A photo of the STEVE I saw last night. If you are reading this as an email, click the post title to see the image.
You have to chase the beautiful things sometimes. Be in the right place, have a bit of luck, being open to a bit of surprise.
On Sunday I was really sick with some kind of blow-through flu/cold that laid me out all weekend. But I managed to drag myself out of bed later in the day and get a walk in. One of my favourite walks on my home island takes me down a little road below my house that hugs the north shore of Mannion Bay above the waterfront houses and then leads into Miller’s Landing, where you can choose a couple of options for places to sit and look at the sea. For me, it was Miller’s Landing beach, which was deeply exposed for the super low tides we get at this time of year. When I got down to the little bench above the beach there was a family of four standing at the railing looking out to the water. I recognized the look of people who had just seen whales.
There’s a special stance that happens when whales appear near enough that you can hear them breathe. I always find myself standing up quickly, at attention, with a shiver down my spine, because there are very few sounds in my life as profoundly moving as the breath of a whale. I asked them if they were seeing whales and they said that a pod of 5 or 6 orcas had just passed by a few minutes before. They had rounded the point and were now out of sight. I congratulated them on their luck and secretly wept a little inside that I had just missed them.
However, last night I had a chance at the only other thing that makes me shiver like that. There has been a massive series of geomagnetic storms rocking the earth’s atmosphere over the past few days and that means we get a chance to see auroras. Even though at this time of year we don’t actually get a completely dark sky, if the auroras are bright enough, they still show up in June, and they never fail to make me stand in profound awe.
I went out to my favourite spot with a view looking straight northward up Átl’ka7tsem/Howe Sound. Last night there were auroras, but they were fairly diffuse; a quiet green glow arcing across the head of our inlet far off to the north. Still beautiful, though. I watched them for a while wondering if it would dark enough to see any structure or movement. I was fixated on the diffuse glow, and the sounds of sea lions splashing in the dark sea below me. Nothing else was happening and so I lifted my gaze to see if I could see some planets, just in time to see a STEVE stretching across the sky. And I got that same feeling – stood at attention, chills running down my spine, watching a ribbon of super hot ions for 10 minutes stretch across the upper atmosphere hundreds of kilometres above my head.
STEVE is a phenomenon that accompanies geomagnetic storms, but is not the same as an aurora. As Aurorasaurus.com puts it, “if the ambient aurora was a symphony, STEVE would crash in with an electric guitar riff.”
STEVE has only recently been identified and scientists still don’t know exactly what they are, but it’s possible you’ve seen them. They stretch from east to west across the sky, further south than the aurora typically does. It’s not obvious what they are when you see them. The one I saw last night stretched right over my head at 49 degrees north, while the aurora appeared far away over the northern horizon. This is the second time I have positively seen a STEVE, the first time being probably 2017 or 2018 when I stepped out onto a friends deck during a party and saw what looked like a narrow concentrated band of the aurora overhead stretching away to the west. It didn’t make sense that there was no other aural activity so I thought it might be just a high cloud or a contrail illuminated by the moon and perhaps the lingering twilight. But then it began to dance and twist like the aurora. My friends at first didn’t believe me when I told them it was up there, but they were soon convinced and a whole party of people that had been dancing and carrying on stopped and grew silent at the appearance of this strange river of light flowing above us into the western sky.
I love those moments of awe. I never get used to seeing whales and auroras. And STEVE.
It’s late April on the coast. Huge flocks of geese are finding their way north making a beeline from their stopping grounds in the Fraser River estuary and heading straight over our island as they follow the inlets and mountains on their journey to Alaska. The sea lions are still out there barking and normally their presence would be a sure sign of spring as they come in with the herring, dragging all the mammal eating killer whales with them. But this year has been weird and we’ve had a herd (pride? flotilla? complaint?) of sea lions in Mannion Bay since November. Several docks have orange storm fencing around them so the lions won’t take refuge on the floats, but a couple of absentee dock owners don’t and so these amazing creatures encamp on the floats down below our house and bark 23 hours a day.
The only thing that frightens them off is a killer whale and the news came this week that 79 of them have been spotted in the Salish Sea this month, including a new baby for J-Pod, the group of orcas that are resident to the souther Gulf Islands. A grey whale has been hanging around English Bay and the humpbacks will soon be back. The abundance of Átl’ka7tsem/Howe Sound, a combination of local recovery and globally warming waters, continues unabated.
This is a brief touch home, to try to get some crops in the garden, do a little maintenance work with clients and finish up some writing. My son and I were in England earlier in the month on a long awaited father/so soccer trip, and we had an epic time. We got to see our beloved Spurs in a rare patch of good form beat Southampton 3-1 and then draw Eintracht Frankfurt 1-1 in the Europa League quarter final. We also caught games at Watford, Charlton Athletic and Notts County before ending our trip as the guest of a friend at the Etihad in Manchester for an epic 5-2 victory for ManCity against Crystal Palace.
Getting to spend time with my 24 year old son is a gift and this is the longest we have spent together ever, just the two of us. I was able to take him around the places I lived in Herts as a kid, and we met some cousins and visited museums in-between football matches and early morning drives across the Pennines.
Soccer continued unabated, as we went to the inaugural match of the Northern Super League this past week, contested between the Vancouver Rise and the Calgary Wild. A couple of former TSS Rovers were in the squads for both teams, keeper Kirstin Tynan for Vancouver and defender Tilly James for Calgary. Our TSS Rovers women and men played on Friday night in a couple of disappointing losses to Langley United in League 1 BC, which is the second tier of Canadian soccer. Lots of soccer in my life these.
This has been a year of travel., so coming home to familiar things for a few moments is nice. A long awaited holiday in Italy awaits so I am savouring the coastal springtime as much as I can.
The door of our local pharmacy, a couple of days after the COVID-19 health emergency was declared in March 2020.
Journal entries from March 12 and 13, 2020, remembering the first days of lock down and the day that the world changed. I started keeping a decisions journal to track the things I was doing and why. Here are the first two days of entries.
March 12, 2020 Newxlelexwm Bowen Island.
Cancellations. Of everything.
First coaching call with a client about how to bring their events online. Systems awareness helps us to bring our capacities on line.
Me. Feeling generally well. Slight dry cough, small sniffle. I am acting now as if I have COVID-19 and trying to be publically minded.
World is a swirling system of ephemeral attractors. Nothing has deepened yet. Seems like the potential is very open. Hoping it stays that way for a while.
March 13, 2020 Nexwlelexwm Bowen Island
Scenario planning helped me get ahead of travel decisions informed by reliable information with weak signals, incorporating all that into plausible decision making.
Dr. Hayley Wickenheiser: “control what you can, let go of what you can’t.”
Pattern entrainment: noticed that I kind of treated this like a storm – it will pass; do I just ride it out? Watching friends abroad thinking this way. But clinging to the possibility that things might shift in good ways.
Imposing constraints: acting as if you have it, changes behaviours. Found that way to make me more publically-minded.
There is grief. Small losses of timelines we have to let go of. There will be more grief coming.
Watching the application of constraints. Adopt good heuristics or external constraints with force action.
Adaptive action is a “choose your own adventure.”
Think broadly. Don’t do things that might require a hospital visit.
Symptoms chart is useful for monitoring self.
Seriousness from stories of sports leagues being cancelled.
Flattening the curve becomes the key way to think about it – wait as long as you can to get sick. Avoid crowds, wash hands, social distance.
Today – beauty – Italians singing, poems.
A participant from a 2018 complexity workshop I ran in The Hague, reflecting on an experience.
From a piece in The Walrus by Troy Jollimore, a philosophy professor, on his evolving relationship to students, AI and education:
The use of AI already seems so natural to so many of them, so much an inevitability and an accepted feature of the educational landscape, that any prohibition strikes them as nonsensical. Don’t we instructors understand that today’s students will be able, will indeed be expected, to use AI when they enter the workforce? Writing is no longer something people will have to do in order to get a job.
Or so, at any rate, a number of them have told me. Which is why, they argue, forcing them to write in college makes no sense. That mystified look does not vanish—indeed, it sometimes intensifies—when I respond by saying: Look, even if that were true, you have to understand that I don’t equate education with job training.
What do you mean? they might then ask.
And I say: I’m not really concerned with your future job. I want to prepare you for life.
It turns out that if there is anything more implausible than the idea that they might need to write as part of their jobs, it is the idea that they might have to write, or want to write, in some part of their lives other than their jobs. Or, more generally, the idea that education might be valuable not because it gets you a bigger paycheque but because, in a fundamental way, it gives you access to a more rewarding life.
Last night I was sitting with my dear friend and colleague Phil Cass and we were drinking a little bourbon and discussing our week of work together and our lives and interests. Our conversations always wander over all manner of territory. Last night, before we retired to sleep, it rested on David Foster Wallace’s well known Kenyon College commencement address called “This is Water.” it compliments Jollimore’s piece beautifully, even though it precedes it by 20 years.
If you have a half an hour, dive into these two links. In response I’m curious to know what are you thinking about? What are you writing about, even if you aren’t publishing your writing? Whose perspectives are you trying to understand?