Observing boiling frogs

Two more thoughts on Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring"...

The book was first published in 1962, and the science and understanding of cell-level processes has moved on hugely in the last 50 years. But Carson's description of e.g. the specialised roles of enzymes in mitochondria, and small facts like bone marrow producing 10 million red blood cells per second (the current estimate is 2.4 million) highlight again for me how "I am fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139.14; NRSV).

And a quote:"Responsible public health officials have pointed out that the biological effects of chemicals are cumulative over long periods of time, and that the hazard to the individual may depend on the sum of the exposures received throughout his [sic] lifetime. For these reasons the danger is easily ignored. It is human nature to shrug off what may seem to us a vague threat of future disaster." As with chemicals, so with climate change. Are we in danger of becoming the proverbial frog that, when placed in a pot of cold water that is gradually heated, doesn't realise its peril and is boiled alive? Or do we observe nature carefully, and learn that real frogs would probably jump out of the pot... and so could we?

Silent springboard

After a bit of a hiatus, I have finished reading "Silent Spring". After her early description of the pesticides and herbicides, Carson goes on to describe their effects on ground water, soil and insect life, plants, birds, other wildlife and domestic animals, rivers and inshore waters, human organs and cell-level processes; the brutality of various spraying programmes in the US and their horrendous results; the common availability of chemicals and the build-up of small-scale exposures; the negative effect on the ecological balance and the build-up of resistance in the pests; and finally, alternative pest control methods. All is beautifully written and meticulously references the latest scientific findings.

Predictably, the chemical industry and scientific establishment (funded by the chemical industry) responded 'robustly', as described in an afterword to my edition of the book. Carson was attacked for being a hysterical woman, unqualified to write such a book, and for writing for the public, "a calling the scientific establishment consistently denigrated."

But the attacks only increased the PR for Carson's book, and it changed the world. While reading, I caught myself thinking more than once: "I hope someone does something about this". Which of course they did. President Kennedy directed his Science Advisory Committee to investigate Carson's claims, which led to an immediate strengthening of the regulation of chemical pesticides, arguably a more significant action than the launch of the Apollo programme. And the book is widely credited with helping to get the environmental movement going.

Now in the 21st century, "Silent Spring" is again being criticised by writers who claim that "environmental regulation unnecessarily restricts economic freedom". Others say that this is "a cynical 'better living through chemistry' campaign, intended to discredit the environmental health movement". And I would ask how much economic freedom do we have, living as we do on one planet and bound by a web of relationships?

Unreliable narrator

The hawthorns now have substantial new growth, and the wild roses are almost in leaf. I also noticed what I think is broom in the north eastern hedge, green of sprig and bud.

Back to the Land Use Strategy: "As part of our stewardship it will be important to keep records of the changing wildlife in order to demonstrate and evaluate the effectiveness of our plans." We need to establish "monitoring and recording methods for data collection".  Absolutely, and observations now will give us a baseline for future changes and we hope improvements. But I suspect I would be too unreliable an observer to meet Anthony's exacting standards. Might that, then, make me an unreliable narrator within this blog?

Celebrating sustainability

In the first part of yesterday's community meeting on sustainability, we had a brainstorm of all the sustainable things we are doing, or have included within the building. It was a bit of a celebration for us, and Mary had drawn some smiley faces and angels around the edge of the flipchart paper. You wouldn't see that in Met Office brainstorms! Here's our list, which probably isn't exhaustive:

Biomass boiler. Biodigester and swales. Turning off lights. Recycled and locally-sourced building materials. Rainwater harvesting. Insulation. Planting trees as carbon sinks. Solar panels, both water heating and photovoltaics. Being aware. Fairtrade food. Local sourcing and co-operation. Will grow own organic food. Manual labour where practicable. Recycled toner cartridges. Shared car trips. Sharing use of two cars and other goods between 10-14. Composting. Recycling. Energy-efficient lighting. Using reclaimed wood in stove. Low-water toilets. Energy-efficient kitchen equipment and white goods. Using flasks rather than boiling kettles. Monitoring our use of energy and water.

We then had a bit of a think about what motivates us to change our behaviour or make particular choices, and then another bit of a think about what more we could do. Still plenty of ideas; we're on a journey...

Teacher teacher!

I've seen a few long-tailed tits down by the stream, hopping from twig to twig, with pale body and long dark tail, looking like a "ball of fluff on a stick". Today there were a couple of great tits, with their insistent teacher-teacher call. I could see one in the fungus-infected oak, clinging on to the underside of a twig high above me. It stopped calling, and I stood a bit to one side (I didn't fancy repeating Tobit's experience), and watched it investigating the branch and feeding on the largess provided within the biodiverse community of the oak.

It is very odd to hear the sounds of a school playground transforming into a skein of geese, then in actuality just a few gulls passing over. According to the folk observing the peregrines in Worcester, there are hundreds of gulls circling St Andrew's spire and the Cathedral, and well over one thousand visible from the spire tower.

Nature's time

In the community meetings this afternoon, we discussed the Land Use Strategy for Mucknell: the principles, the infrastructure we have and need, and the plans for development of the various features of the site. To quote from the current Vision:

"Our vision is to bring life to the 'agricultural desert' (this was the term used in the conservation/wildlife survey done for the planning application) and restore the balance of the natural landscape as a place of reconciliation and healing.

"These are long term goals which will be better met if we don't panic and try to do everything at once. Working with, rather than against, nature involves following natural cycles of growth and development."

I know the Sheldon community quite well. They fairly recently celebrated their 21st birthday in many ways, including the publication of their autobiography in "The Fat Pigeon Flies". I mention it* because the story is a salutary reminder of the time it takes to establish a new place, including kitchen garden, copses and other grounds. And their soil is just as claggy clay-ey as ours! So we must needs be patient.

* I also mention it because they are a Jolly Good Thing.

Camera obscura

I have finally been for a wander south to look at the new hedging and coppice. The hedging is a thing of geometric beauty: two rows of whips staggered and spaced evenly one foot apart, with bamboo stake and mouse guard for each. I wanted to take a photo to accompany this post, but had left my camera in my room.

In actual fact, I find that having a camera with me means that I look at things for their potential as a photo, and stop looking at them for themselves. I remember a trip to Paris in the 1980s, when I just managed to glimpse the Mona Lisa through continuous photo flashes and a jostling crowd, and another in the 1990s, when I spent some time sitting in the Orangerie gazing at Monet's Waterlilies. A series of Japanese tourists came in, had their photo taken with the painting and left again. Hardly any of them actually looked at it - sad. I have found that I prefer to dwell less on the photos I have taken in order to remember a holiday, than on the strong images I have retained in my mind. Photos-to-remember always set me at a remove from a place. The photos I most enjoy are those from days I have deliberately devoted to the camera, and they tend to be more of a sideways look.

As I walked across the southern edge, I disturbed flocks of linnets and redwings from their grassy hides. At that moment, I could have done with my binos, which were sat next to my camera!

Cosmic background radiation

Continuing the theme of psalms influenced by Babylon, on Mondays in Week 2 at the Office of Readings we have Psalm 19. Again, the first half was probably adapted from a Babylonian hymn to the sun: God has "set a tabernacle for the sun, that comes forth as a bridegroom out of his chamber and rejoices as a champion to run his course." (Psalm 19:5; Common Worship).

But more whimsically, I like to think of verses 2-4 as describing cosmic background radiation (CBR): "One day pours out its song to another and one night unfolds knowledge to another. They have neither speech nor language and their voices are not heard, yet their sound has gone out into all lands and their words to the ends of the world." (Psalm 19:2-4; Common Worship).

CBR is thermal radiation that fills the universe, at a temperature less than 3K (-270 °C). It can be picked up by sensitive radio telescopes, and which show that it is almost uniform in all directions. Any proposed model of the universe, such as the Big Bang, must explain this radiation and its uniformity. Many years ago, the problem was taught to me in terms of the event horizon: how did parts of the universe outside the event horizon of other parts of the universe, i.e. with no possible causal link, happen to be at the same temperature? And so a magic wand was waved (so it seemed to me at the time), and cosmic inflation was added to the Big Bang model. Inflation is "the theorized extremely rapid exponential expansion of the early universe by a factor of at least 10⁷⁸ in volume... As a direct consequence of this expansion, all of the observable universe originated in a small causally connected region."

And so "their sound has gone out into all lands and their words to the ends of the world". And no, nowadays I haven't a clue about what most of the two linked Wikipedia articles are about!

Progress of sorts

The forecast for yesterday was accurate, but unfortunately the rain turned into standing water, and the ground was far too wet to think of planting trees. Today was better, and we managed to get seven apple trees in. But it was hard going digging out the couch grass and stones, and in one hole, I hit the blue lias only six inches down. Then there was the comedy treading in, whereby the application of wellies to compact the 'soil' around the roots resulted in more mud on the wellies than around the roots.

Alison and Mary Teresa have finished the ongoing project that was the weeding of the green carpet. The spreading of the horse manure on the raised beds is half-way there, ditto the taking up of the yellow sand. Next week is community meeting week, so there will be little opportunity for much planting or spreading. But what little knocking in of stakes there will be will no doubt be cathartic!

Word of the day: Syzygy

Today's word is beloved of crossword setters. What could possibly fit _ y _ y _ y?

syzygy (ˈsɪzɪdʒɪ)
1. Astronomy. an alignment of three celestial objects, such as the sun, the earth, and either the moon or a planet: Syzygy in the sun-earth-moon system occurs at the time of full moon and new moon. 2. Classical Prosody . a group or combination of two feet, sometimes restricted to a combination of two feet of different kinds. 3. any two related things, either alike or opposite. 4. Biology . the aggregation in a mass of certain protozoans, esp when occurring before sexual reproduction.
Origin 1650-60 from Late Latin syzygia, from Greek syzygos yoked together, from syn- + zugon a yoke.

On Saturdays at None we recite Psalm 85. Once upon a time, I read or heard that the second half (verses 8-13) were adapted from a Babylonian hymn, and incorporates Babylonian astronomy. I wish I could remember the source. But for example, the verse "Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace will kiss each other." (Psalm 85:10; Common Worship) could originally have described two conjunctions between stars or planets called "mercy", "truth", "righteousness" and "peace". If one of those was the Babylonians name for the sun, we have a syzygy!

26 to go

I planted two more apple trees today: Adam's Pearmain, an October eater probably introduced via Norfolk in 1826; and Bountiful, a late September cooker introduced by East Malling Research Station in the 1960s. Bountiful apparently needs well-drained soil... ho hum. Only 15 more apples, 5 pears, 4 plums and a gage and a damson to go! I hope we can get a lot done tomorrow, and that the weather front moves through as forecast in the early morning, so the rest of the day will be dry. Fair-weather gardener, me!

We've also had to dig up the 'self-binding gravel' paths, that were supposed to be suitable for wheelchairs, but in fact turned out to be yellow sand, suitable for not much other than mixing with claggy clay-ey soil. The path surfaces will have to be replaced with tarmac.

DIY tree planting

Well well well, so the government has dropped the forest sell-off. We can't really stay with the status quo, though, so I hope that 38 Degrees and the other campaigning organisations will contribute constructively to plans.

We have starting planted our fruit trees in the claggy muck that passes for topsoil outside the walls of the kitchen garden. Just three today, so we could 'learn from our mistakes'. It involves a lot of forks and spades and metal hole-makers and other implements and stakes and ties and mouse guards and deer guards and root grow. But in went:

• Gladstone, which is on a vigorous root stock, so planted on the edge of the orchard-to-be. It's a very early, deep red dessert apple, for picking in early August, but doesn't keep. It's a local variety, raised in Worcestershire, and introduced in 1868, named after the then Prime Minister.
• Crab Apple Harry Baker is planted on the edge to encourage pollination. It is a new variety named after a Fruit Officer at RHS Wisley, with dark red fruits with dark pink flesh, lasting into mid-October.
• Crab Apple Red Sentinel is planted on the opposite edge. It is a hybrid of Asian trees, first bred by Notcutts Nurseries. It has deep red fruits lasting well into January.

Offering micro-loans

Micro-loans were featured by the Observer as one of ten ethical ideas to change the way we live at the beginning of February. Grameen Bank, set up by Muhammad Yunus to offering micro-credit in Bangladesh, has been around a long time, but now other organisations are making it possible for individuals to become micro-lenders.

I first came across Deki as a Christmas present; it's possible to buy gift certificates so that others can make the loans. I chose to lend to two women in Ghana who are selling clothes to support their family and provide their children with education. I only provided part of the total they needed; I can see who the other lenders were, as well as some information about Deki's local partner in Ghana. Both women have already repaid part of their loans, and I will be soon be able to lend it again. The benefits of providing loans, rather than aid/grants, is that it provides the recipient with the dignity of being able to pay it back, and the cash could benefit people again and again. Of course, I don't know whether the loan will be repaid. But Deki have a page of information about the risks involved, and I will just have to trust in Deki, their partners, the borrowers, and the political situation in Ghana.

The other ideas in the Observer are worth a look, too.

Tree planting

Most of the rest of the trees and hedge plants have arrived, followed by the first tree-planter, James. The other two are arriving tomorrow, and they've all got their work cut out. The maintenance yard is piled high with a large number of bags containing a large number of whips of alder, ash, oak, field maple, crab apple, hazel, sweet chestnut, rosa fructosa and other types of wild rose, blackthorn and hawthorn, and a large number of pots of sea buckthorn. I imagine it could be painful planting the thorns. Some of the sea buckthorn are still in a crate, as if they were too dangerous to be let out.

Much of the afternoon was spent dreaming new Holy Week and Easter liturgies. So the Easter Vigil is now planned for dawn on 24 April. And because Easter Sunday is as late as it can be, the dawn and the sunrise are the earliest they can be, even with the clock change. Dawn marks the beginning of the twilight before sunrise, i.e. the start of civil twilight at 5.14am (Birmingham time). We'll need to start the service by then, probably closer to 5am, so we reach the Gloria as the sun rises at 5.51am. It could be worse - we were thinking during the meeting it would be more like 4am.

Three (quiet) cheers!

Last month's community quiet day featured the heating engineers. Today, on a day when we don't speak or use noisy appliances (except where necessary) and take it a bit easier and more mindfully, we inevitably had a delivery of wood chip. The lorry spent more than an hour pumping chip into the store, and the drone of the pump vibrated throughout the building.

Harry the boiler has been working away happily for a while now, and people are again taking heating and hot water for granted when they wake up. This is a good thing in that it shows that biomass can be as dependable as oil or gas-fired boilers. It is less of a good thing in that we take far too much for granted in the UK. But for the moment, I had a happy uplifting feeling in the mid-morning when I suddenly became conscious that the heat from my radiator had been produced from renewable sources. Huzzah!

150 up

This is the150th daily post! That is, excluding a couple from Exeter before I started in earnest, but I still quite like those two posts so have let them stand. The 100th passed me and the rest of the world by, as press interest was focused elsewhere at the time.

I am hoping for some alchemy similar to Virginia Woolf's wishes. But I suspect that if I re-read them all, they would coalesce into something more akin to less-than-transparent leaf mould.

"What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose-knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace anything, solemn, slight or beautiful, that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art. The main requisite, I think, on reading my old volumes, is not to play the part of a censor, but to write as the mood comes or of anything whatever; since I was curious to find how I went for things put in haphazard, and found the significance to lie where I never saw it at the time."

Special guest: Brother Philip

One of the advantages of living life in community is that there are times to “stand and stare” and do things that are seemingly completely unproductive. This morning I raked the gravel paths in our kitchen garden; slowly, meditatively. The gravel is quite deep and therefore any footprints make a definite mark; at the end of the exercise there is a pleasing "smoothness": but not for long - the good weather means that many folk are out and about beginning Spring jobs and so footprints quickly re-appeared. But that was okay. I hadn’t pulled the rake round and round the paths to produce something folk could look at but not walk on! There was something other in the doing of it. Chanting the psalms several times a day together in choir has a similar quality. There is no performance - no audience (something brought home to me even more these past couple of years as our ordinary ministry of hospitality has been in abeyance), and therefore very few others to hear our efforts. The difference being that the gravel path raking is something I’m choosing to do on sunny days; the Office is to be attended to on not so sunny days; God give me grace to not forget this positive feeling of seemingly unproductive worth in the simple things of life; and the great privilege of being able to attend to the Daily Office several times a day, every day. I/we couldn’t do it without the support of many, many folk who think this way of life is important, even if superficially unproductive. Thank you. Br Philip.

Interesting things

I have tentatively started to use the rest period between lunch and None as a wander-round-the-grounds slot, weather permitting. I thought I was the sort of person who never saw interesting things, but I have now discovered that you will see interesting things if you are out regularly looking for them.

So for example, today I saw the/a fox, half red half grey, strolling across the southern boundary. It had its nose in the grass, snuffling out the worms which form the greatest part of their diet. It saw me first, but continued browsing, with a noticeable limp in a back leg. I walked slowly towards it, over the bank to get a better view, without trying to hide. It stopped and groomed for a minute. I came within 20m before it decided I was close enough, and limp or no, dashed for the south-east corner, its white tail tip flicking through the fence.

A flock of linnets twittered east, then back west. Then two cormorants flew over. I was standing by the lowest swale, and initially thought they were frogs, but eventually looked up when the calls receded. I didn't know they were cormorants at the time; Anthony had said he'd seen some, so I guessed and checked out the ribbet birds' 'song'.

And finally, physical geography in action. The rill from the upper swale has a short fall into the middle swale, and is cutting back to create a mini-gorge. Who needs the Grand Canyon?

Budwatch

The wild roses have starting shooting. I thought they were mostly dog rose, but some might be rugosa or other varieties.  There is more elder budding in the western hedge, and hazel catkins and buds in the eastern hedge, plus a couple I can't identify... can you help? There is no sign of bramble buds yet, but some plants are showing off some lovely Rioja red stems. The compost bin is breeding swarms of weeny flies, and the wagtails are back in the courtyard.

Alison, an Anglican priest, is this week working in the laundry with Ian, a Methodist pastor. We like ecumenical laundry!

Sustainable food

I am cooking the evening meal for the first time. Nothing too ambitious, so soup, macaroni cheese, bacon and tomatoes, and the like. So far, it's all got to the table on time and is edible.

Choosing to live sustainably is not just a one-off choice, but a series of small choices day by day, never more so than in the case of food.

The current food supply chain is totally unsustainable. It is based on oil for production (fertilisers, pesticides, powering farm machinery), processing and packaging (plastics),and transportation from farm to fridge. Food production often results in natural habitats across the world being rooted up; over exploitation of soil and water supplies; vast inequalities between developed and developing; shocking treatment of animals; and a range of chemicals in our food.

Growing and buying locally means a lot less oil use for transportation, ideally less packaging, and greater food security. It also benefits the local economy: spending in local shops keeps 80% of the money in the local economy, buying from the major supermarkets keeps only 20% if that. Local fruit and veg also means seasonal, which means varying menus throughout the year, using what we are producing (eventually), and bottling/pickling etc, and hence becoming more directly aware of God’s provision and more rooted in the soil of Mucknell.

So I expect my menu will change.

Sounding the depths

I spent a happy fifty-minute hour clearing long grass away from the eastern fence. It is wonderful to have the sun back after days and days (seemingly) of gales and low grey cloud. And it really felt spring-like; mild, sunny and calm. The pond was a mirror; the skylarks were singing their hearts out; and the solitary elder tree by the fence was bursting its buds... which apparently you can pickle.

Google has a beautiful homage to Jules Verne for his birthday. The initial view is of the surface of the sea through old-time brass submarine portholes, with flying fish. Then you can manipulate a lever to dive to the depths, past narwhals, sea horses, divers, star fish, jelly fish, myriads of other fish and less readily identifiable creatures, weed and coral, and a huge ghostly kraken guarding a treasure chest.

Squamous dryads

One of the oaks down by the stream has a bad case of athlete's foot - fungus shaped like small UFOs badly off-course and embedded at the base of the trunk.

Anthony thought it was Dryad's cushion, but I couldn't find this online. Instead, it might possibly be Dryad’s saddle (Polyporus Squamosus), but this is where the internet can be as much of a hindrance to identification as a help. Looking at the images presented by Google, it could just as easily be Lacquered bracket (Ganoderma resinaceum), which is borne out by a useful-looking fungi identification document. Other websites say Ganoderma is the same as Oak bracket (Inonotus dryadeus - spot the dryad), but then the images again don't back this up.

Anyway, the tree is sick and is dropping branches, so the path will have to be diverted around it.

White to Carson

I've been doing a bit of catch-up reading of a diptych of eco classics; today I finished Gilbert White's "Natural History of Selborne, and started Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring".

White's book is in the form of letters, and he often hopes they "may not be unacceptable" to his two correspondents! He was a meticulous observer of birds, weather and other phenomena, and went some way to interpreting and understanding his observations, for example in the wonderful passage on house martins cited in the introduction. His methods were at times questionable, involving shooting many of his subjects! And his theories did not always fit the facts, for example why clear nights are colder, or whether swallows migrated or hibernated. But science is a process of developing theories and collecting evidence to test and accept/reject/refine the theories, or developing new methods of collecting evidence which may lead to radical new theories. Hence White is not content with just observations, but continues to seek understanding and applications: "The standing objection to botany has always been, that it is a pursuit that amuses the fancy and exercises the memory without improving the mind or advancing any real knowledge... The botanist... should be by no means content with a list of names; he [sic] should study plants philosophically, should investigate the laws of vegetation, should examine the powers and virtues of efficacious herbs, should promote their cultivation; and graft the gardener, the planter, and the husbandman, on the phytologist."

Carson I suspect is just as meticulous. So far, she has been describing the pesticides and herbicides - DDT, malathion, dieldrin, etc. It's incredible (now at least) to think that some of these chemicals used on food crops were closely allied in structure to the nerve gases developed by Germany and used during the war.

Buddings

I wanted to title this post 'Buddy holly', but I couldn't find any. Nevertheless, there are even more signs of spring than last Sunday. The ash was the most obvious, twigs arcing in parabolas to the heavens, and the black buds resembling dinosaur feet (especially if you cheat and turn the photo upside-down). Then there is some field maple, tiny red-brown buds with grey tips; hawthorn and blackthorn, just; and wild cherry, long furry buds on the end of short knobbly twigs.

The wind has been blowing hard for the last two days, force 6, gusting 7 or more from the south west. I'm finding that hearing it without a break is quite tiring, and we've had a tile come off into the courtyard.

Local or global?

Lots of folk in England (including me) are up in arms about the proposed sale of public forests, to the extent that coalition MPs are under pressure to vote against it. If you want to find out how your MP said or voted on any issue, They Work For You is an excellent resource. So our MP voted with the Government and against the Opposition's call to rethink the policy.

Write To Them is another useful website, which enables you to, well, write to your MP, MEPs, local councillors, or indeed any Lord you fancy(!).

But how many people are writing to their MP about the state of the Amazon rainforest? Billions of trees died in the 2010 drought, and the rainforest could be on the tipping point of ceasing to absorb greenhouse gases and instead increase them, setting up a positive feedback loop and leading to runaway climate change. It's remote, it's unfamiliar, it doesn't figure in our national psyche, but it has a vast impact on our climate and our lives. If only it were as simple as writing to my MP to persuade a single change in policy...

Car-less or car-free?

I've been meaning to sell my car since the summer of 2009, and one and a half years later, I have finally got round to it. I've had it for over seven years, since the heatwave of August 2003. In that time, it's cost me about £14,000, including depreciation, and done about 50,000 miles. Assuming carbon emissions of 139 g/km, that works out at about 1.5 tonnes per year, plus any nitrogen oxides and carbon monoxide. Bad for my pocket, and bad for the planet!

It's an odd feeling not having it any more - slightly twitchy, probably a lot like a mild form of cold turkey. I barely used it at Mucknell, so it didn't make sense to keep it. But I now feel as if don't have the freedom and flexibility to jump in and dash off at a moment's notice. Which calls into question, what is freedom?

Is freedom having this flexibility, unconstrained by public transport timetables? But my actions affect other people via air pollution and climate change, so they become less free as a result.

Or in this case is it about being free from addiction to oil, flexibility and individualism? Benedictines take a vow of stability, committing them to a community and to a place, enabling roots to be put down and the community to flower.

So at the moment in my state of cold turkey, I feel car-less, as if something is missing. But I hope very soon to be car-free. My set of keys are already lighter in my pocket.

Groundhog Day again

As well as being Candlemas, 2 February is of course Groundhog Day, when Punxsutawney Phil emerges from his home in Pennsylvania to present his annual weather forecast: "If Phil sees his shadow and returns to his hole, he has predicted six more weeks of winter. If Phil does not see his shadow, he has predicted an early spring." Apparently, since 1887 his predictions have been correct 39% of the time, and he's predicted a long winter 87% of the time. His accuracy would probably have been higher if he'd predicted an early spring every time, and people would have been happier in anticipation.

I have associated Candlemas with snowdrops for a few years, but we won't have many bulbs this year: only a few snowdrops salvaged from Burford in pots; a couple of rows of daffodil bulbs planted last week when they were already sprouting; and any wild daffs in the unlikely case that they spring up around the grounds.

We do however have horse manure from our "neigh"-bours (sorry) nicely arranged on the kitchen garden, and a proto-list of seeds for ordering.

Candlemas and palaeoecology

Major feasts start the evening before, so we've just sung the first Vespers of the Feast of the Presentation of Christ at the Temple, otherwise known as Candlemas. In the reading from Luke's gospel, Simeon calls Jesus "a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel." (Luke 2:32; NRSV), hence presumably the practice in the western church of blessing the candles for use in the church throughout the year, and the name 'Candlemas'.

Originally, the feast was a minor celebration. But in 541 AD, bubonic plague broke out in Constantinople, killing thousands. Emperor Justinian I, in consultation with the Patriarch of Constantinople, ordered a period of fasting and prayer throughout the Eastern Empire, culminating in processions and a prayer service asking for deliverance on Candlemas in 542, whereupon the plague ceased. In thanksgiving, Justinian elevated the feast to a more solemn celebration.

Sometime in my first couple of years at the Met Office, I went to a lecture on dendrochronology-palaeoecology. Dendrochronology is the scientific method of dating based on the analysis of patterns of tree-rings, which is then used to determine certain aspects of past ecologies. In areas where the climate is reasonably predictable, trees develop annual rings of different properties depending on weather, rain, temperature, soil acidity, plant nutrition, carbon dioxide concentration, and so on.

In 540 AD, there was a major eruption of the Rabaul caldera near Papua New Guinea, of roughly the same magnitude as Mount Pinatubo in 1991 or Krakatoa in 1883. These sort of events fling huge quantities of ash and sulphur dioxide into the atmosphere (Eyjafjallajökull in 2010 pales into insignificance), and appear in the palaeoecology record as ash strata in ice cores and the narrow tree rings resulting from global cooling. The lecturer was relating the science to all sorts of historical events and art, the really fascinating stuff you can get to in science, but only after paying your dues by painstaking counting of gazillions of tree-rings to assemble large enough datasets. He considered the global cooling following the 540 eruption as one of the contributions to the outbreak of plague; cooling would have affected grain crops, leading to famine, greater trade in grain, and hence in rats and fleas, and reduced resistance to disease.

By 542, the atmosphere was recovering, the sun returning and harvests improving. The lecturer didn't go as far as linking the return of the sun with Justinian's establishment of the feast celebrating the light for revelation to the nations - that was something I realised after the lecture. Probably there was no such link, but I liked the idea.