"..them seemed to make no sense..."

I am finishing my various class grades for Fall semester. The grades are due by tomorrow at 10. I had about 300 students enrolled in 6 different classes to finish grades for. Some of those classes were entirely mine, others were in classes that I taught half of, or a third of. Nonetheless, there were a lot of items to grade, and numbers to enter. I am not a very good bureaucrat. I long for the days when professors had secretaries, or the systems in which professors do little grading.

One of the classes I teach is a modular “Explorations in the Sciences” class that is required for non-majors. The class has no pre-requisite, is taken mainly by freshmen, and we are an open admission University. One quarter of the student’s five week module grade is based on a written report. I have slogged through about 60 of the 70 I need to evaluate. This is the one I am stuck on at the moment:

“The Experiment was all about cats. There color and their types. There was a wide variety of colors that involved the cats. Some of the colors were black, blue, white, lilac, cream, and red. My Group, liking the colors black and blue, chose them to analyze. At first these colors did not make much sense. There was so much data to take in it was hard. There was a lot of different factors them seemed to make no sense at all. The whites and the color lilac were really throwing me off. Them seemed to pop up all over the place.”

This is not an English class. There are no prerequisites.

This is not an English class. There are no prerequisites.

This is not an English class. There are no prerequisites.

Bed-mates

Who am I sleeping with now?


Hint: there is more than one....





















They are Creaky's kittens, Julius's grandchildren, now 11 weeks old

Stony

This is the end of my fall term, It is a time of writing tests, and grading. Snow falls in bits, freezes come and go. The sky is mainly gray though a lovely patch of cool moonlight lit me as I arrived home from work a few days ago. This is always a time of year for thought, analysis, and a shortage of sleep. I have a serious post about grading “rubrics” partially written. But that is not what I am going to write about now.

A number of my friends are having hard times. Some money troubles, some ill parents, some unusually hard work stress, one’s alcoholic husband fell off the wagon and she finds she does not much care whether she kicks him out or not. He can try to get himself together, but she is tired of betrayals, be they small or large. Another friend turns 50 shortly and I have not spoken to him in a while. Both his parents are dead and I am afraid he will take it hard. My life is the same as my life always is, steady, expected hard work for the moment, a good break soon. I have had unexpected expenses, but I am tenured, there will be more money to replace the money gone. My parents are currently in good health though they are far away and I will not get to see them at Christmas.

There seems little I can do for my friends though. I cannot remove their stressors, and I am afraid that I am not very good at being comforting. I am not even always successful at simply being here for them. Rian calls me a stone and although rocks may be solid and strong they are not much comfort either. I am pretty sure she does not think of it that way, but I see myself that way at times. I analyze, ponder, approach a problem as scientifically as I can. Then I may write a poem about it, yes, or feel slighted myself, so I am not entirely stony, but closer than most. Alas, I cannot pass on my stonyness to others.

My kittens have just knocked a bouquet of this past summer’s lavender onto the floor. I picked them up and put them back in their container, but leaves have fallen on the carpet, an appropriately purple carpet. The leaves are green and a bit spiky under my bare feet, but they smell lovely. I will leave them there for now.

Lavender. I am reminded of Narrisch’s beautiful picture of the last lavender emerging from a drift of snow.

I finger lovely blue stone beads with a stonewear pendant attached, and crush a lavender leaf in my hand. Breathe in the scent.

May everything go well for you. All of you.

half full?

I was talking to a friend on the phone tonight about various people and their half-full or half-empty approaches to life. After she also described her view I paused and thought for a couple of seconds.

I think I would pour the contents of the glass into a graduated cylinder and measure it. Then I would fill the glass with water, to the brim, and pour that into a second cylinder and measure that. Then I could express as a fairly accurate fraction what the volume had been in the glass compared to capacity. I would also add that it is relative. If the glass only held the original amount, then it would have been full, if the glass held ten times as much then the glass would be mostly empty. Then question those around, “would you choose to have an entirely full glass? One that has an equal amount of free space? or one that is mostly empty, but all three with the same volume?

My answer? If there is a good red wine involved, best if the glass is large and mostly empty, so the wine can breathe.

So Cool!

A new genome project is in the works. Technology has advanced to the point that DNA can be recovered from samples that are tens of thousands of years old. Specifically the genome of Homo sapiens neanderthalensis is being analyzed. How closely are they related to us? Do we have any descent from them or not?

As reported by Nicholas Wade in the New York Times http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/15/science/16neanderthalcnd.html?hp&ex=1163653200&en=4da982bcdbc824fa&ei=5094&partner=homepage

"The archaic human species that dominated Europe until 30,000 years ago is about to emerge from the shadows. With the help of a new DNA sequencing machine that operates with firefly light, the bones of the Neanderthals have begun to tell their story to geneticists.

One million units of Neanderthal DNA have already been analyzed, and a draft version of the entire genome, 3.2 billion units in length, should be ready in two years, said Dr. Svante Paabo, the leader of the research project at the Max-Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany.

Biologists expect knowledge of the Neanderthal genome to reveal, by its differences with the human genome, many distinctive qualities of what it means to be human. Researchers also hope to resolve such questions as whether the Neanderthals spoke, what their hair and skin color were, and whether they interbred at all with the modern humans who first arrived on their doorstep 45,000 years ago, or were driven to extinction without leaving any genetic legacy.

Dr. Paabo has shared some of his precious sample of Neanderthal DNA with Edward M. Rubin of the Joint Genome Institute in Walnut Creek, Calif., whose team has identified 62,250 units of Neanderthal DNA by a different method. The two teams report their results in the journals Nature and Science respectively, saying they have independently demonstrated that recovery of the Neanderthal genome is now possible."

About a million of the estimated 3 billion base pairs have been sequenced, as reported in the Journal Nature http://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v444/n7117/abs/nature05336.html

The estimate is that we diverged from them about 500,000 years ago. For many thousands of years both species of man were around.

I was telling everyone who walked into my office.

"It is SOOOO cool!" I said

My students looked at me with a profound lack of interest. Sad.

Imagine what it was like when there were two intelligent species of people at the same time.

Morality

We all have different ideas of what exactly is moral and what isn’t. Even within that, who among us measure up to our internal standards? None of us are perfect.

Recently I have found myself thinking frequently of morality, and hypocrisy, and what are the best choices and whether certain belief systems make one more or less prone to deviating from a moral code.

Examples:

1) Tom Haggard, the pastor of a Christian conservative mega church, who appears to have lied and cheated on his wife with a man who used to be a prostitute. If he hadn’t been so convinced that homosexuality was terribly evil, or that people are weak and tempted by the devil, would this have happened? I was raised a Christian. I remember reading repeatedly in the bible how Jesus valued peace and love, and values poverty and was basically not favorable towards material wealth. I do not remember Jesus saying anything about homosexuals. In spite of this, Christian conservative have no problem with war or wealth, yet hold huge hatred of homosexuality. Many Americans apparently do. Witness the passage of so many state constitutional amendments defining marriage as only between a man and a woman. Why? In my view, whether a gay couple can or cannot get married should only matter to gay couples. And as a biologist I think that monogamy should be encouraged. It reduces the spread of disease, and marriage vows hopefully help encourage monogamy.

I think we need to take responsibility for our own actions. Saying you were tempted is a bad excuse.

2) Speaking of marriage vows and monogamy, I mentioned that Bill Clinton might be an interesting person to have dinner with. He is someone I have always wanted to meet. The person I said that to shuddered in response. I was surprised. President Clinton is a smart man, and charismatic, and concerned about the welfare of the world and the poor and education. I imagine he would be a very very interesting person to talk to over dinner. No, I was told, he is morally reprehensible, and that was that. I was dumbfounded. Yeah, he let an eager woman give him blowjobs, and he shouldn’t have, and he tried to weasel out of admitting it. But I wasn’t talking about DATING him. And yet somehow this tawdry little bit of info, which we would never know about in other people, completely over whelmed any interest in all of the global concerns and projects that Clinton is involved in. Why? Am I some kind of moral idiot to think well of the man for all he has done and said on fronts that are morally important to me because he did something wrong that would cause me to break up with him if I was dating him, or drag him off to a marriage councilor if he was my husband? He did something he shouldn’t have. So did Monica. In my eye they are equally to blame. But among the terrible things one could do, it is not at the top of my list.

The person I had this conversation with is someone I think very highly of. So, now I feel somehow dirtied. Am I wrong? Does one failure taint everything that one does? Even if the failure causes only personal hurt in the family, while good works save lives of thousands? Does my friend screen her dinner companions this way generally? Would she shun artists and musician and philosophers because they had been unfaithful? Have none of her personal friends ever slipped? Are all things equal? Or are they not?



3) A kitten that I sold as a pet last April, a very very sweet and beautiful Blue eyed white Oriental, contracted FIP and was put to sleep a week ago. She lived as an only cat. The virus that killed her likely came from my house, and the genes that made her susceptible to the disease came from one or both of her parents, I own both. As a bit of background, this virus is ubiquitous in places where there are a number of cats, shelters, cat shows, and breeders. Anyone with more than one cat may have a situation with cats passing it back and forth.

The virus is usually harmless. Once in a while, estimated overall at 5% of the time, a cat develops a fatal immune system reaction to the virus and dies. This misfiring of the immune system in response to a mutation in the virus appears to be genetic. A genetic susceptibility. It is the reaction that is FIP, not the virus. Over the decades that I have had cats, I have not had a lot of cases of FIP, and until recently I had sent only 1 kitten out that had contracted FIP and died. In the past 2 years 4 kittens, out of 21 have left my house, only to get FIP some months later. Three of those four went to multi-cat households, but sweet Tink was an only cat.

I have 12 very young kittens in my house. Seven of them are half-siblings of one of the cats that died (10 full sibs are fine and healthy), 5 are nieces and nephews of the same cat. Someone who’s opinion is important to me asked if I was going to keep all the kittens, not sell them or place them, as they stand a chance of getting the disease. I was astonished. One of eleven died. That is one too many, but it is less than 10%. Now I have half sibs and nieces and nephews. Am I worried that they could be susceptible? You bet. Do I think it likely that any individual kitten of this group will get FIP? No. Do I think I should keep these 12 kittens for the rest of their lives in my house because I worry that one or another might be susceptible, or might not be? No. I think it is more fair to the kittens to let them go out and be people’s pets. But because I have been questioned about it I am fretting about it.

I cannot guarantee the life span of any cat that I place. I have had people have cats from me live into their late teens. Others have not made ten. The longest-lived cat on record was a pedigreed cat, but in general I suspect pedigreed cats live somewhat less long on average than moggies. If I had a crystal ball and the right skills, perhaps I could tell someone, THIS cat will live only 8 years, and THAT one will live 18, and you can’t have the pretty one in your lap because she will get FIP and die before she is a year old. But I can’t do that. So I have a guarantee in my sales contract. If the cat dies due to a developmental or hereditary problem, I will replace. That, I can do. My cats are special, they bring joy. They love attention. Should they stay here with only the attention they can get from me? Should I not breed them at all? I try to be careful. I am a geneticist. I do not inbreed, I try to use and produce healthy cats. It is my hobby, and they are a great joy to me.

Am I not moral enough? Most of the time I find myself thinking, “I wouldn’t do that” when some friend or another is telling me what they are doing in some gray area. I try to do the right thing. What should I be doing? What are better choices?

Yes

"The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives." - Albert Einstein

My Father's 80th

I flew to California for my father and his twin's 80th birthday party. My parents drove down from Oregon, my brother and family flew out from Colorado, and my unts and uncles and cousins drove in from their various locales in the Bay Area. The party was at my youngest cousin Eileen's house in Walnut Creek. Her father Bill is my father's twin brother.

It was a lovely afternoon party, the weather was perfect, clear and warm. After breakfast we went to a street art festival in the town I lived in for three years, Danville. The art festival was huge and had a wide range from lovely to tacky stuff. I picked up a present for my weekend cat sitter there.

Then we went to the party. It was a lovely afternoon party, the weather was perfect, clear and warm. My father and his brother and their two older sisters were all there. The eldest, Peggy, remaried at 80 almost 9 years ago. She is lively and spry. Virgina, the middle child, is in an assisted living/retirement home, but she spends all her time with her current boyfriend there. She needs canes to walk now, and her grandson Howard said she has on and off days. I immediately went over and talked to her, she asked me who all the people were who she didn't recognize, my brother's new wife and ihs step-kids. She seemed fairly on the ball to me.

The big surprise was her eldest son, Howards father, Rick. He had had a bypass surgury gone wrong, and strokes and I had heard that he was bedridden and barely functional. He was there, looking physically fit, a little halting in his conversation, hunting for words and names, but often coming up with snappy remarks, and pleased, pleased, pleased to be there and see everyone. Big hugs for cousins not seen in a long time.

His son Howard is an angel. He has two kids of his own, and takes care of his father, and his grandmother Virginia, and manages to be cheerful, sensible, and strong. He's a real Mensch.

This picture is of the four siblings in order of age, my father, his brother Bill, sister Virginia, then Peggy. We are talking of getting together again next year for Peggy's 90th.

Afterwords we came back to the hotel and my parents and brother and wife and I sat talking for a long time, then I went to my room and got some grading done. I am way behind on grading already. Today, San Fransicso!

Yes

About the self:

“The big self is mondo stable. But the small self — we’re blowing about like dry leaves in the wind.”


About Time:

“It’s going backward and forward, and it’s slippery.”

-David Lynch to the New York Times

New York New York with Hobblings

Left to right: Fedwren, Emma, Someone Else, Q (front), Lars (back), Rian, Skits, Daisy, Me (back), Keppet (front), Dana, Biped



First a disclaimer: Although I lived in New York city for 10 years I lived way uptown and knew the west side quite well, but rarely ventured to the east side, and rarely went all the way downtown. Plus I lived there 14 years ago, and it was very overcast so my sense of North/South etc way downtown was not good. On top of that my sense of time is... well, impossible.

I intended to leave Ohio as soon as I finished teaching at noon, but I had forgotten that had to give a seminar to the grad students and senior capstone students . After this and that, I was not able to leave work until 4, so instead of hitting the highway at 3:00, I did not get on the road until 7:00, with a seven hour drive to New York City in front of me. It was 2 in the morning when I crossed the Hudson River on the lower level of the George Washington Bridge (aka “Martha”). I saw the Port Authority bus terminal Rising up on the Manhattan side, and remembered it’s white interior, the candy counter with chocolate covered marshmallow bars (“blech “ says Rian) and the perpetual cluster of middle aged Hispanic men around the OTB counter. The memory was so strong, chocolate breaking softly, bright light, careworn faces......

I passed under the station and curled down onto the Harlem River Drive, the road as rutted and narrow as ever, the black water of the east river reflecting city lights. A physical longing for the City grabbed me, twisting in my chest. On some level I was and always will be a New Yorker though I did not move there until I was in my 20’s and do not plan to ever live there again.

Needless to say it was very very late by the time I went to sleep..... in an apartment with no alarm clock. I am a light sleeper, I assumed I would wake up in time to make the meeting place at 11:00 on Saturday morning.

Well, I woke up when I meant to. I had time to get ready and my estimated half an hour to walk from 81st between 2nd and 3rd avenue, through central park and up to 106th, with a stop at Starbucks for coffee of course. (“Of course” says Rian). And, of course, I miss-judged the time it would take. In spite of walking with some speed through the occasional rain it took me 45 minutes. As I passed by the lovely rocks and trees of the North-west side of Central Park I saw a familiar figure in the distance in front of me. Keppet, who I had never met, but who was entirely familiar. She had convinced an old friend to come along, poor friend.

Due to the rain, and the fact that our recent “Accomplice” information required us to be at the South street seaport at 2:00, plans to picnic in Central Park had been scrapped. The new plan was to meet somewhere n Chinatown for lunch. Others of the group had gone rouse Rian and Co. and were somewhere in the middle of Manhattan. Only one member of the group actually currently lives in NYC, although not in Manhattan and she is not a longtime NY resident, so it turned out that I might have the best working knowledge of the island.

I suggested we meet at Canal and Mott in the heart of Chinatown. We took the subway down to Canal street and pressed though the crowd to Mott. I restrained myself from looking at the 10$ knockoff Rolexes and assorted shiny attractive things. I also restrained from stopping for a roast pork bun, a bean cake, or a curried vegetable roll from my favorite Chinese bakeries.

We finally joined up with the group. I had never met Fedwren or Q or Lars or Daisy or Keppet before. The others were familiar from Paris (ah! Paris). Fedwren had scoped out a Chinese (Pan Asian actually) restaurant with plenty of room for us all for lunch. We were crowded around a huge round table with a big Lazy Susan in the middle on which our food was placed. We could spin around to what we wanted to try.

In the restaurant


Outside the restaurant


Thus fortified we headed out to the Southstreet Seaport for our Accomplice event.

I glanced at a map and headed us south, and the streets turned and After a brief glance at a map and a few words with Fedwren, the only current New Yorker of the lot of us, I turned us onto another street and sent us walking in absolutely the wrong direction, through a part of China town I had never been in before.

By the time I figured out our mistake we had quite a ways to backtrack. We were late to the South Street Seaport, and then took a bit to find our meeting place. When we got there a narrow man in a suit slid up to us, said we were LATE and had to go away for a half an hour. So, we did, had a drink and watched a man with dreadlocks and an island accent perform amazing yoga type contortions in black and yellow patterned spandex.

Rian said “I can do that.” and “I can do that too” Then he did something else and she fell silent.

Keppet and Dana


Accomplice was fun, sending us here and there through increasingly inventive means, to a Bra Bar using photographs, to a fountain with a message rolled into a cigarette, to Chinatown (back to Mott and Canal) with a fortune cookie. We found out that handsome live frogs can be purchased in Chinatown, and that drunks aren’t always drunks, and that in spite of the crowds and the San Gennaro festival in little Italy a table with bottles of wine was held for Accomplice participants, complete with drunk (perhaps) Russian, who waved over a plate of appetizers and good crusty bread. Some of the actors were a real surprise. I surprised myself by having fun playing along with the story with the loony red-head outside the church. Thankfully we had the sense not to try to give the frog to the parishoners.....

Keppet and Skit do not appear to take the mobster seriously


The Bra Bar (no that wasn't it's name) with Lars' head oddly sticking horizontally into the frame


Rian tackling Someone Else


The Frog


Skittledog prepares to bike up the Brooklyn Bridge


The Blind Beggar delivers his clues


The Russian offers wine and advice on dating

By the time it was over we just had time to subway uptown to Carmine’s on the upper west side. They still serve their after dinner expresso with a bottle of galliano and a twist of lemon peel. Yum!

Rian's Hidden Talent and Narrisch's lovely hair



I ended my night with Dana and Lars at a nice bar, where I discovered pomegranite martinis.... Mmmmmm. The rest of the Hobblings had faded and gone to bed.

And that was just Saturday.

SEA

Watch this site

http://www.sefora.org/

Orange Julius's Grandchildren

Here is Julius's daughter Creaky with her five 3 day old kittens. Creaky is a Torbie shaded silver Oriental Shorthair. The daughter with the mark like a flame or a flower on her forhead may be too. If so she with lighten up like her mother did. The little light brown one is also a girl. The other three (two black silver tabbies and a pointed kitten-not old enough for color yet) are boys. Creaky is a good mother. She does NOT like me looking at her kittens though. She hisses and creaks at me.

Birthday of the World

I have been watching a discussion of varied cultures and religions, the advantages and disadvantages of preserving them, and the tendencies of some individual groups to try to change, absorb or convert others.

I think everything changes, but that there is value to be found in all. I guess I am something of a cultural sampler.

In any case, the Jewish high holy days are coming. This Friday is Rosh Hashana. There are some interesting recipes in the New York Times and a quote I quite liked.

"“Rosh Hashana celebrates the birthday of the world. A garden well tended is a small example of perpetual reunion.”

-Rabbi Gendler

I will step outside, take a breath of the air, look at the sky, think of beginnings. I will look at my garden and celebrate it as an example of the world's beauty, renewal, and fruitfulness.

Titles

I have many things to catch up on, posts started, not finished. Hopefully I will finish. In the meantime, a personal gripe.

Titles.

I have earned one, through many years of hard work. It is Dr. It is the only title I use. In real life people call me Dr. or use my first name. I am fine with both, though I emphasize the Dr. with freshman, and try to get grad students to call me by my given name.

Now, on occasion a website or a form REQUIRES a title. A good proportion of the time when this is the case, the choices are Mr. Miss, Mrs., and Ms. Now, each of these titles means something.

Mr. - I am a man

Miss - I am an unmarried woman or a girl who is fine with conventional double standards for women as compared to men and/or I want to make sure you know I'm single.

Mrs. - I am a married woman who is fine with conventional double standards for women as compared to men and/or I want to make sure you know I'm married.

Ms. - I am a woman who thinks it is none of your business to categorize me in an old-fashioned patriarchal way, gender should be sufficient as it is for men.

Now, if you are female your title therefore says something about your opinions and your politics. Men have no such issues. Truly, I wish women generally used Ms. and dealt with their status the way men do, and that there were not other messages about politics or personal lives attached. Married women who want to express that could say so, and talk fondly of their husbands. Unmarried women could mention being single. Women who wish to discuss feminism could and come down on one side or the other but they would not have to. Ms. almost caught on for universal usage but we went backwards, and have returned more to past double standards. At least in the red states, Ms. causes raised eyebrows. A friend assures me that in her town in her blue state, Ms. is still the prefered title for women. That was reassuring.

In the meantime, I have a title I EARNED and that is the only title I want to use. I will not use another, so some things are barred to me.

The Garden in the End of August 2006

My garden is in its prime. The tomatoes are coming on, I have heirlooms and cherries, and salad reds and Lemon Boy yellows. It is the time for fresh tomato salad with either red wine or balsamic vinegar, fresh squeezed lemon, extra virgin olive oil, basil, garlic and celery. Sweet amd Hot peppers are ripening, zucchini get huge overnight. The winter squash, Butternut and Spaghetti squash hang from the fence. Purple black eggplants are fat and ready to roast for babaganouj or slice into steaks for grilling. I have tender tasty Kentucky Wonder pole beans to boil briefly and then dress with a light coating of soysauce, crushed garlic, fresh grated ginger, a little rice wine vinegar and a smidge of sugar and sesame oil. My ten foot sunflowers hang heavy heads full of seeds. I will try to prepare their seeds this year.

It is a time of plenty, of succulent fresh food and zesty flavors. The winter squash will linger, but the fresh basil and tomatoes are for NOW and will not be available after cold sets in. Store bought tomatoes have so little flavor that they just cannot be used for fresh salsa, and tomatoe salad, or tomatoes with fresh mozerella and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and leaves of fresh basil. These flavors are only for now, and September, and into October. Then they will be gone again. I savor them. Abundance and richness in it's season.

Carmel

I made dinner for Narrisch and others a week ago Wednesday, we sat out on the patio, ate well, and had wonderful conversation. The yard was full of flowers, giant jade trees, and whole shrubs of rosemary. We went to visit N’s uncle, went to the beach where we watched a sea otter close to shore (Narrisch took a wonderful movie of him), out to sushi and a pastry shop that made me think of Paris. Most of the time was spent at the house of course, packing, unpacking, cleaning, talking of this and that. On Monday, the last day, we went to the aquarium where I took about 50 blurry pictures of jellyfish. They are so graceful and otherworldly and so hard to photograph. I have one or two that were in focus, and they are not interesting. It was a beautiful sunny day. Then I flew away.

The patio where we ate dinner





Narrisch on the beach


A sea otter near shore


A nice way to spend a sunny afternoon...

Detroit Airport

I am back in humid August Ohio after a week of lovely, often gloriously cool weather in Carmel, California. I went there to help Narrisch with the hard job of sorting through things at her mother’s house.

A week ago Tuesday I spent much of the day in airports. One of Northwest’s major hubs is the Detroit airport, and I rather like it. Terminal A is a huge, airy, and unbelievably long hall. A tram runs high on one side transporting people from one end to the other. Moving walks can speed you if you choose to do it by foot. There are many shops and restaurants if you have the time to stroll.

I arrived in terminal B which connects to terminal A through an underground tunnel with a light and music installation that always mesmerizes me. This time it played jazz and the colors mainly shifted through reds and blues, with beats of yellow and green.


























Coming up from the tunnel into the center of terminal A, you come to a fountain where water rises in coherent tubular arcs to fall into the center of a smooth round black table. The sheath of water on the table reflects the sky and the heads of great planes. The arcs stop and start, sending hunks of water through the air in an assortment of patterns. Children often cluster around it, fascinated by the forms of the water coming and going

Sunflower

The biggest sunflower plant, closeup.

7 August 2006 Garden

My sunflowers this year are the tallest sunflowers I have ever seen. The tallest one hasn't even opened it's flower yet. It amazes me that this represents about 2 months of growth, perhaps a bit more, but still! Photsynthesis works very well indeed. I wonder... are Sunflowers a C4 plant? Or an ordinary C3? Hmmm a casual Googling did not answer that question. That growth rate smacks of C4, but it is native to North America, which most commonly produces C3 plants...

I am off to see Narrisch. My garden will mostly have to fend for itself, and tomatoes are ripening, and the basil is huge and bushy and starting to flower. It should be cut back. The first bean flowers are turning white, and the plants are finally climbing fast. I may come back to my first beans of the year.

I am pleased with it, one of the few joys of summer. (I am not a summer person)

Garden August 1, 2006

It has been hot and humid. The heat index is 105 (41 C). However, the sun and rain have helped the plants recover from the hailstorm a few weeks ago. My tomatoes are growing tall and the first few tomatoes are ripe. My sunflowers are huge. The zucchini are producing nicely and the winter squash are starting to flower. I have hot peppers and more hot peppers, some ready to pick already. The lettuce wants to bolt, it is time to plant the next batch. My beans are clambering up their poles, and my basil is lush. It has rained so much that I have only had to set up the sprinkler once or twice all summer.

Of course the weeds grow at as fast of a pace. I spent a good chunk of yesterday pulling thistles, then edging the veggie beds with my weed whacker, then mowing that area, back of the back. I came in periodically to cool down a bit, then stopped when it started to pour. Of course much work needs to be done in the front. In a great growing summer I could be a full time gardener, and barely keep up.

So, here it is, “Growth”