On a recent walk, Wendy and I spotted a buzzard. Or rather, we were walking along deep in conversation when somebody came over and said, “excuse me, have you noticed that buzzard over there?”
We hadn’t, and frankly, I wouldn’t have recognised it even if it came and perched on my arm.
Recently a group of us walked through the Yorkshire Wolds. One friend knew the name of every bird, and he recognised their songs from just a few notes. He could see them when I couldn’t. He knows the names of flowers and trees. I can tell an oak tree from a beech tree—but not even that with confidence. I marvel at flowers but know the names of few.
My ignorance began to weigh heavily on me as we walked. What is the point of knowing the difference between a mean, median, and mode if I don’t know the names of stars, flowers, trees, and fish? If abandoned on an island like Robinson Crusoe—or even in my own garden after a pandemic had killed everybody else—could I grow anything to eat? I fear not.
I agree with Richard that we need to live as part of nature, but my complete lack of knowledge of stars, flowers, trees, and birds doesn’t weigh heavily on me: I’m perfectly content to simply enjoy them.
This occurred to me on another occasion recently, as Wendy and I were walking under some trees, and she wondered aloud what species they were. Neither of us had a clue. On almost any other topic, I’d have later found myself searching the web, my curiosity driving me to learn a little about it. I don’t have that compulsion at all when it comes to the natural world around us: it’s completely absent.
And I think that’s okay. I think it’s legitimate and healthy to have areas of life that don’t drive me in that way. I think it’s good for my mental health to have things that I see and wondrously appreciate, rather than analysing. It’s nice to have the freedom to appreciate the shade of a tree without being nagged by an awareness that I’ve no idea whether it’s an oak or a beech tree.
Sometimes, being at peace with my ignorance is preferable to forcing self-development.
Wendy took the picture of the buzzard at the top of this post.
5: Over the last month, I’ve received 3,100 work emails.
6: I heard on the radio this morning that Romans painted eyes on their ships because they believe the gods would protect ships with eyes on them. And it made me think: was this the real reason? Will people in two millennia look back at our time and say that we printed crossed-fingers on all lottery tickets because we believed it brought luck (as opposed to it just being a brand)? There are so many things in life which start as superstition but become traditions which are completely divorced from the original beliefs.
7: The Normal People TV series was better than the book. I know people say you can’t compare the two, but I’m doing it anyway.
8: A loose lock meant that I got to peek through a crack in the door into the southwest tower of the Tyne Bridge:
9: Balancing rocks really seems to have become a trend these days. I know this makes me sound grumpy, but I’m not really a fan: there’s something that feels entitled about taking a shared area of natural landscape and putting a personal ‘project’ on it rather than leaving it how it was found.
12: When I’m asked to give talks about antimicrobial resistance, I sometimes mention the issue of incorporating antibiotics into ships’ paint to prevent the formation of a biofilm on the hull which allows barnacles to attach. This initially seems like a ridiculous use of a precious resource, but the issue is actually a bit more subtle than it first appears: barnacles create surprisingly high levels of drag, increasing fuel consumption and carbon dioxide emissions from the ship far more than you might first imagine. I was therefore delighted to learn of the invention of HullSkater, which is basically Roomba for ship hulls.
17: Solar panels in space generate more energy than those on Earth because our atmosphere reflects or absorbs over half of the solar energy reaching the planet. This topic popped into my head for no clear reason this morning, and the magic of the internet meant that clarification was only a click away. What a time we live in.
19: The OED defines “suspend” as “to debar temporarily from participation in something.” Today, I’ve seen the BBC using the construction “permanently suspended” for the first time, which seems like a significant moment of change in the use of that word.
20: Food is all about salt, fat, acid, heat… and Samin Nosrat, who is impossibly endearing.
30: Fukushima serves as a reminder of the long-term consequences of major incidents on mental health. I worry that the response to covid-19 in the UK suggests we haven’t learned that lesson.
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