Belltown Bent

At the window with Luke and Linnæus

It's difficult to pull away from the windows at the Bent, particularly when the sun is low and there are clouds in the sky. The winter light and the forms it reveals are almost beyond description. I constantly grab my camera in an effort to frame, capture and share mutable compositions which will never, ever, occur again.

On August 18th, 1783, overlooking the Windrush River in Oxfordshire, England, eleven-year-old Luke Howard stared into the evening sky. He was captivated by the dramatic palette of colors created by volcanic dust spewed into the atmosphere over much of the northern hemisphere by violent volcanic eruptions in Iceland and Japan, and the fiery flight of a meteor across the western European sky. His observations of this "constant fog" inspired a lifelong avocation of studying the skies, especially the constantly changing and little understood clouds.

Howard went on, as an amateur meteorologist, to be the first to study smog, the first to observer the "urban heat island" effect, and one of the first to understand the concept of weather fronts.  But, on the subject of clouds, not much had changed since 1600, when Shakespeare described them as creatures, morphing from one to another in the course of conversation.

Hamlet:    Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
Polonius:   By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed.
Hamlet:    Methinks it is like a weasel.
Polonius:   It is backed like a weasel.
Hamlet:    Or like a whale?
Polonius:   Very like a whale.
          - Hamlet, Act iii Scene 2.

Two hundred years later, most people still thought of clouds as "essences", short-lived, misunderstood, and difficult to describe. But Luke Howard was preparing to change that. In 1803, in a paper he presented to his fellow Askesian Society members in London, Luke introduced a lasting solution to the problem of naming these transformational mysteries. In a stroke of brilliance Luke followed the lead of  Swedish taxonomist Carl von Linné, better known as Linnæus. Yes, Luke applied a simple, structured nomenclature to confidently describe these constantly changing forms, and he chose Latin to do it, simply because, "the reasons for having recourse to a dead language for terms to be adopted by the learned of different nations are obvious". (I must refer you to the fascinating essay(s) by Hank Heatly, Linnæus, Son of No Man! or, this one. They both helped me understand.)

Ever since, all over the world, clouds have been named by Luke. Cumulus (Latin for 'heap'), Stratus ('layer'), Cirrus ('curl') and Nimbus ('rain'), or some combination, like cirro-cumulus, cirro-stratus, cumulo-stratus, have served us all well. But here at the Bent, despite his lasting contribution to describing the indescribable, going to the window with camera in hand will continue to be the best I can do.

Learn more: h2g2 | The Cloudman | Luke's drawings | The Weather Dr. |

Celebrating youth at 86

Clark Terry was carefully pushed through the crowd to the edge of the Jazz Alley stage in a wheelchair. From there he was helped, step by cautious step, to his stool at center stage. The audience cheered him as he climbed up, and settled in. He looked up, the crowd went quiet, and with a grin he said, "old age sucks."

We all laughed, relieved of our concern, charmed by the indomitable spirit of the man who has been climbing onto bandstands for more than 60 years, sharing them with the likes of Count Basie, Duke Ellington, and Oscar Peterson, and influencing great players like Miles Davis and Quincy Jones, and so many more along the way.

He's been knighted in Germany, named to the French Order of Arts and Letters, recognized with a National Endowment of the Arts Jazz Master fellowship, received fifteen honorary doctorates, and was the first black musician at NBC leading to 10 years as a spot light musician in Johnny Carson's Tonight Show. The story goes on and on, just like Terry (I mean that in the most respectful way.)

He possesses an invaluable historic perspective on jazz, its culture, and its characters, and he shares it freely, like when he reminisced last December about Thelonious Monk at a Jazz Museum in Harlem speaker series. When NPR's Jacki Lynden asked how he kept going, he responded, "It's young people, they keep you honest, they're gonna ask you questions. You better have some answers." After the interview, he took the stage with young lion Roy Hargrove, a half-century his junior.

Today is Mr. Terry's 86th birthday, and thanks to him I'm quite convinced that old age can swing. Happy Birthday man! We'll see you at Jazz Alley in January.

More: Clark Terry | St. Louis Walk of Fame | 07 April 05 pictures - Jazz Alley

Red-eyed Canaries

These little "spear-bearers" - Aechmophorus occidentalis, from the Ancient Greek words aichme (spear) and phoros (one who bears something around) and the Latin occidentalis (western) - are commonly known as Western Grebes. Yes, they've got red eyes, but no, they aren't even distantly related to canaries. (Remarkably, two independent research teams found grebes to be the closest living relative to the flamingo. But that's another story.)

But just as canaries nodding out in their little cages alerted miners when there was too much carbon monoxide in their confined space, the Western Grebe, through its declining numbers, is telling us something is wrong with our ecology.

Since 1979, according to Puget Sound Action Team, 14 of 18 marine bird species have experienced 56% to 95% decline, and the total number of marine birds have dropped almost by half. Just check out filmmaker Kevin Probasco's documentary, Losing our Wings (25:07 requires realPlayer) which explores the decline through the work of Terry Wahl and Dr. John Bower, two of the regions foremost marine bird scientists.

I saw these two amongst a "water dance" of a hundred or so grebes (slight digression - see An "exaltation" of larks) near Pier 70 on the Belltown waterfront. I've become accustomed to seeing them every winter when they move from western* freshwater lakes to our coastal waters. Dave McBee, who was in the region long before the Bent,  recalls in Get Lost Magazine when tens of thousands would winter over in the region. But not anymore. Oddly enough, the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources isn't too concerned, rating Aechmophorus occidentalis at Lower Risk/least concern on their Red List of Threatened Species™

The British mine industry stopped using canaries in 1979, only when technology made them redundant (that's nice). As recently as 2003, pigeons were used in Kuwait to warn of chemical or biological attack. The U.S. Marine Corp., apparently, put as much trust in the $60 bird (food and cage included) as in their $12,000 high-tech sensors.

We should pay as much attention, and put as much trust in our spear-bearing "red-eyed canaries".

Learn more: Bird Web | Cornell Lab of Orinthology | Puget Sound Nearshore Project

* Western means western, but these guys have occurred as far into the middle as Lake County, IL!