Creating Elf Habitat, Part 3

An important factor in creating elf habitat is to have the right plants growing in your yard. Sometimes these aren’t the ones you would expect. For example, consider milkweed, pictured in bloom above. Its flowers are actually quite pretty. But although I’ve seen it all my life, and pulled up hundreds of them, I never knew until recently that it flowered at all. It turns out that it’s a favorite plant of butterflies, and who doesn’t like butterflies? For sure, elves must be partial to them.

Other weeds that I’m tending to leave alone this summer include plaintain, which has seen long use as an healing herb, lamb’s quarters, which are edible, and Michaelmas daisies. Some people apparently plant these “daisies” on purpose, but they grow wild in my yard. If you burn their leaves, it’s said to drive away evil spirits.

But better to leave them standing, and attract elves instead!

Happy Thor’s Day?

My wife and I were explaining to our daughter a while back that people from all over the world know the God of Thunder. We told her several of the names he’s been given in different cultures, such as Zeus or Perkunas.

My daughter thought a moment. “And in New Hampshire,” she said, “we call him Thor.”

An interesting sidelight to this is that in our town, celebrations, festivals and events are disproportionately scheduled on Thursdays. We never understood why, but it didn’t seem impossible that it was some kind of unconscious homage to Thor.

However, recently we stumbled on a more prosaic explanation: our town, along with many others in New England, was in the 1800s and early 1900s primarily a mill town. And Thursday was payday at the mills.

Still, a great reason to raise a horn (or a glass) to the God of Thunder. Hail Thor!

Creating Elf Habitat, Part 2

I re-titled this series because a) I remembered this is a fantasy writer’s blog, and b) I decided this is really what it’s about: how can one entice elves into one’s yard (or garden, if you’re in one of those places that use UK-speak)?
Not by keeping things all neat and clipped, that’s for sure. You need just a little bit of wilderness. If you’re in the middle of a city it might be a pocket wilderness, but then elves, by most accounts, aren’t very big.
There certainly seems to be some elf-sign in the picture above. And it’s right by our local standing stone–what could be more perfect?

Primitive Urban Wild Garden Crafting (Part 1)

Well, that’s one name for it. Another might be ‘either too short on time, or too lazy, to do much of anything with the garden this year’.  In any case, it’s an interesting exercise. Basically, whenever I manage to get outside, I pull up plants that I don’t like and I leave alone, or maybe even water, plants that I do like. Other than that, I leave everything alone, and don’t expect to necessarily harvest anything. That way, I find out what plants will do if left to their own devices.

The picture shows a sort of climax forest of dill weed, some of it 3 or 4 feet tall. It’s a great spice, but there is a reason it’s called a weed. It has taken over two garden beds and is working on a couple more.


Space Octopuses and Spaghetti Code

Over the years, I’ve read many critiques of current evolutionary theory, so I was very interested in a recent scientific paper that my son found online: Cause of Cambrian Explosion–Terrestrial or Cosmic?. It does indeed make the argument, familiar to Star Trek fans, that life on earth originated elsewhere. Especially octopuses, which the paper speculates may have arrived as an already developed organism riding a comet or meteor to land on the earth.

In other words, H.G. Wells wasn’t as crazy as everyone thought.

You can find the whole thing here. For a scientific paper, it’s extremely readable. I’m not too enthusiastic about the extraterrestrial panspermia part of the argument–I’m more inclined to believe that the Gods had a hand in it all (and if you make it as far as the appendices, you’ll see a note that at least one of the paper’s authors thinks that life is just too improbable to have originated by chance anywhere in the universe).

For me, the chief charm of the paper is its admission of how huge the problems with neo-Darwinism are (including the lack of what should be abundant transitional forms in the fossil record, and the eponymous Cambrian Explosion, when a huge number of complex lifeforms seems to appear suddenly in said record). The Cause of Cambrian Explosion authors even sound, at points, as if they really feel like saying ‘Look, we explained all this before, now we’re doing it again, and you guys still believe that discredited theory of yours? Seriously?’

In particular, I was delighted with the dismissal of the idea of ‘punctuated equilibrium’ on page 12, noting that the theory really doesn’t explain anything. I remember seeing an interview with Stephen Jay Gould, the theory’s chief architect, in the Seattle Weekly sometime back in the nineties. The admiring journalist said something to the effect of “what used to be one of the strongest arguments against evolutionary theory now becomes one of the strongest pieces of evidence for it!” I’ve never forgotten that stunning leap of anti-logic. Its possible applications are endless. For instance, I could assert that your cat often turns into a frog, but only when you’re not looking…so the fact that you never see it shapechange just goes to prove that it really does!

Anyway, octopuses are apparently the poster children for species that appear suddenly with complex, well-developed features, and no apparent ancestors. Hence their prominence in the paper (and my blog entry title).

On to the pasta course. One of the arguments that I’ve often seen advanced against intelligent design is that our genes are a tangled mess. That often makes it hard to isolate a particular gene that controls some characteristic you’re interested in–there’s cross-influence going on, apparent redundancy, as well as so-called ‘junk DNA’ that plays no known role at all. This is supposedly evidence that our genes just happened (it sounds more scientific to say ‘evolved’, which is why I’m not saying it).

Consider computer programming. It’s considered elegant, if not just basic good form and manners, to have well structured, well commented, easily understandable code. After all, someone else might need to maintain the codebase some day. Or that ‘someone else’ may be you, maybe a couple years down the road, when you’ve gone on to other things in the meantime and completely forgotten this project. The other kind of logic–tangled, obscure, hard to trace–is called ‘spaghetti code’, a term even more derogatory than ‘spaghetti Western’.

So far, so good. But why is it a requirement to structure code so that it can be easily understood? Is it because we have super cognitive powers? I would say no. It’s because in the end, we aren’t that intelligent. We need to make things easy for ourselves.

But if the Designers were more intelligent than humans, and never forgot anything, what kind of code would they naturally write? And what would they see when glancing at what looks, to us, like a hopelessly complicated mess? What designs and patterns would jump out at them, so that understanding the whole design at once would be child’s play?

So long, and enjoy your spaghetti!