure?” said the husband, accepting the beautiful bouquet of fall leaves from us, and giving it right back to me with a flourish.

“ I saw some neighbors scuttle inside looking dubious at the activity outside. You sure it wasn’t you two?”

The son guffawed loudly at that. I scrunched up my face – but was too happy to care. Who could when you’ve just been able to look at views like this?

Seems only yesterday we were ushering in 2023 and now we are already looking at the final curtain calls of the splendid trees before the closing of the year. As usual, if I throw my mind back the year felt differently at different points in time. Bleak, dreary, joyous, hectic ,the travails of aging with parental figures, friends, events, work, school, volunteer work and so much more.

There is a book called the Secrets of Infinity in my library – Edited by Anonio Lamua, it is a gorgeous book. It gets taken out and seen every now and then just for the sheer brilliance of the topics and the range of topics in them. But there is one thing the book doesn’t quite put the finger on: the feeling of infinity in the repeating seasons of the Earth, the different joys of each month.

The Tibetan Infinity Knot and the Ouroboros come close in their symbolism – but one of more to do with our actions and therefore Karma and the other a destruction/creation paradigm.

“So, how do the leaves turn color?”, I said with a flourish revealing the book Summer Green to Autumn Gold – By Mia Posada. The book’s illustrations managed to capture the natural beauties outside, and we settled in to read the book contentedly.

We flipped the pages comparing the leaves we had in our precious bouquet to the ones in the book. The final reveal of the pigment colors gave us the different colors.

🍁Carotenids : the pigments for the orange and yellow colors

🍁Anthocyanins: the pigments that are responsible for the purples and reds.

🍁Tannins: responsible for the brown color.

“Trees must be beings of infinity!” , I said sighing happily and the son rolled his eyes.

☀️ Energy Sources 🗺️

The son and I were discussing this and that when we hit upon one of our favorite topics of discussion: energy sources. The fellow has been very happy that we now have a solar roof.

“And now – we generate more solar power than we use. Isn’t that awesome?!” he piped up as we were out on a walk one evening after a particularly hot October day. (I wondered if the solar energy could be bounced off our heads too, and that earned a weak chuckle and an eye-roll.) Of course, this led to an interesting discussion on energy sources and we got talking on the recent articles or books we’d read.

“There is one place where they take your steps and convert that into energy. Like you step on the floor and that becomes stored energy. Cool right?”

“Cool!” I agreed, and screwed up my face at the nearby freeway noise. “I am sure if we can just figure out a way to take all that wasted energy from all the fast and noisy cars on the freeway, and use it to power the cars behind them, that would be even better – you know get off gasoline altogether? ”

“They are already working on it somewhere. Life is so exciting in these energy fields!”. he said.

Later that night, he bellowed that he’d left me an interesting article to read on my bedside table on Energy Sources.

August 2023 Issue of OYLA – Energy All Around Us- Generating Electricity from Dance Floors, JellyFish and more

#33 AUGUST 2023

If I haven’t raved about OYLA before, allow me to. The magazine is a gem of science and mathematical tidbits . I was enthralled by the article and read it all agog, exclaiming at the right intervals. It pleased the son.

A thoroughly fascinating article in which the different types of energy sources are briefly touched upon. Piezoelectricity – the technique of using our movements to power energy.
The many ways in which sound vibrations can be turned into electricity (apparently a new generation of architects are working on powering skyscrapers powered with noise energy – so the hustle and bustle of the city, the blaring sirens, freeway noise everything is actually used to power the building – isn’t that brilliant?)
In another section, it says nanoantennas are more efficient than conventional solar cells and they have a ‘good chance of displacing conventional solar panels’.

All highly exciting possibilities. I was especially thrilled to read this bit about jellyfish and their green fluorescent proteins.

Quote: (from the Bioelectricity section)

“Some jellyfish glow in the dark. This is due to the green fluorescent proteins (GFP) that are present in their cells. Such an element may not need sunlight at all and could instead “feed” on bioluminescent radiation (like in fireflies) and ultimately they might be used in nanodevices.”

It must be wonderful being a jellyfish or a firefly. Were there some jellyfishes who glowed more than others, the same way some human beings are more energetic than others?

Individual energy levels is a common topic of discussion in our household as we are surrounded by friends and family who seem to be made up of inexhaustible sources of energy and positivity. ‘How do they manage it?’ we say as we admire these folks, but it is something I’d love to gain an understanding about.

Would it make the difference between glowing, glowing less, or glowing more?

A Rosely Abode

The rose bushes were blooming all summer and every time I saw the blossoms fade, I felt a pang. How did these bouquets in stores retain their freshness for that long while my blossoms faded so quickly? There was one white rose still unfaded before the next set of blooms came in, and I stopped to admire it. I’ve always loved white roses. I leaned over to pluck the beautiful blossom, picturing the peaceful looking flower in Buddha’s hands.

Peace.

Such a nebulous quality in our lives, I mused. Also, something that one only appreciates wholly when threatened or is lost. Maybe turbulence is a necessary component of life in small doses so we appreciate sturdy peace when we do have it.

roses

I peered into the rose and saw an inner petal that looked slightly less white than the surrounding petals. Maybe it had started to brown, I said to myself and reached in gingerly to pull the petal, when I gasped and leaped back. A small albino frog leaped out at me from within the white rose petals.

I don’t know whether any of you have had albino frogs leap up at their faces, but if you haven’t, I can tell you it is quite the shock especially when you are expecting to loosen rose petals and have amphibians leaping at you instead. It is like finding crocodiles in your bath-tub.

I gasped and tried regaining my composure. All thoughts of peace forgotten – the heart hammered against the ribcage as if on a great adventure, I willed it to stop. So much for courage – a frog is all it takes. Maybe it wasn’t a good thing. I thought forlorn, as irrational thoughts came flooding in.

What is it with adrenaline and irrationality?

frogs_in_roses

Regardless of that first reaction, frogs are apparently omens of good luck, prosperity and fertility.

Later that night, as I drifted off into sleep, I couldn’t help thinking of the little frog in the white rose that I had inadvertently disturbed. What a lovely abode? Drinking nectar, snuggling into the softest petals, and resting in the fragrance of a rose. Sometimes, the gifts of nature are marvelous. I wish I had the sense to take a photograph. White frogs are rare enough. White frogs in white roses must be even rarer. As for, white frogs leaping up at writers from within white roses: well, who says that nature doesn’t have a sense of humor?

I’ve always admired bees for having their feet dusted by a thousand blossoms as Ray Bradbury says:

bee_in_rose

‘Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don’t they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.’

– Ray Bradbury

The Humanity of Humans

It has been a month since we visited Banff in Canada. On the flight back, my mind buzzed with the possible posts to write about the place.

The wonderful conversation we had with one of the locals in a coffee shop before we started off on our long drive to Jasper was one such. These are some of my favorite moments while traveling. Usually, we are on a tourist loop, and meet fellow tourists from different parts of the world, which is just as enjoyable. (The Elephant Keeper) But interacting with people who live and experience the very place that we go to, to make our magical memories is something else.

Living in a tourist attractive spot has its disadvantages. (We pay in terms of parking permits for instance. ) But it also has gifts galore. Knowing that what you get everyday is something people plan and take time out to enjoy is a gratitude pill hidden in plain sight.

On those days when the routine banality of life throws us a particularly unstimulating day, it is marvelous to take an evening walk along a lake that people literally get on planes, trains and automobiles to get to. To know that within one drive over the week-end, we get to a world famous spot is mind-boggling even if we do take these things for granted a bit.

That day, as we spoke to Jack in the coffee shop, we asked him what it was like living in Banff. He smiled, tentatively, wanting to be polite at first, but then went on to talk about how much he enjoys winter sports in the Canadian Rockies. One couldn’t help smiling listening to that thrill of adrenaline I am sure he feels as he skis down those steep mountains. You could hear the gush of the arctic winds in the rush of his voice.

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As our chat meandered, his wry sense of humor surfaced, and he asked us where we were from, and how we met etc. We told him about our arranged marriage and his reaction was as swift a time-travel capsule as ever there was. I was whisked twenty years into the past when our colleagues gawked at us the same way. He smiled and said what many showed us in their looks all those years ago. “Hmm…yet you folks seem to be alright!”

The husband and I threw our heads back and laughed exchanging a quick look of understanding between us, while the children rolled their eyes.

As we sat there, swapping stories, and the days of our lives, I was reminded of how the world is always trying to show us how we are different from one another, but really, we are no different from one another (trying to find the exact quote with little luck). The humanity of our being human is never more evident than in the simplest of things like enjoying a relaxed cup of coffee before starting the week-end.

Earth’s Eyes

Canadian summers are generous.

The week we were there, we were blessed with ample sunshine, full rivers gushing waterfalls, millions of evergreen trees, tiny pinecones, open skies, harsh rock faces, long days and every hue of blue in the waters of the land.

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When we told anyone that we were planning to visit Banff, Canada, we heard about the Blues. In gushing tones, awed expressions, faraway looks as if transplanting themselves momentarily to a place with blue waters, and peace. I liked that. It must have been something if everyone had the same things to say, shouldn’t it? I have been to several lakes, and am always in awe of them. I remember somebody saying something to the effect of a lake being a planet’s eye, or something like that. Awfully poetic I thought then. Must find the quote.

Ah – here it is. It is our reliable ol’ Henry David Thoreau on Walden Pond.

“A lake is a landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.”

― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Anyway, so off we went expecting to see blue lakes. Emerald green waters, turquoise waters, and all the hues in between. Pictures do not prepare you for the surreality of it all, we knew that. We were hiking around the famous Lake Louise when the daughter piped up with her usual candor. “It looks pretty and all, but I don’t want to swim in it. It doesn’t feel right. Do you think it has some kind of algae, in it?”

lake_louise

I looked at her and then nodded. I understood that feeling. I had not been able to express quite that way yet, but there it was. It didn’t help that I was reading The Three Body Problem by Cixin Liu, Translated by Ken Liu, and somewhat agitated by the other worlds mentioned in the book.

51pHYR3yHaL

But when we stopped to take breath a few meters on, I sucked in a deep breath. It was beautiful especially from our current vantage point. We were at least a thousand feet above and hiking around it in an elaborate trail that allowed us glimpses of the turquoise blue waters in between. So, what did make these waters this unnatural shade of blue? Why didn’t lakes in Iceland, Switzerland, Philippines, New Zealand, or the United States have the same color?

Professor Google says it is because of the particular kinds of glacial silt that is deposited in the waters with glacial melt, and not algae. Up close, the waters looks transparent near the shores, and the canoes seem to enjoy the peace and quiet of it all.

We canoed in ‘a lake that looks like more like an earthly lake’ as we delicately put it. But this lake too had spots of emerald green waters turquoise spots and the transparent blues. I took photos that I thought would wow the world. Of course, they looked like I shook my hands and poured tea into the lens instead.

I was nervous about the canoeing. I was nervous about the hues of the waters. But as the daughter and I shared a canoe, I was somewhat heartened. She is calm, reliable and more capable than Yours Truly at steering canoes towards shores as she demonstrated to me that day. We stopped mid lake, peering into the depths below. The calm beautiful waters holding the promise of the winter snow in its depths.

Earth’s eye that day assured me that to imagine yourself in a different world, if only a moment, is fascinating and necessary. We couldn’t really see the Loch Ness monster, or the myriad fishes in the beautiful waters even as sunlight pierced through to the bottom maybe a hundred feet deep. But I am sure these lakes were home to plenty of lifeforms – how could they not be?

Sometimes, humans are so caught up in our own trivialities in this universe, I wonder whether our fellow habitants are the same. Maybe. Maybe not. We would never know.

Yes, Aunt Alberta

Alberta sounds like a fussy old aunt who sews quilts, and asks you if you’d like some warm milk before turning in for the night. Yet, Wild Rose County, Alberta, is anything but. There is nothing domestic or warm about its mountain peaks, or its glacial rivers, or its expansive valleys, plains and lakes.

Every peak has a distinct…

Actually, it feels droll to use words like ‘distinct’ to describe the peaks of the Canadian Rockies. Majestic, unconventional, foreboding maybe? But it still does not capture the raw power these mountains exude. The peaks truly do appeal to the fanciful too. As we drove towards Banff in Canada, the car was filled with tales of the kind that must’ve inspired the folklore of American Indians for centuries. I resolved to go and look for some of these legends later.

“See those mountains? Don’t they all look like old men?”

“Yes! They are all wizards who went against nature, and then the rivers and lakes learnt of their treachery, cursed them to watch over them as penitence.”

“Ooh! Nice one!”

“Those must be the mountains where the goats learnt their footing.”

And so it went. Through the traffic and amidst the trees with the towering cliffs of mountains on all sides.

“Look at these little bridges? With trees and plants growing on them. Like little bridges for wildlife to cross the highway.”

“Yes! That is exactly what it is!”

wildlife_bridge

“Like the stuff mentioned in the West Wing episode?” asked the son wide-eyed. His interest in all things constitutional seems to be on the rise these past few months, and so we have started watching West Wing again. It makes for wonderful entertainment. If Aaron Sorkin was able to make a series like that based on a Presidency like Bill Clinton’s, I wonder what he would be able to do with a Donald Trump one. (But that saga wrote itself.)

Anyway, this is the clip in which the wildlife crossing is mentioned: Wolf’s only highway featuring Pluie the Wolf

Driving along the Canadian highways with nothing (miles of no human habitation) and everything (bounteous, gorgeous, fabulous nature) on all sides is surreal, and a change that we were grateful for.

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🐘🐘🐘What Elephants Know 🐘🐘🐘

The book starts with the Zen teaching:

Sooner or later we have to see that what we do and what happens to us are the same thing.

A curious saying that, I am sure, has a fair number of interpretations. I was not sure I liked the ones that came to my mind seeing that I was thinking about agency, free will, and opportunities from a few different angles over the past few days.

Intrigued, I ploughed on, and read the first sentence:

“My mother is an elephant and my father is an old man with one arm. Strange, I know, but true.”

– What Elephants Know – By Eric Dinerstein

For a few paragraphs, I could not help but wonder: was the protagonist an elephant or a human? Either would’ve made sense of course: it is a children’s book after all.

elephants_know

Elephants have always occupied a special kind of love among beings for me. The home is littered with tiny elephant figurines, and soft toys. Hailing from the Indian subcontinent, this is not peculiar or unheard of. It is, in fact, quite common. Intelligent, empathetic, wise, loving beings with a range of emotions, and wisdom, I feel lucky to share the planet with these gentle giants of the land. So obviously, when I saw the book What Elephants Know written by Eric Dinerstein, with glowing reviews from none other than Jane Goodall herself, I picked it up.

I am so glad I did.

Set in the beautiful borderlands of Nepal, this book is told from the first person POV of a young child, Nandu, whose mother is Devi Kali, the benevolent matriarch of the royal stables of the King of Nepal, and father is Subba Sahib, the head of the royal elephant stables. Devi Kali, is the elephant who found the child, Nandu, abandoned in the forests. Nandu was taken in, and raised by Subba Sahib. Thus, begins a gentle lilting story of a magical childhood. The child has his perspectives broadened by education, his keen natural senses honed by a naturalist who collects specimens and conducts research for the Smithsonian museum.

It is a rare pleasure to be able to relate to a young boy, and feel his love for the nature surrounding him. How Nandu manages to save the elephant stables from closure forms the rest of the tale.

Most importantly though, this book evoked a sense of having spent time amidst nature ourselves. That is the biggest achievement of the book – for several times in the week following, I found myself sighing and bringing up the imagery of the thick forests of Nepal. Something that not even the best documentaries manage to do. Maybe it is something to do with the slow creation of the imagery in our minds as we conjure up the descriptions and a version of the forestlands, but it is a worthwhile read.

The creatures of the land, the many birds, and life of naturalists is gently shown to us.

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