bouncy ducks

I saw a few ducks walking on the melting lake today.

I thought at first, "Wait ducks! What if you fall through the thin ice??"

Then I realized that ducks can both experience the fear of falling through the ice and the joy in conquering that fall with their butts.

I waited to see if one of them would fall through the ice and into the water, only to bounce back onto their buoyant bottoms.

Unfortunately, no luck seeing this floating hilarity today. I'll try again tomorrow.

Jackie's "Wouldn't this be a Great Idea?" Series: Part One

Most of the United States has had a pretty snowy winter (if you live somewhere that hasn't, please let me know that we actually don't live in winterwonderland--I would love some warm news). Here in Albany, New York, the snow has built up into wonderfully distinct, packed strata.

Scientists already use arctic "ice cores" to study past global climates, but they have hardly tapped into the potential of snow.

Why have we not yet taken snow cores?

I honestly have no clue what you're thinking in front of the uncomfortable glare of your computer. But you might be thinking, hey Jackie, this seems silly. Don't we already know the climate of the previous winter? Couldn't we look at, say, meteorological reports and find the exact same information that we find in the cores without all the extra work?

Well, to you say to you three things:
One: Do you really trust weathermen?
Two: Where is your sense of adventure?, and
Three: Maybe you aren't quite advanced enough to understand the technical intricacies of snow-cores.

Think of the possibilities! We could report on ice storms had happened months ago-- wouldn't that be helpful in filling up twenty-four hours of weather channel coverage?

Climatologists, call me up when you want to use this genius idea-- or if you already have used it and I've been missing all the snow core action.

Days and days of accumulated ice form strata. We assume it all came from the sky, although the "snowblower" seems another likely culprit.

Look on the right side of the photograph: A fold in the strata of the ice? We can only guess what tectonic forces could be at work here. . . until one of you takes this research on as your own (and gives me the royalties)

This geologic formation has a recessed upper layer. . . could it be due to rising temperatures, or is the ice simply balding?

Jackie Tackles the Great Mysteries of the Universe: Installment #1

Why do we always want to step on frozen lakes? Do we really need to know whether it will break if we apply pressure to it? And, is this something only kids feel before they grow out of it, or do we merely suppress the desire to test ourselves against the ice when we “grow up”?

I’ve thought of this a lot recently, as I pass the nearby lake and hear the icy platform call out to me invitingly. Sometimes I heed the call and step on the very edge, just to show how badass I am.

Snowmobilers (in New York, at least) hear the call and interpret it as an invitation to their machines. Drive past the Hudson or Mohawk Rivers and you can see snowmobile tracks dissecting the icy surface, pleasure seekers testing the moving waters with their heavy machinery.

(Umm, side note: responding to these calls is probably not healthy, as snowmobilers routinely fall into the ice to an unknown fate).

Even wildlife feels pulled by the thrill—or whatever you want to call it—of stepping out onto icy layers. My apartment complex places prominent “DO NOT WALK ON ICE” signs next to our frozen lake. Behind this sign one sees webs of squirrel tracks quietly defying authority, and inviting humans to join along. I want to be those squirrels, fearless in front of mass-produced signs.

I don’t know why the ice calls to me. I think that what it comes down to, really, is that I feel like Jesus when I’m walking on water.