New Year’s Resolutions? Oh, woe. And, oh no! Not I.

(First published Dec. 31, 2015, on wktvjournal.org)

I have a huge—HUGE—pathological aversion to words like “resolution” and “resolve.” This may not seem like a big deal to many, but I’m an attorney, so it somewhat limits my field of practice. I have other shortcomings, too, but they are far too plentiful to list here. Suffice it to say that I defer from resolving to do anything specific in any given, coming year.

Now, if I put away my laptop and left things here, this would be a very short story, indeed, but that seemingly simple and non-malicious act would have far-reaching ramifications. If law school taught me anything, it’s that one must consider every single last consequence an action could possibly produce. (Well, that’s what I got out of it, and my GPA reflects this.)

For example, my boss would not be happy with a mere paragraph of an article. I would get fired, and I wouldn’t have any income so I wouldn’t be able to afford rent and to feed my cats. Months later (because let’s face it, I’m a hermit), a neighbor—or maybe not a neighbor, because who knows to where I may have wandered off—would discover my tattered, lifeless body (face down), shredded to bits by those two back-stabbing felines, because we ran out of food and the ingrates were too lazy to go out and catch their own. The fate of my boys would likely remain a mystery, but my guess is that they would be initiated into a feral cat colony where they would live out their nine lives in the company of similarly ungrateful felines.

In the interest of conserving space, I have skipped a few steps in this scenario. When you think about it, we are all but a step away from a horrific disaster, but that has nothing to do with the subject of this story.

The evolution of resolutions

I now divert your attention to the tale of Sam, Christy and Nigel, each of whom New Year’s Resolutions have affected in a very big way. There is at least one lesson to be learned here. As an incentive, I leave it to you to figure that out.

Every year, Sam gains at least 20 pounds porking out at Thanksgiving and Christmas parties because he lacks self control and simply enjoys eating. (Shhh. If you listen really, really hard, you can almost hear him smacking his gelatinous lips. Wait! Is that a grunt I hear?) Sam has many, many friends, thus many, many visits, which results in eating many, many meals. But Sam has absolutely no personality, so I am baffled as to how he manages to get invited to so many places year after year.

Then, there’s Christy. Each year on January 1, this spry gal pours the pennies out of her 10-gallon penny jar, drives to her favorite tattoo parlor, and gets a fabulous new tat. She’s only 30, but Christy loves BIG tattoos, so she’s running low on real estate. Plus, her mom is really mad at her and has threatened to evict her from the basement for months now. 

Nigel? Well, Nigel just can’t stop chirping.

One of these individuals feels guilty, but not for any obvious reason. One is pretty darn pleased with herself. And one is a cricket and should have nothing to do with this story, but he is here to prove a point.

Of the three, Sam is the most likely to make some sort of resolution. In his defense (or by way of explanation—take your pick) he no longer fits into his designer suits, which he bought before the Great Recession, and he can’t afford to buy a whole new wardrobe. He’s stuck, so to speak.

Christy will save up more pennies and after saving and contemplating and designing another tattoo, she will blissfully go out and get inked again.

Nigel will get eaten by a wolf spider.

The resolutions: January 1

Sam vows to eat less. He’s a Type A personality, so he doesn’t stop there. He makes another resolution: He vows to lose weight. As with food, he just can’t control himself because—poof!—now there’s a third resolution: He vows to lose 20 pounds. Wait. He isn’t Type A at all. The truth is that he feels obliged to make three resolutions because that’s the tradition in his family and Sam is a follower. He can’t bring himself to break tradition, and he is too oblivious to realize that he could resolve to break tradition and thus change the course of his life’s trajectory in a very big way. Alas.

Christy doesn’t think she needs to make any resolution at all. She’s pretty happy with how things stand: Free place to stay, cool ink. But everybody else is making resolutions, and so she succumbs to peer pressure. She resolves to save money to get another tat. Perfectly legitimate. But Christy is currently unemployed. So, she has to make another resolution: Get a job. Now, a third resolution is needed: She resolves to be nicer to her mom so that Christy doesn’t get evicted until at least after winter’s end. You see how these things can snowball out of control very quickly.

Nigel is but a dried-out husk, so he is incapable of making decisions, including resolutions. In legal terms, Nigel is incompetent. Nigel is also a decedent. Well, he’s not a person, so “decedent” isn’t entirely accurate, but you get the drift.

The wolf spider who has drained the life—and juices—out of that gallant, little cricket realizes that something must be done, so he makes a resolution: To find another cricket. As with the above individuals, the wolf spider doesn’t stop there and finds it necessary to add a second Resolution: To drain the life and juices out of that cricket. Because, let’s face it, what’s the use of finding a cricket if you don’t drain the life and juices out of it?

What’s the point of making a resolution if it doesn’t have a consequence?

• • •

Chin Up! It’s the Holidays: A Depressive’s Guide to Surviving the Ho-Ho-Ho

(First published Dec. 1, 2015, on wktvjournal.org; slightly edited here)

Does the holiday season weigh heavily upon your tender psyche? Depression get you down? Cold comfort in knowing that there are millions of people like you out there, right? No safety in numbers with this thing.

Many familiar with depression will agree: Sunny days are the worst. Yeah, sure, birds are chirping, kids are playing, and in the summer, you can hear the drone of lawnmowers in the distance. But with sunny days come obligations. You’re expected to be productive and enjoy the day. Let’s be real: Birds poop on your car, kids are loud and annoying, and freshly cut grass unleashes your hay fever. Yes, sunny days put a lot of pressure on a person.

Conversely, cold, rainy or snowy days are the best because you have a good excuse to stay in bed and cuddle up with cats sleeping by your feet. But someone has to feed them, and guess what? That someone is you. Only under threat of feline mutiny or family banishment will you venture out to the store to get cat food and holiday gifts, and that’s pure torture because the holiday season brings those awful chipper, happy people out in droves. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to bitch-slap the next beaming face.

It could be that you have a perfectly fine, supportive family. I know I do. They’re great folks. But in the throes of depression, it’s hard to see or appreciate that. And if you don’t have family or friends close by, the loneliness can be unbearable.

Depression is a many-faceted beast, and this article isn’t meant to be a cure-all. What we can offer here are some tips to help get you through the endless drudge of holiday parties, workplace gatherings and caroling, depression be damned. Twenty-five tips, one per day—think of it as a sort of depression advent calendar. If I had the energy, I’d paint a lovely picture for each day. Instead, Federico Castellon has captured the feelings of depression admirably. Learn more about the artist here.

• Keep it real. Don’t compare your holidays to those portrayed in overly cheerful greeting cards; that’s just not reality. Greeting card companies have to make money somehow, and their business model requires selling never-ending tidings of joy. But you’re smart, and you know better. Life is not a bowl of cherries. And that’s OK.
  
• Do something different. Don’t settle for being a sheep in the herd. Break out from the bahs. Who says you have to make an eight-course dinner for 15 family members? That’s the greeting card industry brainwashing you. Have Thanksgiving at a restaurant instead–yes, let someone else do the cooking. Spend Christmas day at the movies. Skip the traditional gift-giving and donate the money to a charity. Screw those greeting cards. What a bunch of hooey!
  
• Reach out to friends and family. People who care about you want to know when you’re having a tough time. Your instinct may be to isolate yourself, but resist the urge to do so. At least keep in touch by phone. A friendly, empathic voice can work wonders. (Admittedly, I have a tough time with this one, but it is highly recommended anyway.)
  
• Life isn’t perfect, and that’s OK. It’s easy to let your imagination run wild, but don’t automatically anticipate disaster. Take the holidays as they come. The greeting card industry has bestowed special powers upon some perfectly ordinary days to make a few fast bucks. It means nothing! Surely you can see through all that. (I’m not being paranoid. Am I? Wait.)
  
• Don’t sweat the small stuff. Now, here’s a cliche for you! But, guess what–it’s good advice. Don’t feel obligated to compete with that idiot down the street. You know the one: Decorations up the wazoo, holiday music blasting at all hours of the day and night. The one whose house sticks out like a sore thumb with all those stinking–er, blinking–lights. Sure, he’s crazy, but don’t let him get to you. (That’s exactly what he wants.) Instead, think of how high his electric bill will be. On another note, so what if you don’t crack open that box of St. Nicholas figurines your grandma left you in her will. Yes, you promised her you’d display them proudly each year. But, guess what? They’re nice and cozy tucked in their box down in the basement (or up in the attic), and they won’t mind waiting another year. Seriously.

• Help someone less fortunate than you. Maybe your life seems crappy, but just remember that someone always has it worse than you. That is not to discount what you’re feeling, but making a difference in someone else’s life can make you feel better about yourself. It takes your mind off its focus on you.
  
• Don’t stress over seeing Uncle Bob (or other annoying family member). Don’t want to see him (or her)? Then don’t. Just don’t go there. Why put up with the stress of seeing someone you don’t like? Life’s too short. Go to the movies instead.
  
• Ask for help. But be specific. Need help cooking or shopping? Ask a friend or family member. Tell them what sort of help you need. People aren’t mind readers, you know. We’re not that highly evolved yet.
  
• Some things are beyond your control. Do Dad and Uncle Frank always fight over who gets to carve the turkey? Remember, it’s them, not you. First things first: If you can safely take away the sharp fork and carving knife, then do so. Next, go to another room, sit down and breathe deeply. Don’t worry. They’ll work it out. They always do, right? It’s impossible to control every situation or person (nor would you want to). Your own reaction–now that’s something you can control.
  
• Create new family traditions. Maybe finding the pickle in the Christmas tree has reached its expiration date. It’s not fun anymore, is it? If you don’t enjoy the ritual, why keep doing it? ‘Tis the season to create a new one. As an example, my ex-husband and I used to celebrate LEON (NOEL, spelled backwards–we’re clever folk). Worked for us. The kids, not so much. After years of therapy, they’re fine–proof positive that kids can bounce back from just about anything. (Your healthcare insurance may provide coverage for just such an emergency. Read the fine print.)

• Celebrate the memory of loved ones. Holidays can be tough when you’re reminded of someone who isn’t around anymore, but think of it as an opportunity to celebrate them in spirit. Toast grandma. Bring her photo with you when you go out to dinner at her favorite restaurant. Prop her photo up against the salt shaker, facing you. She’ll be smiling down upon you, that’s for sure. (Well, at least from across the table.)
  
• Be picky. Don’t get overwhelmed by weeks and weeks of holiday festivities. Think about which parties you really want to attend. You don’t have to go to them all. Postscript: If you haven’t been invited to any parties, throw one for yourself and Puff. Living well is the best revenge. (Besides, who needs those people anyway?)
  
• Leave when you want. If that means stopping in for just a few minutes to say hello, then so be it. Giving yourself permission to leave at any time helps curb the anxiety.
  
• Safety in numbers. Arrange to arrive and leave with a friend, and that office party won’t seem so utterly awful. Having an ally and an escape plan can make all the difference.

• The ‘perfect gift’ is a myth. Don’t stress over finding the best gift ever. If you don’t know what to get someone, get a gift certificate. That’s what those things are for. The greeting card industry got one thing right.
  
• Shop online. One of my all-time favorite sports, shopping online is a godsend for people with depression. You don’t have to fight the crowds or waste time finding a parking spot. Best of all, you don’t have to put up with rude people and loud, smelly toddlers.
  
• Follow thy budget. Know how much you have to spend before starting to shop. And stick to it. Nothing is more depressing than overspending.
  
• Your normal routine is your best friend. Now is not the time to stay out late at parties or pull an all-nighter cooking or wrapping presents. The psyche can be a fragile thing. Remember, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Somehow that analogy fits here. I just know it.
  
• Exercise. If you’re like me, then you hate even the thought of exercising. Unfortunately, exercise is often the best way to banish anxiety or depression, at least for a while. Walk instead of driving. Take a few extra laps around the mall (assuming anxiety doesn’t prevent you from getting there). Chase the cats around your apartment. Be creative!
  
• Eat sensibly. Ha! Easier said than done, but it’s worth striving for anyway. All those holiday treats may be tempting, but overloading on sugar won’t help your mood, and you’ll only hate yourself more if you pack on the pounds. Having said that, don’t beat yourself up if you’ve just raided and emptied the cookie jar. Just get back on track tomorrow. Or wait until Lent (assuming you’re Catholic). That’s what Lent is for.

• Holiday substances won’t lift your spirits. People over-imbibe during the holidays, but that doesn’t mean you should. Alcohol is itself a depressant and drinking too much will make you feel worse. And it may not be safe if you’re taking antidepressant meds. Just don’t go there. (If you do, certainly don’t drive.)
  
• Sun lamps are golden. Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) plagues millions of people during the shorter winter days. Consider getting a sun lamp. It could improve your mood.
  
• Don’t miss your meds. Do not miss your meds. Do NOT miss your meds. If you take antidepressant or bipolar meds–or both–don’t miss doses. Sure, it’s tempting, but that’s just another place you shouldn’t go. While you’re at it, make sure your refills are up to date, too. Now is not the time to run out.
  
• Have extra sessions with your therapist (if you see one). The holiday season is tough on people. (Now, there’s a “duh” statement, if I ever saw one. But I wrote it, and I stand by it.)
  
• Be kind to yourself. ‘Tis the season we dwell on our imperfections, mistakes, things we’re not proud of. Guess what? You’re human. Cut yourself some slack. Kindness and forgiveness goes a long way. Don’t forget to save some for yourself.

Images copyright Federico Castellón (1914-1971).

• • •

Does anybody really know what year it is? (Does anybody really care?)

(First published March 29, 2016, on wktvjournal.org)

So, there I was, just minding my own business pondering where the gray walls end and the gray skies begin, when Easter happened. I turned my head and when I looked back—poof!—people were all decked out in their Sunday finest, and there were countless clusters of chocolate bunnies and little baskets festooned with eggs and jelly beans snuggled in colorful nesting material.* More chocolate bunnies. Even more of them. Plus those peculiar curiosities called “peeps.”

Easter took me by surprise, I must admit, because I’m never prepared for it. The fault is not mine but that of full moons and equinoxes. I come from a family of Greek Orthodox people, which means “my” Easter quite likely isn’t yours. The date of Greek Orthodox Easter is determined by the Julian calendar, and it can vary wildly from one year to the next. It’s kind of cool except most other people use the Gregorian calendar. When I am asked what I’m doing for Easter, I say that I have no idea. Because I never know when it is.

(Wait. What?) OK, I’ve just been told that my Easter is scheduled for April 28th this year. But will there be any chocolate bunnies left?

A calendar by any other name

The calendar’s purpose is to keep people rooted somewhat in reality. Calendars tell us when we have to work, when to vote, when to go to church, when to celebrate a holiday, when to observe Thanksgiving and other feasts—you name it. Without calendars, surely humankind would be cast adrift, lost forever in contemplation and confusion.

Einstein really nailed it when he said that time is relative, because it seems that no one can agree on using just one method to keep track of days, weeks and months. There are many, many calendars.

Western civilians currently use the Gregorian calendar, which improved upon the Julian calendar (the source of “my” Easter), which had improved upon the Roman calendar. And then there are a multitude of different religious calendars, many of which disagree that we are even living in the year 2016.

Depending on the calendar, today is whatever day you’re reading this (Gregorian) or minus 13 days (Julian). By way of example, pretend that I’m writing this on the 12th of March (three days before the Ides). If we use the Julian calendar, I originally wrote this on the 29th of February 2016, which was a leap year day, all the better to confuse the issue.

Of moons and equinoxes and rotation

Putting together an accurate calendar is not for the faint of heart. It requires meticulous musings, knowledge of the phases of the moon and equinoxes, and the rotation of the earth. It also requires people with nothing better to do than argue over an overabundance of calculations. Key point: In the end, they must all agree. And we know how well that usually works out.

We want to control everything. It’s human nature. But despite this irrational obsession, the universe always has the final say. In the case of calendars, the earth’s rotation refuses to conform to a man-made system of measurement. Just when you think you have it under control, you find that you don’t.

Trying to tame time

Before the dawn of civilization, ancient peoples had no need for wall calendars, Siri and day planners. By monitoring the phases of the moon and observing weather patterns, these peoples knew when to plant crops, when to migrate, when to harvest crops, etc.

Enter the Romans, who demanded predictability. Mental illness—obsessive-compulsive disorder and narcissistic personality disorder, specifically—influenced the matter, and politics played a huge role as well. Some would argue that politics and mental illness are mutually exclusive, but this matters not because of at least one immutable fact: Credit for the invention of the original Roman calendar goes to Romulus, the first king of Rome, at around 753 BCE (Before Common Era). Scholars think it may have been a lunar calendar, but it was so fraught with flaws that this remains uncertain.

The Roman calendar began the year with a month that could be construed as a call to action—March (Martius). The calendar consisted of 10 months, with six months of 30 days and four months of 31 days. The winter season was not assigned to any month, so the calendar year only lasted 304 days with 61 days unaccounted for in the winter. Basically, winter was ignored.

I’m not a fan of winter and
would prefer to ignore it, too

But if everybody did that, many, many retail and online stores would go out of business. The economy would take a dive. More people would plunge into poverty. Besides, it seems a bit extreme. Animals in the wild don’t ignore winter, they hibernate. As they sleep they are blissfully unaware, but winter exists nonetheless. Wild creatures don’t use calendars, and they’ve gotten by just fine over the centuries.

Predictably, the earth’s rotation would not cooperate and, as expected, the 304-day Roman calendar didn’t work for long because it didn’t align with the seasons. King Numa Pompilius—and, seriously, who burdens a kid with a name like that?—reformed the calendar around 700 BCE by adding the months of January (Ianuarius) and February (Februarius) to the original 10 months. This increased the year’s length to 354 or 355 days.

Despite their efforts, the average Roman citizen often did not know the date, particularly if he or she was some distance from the city. For these reasons, the last years of the pre-Julian calendar were later known as “years of confusion.”

The Julian calendar. The Gregorian calendar. And the colossal confusion called “Easter.”

Julius Caesar (yes, he of the Ides of March) introduced the Julian calendar in 46 BCE, and it took effect in 45 BCE, shortly after Rome conquered Egypt. With the addition of January and February, some of the months’ names no longer “agreed” with their position in the calendar (September-December). In 44 BCE, the month Quintilis was renamed July in honor of Julius Caesar and in 8 BCE, Sextilis was renamed August in honor of Augustus (the other Caesar).

The Julian calendar proved rather hardy and served humankind in good stead until 1582, when Pope Gregory XIII promulgated the Gregorian calendar, because naming a calendar after oneself is irresistible, if not grandiose. Today, the Gregorian calendar is the most widely used civil calendar throughout the world.

Why did all of this happen? Blame it on Easter. Wait. That’s not entirely fair. It’s better to blame it on the pope, who wanted to bring the date for celebrating Easter closer to the time of year in which it was celebrated by the early Church. Because Easter was tied to the spring equinox, the steady drift in its date by the year being slightly too long drove the poor pontiff to distraction. With no treatment available for obsessive-compulsive disorder, he did the next best thing. He changed the calendar.

The (formerly) blissful equinox.

There’s always been quite the brouhaha over the relationship between the equinox and Easter, and it will be easier to understand the conundrum if you think of the equinox as a thing with feelings. Imagine, if you will, the equinox, before humankind existed. Close your eyes. Can you see it? Right over there, smiling in its ignorance, living in peace, perhaps even unaware of its own existence, but in a state of bliss nonetheless.

So, there’s the blissful equinox, just minding its own business when humans appear on the map. These peoples make up stories about Easter. Eager to harness something—anything—people tie Easter to the spring equinox. This seemingly harmless—and certainly thoughtless—act has far-reaching consequences. No longer does the equinox exist unfettered, and it is not amused.

Yet even this did not satisfy humankind. Over time, the date kept “drifting,” so the Roman Catholic Church promulgated a fateful rule—the full moon preceding Easter would not precede the equinox. Ever. Thanks to this rule, the equinox now remains fixed at March 21 for computational purposes, and the earliest date for Easter is fixed at March 22.

To further compensate for the drift, the Gregorian calendar also removed 10 days. If you lived back in 1582, you went to bed one night and woke up 10 days later. There is much more to all of this, but alas, space in this context—according to my editor—is finite.

As expected, the equinox resented—heck, still does—being stuck in place, forever. But the equinox was not the only thing to suffer—people suffered, too. We’re talking about 10 perfectly good days—poof!—just gone.

Things still aren’t perfect.

So, here we are, in the year 2016, accustomed to a 365-day year and a leap year of 366 days. We have scheduled the leap year day, February 29, to occur every four years to help synchronize the calendar year with the solar year (the length of time it takes the earth to complete its orbit about the sun), which is about 365¼ days. It sounds so cold and calculated because it is.

The length of the solar year is slightly less than 365¼ days—by about 11 minutes—and this cannot go unpunished, so we “compensate” for this discrepancy. Until the advent of the next calendar—whenever that may be—the leap year is omitted three times every four hundred years. What this means is that a century year cannot be a leap year unless it is divisible by 400. Thus 1700, 1800, and 1900 were not leap years, but 1600 and 2000 were—and 2400 will be—leap years.

Ha! Surely you see the quandary. The universe will not be outfoxed.

*Where does nesting material go to live when Easter is all said and done?

• • •

How one man ruined America* and left us with millions of worms in his wake

(First published July 16, 2016, on wktvjournal.org)

*Or at least part of America, including Michigan.

Originally introduced to the U.S. as a possible alternative to the finicky silkworm (which favors only mulberry leaves), the hardy gypsy moth has a voracious appetite for oak trees as well as several species of trees of shrubs, including (in alphabetical order): apple, aspen, basswood, birch, hawthorns, poplar, speckled alder (not to be confused with pickled herring), sweet gum and willow, to name a few. Older larvae feed on Atlantic white cypress, cottonwood, hemlock, pine and spruce. All told, these things will eat more than 300 different species of trees.

Before getting too far into the meat of the matter — which is, admittedly, overwhelming — there are some things we can do, and I won’t leave you high and dry. You’ll find tips at the end of this essay.

A single gypsy moth caterpillar can consume 11 square feet of vegetation during its lifetime; the presence of millions of caterpillars can defoliate 13 million acres of trees in the United States in just one season.

Normally, nature’s creatures keep each other in check. So, what accounts for the millions of trees that are decimated each year by gypsy moth larvae? As with most unnatural disasters, this one arose out of human greed and error — a failed attempt to cultivate a silk industry in America. We should know better.

Here, then, is the sordid tale of an enterprise gone very, very wrong.

Picture, if you will, a Frenchman in the mid-1800s.

A man with a moustache. A man with an entrepreneurial spirit. A man who saw an opportunity and without an iota of thought for the future, just went for it.

That man was Étienne Léopold Trouvelot, an artist and astronomer who showed real talent in those fields. Some examples of his work are shown here (also scroll down).

Originally from Aisne, France, Trouvelot and his family were forced to flee Louis Napoleon’s coup d’état in 1852. They settled in Medford, Massachusetts at 27 Myrtle St., where our proud, little breadwinner supported himself and his family as an artist and astronomer, painting lovely pictures of the planets as he saw them. We can only assume his renderings were the result of a creative eye and not mind-altering substances.

A pause here to reflect: I personally know dozens of artists who would kill to have the opportunity to make a living with their art. But it just wasn’t enough for Trouvelot.

No, sirree.

Indeed, one day, during one of his random, no doubt fitful, musings, the Frenchman decided, “Eureka! I shall study Entomology!” (from Greek ἔντομον, entomon “insect”; and -λογία, -logia)—the scientific study of insects, a branch of zoology.

Only he likely decided this in French.

And on that fateful day, life as all future inhabitants of the northeastern and Midwestern US of A would come to know it, was forever altered.

Actually, this should come as no surprise. Trouvelot’s interest coincided with a nineteenth-century fad—raising silkworms to become rich beyond belief. After all, silk had been a symbol of great wealth for centuries.

Several kinds of wild silk, which are produced by caterpillars other than the mulberry silkworm, have been known and used in China, South Asia, and Europe since ancient times. First developed in ancient China, the earliest example of silk fabric dates from 3630 BC.

At its zenith, the silk trade reached as far as the Indian subcontinent, the Middle East, Europe and North Africa. So extensive was this trade that the major routes between Europe and Asia came to be known as the Silk Road.

In ancient times, silk from China was an incredibly profitable and desirable luxury item. People from Persia and many other civilizations benefited mightily from its trade.

Fast-forward to the mid-1860s, in Medford, Massachusetts…

…where our anti-hero, Trouvelot, had became utterly fixated on the biology and culture of worms — silkworms, specifically — because what man in his right mind would ignore an opportunity to become richer than his wildest dreams?

To his credit, Trouvelot was meticulous with his research comparing the qualities of silk produced by a variety of native North American silkworms. After a time, he  concluded that Antheraea Polyphemus (NOT a gypsy moth) showed the greatest possibilities for commercial silk production. This species occurs throughout the United States and southern Canada, feeds on several hardwood species, and is reported to produce a very high-quality silk.

All fine and dandy. But our guy was obsessed. For eight years, from 1860 until at least 1868, Trouvelot developed techniques for mass rearing A. Polyphemus. Seriously, I can think of so many other, vastly more interesting things to pursue for one year, let alone eight.

Experiments rearing larvae on cut foliage were “meh” at best; these things preferred living saplings. At the peak of his operation, our guy had more than a million larvae under culture in a five-acre wooded area behind his house. I can’t begin to imagine how he managed to cover the entire area with nets, but that he did, to discourage birds from feeding upon his little darlings.

“The first year I found only two caterpillars.”

Not content to limit his experiments to species native to North America, in the late 1860s, Trouvelot brought home a shipment of live gypsy moth eggs upon his return from a trip to Europe. His plan was to crossbreed gypsy moths with a silk-producing North American species to develop a strain resistant to the protozoan disease, Nosema bombycis, which had decimated the silk industry in much of Europe.

He soon learned that the species were incompatible for breeding. Nonetheless, he kept a few gypsy moths in a room in his house. As souvenirs, perhaps?

Who can say?

And he continued researching. He fed his caterpillars. He nurtured them. He raised them as his very own. And he watched in awe as they cycled through the egg/larvae/pupae/ moth stages. These little buggers ate anything. And, they produced silk, dammit!

Then, Mr. Trouvelot had the unmitigated gall to write about it.

“In 1860, after having tested the qualities of the cocoons of the different species of the American silk worms,” he wrote, “I endeavored to accumulate a large number of the cocoons of the Polyphemus moth, for the future propagation of this species. At first the undertaking seemed very simple; but who will ever know the difficulties, the hardships and discouragements which I encountered.”

Poor Trouvelot! One could almost feel sorry for him. The first year, he found just two insects, one half dead and the other still in its cocoon, refusing to emerge.

“Imagine my anxiety; it was a year lost,” lamented Trouvelot in his journal.

Indeed. But our anti-hero was tenacious if nothing else, and he wasn’t about to let the little matter of the absence of insects to derail his mission. And so, the second year, he found a dozen worms and studied them further to learn more about their habits. His patience was rewarded.

“It is astonishing how rapidly the larva grows, and one who has no experience in the matter could hardly believe what an amount of food is devoured by these little creatures.”

“A pair of these insects came out of the cocoon at the proper time, and I obtained from their union three hundred fecundated eggs,” he crowed.

This went on for a few more years, as our dear Frenchman became expert in cultivating his little pretties. He describes his efforts in detail in his treatise, The American Silk Worm.

About the gypsy moth, he made this astute observation:

“What a destruction of leaves this single species of insect could make if only a one-hundredth part of the eggs laid came to maturity! A few years would be sufficient for the propagation of a number large enough to devour all the leaves of our forests.”

Really?

As Murphy’s Law is wont to dictate, in 1868 or 1869, several of Trouvelot’s gypsy moths — not content within the confines of four walls and probably feeling neglected (really, who could blame them?) — escaped the room in which he kept them. It is written that he was quite upset about the incident and it is thought that he “publicly” announced it, having become “all too aware” of the danger of a species like this run amok.

Soon after his experiment, Trouvelot gave up on the worms, returned to art and astronomy and by 1882, had gone back to France. Shortly thereafter, his old neighborhood suffered an enormous gypsy moth infestation. Residents were at first intrigued, but that was short-lived.

And just as Mr. Trouvelot had postulated, the gypsy moth became one of the most destructive pests of trees and shrubs to ever be introduced into the United States. Since 1970, gypsy moths have defoliated more than 75 million acres in the United States.

So, here we are, more than 100 years later, still dealing with this foppish mess.

It’s now up to us to help prevent the further spread of this destructive pest, and this includes inspecting and removing gypsy moth egg masses from household goods before moving from an infested to a non-infested area.

These creatures have absolutely no redeeming qualities, especially at the pupae stage.

And these things are everywhere, from the undercarriages of campers and cars to mailboxes, to the siding of houses and the surfaces of rocks. Even innocent garden gnomes and picnic tables. You name it, and they are likely to be there.

On the plus side, they’re not fond of American holly, American sycamore, ash trees, balsam fir, black walnut, butternut, catalpa, cedar, cucumber trees, flowering dogwood, mountain laurel, rhododendron shrubs and tulip-trees, so be sure to plant plenty of these, BUT the worms will make an exception when densities are very high.

Is all hope lost? Well, maybe a goodly portion of hope is forever gone, but I offer you here, at no extra charge, a handy-dandy little guide:

Gypsy Moths, in a nutshell

Gypsy Moth (Lymantria dispar)

Established in Michigan (unfortunately)

First, is it a Gypsy moth? These are the telltale signs:

• The nasty little caterpillars emerge from tan, fuzzy egg masses in April and feed on leaves through late June
  
• Caterpillars are hairy, with a yellow and black head and 5 pairs of blue spots, followed by 6 pairs of red spots. They fancy themselves fashionable; they are not.
  
• Mature caterpillars are 1.5 to 2 inches in length. They start out tiny and molt several times. Each time they molt, their appetite increases exponentially.
  
• Leaf debris and small, round frass (i.e., insect larvae excrement) found under trees are indications of gypsy moth infestation. Apparently the mention of “excrement” is off-putting to civilians, so “frass” it is.
  
• Male moths’ wings have a wavy pattern of brown to dark brown and span 1.5 inches.
  
• Female moths are larger than males and do not fly. Wings are white to cream with wavy black markings
  
• These guys do not pitch tents. Thank goodness for small favors. That is the domain of the tent caterpillar, an altogether different pest.

Habitat:

• Gypsy moths most often feed on the leaves of oak and aspen but can also be found on hundreds of other plant species.

Native Range:

• Europe and Asia

U.S. Distribution:

• Northeastern U.S. west to Minnesota

Local Concern:

• Gypsy moth caterpillars defoliate trees, leaving trees vulnerable to diseases and other pests, which may lead to tree mortality.
  
• During large outbreaks, debris and frass (again, excrement) from feeding caterpillars can be disruptive to outdoor activities. Those strange messes you’ve seen on picnic tables and had no clue as to what they were? Now you know.

Pathways of Spread:

• Though female moths do not fly, small caterpillars can be blown by the wind to other trees.
  
• Gypsy moth egg masses and pupae can be unknowingly transported on firewood, vehicles and recreational gear.

Short distance dispersal of this species happens by way of “ballooning”—where caterpillars are windblown and dispersed (think: hot air ballooning). Humans unwittingly transport egg-laden materials as females will lay their egg masses anywhere, including on man-made objects such as vehicles.

• • •

Building Inspections: Government Meddling
or For Our Own Good?

(First published Dec. 23, 2015, on wktvjournal.org.)

Ever wonder why building inspectors are so darn picky? Think building codes are just plain pesky? Common mindsets, to be certain, but rest assured, it’s nothing personal—there are valid reasons why houses, commercial buildings and entire cities must adhere to strict building, safety and fire codes.

Why should I give a @#$! about building codes?

First, watch your language. Second, there are several reasons why you should give a @#$!. Here are just four:

• For the safety of you, your family and your guests
  
• To reduce potential spread of fire and disease and thus, ensure the economic health of the community
  
• To conserve energy
  
• To assure future home purchasers that the home they buy will be safe

We’re all in this together: Whether in our homes, stores, schools, offices, factories or places of entertainment, we rely on the safety of structures that surround us in our everyday life. General deterioration, fire and structure collapse are all potential disasters that modern codes try to prevent.

So, what is a building code?

Practically, it is the government’s official statement on building safety. Technically, it is a collection of minimum safety standards arranged in a systematic manner (codified) for easy reference. It includes all aspects of building construction—mechanical, electrical, structural, fire and plumbing. Source.

In addition, the modern building code is legally binding and—believe it or not—part of the same legal system that protects our constitutional rights.

Every year, new hazards are discovered, or an invention or process is found to prevent a hazard, so building codes are constantly changing. Even if a building complies with the code one year, it may not comply the next. They may be the same from one year to the next, or certain requirements may be intensified or removed completely.

They’re everywhere! They’re everywhere!

Today, most of the United States is covered by a network of modern building regulations that encompass fire and structural safety, health, security and energy conservation.

Architects, engineers, contractors and others in the building community can utilize the latest technological advances these codes provide and pass on the savings to the consumer. Well, in an ideal world, anyway.

For codes to be effective, everybody has to work together—homeowners, developers, urban planners and designers, and others in the construction industry. Codes correlate with the government’s need to protect the public and also keep pace with rapidly changing technology, without sacrificing due process.

Yeah, yeah. So, how reliable are building codes anyway?

Valid question, but there’s no need to be rude. The answer is, they are as reliable as the people who enforce them. Most aspects of building construction—electrical wiring, heating, sanitary facilities—can be hazardous to building occupants and users, and building codes act as safeguards. Although no code can eliminate every single risk, reducing risks to an ‘acceptable’ level does help.

Just think: Without building codes, this guy could have been your neighbor

Long, long ago (well, back in 1992), in a land far, far away (Arkhangelsk, Russia, specifically), a man began constructing a 13-story house. Nikolai Petrovich Sutyagin was a builder, so he was familiar with the concept of construction. How familiar is not known, but we can hazard a guess.

Enthused by a tour of wooden houses in Japan and Norway, the eager entrepreneur couldn’t wait to build the world’s tallest house—and, by god, it would be wood! So what if he had no formal plans or a building permit. He was a builder, dammit!

Driven to inspiration by his formative years spent in a Soviet communal flat, Sutyagin felt lonely living by himself. As you read this story, you will realize that it made absolutely no sense for him to feel that way.

Regardless, building began in 1992 and was only supposed to reach two stories high (taller than those of his neighbors to flaunt his position as the city’s richest man), but then he noticed that he had not used enough roof space efficiently and decided to keep building. Source.

During a 2007 interview with Adrian Blomfield of U.K.’s The Telegraph, Mr. Sutyagin explained, “First I added three floors but then the house looked ungainly, like a mushroom. So I added another and it still didn’t look right so I kept going. What you see today is a happy accident.” Source.

Happy accident, indeed.

Neighbors considered the building, variously, a:

1. monstrosity

2. glorified barn

3. fire hazard, and

4. an eyesore.

All valid assessments, but we’re not here to judge.

In 1998, Mr. Sutyagin was sentenced to four years in prison, his third jail stint, on racketeering charges. He says he was set up. Source. Well, maybe he was. Again, we’re not here to judge, nor can we afford the room for a commentary on criminal law (RICO, specifically).

What’s important to note is that while Mr. Sutyagin was languishing in prison, his magnificent structure fell into disrepair.

Perhaps the house could have accommodated the 18 executives of his own construction company, but the unfortunate builder ended up living with his wife in four poorly heated rooms at the bottom of his structure. Which begs the question: if he was married, why was he so lonely? Limited space prevents a thorough exploration of the psychology of this endeavor.

In 2008, Mr. Sutyagin’s amazing, yet unappreciated house was condemned by the city as a fire hazard. I, too, was surprised to learn that the small town of Arkhangelsk, Russia could be so picky.

After a legal battle, the courts ordered the world’s tallest wooden house to be fully demolished by February 1, 2009. On December 26, 2008, the tower was pulled down. The remainder was dismantled manually during the next several months. The remaining four-story structure burned to the ground on May 6, 2012. Source.

Building codes are nothing new

As far back as 1772 BC, the Code of Hammurabi provided harsh punishments for construction failures. What’s so notable here was the accountability placed on the code violator:

229. If a builder build a house for some one [sic], and does not construct it properly, and the house which he built fall in and kill its owner, then that builder shall be put to death. [Emphasis mine.]

230. If it ruin goods, he shall make compensation for all that has been ruined, and inasmuch as he did not construct properly this house which he built and it fell, he shall re-erect the house from his own means. [Emphasis mine.]

233. If a builder build a house for some one, even though he has not yet completed it; if then the walls seem toppling, the builder must make the walls solid from his own means.

Even the Bible contains building codes. Deuteronomy 22:8 stipulates that parapets (i.e., low protective walls along the edge of a roof, bridge or balcony) must be constructed on all houses to prevent people from falling off. Not necessarily because people are stupid (well…), but because gravity is not our friend when it comes to falling from heights.

Still not convinced we need building codes? Here are some preventable disasters that ought to change your mind.

The Great Chicago Fire: October 8-10, 1871

The Chicago Fire of 1871, a/k/a Great Chicago Fire, destroyed thousands of buildings and caused an estimated $200 million in damages. Mrs. O’Leary’s cow has gotten a bad rap over the years, but it has never been proven that she kicked over a lantern in the O’Leary barn.

Whatever the cause, the fact remains: One simply cannot build wood houses willy-nilly and too close together and expect things to be just dandy, especially in dry weather.

And so it was that in October 1871, dry weather and way too many wooden buildings, streets and sidewalks made Chicago as flammable as a tinder box and thus vulnerable to fire. Once it began, the fire quickly grew out of control and spread north and east toward the city center.

Three days later when the embers had died down, the final tally was 300 people dead and 100,000 homeless.

Amazingly, despite the fire’s devastation, much of Chicago’s transportation systems and other infrastructure remained intact. Rebuilding began quickly; architects created a modern city with the world’s first skyscrapers. In the end, the fire spawned unprecedented economic development and population growth, not to mention a plethora of new building codes.

Postscript: In 1997, the Chicago City Council passed a resolution exonerating Mrs. O’Leary, who died in 1895, and also exonerating her cow, whose name has never been revealed, at least not to my knowledge. More than a century late, but that’s bureaucracy for you.

The Iroquois Theater Fire (Chicago): December 30, 1903

The Iroquois Theater in North Chicago opened on November 23, 1903, advertising itself as “Absolutely Fireproof” on its playbills. Fate took that as a dare. Nine years later, Titanic would boast itself as unsinkable, and we all know what happened then. But we’re not here to talk about Titanic.

On December 30, 1903, about 2,000 people packed the Iroquois theater, expecting a lovely afternoon while on holiday from school or taking a respite from daily chores. During a matinée showing of the popular musical Mr. Bluebeard starring Eddie Foy, an arc light shorted out and ignited a muslin curtain. The resulting fire quickly spread to the backdrops, high above the stage, where painted canvas scenery flats hung. Source. It took only 20 minutes for the blaze to kill 602 people in the deadliest single-building fire in U.S. history.

A thorough investigation uncovered a great deal of code violations, plus some things that needed to be codified: The theater was not built to sustain fire and many of the fire exit doors in the auditorium were hidden behind curtains and not marked. Source.

Further, the metal doors of the fire exits were equipped with ‘bascule locks‘ that required using a small lever. Europeans would have known how to use them, but Americans had no clue. Most of the lobby doors were locked, and the balcony stairs were blocked by locked gates. The unfinished fire escapes of the six-story tall building prevented many people from escaping alive. Source.

After this fiasco, the fire code was changed to require theater doors to open outwards, to have exits clearly marked and fire curtains made of steel, among other requirements. Source.

Station Nightclub Fire, West Warwick, Rhode Island: February 20, 2003

This is how fast these things can happen: One minute, you’re cheering as Jack Russell’s ‘Great White’ band begins singing “Desert Moon” and the next thing you know, the nightclub erupts in flames after the band sets off illegal pyrotechnics that ignite flammable sound insulation foam in the walls and ceilings around the stage.

In the mother of all ironies, after a stampede within a Chicago bar (what is it with Chicago?) earlier in the week that killed 21 people, a TV cameraman and reporter drove to The Station to do a story about nightclub safety measures. The disaster was caught on tape. Source.

On that cold February night, it didn’t help that nightclub patrons at first thought it was all part of the act. Twenty seconds after the pyrotechnics ended, the band stopped playing and lead vocalist Jack Russell calmly remarked into the microphone, “Wow… that’s not good.”

Aside from this astute observation, there were no automatic sprinklers.

The fire moved so quickly that the club was engulfed in only 5 1/2 minutes. Fire trucks arriving on the scene 4 1/2 minutes after the fire began were already too late. Thick, toxic smoke made visibility impossible and many people died of smoke inhalation. In the mad crush to exit the building, some people were stuck half in and half out of the front doors.

When all was said and done, 100 people were killed by the heat, stampede of people toward the exits and toxic smoke. Another 230 were injured. Only 132 escaped uninjured.

After this fire, National Fire Protection Association (NFPA) enacted tough new code provisions for fire sprinklers and crowd management in nightclub-type venues. Source.

What does the future hold?

Hotel fires, factory fires in Bangladesh, nightclub fires, devastating earthquakes… there are far too many instances of preventable modern disasters. You get the idea.

The climate crisis is a game-changer. We can expect to see building codes continue to evolve as climate change becomes an increasing threat. Weather-related safety and environmental impact building codes will become stricter as storms increase in intensity, and soil, air and water quality become more of a public concern.

And, of course, the day-to-day code inspections will help keep us safe from fire, seismic activity and other disasters. Source.

It’s for our own good.