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The year 2017 is just under way. If I can get away with being a bit of a smart aleck, that makes the canyon six million and ONE years old. A year for each visitor that came by in 2016. Sure, not necessarily exact, yet generally that statement is the truth. How do we know this?

Radiocarbon dating tells us. For the 1997 Utah Geological Survey, Mark Milligan explained: “Nuclear decay of radioactive isotopes is a process that behaves in a clock-like fashion and thus is a useful tool for determining the absolute age of rocks. Sediments less than 50,000 years old that contain organic material can be dated based on the radioactive decay of the isotope Carbon 14.” This process works efficiently and accurately. Continue reading “Retrospective: The Real Grand Canyon “

Part 1

A spring seems like a miracle every time. In the middle of the woods, no place in particular, clear clean water bubbles gently from the ground. A magic trick. A birth. At once, from nothing, a watercourse exists, one that will not quit until it reaches the sea. Six inches wide and one inch deep, it follows the path of least resistance, flowing north down a gradual slope and across an acre of meadow. Like all springs, it has only one direction – down – and one mission –keep going. A fine philosophy. Let’s adopt it and follow along.   Continue reading “Walking the Banks”

I lie outdoors on my back, slowly surrendering consciousness to the night sky, a ritual I engage in on surprise occasions – it just shows up unannounced on my emotional radar. The temperature is perfect. I am warm in the down sleeping bag, and the slight chill on my face (the thermometer is in the fifties) is refreshing. Tonight is ideal for this. Late October has benevolently supplied a few days of Indian Summer. It will go up into the 70s during the days ahead, but because there has been a frost or two, mosquitoes are gone for the year.  Crickets, though, have yet to give up on the season. Thankfully, their loud sawing fills the night. The only sound I sleep better to is the joyful racket of the spring peepers, a blessing that can cause me to keep a window open during an April night in the forties. (This, of course, can only happen in a separate room from my cozily slumbering wife). There are a handful of leftover Katydids out here too, both insects running out of time fast, calling poignantly for companionship.  Singing (leg scraping) comes from all around me. This earth music begins in July, signaling midsummer. As it does each time, it means the slippery slope toward winter has begun, while also conveying the message to each life in the night, “This is as good as it gets – do it now!” Continue reading “Under the Hunter’s Moon”

The Art in Nature and the Nature of Art
George Jacobi 2014

Part of being a trained and observant naturalist is the ability to pick out clues from a complex and busy scene. An expert birder can determine the species from a faraway silhouette just by the body language of the flyer. A great tracker can tell you not only that a white-tailed deer has passed, but whether it was running or walking, male or female, and much more. I only wish I was that skilled. I can, though, pick up the tiny hop of a baby wood frog in the leaf litter as I walk, and I notice the flight of a hummingbird. Many eyes ignore that movement, just categorize it as an uninteresting bug or bee, and move on. Continue reading “Seeing”