#NOPLACELIKEHOME: April 22 brings Earth Day, and each year we use NASA resources to get a better sense for our place as global citizens.
NASA had asked people to share photos of their favorite places on Earth, and so this afternoon, we headed to Seattle Center to try to get a decent shot. I took a number, most with the kids in them, but this was the one that turned out best, at least to my eye. Let's face it, the Space Needle is synonymous with Seattle.
It doesn't hurt that the "No Place Like Home" placard was signed by Seattle Mariners' superstars Felix Hernandez and Fernando Rodney.
There were many photos better than ours taken today. I mean, just check out this photo of our precious planet taken this morning by the Eumetsat's Meteosat-10.
Yes, of course, we're partial, since it's the only planet we've got, but my gosh, isn't she lovely?!
HARD BALL: We have verbally declared our intention to improve CJ and Annabelle's baseball playing skills (as opposed to just watching). To that end, this afternoon we headed up to the park a half block away and tossed a ball around.
Baseball mitts are still foreign feeling to their hands, so we started slow and small, with them just lobbing air-borne balls to themselves. That went well enough.
However, there came a time when it was time for me to throw at them. As in, the "Let's-have-a-toss," not the "I'm going to bean you" sense.
I coached them, of course, to - if nothing else! - use their mitts as a shield. You might not catch every ball, but at least deflect it. That, and you should not fear the ball, you should fear not catching the ball.
Well, about 10 tosses in, CJ took one off the forehead.
Dude, you're supposed to use the mitt!!
Fortunately, he is hard headed. :) Unfortunately, it made him fear the ball, which actually leads to more danger, IMHO.
And so, we transitioned to wiffle ball batting practice. But we're going to get back into "have-a-toss" mode tomorrow. Gotta get back on that bike, so to speak.
DAWN CHORUS: We don't know what it's like around your place, but here at MPA, a little after 4 every morning, we are surrounded by a cacophony of birds chirping.
This morning, I wondered aloud to the kids why birds chirp at or just before sunrise. We speculated about potential causes (the birds planning their days, the birds saying 'good morning' to one another after the night ...), but then turned to the Internet.
However, before turning to the Internet for an answer, I predicted that what we'd really only find is speculation, because as far as I know, no one knows how to speak bird.
Our query resulted in thousands of hits, of course. We chose to read "Why Do Birds Sing in the Morning?" a year-old story by Wired magazine, whom we trust as a legit resource.
Turns out our speculation was not too far off. The article lists a number of potential reasons for morning chorus, including social singing/communication at a time of day when it's too dark to forage; and an attempt to broadcast signals to other birds about the strength and vitality of the singer. The article also noted that for years, scientists theorized atmospheric conditions in the early morning might allow birdsong to travel further through the air, so that was a preferable time of day to sing. I'd heard this theory years ago, in fact. However, recent research shows the 'prime atmospheric condition' thing actually isn’t the case. In fact, the converse might be true (with birdsong traveling farther at noon).
Long story short, we still don't have a scientific explanation for the bird song but we do know two things for sure: It's LOUD and it's CONSISTENT.
We haven't written any silly little stories in awhile, so I asked the kids to write a short fable about why birds chirp at sunrise.
Once upon a time, there were birds that never sang. They were almost
always quiet, as if not to be seen. The birds never knew where the
others were, which became quite a problem while trying to find their
nest. So many birds became lost that they felt they had to come up with a
plan to let them find each other.
During a meeting between a few birds
that surprisingly found each other, one of the birds got very bored and
started whistling. The other birds realized how, if you sung a different
tune than the others, you could be identified and located. From then
on, every bird sung at the break of dawn to let everyone know "I'm
here!"
Here's CJ's version ...
Chances are, at one point or another, before the sun rises, you may have heard birds repetitively chirping. This fable will explain why birds do that repetitive chirping:
One night, A crow named Edgar was exploring the neighborhood of Magnolia, more specifically, Discovery Park. Rather quickly, he got lost on his way through the forest, and ended up confusedly flying around the trees, trying to figure out where he was in the forest and how to get out. Shortly before the sun came up, Edgar started the repetitive chirping, in an attempt to get the attention of some other crows who could help him find his way out. Quickly afterwards, another crow family found Edgar, and helped him get out of Discovery Park and on his way to the local Metropolitan Market.
Soon afterwards, word-of-beak spread across different bird communities about Edgar's situation and his way of attracting the attention of the bird family, and eventually, it became very common across many different bird species to do repetitive chirping before the sun rose to alert other birds that they were present, typically needing assistance with something.
And I thought about what I would write if someone made me write a fable about birds crowing at dawn. I gave myself ten minutes to come up with something. Here it is ...
Long ago, before humans walked the Earth, giant reptiles roamed the land. But even back then, birds flourished. There were small birds and big birds, plain brown birds, and wildly colorful birds.
One day, darkness came over the planet.
The sky was the same muddy color, day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year.
The unending darkness killed the largest lifeforms first.
One by one, the dinosaurs died off and towering trees withered.
Birds fell from the sky, weak and powerless.
All around the land, tiny birds flocked together, trying to help one
another survive, all the while wondering what had happened to cause the
devastation.
One day, as some starving chickadees clung to a dying vine, they
discussed the tragedy, taking turns offering up ideas but no answers.
Finally, the tiniest one was allowed to speak. She clucked and clicked
and cleared her parched throat before chirping, "The Life-Giver, it is
angry."
Hushed whispers circled round the clutch of chickadees.
"The Life-Giver ... every day, it showed us the way. It gave us
strength. It warmed our feathers and kept our bellies full. Yet every
day, we did nothing in return," she continued. "We took all of its energy, and returned
none."
There were more murmurs and chickadees cheeped in agreement.
"What shall we do?! How can we repay the Life-Giver?" cried one.
"We have nothing to offer someone so powerful," scoffed another.
"But we do," whispered the littlest chickadee.
The birds crowded in closer, to hear the tiny, wise creature.
"We have this!" said the wee one, puffing her chest out and fluffing her feathers before letting out a stream of the loveliest chirps the earth
had ever heard.
Soon, the flock joined in, each one adding to the chorus with a unique
flourish all their own, playfully laboring to outdo one another.
They sang, and sang, and sang, until their tired bodies could sing no more.
And slowly, miraculously, the change came.
The sky, ever-so-slightly, began to come to life. There was a faint orange
cast, followed by blushes of pink.
Re-energized at the sight, the
chickadees sang with renewed strength, trumpeting the Life-Giver's
return. The darkness had given way to a sky awash in warm hues. Jubilation erupted among all living creatures.
After every sleep since then, the chickadees have continued the tradition of a celebratory song, and a chorus of all their feathered friends now join in as a loud and lovely celebration of the Life-Giver's repeated return.
