From the Road – Page 28

What I Learned from the Road III

My work in storytelling and documentary film this past year, in Palestine, Tanzania, and South Africa has shown me the incredible capacity for humans to do amazing things and at the same time, to conduct the most horrendous acts—based upon the stories we carry in our individual and collective histories.

We use stories as guides through our lives. Stories we tell ourselves, stories we tell others, stories we are and are not aware of which guide our success, our failures, our beliefs about who we are and how we are similar or terribly different from the “others”.

Change the stories we tell ourselves, and we change both our future, and the way we look back at our history.

By Kai Staats|2013-08-10T18:02:53-04:00August 10th, 2013|From the Road|0 Comments

In the Void of Education – Part 3

This topic begins with Part 1 and follows Part 2.

Mixed Vocabularies
At lunch on the second day of my Wilderness First Responder training I sat across the table from a class mate, a young man (I will call him Matt) who was sharing some of the challenges his brother faces in the Texas school system. In particular, he finds it very frustrating, as a history teacher, to teach both the Christian creation story and evolution / cosmology as competing theories for how the Earth, solar system, and universe were formed.

He is always walking a fine line in the respect that he wants to teach his students to be critical thinkers in the shadow of an administrative and parenting body which fear straying from a Christian foundation. He is a history teacher, not a theologian, as Matt made clear.

Matt took another bite of his lunch time carrot, shook his head, and asked how this kind of rationale could possibly continue in this modern world.

The woman to my right (I will call her Shelly) immediately offered, “The kids need to know both theories!”

I knew better, but could not help jumping in, “Are you also suggesting they teach the Navajo, Sioux, and Mayan creation stories? What about the creation stories of the ancient Greeks and Egyptians? I am all for that, as a broad cultural education is always a good foundation. But it seems our schools do not allow for this much focus on the mythos of the human species.”

She responded, “No. I am talking about the Biblical story and evolution. If you are going to teach evolution, you need to also teach what the Bible teaches us.”

“Science and creation stories are not competing–they are not even in the same category.”

“Sure they are. Both are based on history.”

Matt was chewing the last of his carrot, “Sure. History is stories and facts about people and places and events. Some of them are supported by records outside of the Bible.”

Nodding, I quickly added, “The Bible offers an account of people who likely did walk the Earth. But to say the Bible, or any creation story gives an accurate account of how the Earth was formed, or how life has evolved, is misleading, taking away from–.”

Shelly cut me off, “They are just theories!”

I hesitated, and decide a prop would be more effective than words. I picked up a book and then let it drop to the floor without saying anything. I looked at Shelly, then reached down, grabbed the book, and lifted it to the height of the table. I dropped it again. Reached down, grabbed the book, lifted and dropped it again. I did this four or five times more.

“Nine point eight meters per second per second. Every single time. Unless the hand of God interposes a miracle, or the total mass-density of the Earth spontaneously changes, this book will always fall to the floor at the exact same rate over the exact same period of time.” I paused. “And yet, gravity is just a theory.”

“What’s your point?” Shelly asked?

“All of science is based on theories. But in our English language, ‘theory’ has a negative connotation when in fact theory is an integral part of the scientific method and foundation to all we know about the universe around us. If a scientist is able to disprove what we know about gravity, and show with repeated accuracy that his or her revised theory is more accurate, then it will be adopted in place of the former. That’s science. Far more wrongs than rights. Even when a model is supported by repeat experiments across the scientific community, it can always be overturned by newer, more accurate models.”

“Do you believe in evolution?”

“No. Absolutely not. I don’t believe in any scientific theory. There is nothing to believe in, which was my original point. Science is not religion.”

Shelly responded, “But you have faith in the theories?”

“Not blind faith, no. I respect the process by which theories are reviewed and analyzed by the community of biologists, chemists, and physicists. But what is most important, I know that I can reach out to the community, either via the publications or directly to the individuals who have conducted the research, and ask for exacting explanation—”

“But the Bible provides explanation!”

I continued, “—explanation which can be reproduced by anyone who has access to the tools or a working knowledge of the math which provides foundation for the models.”

At this point I grew uncomfortable for the energy in around this table was escalating quickly. I looked at Shelly, back at my book, and said, “I’m sorry. I should not have jumped in. I really need to study. We simply cannot take this conversation to any meaningful place with the limited time remaining in our break.”

“Why?! Why doesn’t anyone want to talk about this?”

Matt looked at his hands, shaking his head.

I took another breath. “We need a common vocabulary, a shared understanding before we can even begin to have this conversation. That assumes we have a similar education. I don’t mean to be rude nor arrogant, but that is the truth.”

Shelly was visibly unsettled, as is often the case when personal beliefs are challenged. She pushed, “So, what, you think we came from monkeys?!”

Ugh. I hate it when people say that. It is not only completely wrong, but instantly demonstrates a total lack of education on the subject of evolution.

Shaking my head “No. Certainly not. We did not come from monkeys.” She was momentarily satisfied. I continued, “We are the product of divergent evolution from a common ancestor which is now extinct. Chimpanzees and Bonobos are both our cousins, each equally related to us and to our shared, deceased relatives.

“So where are they? What proof do we have?”

“Dead. Like dinosaurs, they died out as all species eventually do. Like we will some day in the not so distant future, on the cosmological scale. As for evidence, the body of knowledge and data is growing every year. More fossils, more tools, improved understanding of the climate at various times. In fact, we now believe our shared ancestors were more human than ape-like.”

“But there are so many gaps! So many missing pieces!”

“That is old data. In fact, since the human genome was sequenced along with tens of thousands of plant and animal species, we now see far fewer gaps in the evolutionary tree. Contrary to the data we had as little as twenty years ago, it appears evolution moves at a relatively slow pace, with momentary quantum leaps in which a great deal of progress is made.”

Shelly was cooling down a bit. So was I. We were entering a nearly normal conversation and I was sharing things she had clearly not heard before. She asked, “So, … so what does it mean, that we evolved from something?”

I grabbed a piece of paper and pen and drew a few figures to support my next statements. “Have you heard the statement that we share a certain percentage of our genetic code with other animals, like chimps or … even a grapefruit?”

She smiled, “A grapefruit?”

“Yes. Something like twenty five percent of our code is shared with a grapefruit.”

She nodded, “I heard that before.”

“It’s like a software library with various routines. They can be assembled in various orders to produce completely different applications. But underneath, a lot of it is the same.”

I paused.

“What’s crazy is that something like ninety eight percent of our code is disabled, literally turned off. It’s the stuff that we no longer need and so it simply doesn’t get activated any longer.”

“What do you mean? How do we know?”

“By capturing the messenger RNA, which only copies active genetic code for specific protein production, we can differentiate the total DNA code base from that used for a specific, functional expression. No need for the cells to copy all the code, right? –only the parts needed to make a liver or muscle or bone.”

[I have since read-up on the topic of “junk DNA” and learned that while 98% of the human genome is noncoding, there appears to be some biochemical function to much of it, perhaps as a regulatory agent, even if not to directly build functional cells. More at wikipedia.org/ and nature.com]

At this point, another of our classmates had sat down to the table. She was listening intently, absorbed in what was obviously an intense conversation.

I leaned forward and smiled, “Did you know that some humans are born with a tail?” She looked at me, Matt, and then Shelly, nodding.

Shelly responded, “What?!”

The new girl smiled and raised her hand slightly, “Um, I was one of those. I was born with a tail. They had to cut it off.”

I could not believe my luck, for it is quite rare depending on if it is just soft tissue or includes vertebrae. Since this conversation, I learned that all mammals have a tail in the early stage of embryonic development, measuring roughly one sixth the total embryo length. It is absorbed in normal development, in humans. The record, however, is for a human tail with five extra vertebrae at birth.

Shelly look perplexed, but intrigued, “I had never heard of that. So what does that mean?”

“That we have code which is old stuff, capable of generating tissue, digits, organs we no longer use or need. We carry with us our heritage, in our cells. It’s all there. And that is how we have more recently, more accurately compared ourselves to other animals, to learn what we share and what differs.”

I paused, took a bite of my bagel and sliced apple which I had nearly forgotten to eat.

“Look. There is so much more to this, so much we know about the world around us, and it is all out there, if you take the time to read and search. Or you can choose to believe that the dinosaur bones were placed in the earth by the devil, to confuse us, to trick us into believing in something other than the biblical creation story. If this were true, then every embryo tail is a trick too.”

Shelly wanted more. She dove back in, “But, but that doesn’t explain the origin of life, or how—how the universe formed.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So how do you explain that? Where did the universe come from?”

“That is an entirely different topic.”

“No it’s not! That is evolution!”

I was a bit caught off-guard, surprised by her lack of understanding on the matter, “No. I promise you. It is not.”

“The planets, the stars, –the big bang is all about evolution!”

I took a deep breath, “Shelly. With all due respect. You are wrong. The theory of evolution is entirely about random mutations, survivability in a given environment, and subsequent reproduction of those living things most suited to the given conditions.”

Matt confirmed my statement.

Shelly was clearly upset, having her understanding undermined.

“But, but what do you call it then? I mean, that is what we were taught, that evolution was the history of everything.”

“I am sorry if that is what your school taught you. But the formation of the universe is studied through astronomy and cosmology, even geology applied to extraterrestrial bodies. Completely different sciences than molecular biology.”

She started to argue again. I cut her off, frustrated, “Just look it up. I promise. Look it up when you get home.”

The class activities resumed shortly thereafter. I was exhausted, emotionally drained. It is so challenging to have these kinds of conversations because they are heavily charged by belief systems, fear of having religious faith challenged, undermined.

The Definition of Science Lost
The point of this story is not to disprove god, or God, or Goddess at any level. Each person must make the choice as to their faith in something that cannot be proven.

The point is that our school system is failing to provide a proper foundation in the sciences, to even provide a proper understanding of what science is. We hear far, far more about how science and religion do battle in church, in the schools, even in the halls of Congress (which is terribly ironic given the reason this country was supposedly founded in the first place).

Science is not a religion. It is not something to believe in. It is a method, “a method for systematic observation, measurement, and experiment, and the formulation, testing, and modification of hypotheses.” (Oxford Dictionary).

We are a species which has for countless thousands of generations looked to the world around us and the skies over head and asked, “Why does this happen? How does that work?”

When multiple people come together to study a particular phenomenon, they must agree to a basic set of rules for how to investigate and report their findings, else they cannot share a common vocabulary and therefore, will not be able to test, validate, disprove, or share their findings.

The simple measurement of how fast a book falls to the ground can be modeled in simple algebra by any sixth grader who has a good stop watch, a measuring tape, and a few objects that don’t break when repeatedly dropped multiple times (as you will want to prove that a tight ball of foil, a rock, and a book all drop at the same increasing velocity, independent of the apparent weight on Earth).

An extension of the same principals, with far more complex observation and math allows us to determine if in fact there are planets orbiting distant stars, and through the diffraction of light, an accurate measurement of the gases in their atmospheres.

That is science. No one will worship the results nor should anyone who has faith in a greater power argue with the results unless he or she is willing to directly observer or reproduce the tests of their own volition. It is not the intent of science to take away God, even if many scientists have chosen this path of their own accord. It is the intent of science to understand how things work.

Without science we would not have cures for disease, synthetic fabrics, combustion engines, cell phones, computers or TVs. To disclaim science, to not teach science in the schools is to send us back to a time when we believed epileptic seizures were invoked by demons. Sadly, this continues today. I know a woman whose brother died because her parents believed they could pray for his cure. When I contracted malaria in Kenya in 2009, as I sat shivering, unable to even open my fingers to dial a phone, I was told I had failed to pray hard enough, that it was my fault. The woman who told me this was holding a cell phone in her hand. If only she could understand the painful irony in what she shared.

Separation of Church and Proper Education
If you believe in a greater power, then I offer that God did not give us brains only to ask us to turn them off. What’s more, the inner workings of the biological and cosmological universe is far too miraculous to be ignored, to not be explored by a species as intelligent as humans.

If you believe, then rejoice in its complex beauty. If you do not, then rejoice in its complex beauty just the same. But for God’s sake, do not hinder a proper education. It is suffering enough as it is in the U.S. A foundation for critical thinking is the most valuable thing we can give the next generation, over and over again.

For those of you who have read this and find yourselves uncomfortable, perhaps in the camp of a literal translation or on the fence, concerned you may be eternally doomed for dismissing the Bible as an historical account, I encourage you to read one of the most respected theologians of our time, David Lose.

Why, then, should anyone be dismayed that all the archeological, historical and, most importantly, genomic evidence ever collected points to the implausibility that two persons named Adam and Eve once lived in a paradisiacal garden and gave birth to all humanity? Because the recent hubbub about Adam and Eve—and the increasing number of Evangelical Christian scholars who don’t read their story literally—isn’t actually about our supposed ancestral grandparents. Rather, it’s about authority, insecurity and the fear of chaos.

More on “Adam, Eve & the Bible” at the Huffington post.

This topic is continued in Part 4.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:37-04:00August 10th, 2013|Critical Thinker, Humans & Technology, Out of America|0 Comments

A world not small enough

Today I received emails from two dozen locations in the U.S., Germany, and South Africa too. I sent a story to my adopted children in Kenya, a business update to colleagues in Wisconsin and Tanzania, and communications of various forms to a colleague in Canada, my professor in South Africa, and friends in Hawaii, Chile, and Palestine. This afternoon I spoke with my grandmother in Iowa and my brother in Phoenix; this evening a good friend in Peru. Tonight, I was surprised to discover a voice recording of a song from a friend in Estonia, waiting for me on Skype messaging.

This is my world. These are my friends, my family and colleagues. This is normal for me. And as such, I sometimes take it all for granted, the world is right here, at my finger tips, on this computer.

Yet, I remain alone, for this small, small world is not truly small enough, after all.

By Kai Staats|2013-10-09T01:50:14-04:00August 9th, 2013|At Home in the Rockies, Critical Thinker, Humans & Technology|0 Comments

Zombies at Buffalo Peak Ranch

Early training …
When we were kids, we spent summers on the family farm in Iowa. Among our many jobs, from mowing the yard to shingling old barns, to painting the white picket fence, we also had to rid the farm of thistles.

My brother and I rode on the back of the old Ford tractor, on a wooden platform with shallow sides connected by two hydraulic arms and a base swivel. My grandfather would take us from the chicken house along the Raccoon River in search of the tell-tale purple flowers, tall above the grass. Our arsenal of tools was a pair of gloves, a sharp knife, and a highly concentrated bottle of herbicide.

The Ford was even then over fifty years of age. Built in the 1930s, it was small but ran well. It’s engine had ample torque that you could count the number of strokes each piston made as the crank shaft went round and round. Slow, methodical, it could climb the steep bank of the river or take us over small fallen logs in the timber.

We would stop every few hundred feet, lower the hydraulic lift, the wooden platform settling to ground. We’d stand up, grab out tools, and spread out. My brother and I would cut the heads off, placing them in an old metal bucket. My mother would then spray the chemical down the hollow neck using a hand-pumped sprayer. My grandfather said this was the only way to make certain they didn’t come back next year.

As with so many things my grandfather taught me, I didn’t come to fully appreciate what I learned until many years later. If only he had known how those long, hot afternoons in the July sun would give me the knowledge to single handedly stop an invading army of Zombies, here on Buffalo Peak Ranch.

… for the real thing.
Alone now, the ranch hand and owner gone, I set out each day to work an hour or two, to earn my keep. A few days ago I left the back porch of the cabin and noticed a few thistles in the distance, just outside the wooden fence. “I’d better take care of those in the morning,” I thought.

When daylight came again, there were a few more. Some of them already inside the fence line. This took me by surprise. I had never seen thistles move that fast before.

These were not your common, Canadian, or milk thistle. Those don’t make much of a fuss. Just as when we were kids, you lop off the flowing head and they’d rarely came back the following year. But these, these were different. More aggressive, intent on claiming territory. From outside to inside the fence in just one day!

I went back inside and looked up types of thistles on the Internet. The reports were not many. Mostly unconfirmed rumours of a mutant strain. But then I found a reference to something that made my skin crawl—a fast moving, aggressive thistle with … with a craving for blood. The Zombie Thistle. The only way to stop them was to get them out of the ground, roots fully exposed to sunlight, and then cut off their heads.

I returned to the back porch and scanned the horizon. My god! They’re everywhere! Should I call the Sheriff? No, his cell phone reception was minimal in the back country. Or the Rabi and campers down the road? No, Catholic priests are much better equipped to deal with the undead. Bruce Campbell? No, getting through his agent would take too much time.

It was me, alone, against all of them.

I pulled on my sturdy boots, work pants, my favourite T, and sun glasses. Once again on the back porch, I counted an additional half dozen thistles, growing tall and strong. The purple heads turned in unison, staring back at me. In just ten minutes time they had doubled in number. An army was forming. I had to act fast before they took over the ranch.

I stepped off the porch and ran to the barn. I could hear their roots reaching through the soil, trying to ensnare my shoes and feet. The sound of their long necks straining.

Don’t look back! Just keep moving!

Once inside the barn, I shut the door behind me. I found a pair of leather gloves, shovel, and the keys to the UTV. I unlatched the front, sliding bay doors and started up the engine. I engaged the four wheel drive, threw open the doors and pressed it into high gear.

The path was yet clear, they had not reached the front of the barn. I drove back to the West, toward the far side of the fenced area, behind the hot tub. They saw me coming, they knew I was prepared.

I stepped from the UTV, walked toward them with the shovel in hand. They hesitated. Some withdrew. That was the moment I needed—I attacked!

I knelt low to the ground. With their vision less keen than their sense of smell, I hoped to remain downwind and catch the first few off guard.

I raised the shovel high, slammed it into the ground at the base of the first Zombie. The soil was hard and rocky. I missed my target and managed to only partially cut the base of the four foot tall monster. It turned, raised its horrid purple head, and leaned back to attack. It lunged forward and I was too slow. It caught my shirt, tearing at the fabric as I fell back on my hands in the mountain meadow. The shovel fell.

I rolled to one side as another two, then three attacked. But this time, my shovel found home and two heads came free. An acrid odour filled the arena and white blood sputtered from the necks of the decapitated thistles.

I jumped to my feet, knowing I had little time before they regrew. I raised my shovel again and drove it in hard and fast, at the base of all three of those immediately to my front and side. My foot pressed the shovel in further and then I leveraged the handle down to the ground and the roots came free. Their long, soil ladened tendrils an abomination to this otherwise perfect land, moved wildly, gasping in the direct sunlight and air. A few seconds later, they stopped. Dead.

A momentary calm fell over the meadow. I had struck my first blow. The Zombie thistles knew they had a worthy adversary. I did not hesitate and attacked the next half dozen directly in front of me. They were caught off guard and came free easily, their heads delivering a high pitched scream with each root ball that came free.

Just as I was raising my shovel overhead for another strike, one attacked from behind, more than five feet tall. It was the largest I had ever seen, it’s head the size of my fist and stalk strong enough to lift a car. It tore at my clothing, trying to get to my skin. My left sleeve was torn completely, my favourite shirt ruined.

That made me mad. I took a step back, turned, and attacked with a scream. My shovel sliced through the stem just below the head, back again in the middle, and then at the base. With just a few inches left above the ground, I delivered the final blow, the roots wriggling in the hot afternoon sun, the head and neck spread across the lawn. The stench was overwhelming, I could barely breathe. But the battle had just begun.

Over the course of the next two hours I unearthed more than four hundred of these monsters, their bodies piled high. When I finally came back ’round toward the cabin, approaching from the rear, the Zombie thistles knew they would lose this round. They shrunk in size, reduced in number before I could even come in for the kill.

Exhausted, I drove the blade of my shovel in again and again until every last one was delivered.

I spent the remaining daylight hours cleaning the battlefield, piling the bodies into the back of the UTV. Their legions are amassing near the upper pond in numbers far greater than what I had encountered today.

Tomorrow, it starts all over again.

By Kai Staats|2015-01-23T07:32:11-04:00August 8th, 2013|At Home in the Rockies, The Written|0 Comments

Back to the Basics

In working at the Buffalo Peak Ranch this summer, I am again reminded of the value of my skills in carpentry, given to me by my father and a lifetime of home remodeling; drafting learned in my first year of Junior High; and mechanical engineering—a way of thinking learned through experience far more than any classroom activity.

With carpentry and wood working, I can rough-in a form for a concrete pour, frame a house, and repair or create a fine piece of furniture. With drafting I can quickly, effectively communicate in two dimensions an idea for a 3D construction. With an understanding of the application of force, applied to static and dynamic interactions, and the basics of volume, pressure, and time I can design basic mechanical or structural systems which perform work or provide foundation for shelter.

Without these basics, the world would for me be comprised of buildings that stand for no apparent reason, combustion engines which move us forward and back with magical motivation, and transmissions whose means of transferring the energy of rotation to linear movement—a complete mystery.

In a culture of specialization, fewer people are given these fundamentals, not enough time in the nationalized education programs or time with parents at home to teach the basics. The result is unfolding generations who can use a smart phone, drive a car, or turn on the tap to produce a steady stream of warm water, yet, they have no idea why these amenities function, taking for granted what is made available to them.

There is a joy in understanding, a pleasure in knowing how things work. There is a confidence in knowing I am able to build from the ground-up, remodel, or repair a toy, a piece of furniture, or a permanent structure.

Will an increasingly complex future of gadgets and gizmos disable an increasing number of people from these basic pleasures, from rudimentary confidence in their hands and tools?

By Kai Staats|2013-08-05T19:55:00-04:00August 5th, 2013|At Home in the Rockies, Critical Thinker, Humans & Technology|0 Comments

My Grandfather’s Blessing

Kai Staats - Humming Bird at Buffalo Peak Ranch

A Good Morning
With the close of last week I completed two months working part time as a ranch hand on the isolated, Buffalo Peak Ranch in the Front Range of Colorado. Each morning the sun rises and I am stirred by its heat, the light falling across my face through the open doors of the second story of the barn where I sleep. I stretch, my eyes work to open.

The sky yet retains the depth of colour of the night sky, mixed with the rising sun. The coyotes howl and the most curious of the humming birds, who have come to know me fairly well, hovers directly in front of me, darting from my left eye to my right and back to the left again before departing with a chirp and a buzz. It is as though she is reminding me to come feed her.

I sit up, stretch, and engage in a few minutes of yoga and meditation to return my heart to a near sleeping state. I work to clear my mind of the anxiety of the final waking moments of sleep when it seems all that lays ahead of me finds form as characters in a dream.

It is not easy, but I want to rise in control of my body, aware of every motion and every breath. I envision email from anticipated sources, mentally run through my calendar of due-dates and deadlines and wonder if I forgot something the night before. I work to quickly sweep these thoughts aside as I realize I am again not living in the moment, the sunrise worth every bit of my attention.

I rise to my feet, arms outstretched, grasping both of the barn doors in order to draw them closed. If I were to stumble I could fall back onto my bed or forward and drop twelve feet to the packed earth below. I like the fact that my head rests near a ledge all night. It reminds me of so many nights sleeping in the desert. It feels grounded, real.

I pull on my shorts and shoes, walk across the plywood floor of the hay barn, down the stairs covered in white bird droppings, and across the yard to the cabin. The moment I open the door, even as I remain outside, a half dozen humming birds fly around me. Some are so close I can feel the movement of air from their wings across my forehead and cheeks.

They know me now. The sound of the door signifies to them the coming of fresh sugar water. A few days ago four of these amazing creatures sat still, wings folded, two on each of my hands. I was able to move my hands forward and back while they kept their beaks engaged in the drinking ports. Eventually, I hope to gain their trust such that I can pet them, but that would take more time than I have committed to building our symbiotic relationship. They receive water and in exchange, I am given reason to smile.

Once inside, I prepare cold cereal or yogurt and granola, a glass of juice or cold, homemade ginger tea. It’s almost a routine, but not quite, for each day there is something unique. Sometimes a few rabbits scurry across the yard. Once or twice, the elk run by, between thirty and forty in the herd.

With a Shovel in Hand
This summer I helped Trevor, the head ranch hand, repair the culvert gate for the upper pond, dig nearly one thousand feet of trench with a rented Ditch Witch and then drop-in a two inch line to drain the bogs into two 275 gallon tanks for the cattle. We hope this will reduce their time in the stream, their hooves eroding the banks and waste polluting the water.

Our ad hoc surveying equipment (a carpenters level balanced across two shovels topped by a camera with zoom lens sighted to a tape measure at nearly 200 feet distance) proved useful as the water flowed through the pipe the first time.

In the final week of July, we co-designed and built a form, mixed thirty six bags of concrete, and constructed a gated dam to restore the third pond just above the road. Every day we worked hard, completing valuable projects which improve the function and value of the property.

We seldom came in from the pasture until the sun was behind the peak—but then the day was done. That sense of accomplishment reminds me of growing up on our family farm in Iowa. There was nothing else to do once the sun was set, a sense of both living in the moment and letting go until the next day. We accomplished all that was possible. It will be there tomorrow, waiting.

Those were the days before cell phones and the Internet, when the land line phone rang once a day and the most important people in the world were right there, in front of you, sharing stories.

Make Time for the Storm
A thunderstorm swept across the ranch today. At two in the afternoon, the sky grew dark as it would at dusk, the temperature dropped, and the hummingbirds retreated to where it is they go for shelter, the back door quiet without their fighting over what would surely cause diabetes in humans.

The first drops fell and I remained here, at my keyboard. The thunder shook the cabin and the window to my front lit up. It was only then when I realized I was missing the storm outside. Suddenly the ozone was present, cool moisture entering the cabin. I moved quickly to watch the best show on Earth.

Outside, I welcomed the rain as my hair, shirt, and pants grew wet. The cattle in the distant pasture moved from open grass to the cover of trees and behind me, another lightning bolt struck in the Lost Creek Wilderness.

Just as my body began to shiver the rain let up and the lightning ceased. I walked around the cabin to the hot tub, lifted the cover, removed my wet clothes, and stepped in.

Finally, I was there, in just one place and one time.

If only I could live that way, every hour of ever day, as I did those many summers on my family farm. That would be my grandfather’s blessing, a reminder of the value of doing just one thing at a time.

By Kai Staats|2017-08-12T04:55:04-04:00August 5th, 2013|At Home in the Rockies, Humans & Technology|0 Comments

Freedom

Freedom is not something we can purchase,
nor give without willing receipt.
It is not found in wealth, nor time,
nor in the place in which we live.

Freedom is not the opportunity
to do whatever we desire.
It’s the way we move.
It’s the way we think.

Freedom is is not something found
in the casualties of war,
for it resides in the heart and mind
of those who choose to see.

Freedom is found in the brave,
the old, the youth, and the meek.

Freedom is found in you and me.

By Kai Staats|2013-08-04T14:19:13-04:00August 3rd, 2013|The Written|0 Comments

Embrace the Storm

I am sitting just inside a large pane glass window which overlooks the meadow and first pasture of Buffalo Peak Ranch. The storm had been brewing all day. Finally it let go, the first, full precipitation to hit the dry soil at eight thousand feet elevation in more than two weeks.

There is something inherent in a thunderstorm and the subsequent rain that causes me to catch my breath. For me, it is completely involuntary, a joy that rises inside. Nothing feels as real, as satisfying as when the air carries the presence of ozone and the bones in my chest reverberate with successive shock waves, the earth shaking beneath my feet.

In my travels, I am often reminded of the differences in both personal and cultural reactions to temperature and weather.

Cold for a Kenyan is weather conducive to a T-shirt and shorts for someone from Colorado. Too hot for a Minnesotan is winter for someone from Dubai. The human species has found comfort in an incredibly diverse range of climates, more than any other single species on Earth. We have claimed home at more than 16,000 feet elevation and also a few hundred meters below sea level, even temporary living beneath the ocean’s surface in submersibles and research stations. We have lived for countless generations in the tropics, deserts, alpine meadows, and coastal plains. Soon, we will live on the surface of Mars, not likely to breathe outside of a dome or pressurized suit for countless generations.

In Arizona people play golf in temperatures over 43C (110F) while in Seattle, it is completely normal to run soaked to the bone, in near freezing temperatures.

In Cape Town, South Africa I was enjoying the beginning of their winter with the close of May. I opened the windows to the guest house room where I stayed each night, the cool, moist air entering with the sound of water spilling from overflowing gutters above me.

I was repeatedly asked by the locals how I managed against the weather. My response was an elated, “I love it! It’s amazing!” the next storm building outside. In response, I received looks of horror, a sense of dread as they wrapped their winter jackets around their torsos even tighter. When the temperature drops to 15C (60F), South Africans go on vacation to warmer climates.

This is not a judgment nor a criticism, but an example of how individuals, how entire societies respond to the weather. I spoke at length about this with my host at SAAO. She suggested that to cheer at a thunder clap or to remain inside behind closed doors is based on how we were raised, if we were brought up to embrace the out-of-doors or literally if we were “sheltered” in that we found comfort in buildings and cars.

For me, modern houses are too tightly wrapped, the lack of air flow stagnating when I want so much to experience what is happening outside. I have friends who cannot sleep without the constant buzz of an electric fan or television in the background. Full silence is as alien to them as is living in a city for me, traffic, gun shots, and sirens challenging my dreams.

Give me a cabin, a tent, or nothing at all as I prefer to be physically and emotionally saturated than remain inside where I am safe and dry.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:37-04:00July 28th, 2013|At Home in the Rockies, From the Road|0 Comments

Buffalo Chip Cookies

I baked cookies again tonight. Cut the sugar in half, used a mix of wheat and white flour, dumped in what appeared to be the right number of semi-sweet chocolate chips, doubled the eggs, and—they are awesome! Best I have ever made. Honestly, not all that bad for you either. Taste like mini, sweet chocolate chip bread in cookie form.

Trevor and I each had a few while putting the finishing touches on our design for a new culvert diversion damn to increase the water level in the lowest of three ponds. The bypass is now over three feet deep, encouraging yahoos to drive through at top speeds, pushing hundreds of gallons of water over the hood, damaging the road, and often tearing off large pieces of their undercarriage.

I placed the final cookies on a dish and then slid it into a large zip lock bag. Trevor asked how long I thought they’d last, given our shared propensity for midnight snacks. I crossed the kitchen, grabbed a marker, and proceeded to write numbers on the bag above each cookie, an inventory count. We then dated and signed the bag, agreeing to the number at 8:06 pm.

Now, if by tomorrow morning the quantity is drastically reduced, we cannot claim there were only a few left. Yes, home made cookies are a very serious affair at Buffalo Peak Ranch.

1 cup wheat flour
1 cup white flour
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup chopped nuts (optional)
1/2 to 3/4 cup chocolate chips (mandatory)

(mix dry ingredients)

168 grams (1 1/2 sticks) butter (warm over stove or nuke in microwave oven)
3 eggs
3/4 tsp vanilla extract

Mix the liquids in a glass with fork. Mix the sugar into the eggs and butter.

Mix the dry ingredients in mixing bowl.

Then pour the liquid into the dry bowl, and mix, mix, mix. If it feels too dry (depends on the type of flour, size of eggs, and elevation) you can add a touch of oil until it is the consistency you desire.

Oil a cookie sheet. Place spoonful smudges of the gooey mess in a pleasing geometric pattern. Bake at 375-400F for 8 to 10 minutes, taking into account altitude, humidity, barometric pressure, and of course, the alignment of all the dark matter between here and Alpha Centauri.

By Kai Staats|2013-09-24T11:56:10-04:00July 7th, 2013|At Home in the Rockies|0 Comments

Campfire Cosmology

I just returned from three days on the Colorado river, a section called “The Daily” which runs for some thirty miles above Moab, following HW128 from I70 to the bridge on the North end of town.

Mostly slow, wide flowing brown river. Wonderfully cool in the onset of 108F degrees (in the shade), but warm enough you can remain in the water all day, into the evening without feeling chilled.

On our first night, at the put-in, a few people noted the growing number of stars overhead and the increasing prominence of the Milky Way. It was late when Ali, Clay, and I arrived, people brushing their teeth or already in their respective tents. The next afternoon I offered to provide a brief introduction to cosmology.

I didn’t think about it again. The third night out I walked from the kitchen (where we had just finished eating brownies baked in a Dutch oven) to one of the boats where I would sleep, the gentle rocking motion and gurgling of water through the self-bailing holes a delight.

Not more than ten minutes after I had turned off my headlamp, someone yelled from the campfire behind and above me, at the top of the sand bar, “Hey Kai! You wanna give us that talk on cosmology!? You’ve got a captured audience!” Someone else yelled something not worth repeating. Everyone laughed.

I pulled on my river shorts and sandals, stepped overboard into the water, and made my way back up to the campfire. I sat down to about a dozen individuals, some next to me, some on the far side of the fire. I asked what they would like to learn.

Immediately, the question was posed, “Why are all the stars blue?”

Another, “What is all that stuff, up there,” waving arms silhouetted in the firelight, “anyway?”

A third, “Do you think sex with aliens would be fun?” Everyone laughed.

Someone to my right said, “They are blue because they are moving. The light is shifting.”

I waited for the laughter to subside from the previous comment and then responded, “Actually, the stars do not all appear blue when we look through a telescope, but you bring up a great intro to our first topic. Most objects in the universe are in fact moving away from us, and are shifting to the red end of the spectrum. Those which shift toward blue are moving toward us.”

I used the British ambulance versus American ambulance as examples of how we can determine the kind of ambulance based on the siren, even if the sound is shifted higher or lower is at approaches and then moves away from us, a kind of fingerprint for the source of the sound. The comparison to light signatures given by the elemental composition of stars and galaxies seemed to sink in.

We moved on to the expansion of the universe, looking back in time, the Big Bang versus a more modern understanding of the Big Rip, but that took us to space-time fabric and quantum flux which was too much for my slightly inebriated audience.

As happens in most conversations about astronomy and cosmology, the origins of life came to discussion. Some fully embrace the very real potential of life on other planets, some remained steadfast in the belief we are alone. I ran the numbers: 300 billions stars in each of at least 100 billion galaxies. As we now believe most stars do have planets, if just one out of every one million stars has a planet with life enabling conditions, then we are most certainly in good company.

“But, you can’t just, just shake a box of rocks and get life!”

I quickly countered with a raised but joking voice, “In my classroom, there will be no quoting the Jehova’s Witness Watchtower, please.” Everyone laughed.

He continued, shaking his head, “No. Seriously. Maybe single cell organisms, or bacteria, on a few planets, but not creatures as complex as us?! That just doesn’t seem possible! Someone had to make us, right?”

I added, “If life makes it to single cell organisms, then walking, talking, rocket building life is not a far reach. Evolutionary pressure in an ever changing ecosystem invokes a constant effort to improve upon resource allocation, consumption, and species proliferation. It just takes time.”

“But there are too many gaps! We don’t have all the answers!”

“No, we don’t have all the answers, but since the human genome was completed, and that of thousands of plants and animals, the gaps in our understanding of the evolutionary expansion of life across our planet is growing smaller each day. In fact, when we look back at the speed of evolution across the eons, we see many more times of relative stagnation than we do gaps in advancements made to shared DNA. It appears that evolutions works in relative leaps and bounds more often than gradual unfolding.”

Someone asked, “What about those gaps that remain?”

“God,” someone added.

I offered, “Look. Whether or not you believe in a supernatural creator, to relegate him or her to the gaps in our knowledge is, quite frankly, indignant. If you need God in your life, find a better reason than the filler of gaps else God is running out of room. Forgiveness, compassion, hope in a hopeless time or place, are far better reasons for faith than ancillary support to areas which we have not yet explored.”

There was a general consensus of agreement.

We went on to discuss a few more topics but as the fire died down and the alcohol took its desired effect, my audience diminished to that of just two or three who were interested in further conversation.

The last question addressed, given by someone who had had a little more to drink than the others, was “So. So. So, … then … well, like, how does the moose know to drink the water from the lake, and … and … and how does the lake, I mean, well, what if there weren’t any lakes? I mean, what would the moose drink?!”

While his question actually raised a good many profound questions about evolution of ecosystems to support a wide diversity of species, I didn’t feel I could fully address that particular point in the confines of one evening, nor would the person who asked it likely remain awake, no matter how engaging the discussion.

I simply offered, “That is an excellent question, but I fear you have asked it in reverse. Perhaps you should ponder, ‘Why does the lake desire to be drunk by the moose?'”

“Dude,” was the appropriate, received response.

Good night.

I returned to the floor of my boat, crawled into my sleeping bag, and the Colorado River gently rocked me beneath a sky of inky black interspersed with the light of our galaxy.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:37-04:00July 1st, 2013|At Home in the Rockies, Looking up!|0 Comments