Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Things you might not know about Darwin

The man loved earthworms. A few years back I was reading some natural history book (I can't remember the name of it), and the author made reference to Darwin's acute interest in the behavior of earthworms and their incredibly beneficial role in nature. What stuck in my mind was the author's description of an elaborate experiment in which Darwin systematically placed paper triangles on the ground and carefully observed the manner in which earthworms pulled them into their burrows. I don't know why, but I pictured him in a dressing gown and nightcap, standing in his yard in the middle of the night holding a lantern.

By observing how the worms interacted with the paper, he concluded that they pull leaves and other organic debris into their burrows methodically, "learning" the most efficient way to grasp an object to pull it into the hole. This and other studies were detailed in The Formation of Vegetable Mould Through the Actions of Worms, with Observations on Their Habits, published in 1881. I later found the book at the library, and I must admit I didn't finish it before the due date. It was one of those books you don't read in one sitting. (Not necessarily long, just dense.) So I was pleased to run across the entire text of the book online the other day at a Web site that contains the complete published works of Charles Darwin.

One of my favorite passages is on the subject of the "mental qualities" of earthworms:
"We have seen that worms are timid. It may be doubted whether they suffer as much pain when injured, as they seem to express by their contortions. Judging by their eagerness for certain kinds of food, they must enjoy the pleasure of eating. Their sexual passion is strong enough to overcome for a time their dread of light. They perhaps have a trace of social feeling, for they are not disturbed by crawling over each other's bodies, and they sometimes lie in contact."
(By the way, the earthworms in the photo above are doing more than lying in contact.)

Another interesting supposition Darwin makes is that earthworms may be "smarter" than ants (and possibly much higher animals, as he mentions elsewhere):
"As worms are not guided by special instincts in each particular case, though possessing a general instinct to plug up their burrows, and as chance is excluded, the next most probable conclusion seems to be that they try in many different ways to draw in objects, and at last succeed in some one way. But it is surprising that an animal so low in the scale as a worm should have the capacity for acting in this manner, as many higher animals have no such capacity. For instance, ants may be seen vainly trying to drag an object transversely to their course, which could be easily drawn longitudinally; though after a time they generally act in a wiser manner ... "
Lest you ever doubt Darwin's infinite patience and slavish attention to detail, here are some data from the above-referenced "paper triangle" experiment:
"Elongated triangles were cut out of moderately stiff writing-paper, which was rubbed with raw fat on both sides, so as to prevent their becoming excessively limp when exposed at night to rain and dew. The sides of all the triangles were three inches in length, with the bases of 120 one inch, and of the other 183 half an inch in length. These latter triangles were very narrow or much acuminated. {32} As a check on the observations presently to be given, similar triangles in a damp state were seized by a very narrow pair of pincers at different points and at all inclinations with reference to the margins, and were then drawn into a short tube of the diameter of a worm-burrow. If seized by the apex, the triangle was drawn straight into the tube, with its margins infolded; if seized at some little distance from the apex, for instance at half an inch, this much was doubled back within the tube. So it was with the base and basal angles, though in this case the triangles offered, as might have been expected, much more resistance to being drawn in. If seized near the middle the triangle was doubled up, with the apex and base left sticking out of the tube. As the sides of the triangles were three inches in length, the result of their being drawn into a tube or into a burrow in different ways, may be conveniently divided into three groups: those drawn in by the apex or within an inch of it; those drawn in by the base or within an inch of it; and those drawn in by any point in the middle inch.

In order to see how the triangles would be seized by worms, some in a damp state were given to worms kept in confinement. They were seized in three different manners in the case of both the narrow and broad triangles: viz., by the margin; by one of the three angles, which was often completely engulfed in their mouths; and lastly, by suction applied to any part of the flat surface. If lines parallel to the base and an inch apart, are drawn across a triangle with the sides three inches in length, it will be divided into three parts of equal length. Now if worms seized indifferently by chance any part, they would assuredly seize on the basal part or division far oftener than on either of the two other divisions. For the area of the basal to the apical part is as 5 to 1, so that the chance of the former being drawn into a burrow by suction, will be as 5 to 1, compared with the apical part. The base offers two angles and the apex only one, so that the former would have twice as good a chance (independently of the size of the angles) of being engulfed in a worm's mouth, as would the apex. It should, however, be stated that the apical angle is not often seized by worms; the margin at a little distance on either side being preferred. I judge of this from having found in 40 out of 46 cases in which triangles had been drawn into burrows by their apical ends, that the tip had been doubled back within the burrow for a length of between 1/20 of an inch and 1 inch. Lastly, the proportion between the margins of the basal and apical parts is as 3 to 2 for the broad, and 2.5 to 2 for the narrow triangles. From these several considerations it might certainly have been expected, supposing that worms seized hold of the triangles by chance, that a considerably larger proportion would have been dragged into the burrows by the basal than by the apical part; but we shall immediately see how different was the result.

Triangles of the above specified sizes were scattered on the ground in many places and on many successive nights near worm-burrows, from which the leaves, petioles, twigs, &c., with which they had been plugged, were removed. Altogether 303 triangles were drawn by worms into their burrows: 12 others were drawn in by both ends, but as it was impossible to judge by which end they had been first seized, these are excluded. Of the 303, 62 per cent. had been drawn in by the apex (using this term for all drawn in by the apical part, one inch in length); 15 per cent. by the middle; and 23 per cent. by the basal part. If they had been drawn indifferently by any point, the proportion for the apical, middle and basal parts would have been 33.3 per cent. for each; but, as we have just seen, it might have been expected that a much larger proportion would have been drawn in by the basal than by any other part. As the case stands, nearly three times as many were drawn in by the apex as by the base. If we consider the broad triangles by themselves, 59 per cent. were drawn in by the apex, 25 per cent. by the middle, and 16 per cent. by the base. Of the narrow triangles, 65 per cent. were drawn in by the apex, 14 per cent, by the middle, and 21 per cent. by the base; so that here those drawn in by the apex were more than 3 times as many as those drawn in by the base. We may therefore conclude that the manner in which the triangles are drawn into the burrows is not a matter of chance.

In eight cases, two triangles had been drawn into the same burrow, and in seven of these cases, one had been drawn in by the apex and the other by the base. This again indicates that the result is not determined by chance. Worms appear sometimes to revolve in the act of drawing in the triangles, for five out of the whole lot had been wound into an irregular spire round the inside of the burrow. Worms kept in a warm room drew 63 triangles into their burrows; but, as in the case of the pine-leaves, they worked in a rather careless manner, for only 44 per cent. were drawn in by the apex, 22 per cent. by the middle, and 33 per cent. by the base. In five cases, two triangles were drawn into the same burrow.

It may be suggested with much apparent probability that so large a proportion of the triangles were drawn in by the apex, not from the worms having selected this end as the most convenient for the purpose, but from having first tried in other ways and failed. This notion was countenanced by the manner in which worms in confinement were seen to drag about and drop the triangles; but then they were working carelessly. I did not at first perceive the importance of this subject, but merely noticed that the bases of those triangles which had been drawn in by the apex, were generally clean and not crumpled. The subject was afterwards attended to carefully. In the first place several triangles which had been drawn in by the basal angles, or by the base, or a little above the base, and which were thus much crumpled and dirtied, were left for some hours in water and were then well shaken while immersed; but neither the dirt nor the creases were thus removed. Only slight creases could be obliterated, even by pulling the wet triangles several times through my fingers. Owing to the slime from the worms' bodies, the dirt was not easily washed off. We may therefore conclude that if a triangle, before being dragged in by the apex, had been dragged into a burrow by its base with even a slight degree of force, the basal part would long retain its creases and remain dirty. The condition of 89 triangles (65 narrow and 24 broad ones), which had been drawn in by the apex, was observed; and the bases of only 7 of them were at all creased, being at the same time generally dirty. Of the 82 uncreased triangles, 14 were dirty at the base; but it does not follow from this fact that these had first been dragged towards the burrows by their bases; for the worms sometimes covered large portions of the triangles with slime, and these when dragged by the apex over the ground would be dirtied; and during rainy weather, the triangles were often dirtied over one whole side or over both sides. If the worms had dragged the triangles to the mouths of their burrows by their bases, as often as by their apices, and had then perceived, without actually trying to draw them into the burrow, that the broader end was not well adapted for this purpose--even in this case a large proportion would probably have had their basal ends dirtied. We may therefore infer--improbable as is the inference-- that worms are able by some means to judge which is the best end by which to draw triangles of paper into their burrows."
If you are a fan of earthworms and the scientific method, you may be compelled to read more. It's not all paper triangles. I promise. I just included this part because it's so damn nutty.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Pig cravings

I have always wanted a pet pig. Not one of those anemic pot-bellied things, but a full-fledged, full-fleshed oinker. But after reading "The Good Good Pig" by Sy Montgomery, I'm having second thoughts. Not because her runt-made-good Christopher Hogwood wasn't impossibly lovable (even when he grew to 700 pounds), but because of my conclusion: It takes a village to raise a pig. A community full of people who, with good nature, will guide the pig back home when it inevitably manages to escape. One in which a local could be counted on in a pinch to tend it when you had to be away.

It would be additional icing on the cake if where we lived was like Montgomery's rural town in New Hampshire, where everyone, including the preacher, firemen, restaurateurs, neighbors and their children voluntarily and enthusiastically saved up a wide variety of delicious leftover morsels (pork-free, of course) to share with my four-hoofed family member. And more the better if kids from miles around, as in the case of Christopher, begged to come over for "Pig Spa," wherein we would lather up the beastie, brush its tail, scratch its belly and anoint its skin with emollients.

Finally, it would be a cosmically lucky pig-lover indeed whose friends and neighbors would share in the grief, as did Montgomery's, when the pig passed over into the next world. When Chris died at age 14, these lovely people called, wrote, sent flowers, brought food and held her hands, and declared that they felt richer for having been a part of Christopher's life.

One day, when/if we move out of the city, I will reconsider. A longing is a difficult thing to suppress.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


Today we stood graveside at the funeral of my Dad's first cousin, a WWII veteran who served in the European Theatre. After the volley of gunfire, we listened to the sweet, mournful sound of Taps. Daily, the families of hundreds of veterans hear it played for their departed loved ones. More frequently, they may be hearing recorded notes—emerging from a boombox or a little speaker tucked away slyly in the player's horn.

Pre-recorded Taps has become a necessity as the demand has increased and the supply of performers has diminished. Even for a talented musician, the tune is not easy to pull off flawlessly. "It sounds simple but it isn't," says military honors funeral coordinator Sgt. Seth Innes. "Sometimes the simplest songs take the most work." Add to that the desire to deliver a perfect performance for each and every veteran, and the pressure surely mounts. In that regard, a recorded version ensures quality control and may be no less appreciated (or perhaps even noticed) by the family. Still, one can't help but wish for purity.

We believed that the very-young man who played the trumpet today was authentic. There was a clear presence of emotion ... and longer-than-normal sustains at the end of each line. We looked at one another afterward and said, surely. Before leaving the cemetery, my aunt and I found him to offer our gratitude and compliments. Shyly, he said thanks.

* * * * * * *

Click here for an article about Taps trumpeter Sgt. Keston Marina and the "fading tradition," and here to view the Web site for Buglers Across America, which enlists volunteer buglers to lend their talents to honor fallen veterans. Says the organization: "The Department of Veterans Affairs is expecting more than 1/2 million veterans to pass every year for the next 7 years." So the need is great. "Bugler volunteers can be male or female. They can play a traditional bugle with no valves, or they can perform the ceremony on a trumpet, cornet, flugelhorn, or a 1-, 2- or 3-valved bugle. The bugler can be of any age as long as they can play the 24 notes of Taps with an ease and style that will do honor to both the Veterans, their families, and the burial detail performing the service."

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Woodcock Love

We just returned from the annual Valentine's Day Woodcock Walk, postponed by a day due to weather. John Connors from the N.C. Museum of Natural Sciences and Wake Audubon has led this trip for 30 years now—a hike into the woods to see, but mostly hear, the bird's spring mating ritual. Though so many aspects of wildlife watching are unpredictable, the male woodcock's display is rather like clockwork—between 6 and 6:30 p.m. (around these parts), from mid-February to early March. The male issues his repetitive nasal "peeent" sound while on the ground, soon thereafter takes to the sky on whistling wings, then warbles on his meteoric descent. Back on terra firma, he hopes to find an interested female in wait.

Before the show begins, Connors does his traditional reading from Aldo Leopold's Sand County Almanac (1949), excerpted here:
"The stage props, like the opening hour, reflect the temperamental demands of the performer. The stage must be an open amphitheater in woods or brush, and in its center there must be a mossy spot, a streak of sterile sand, a bare outcrop of rock, or a bare roadway. Why the male woodcock should be such a stickler for a bare dance floor puzzled me at first, but I now think it is a matter of legs. The woodcock's legs are short, and his struttings cannot be executed to advantage in dense woods or weeds, nor could his lady see him there. ..."

"Knowing the place and hour, you seat yourself under a bush to the east of the dance floor and wait watching against the sunset for the woodcock's arrival. He flies in low from some neighboring thicket, alights on the bare moss, and at once begins the overture: a series of queer throaty peents spaced about two seconds apart, and sounding much like the sound of the nighthawk."

"Suddenly the peenting ceases and the bird flutters upward, emitting a musical twitter. Up and up he goes, the spirals steeper and smaller, the twittering louder and louder, until the performer is only a speck in the sky. Then, without warning, he tumbles like a crippled plane, giving voice in a soft liquid warble that a March bluebird might envy. At a few feet from the ground, he levels off and returns to the peenting ground, usually to the exact spot where the performance began, and there resumes his peenting."

"It is soon too dark to see the bird on the ground, but you can see his flights against the sky for an hour, which is the usual duration of the show. On moonlit nights, however, it may continue, at intervals, as long as the moon continues to shine."
It would be a thing indeed to photograph the flamboyant mating display of this otherwise reclusive bird. Exceptional vantage and light would be required, I daresay. You can check out Cornell's Laboratory of Ornithology for a still shot of the bird.

Meanwhile, Ian took these photos as we walked.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

The Great Backyard Bird Count

Don't forget!


Thursday, February 5, 2009

funny pictures of cats with captions

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

No end in sight for Alaska's assault on wolves

In response to Defenders of Wildlife's criticism of Alaska's draconian "predator control" program, Gov. Sarah Palin called the organization an "extreme fringe group." This is the conservation organization that the ultra-radical Reader's Digest named in its 2005 roundup of the 100 Best of America charities. While managers of the country's National Wildlife Refuges work to reintroduce endangered wolf species in selected areas, Palin is still mowing 'em down from helicopters and offering bounties for their carcasses. It's economic stimulus, Alaska style.