Farm News 12-10-06
Sunday morning, after chores, 42°
A Reader Writes
Isn't that nice? Cake and baby bunnies. Alcoholic beverages of all sorts will be gladly accepted as tokens of respect for my age and wisdom. Please don't bring pets.
The address is 12233 K-92 Hwy. The little green '9' mile marker is on the south side of the road, about 50' east of the drive. K-92 begins 9 miles west of here, where it comes off K-4.
US-59 north from Lawrence will take you to Oskaloosa, eventually, where you turn west on K-92, (try to stop and purchase something is Oskaloosa, please) drive through historic downtown Oskaloosa, past Paula's Library, and about three miles west on K-92. Our drive is the first drive west of Marion Road on K-92 on the south side.
Bunnies
As noted above, there are baby bunnies in the rabbitry. Suzette's nine did not yet have round eyes by Saturday, but they did have well-arched slits of eye showing. I don't think they can see a thing. They are in the nest box, covered in fur, except when I pull one out to look it over and tell it a story or something. Their visual environment is either a white glow or no glow, depending on time of day. Why should they be able to see? They will need experience in looking at things before they can see. It looks like an infinite regression problem, like the chicken and egg.
Zeno's paradox is an example of an infinite regression problem. Some poor Greek athlete, running without a jock strap, is trying to win the 2 kilometer race. He runs a kilometer. Then he runs a half a kilometer. Then he runs half of the distance which he had just run. And, he is in an infinite regression. He will never reach 2 kilometers this way.
Nowadays, we have some mathematical magic called differential calculus that solves the problem neatly, allows the Greek athlete to win the race, but does nothing for the pain he suffered from not having a jock strap. So, I think that the bunnies will continue to approach the perfectly round eye, but never quite reach it. A thousand generations of breeding might greatly increase the 'roundness' of the eye, but it will never perfect it. Zeno also wins, because evolutionary races have no finish line.
Saying Sooth
Wikipedia defines soothsayer as one who says sooth, i.e. the truth. Back in the previous millenium, when I was a student of Philosophy, I was discussing with a friend, a fellow student of Philosophy, our chances of finding jobs upon graduation. We had already considered being revivalists and discarded that notion, it being repugnant to our sterling characters; had investigated the possibility of teaching in the public parks, and decided that a fate worse than Socrates's awaited those who would attempt such things in Kansas in the 1950's; and thought about smuggling meso-american art, but realized that would require too much capital up front.
What were we to do? Graduation was looming slightly over a year away and there was no demand for philosophers; a great need, yes, but no demand. We went on a creative retreat, fueling our thought processes with Southern Comfort and reefer for two days, but no solution presented itself. Changing majors was not possible: we were dedicated philosophers and could not change for mere monetary gain. We were seeking education for its own sake, desiring to enrich our futures with knowledge, not dollars.
Seeing no environment except grad school in which we could continue as philosophers, we decided to become itinerant soothsayers, instead. We walked about on campus, occasionally saying, “Sooooth,” gently, in a sweet voice. When we met somewhere, we greeted each other with, “Sooooth.” It never did catch on as a clever undergraduate thing to do, not even among our fellow students of Philosophy. At that time not many people had noticed that something was seriously wrong with American reality.
Nonetheless, we persisted. A future spent virtually unemployable loomed before us, with visions of stews cooked in cans over campfires as we traveled America, searching for a community in need of a soothsayer. They could have two for the price of one. We were marching forward in our Hush Puppies, remaining true to our ideals, saying, “Sooooth” to a meaningless world.
None of that future came to be in that manner, of course; the way it happened didn't make any difference, though; philosophers know stuff like that. We graduated and saw less and less of each other. We still greeted each other with, “Sooooth,” but slowly stopped saying it at random moments. Then my friend died when his sports car rolled over, an unusual demise for an itinerant soothsayer, and I didn't say, “Sooooth” for many years.
A few years ago I was sitting alone by the fire out in Fort Pedroja, my hangout under a large Osage Orange tree, on a cold, full moon night, drinking cheap red wine from the bottle and listening to an owl hooting down the creek. A perfect moment came along, and I said, “Sooooth.” Fifty years later, it was still pointless, silly, and soothing.
A Reader Writes
From my beloved spouse:
The Geezer will be observing his 70th birthday on December 19th. In honor of the great event, I would like to invite everyone to come by on Sunday, the 17th, from 2-4:00 pm.
Bring a good story if you can remember one! There will be soup, bread, and cake 'til it runs out. It's also a chance to play with the newest baby bunnies.
Paula.
Isn't that nice? Cake and baby bunnies. Alcoholic beverages of all sorts will be gladly accepted as tokens of respect for my age and wisdom. Please don't bring pets.
The address is 12233 K-92 Hwy. The little green '9' mile marker is on the south side of the road, about 50' east of the drive. K-92 begins 9 miles west of here, where it comes off K-4.
US-59 north from Lawrence will take you to Oskaloosa, eventually, where you turn west on K-92, (try to stop and purchase something is Oskaloosa, please) drive through historic downtown Oskaloosa, past Paula's Library, and about three miles west on K-92. Our drive is the first drive west of Marion Road on K-92 on the south side.
Bunnies
As noted above, there are baby bunnies in the rabbitry. Suzette's nine did not yet have round eyes by Saturday, but they did have well-arched slits of eye showing. I don't think they can see a thing. They are in the nest box, covered in fur, except when I pull one out to look it over and tell it a story or something. Their visual environment is either a white glow or no glow, depending on time of day. Why should they be able to see? They will need experience in looking at things before they can see. It looks like an infinite regression problem, like the chicken and egg.
Zeno's paradox is an example of an infinite regression problem. Some poor Greek athlete, running without a jock strap, is trying to win the 2 kilometer race. He runs a kilometer. Then he runs a half a kilometer. Then he runs half of the distance which he had just run. And, he is in an infinite regression. He will never reach 2 kilometers this way.
Nowadays, we have some mathematical magic called differential calculus that solves the problem neatly, allows the Greek athlete to win the race, but does nothing for the pain he suffered from not having a jock strap. So, I think that the bunnies will continue to approach the perfectly round eye, but never quite reach it. A thousand generations of breeding might greatly increase the 'roundness' of the eye, but it will never perfect it. Zeno also wins, because evolutionary races have no finish line.
Saying Sooth
Wikipedia defines soothsayer as one who says sooth, i.e. the truth. Back in the previous millenium, when I was a student of Philosophy, I was discussing with a friend, a fellow student of Philosophy, our chances of finding jobs upon graduation. We had already considered being revivalists and discarded that notion, it being repugnant to our sterling characters; had investigated the possibility of teaching in the public parks, and decided that a fate worse than Socrates's awaited those who would attempt such things in Kansas in the 1950's; and thought about smuggling meso-american art, but realized that would require too much capital up front.
What were we to do? Graduation was looming slightly over a year away and there was no demand for philosophers; a great need, yes, but no demand. We went on a creative retreat, fueling our thought processes with Southern Comfort and reefer for two days, but no solution presented itself. Changing majors was not possible: we were dedicated philosophers and could not change for mere monetary gain. We were seeking education for its own sake, desiring to enrich our futures with knowledge, not dollars.
Seeing no environment except grad school in which we could continue as philosophers, we decided to become itinerant soothsayers, instead. We walked about on campus, occasionally saying, “Sooooth,” gently, in a sweet voice. When we met somewhere, we greeted each other with, “Sooooth.” It never did catch on as a clever undergraduate thing to do, not even among our fellow students of Philosophy. At that time not many people had noticed that something was seriously wrong with American reality.
Nonetheless, we persisted. A future spent virtually unemployable loomed before us, with visions of stews cooked in cans over campfires as we traveled America, searching for a community in need of a soothsayer. They could have two for the price of one. We were marching forward in our Hush Puppies, remaining true to our ideals, saying, “Sooooth” to a meaningless world.
None of that future came to be in that manner, of course; the way it happened didn't make any difference, though; philosophers know stuff like that. We graduated and saw less and less of each other. We still greeted each other with, “Sooooth,” but slowly stopped saying it at random moments. Then my friend died when his sports car rolled over, an unusual demise for an itinerant soothsayer, and I didn't say, “Sooooth” for many years.
A few years ago I was sitting alone by the fire out in Fort Pedroja, my hangout under a large Osage Orange tree, on a cold, full moon night, drinking cheap red wine from the bottle and listening to an owl hooting down the creek. A perfect moment came along, and I said, “Sooooth.” Fifty years later, it was still pointless, silly, and soothing.
posted by The Geezer at 9:02 AM
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