I am a primatologist who spends twelve hours most days in the company of a thirteen year old chimpanzee named Bow. I am also an editor with Inverted-A Press.
Sometimes just recognizing a stage in the life cycle of an individual is hard. When I was a young woman, many mistook me for a child. Bow is at that awkward adolescent stage, but if you didn't know him, you might suppose him to be much younger or much older, depending on how he is behaving.
At times he looks like a sage. Then later he gives you an impish look that reveals he is much younger.
How old would you estimate this turtle is, that I met yesterday on my walk?
Would you have guessed over fifty years old? That's what my friend Pam says, and she is an expert. How does she know? Late Stage 3 shell growth. So this male three-toed box turtle is at least fifty years old, and could be a bit older.
Considering his age, the turtle is in good health, has a fairly undamaged shell and can move pretty fast -- for a turtle, that is.
I don't always appreciate how far along in the lifespan each individual I meet is, and how far it is from the end. Take my miniature rose bush. I planted it here about eight years ago. Last year it was thriving, blooming right along with the wild primroses. This year, when the wild roses bloomed, the miniature rose bush looked dead. There were no leaves, much less flowers. Now that the primroses have finished blooming, a small living survivor or descendant of the miniature rose is blooming. It sports a single open rose and a single bud.
What exactly happened here? Are the wild roses choking out the cultivated one? Or was that bush so old that it died? Is the newcomer bursting forth a descendant? Or is the remaining ghostly presence of the now nearly dead old bush?
Is this the hope of the future that I see, or the last glorious bloom of a dying rose?
After looking at the rose this morning, I went to see if yesterday's turtle was still in the driveway in back of the house. He wasn't, but he had been replaced by a rabbit.
How old was that rabbit? How long does it yet have to live?
I like to listen the birds chirping as I admire the wildflowers in the unmown pasture. But how old are the voices that I hear? How many young? How many elders? I can hear, but cannot see them.
The old oak in my front yard is dying. It is infested with bugs, and it has been pecked at repeatedly by woodpeckers. It still has green leaves, but the tips of its limbs are bare. There is no more growth, though it seems to be holding its own in maintaining its current size. In contrast, what used to be the smaller oak to the left of it is still growing.
Do we start to die on the inside the moment we stop growing? Or is the sign of maturity the end of outward growth and the deepening of the roots? What makes an individual an adult? What keeps us healthy, even when we have stopped getting taller? How can we avoid dying on the inside, little by little, while we are yet green on the outside?
Now that I am paying more attention to my surroundings, I am noticing that there is a season to everything, sometimes a very fleeting one, when you can see a certain flower bloom or an animal having its young, and then just as quickly it's all over. Then it becomes the season for something else.
For the past few days, it has been honeysuckle season. The sweet smell is wafting in the air. The bees know this, and so they take advantage of this opportunity to fill up. Does honey made from honeysuckle taste sweeter?
When I go out and hear bees buzzing by the honeysuckle, that's when I decide to take pictures of bees by the honeysuckle. I don't ask them to pose. I'm just an opportunistic picture snapper.
Because the bees are busy going about their own business, sometimes they don't pause long enough for me to get a good picture. Sometimes they even turn their backs on me!
The first cherry tree is also coming into season right now. If we want to pick its cherries, we have to do so soon, because we have many competitors.
For humans and chimpanzees. the seasons are a bit longer. You don't see significant changes every day, though every day is different, nonetheless.
There are changes in our behavior and our appearance, and in our day to day interactions, but the changes are more subtle.
How do I choose what to photograph? How do I choose what to write about? The answer is: whatever catches my eye. Whatever gets my attention. Whatever moves me. I have a new book coming out, scheduled for publication today. How did I choose what to write about? I think it was what was in season for me. At my time of life, at my stage of development, this is what caught my eye, captured my attention and made me think: what if a country rejected you, but you still loved it.
Yesterday, it was skink season. Well, maybe it was not skink season for you, but it was for me. Here is how it happened. I went outside, and I saw a bee buzzing around my plants. "Maybe I'll take a picture of this bee," I thought to myself. But as I approached, the bee buzzed away. Then I saw a butterfly, and I got ready to take a picture, but it was gone before I could click. Then I heard some rustling and two skinks scampered away among the stones in my garden, each to a different position on the outer wall of my house. But not so fast that I could not film them.
The first skink was bigger and had less coloration around its face. It did not stick around very long, disappearing into a crack in the gutterwork by the roof. The second skink was smaller, slimmer and had a lot of reddish coloring around its face. It stayed around much longer.
What we write about is what we see. But what we see also depends on who we are and on our stage of life. I would not have seen those two skinks a few years ago at the same time, because I might not have been alert enough to their existence, even if they were in season. It might have been skink season for everyone else, but not skink season for me.
What is in season for you today? Chances are that's what you're seeing.
A certain renowned ethologist has recently come up with a new book on the evolution of morality for a popular audience. Standing far, far away from the chimpanzees he studies, he observed them pick up his book, glance at it, and then throw it down. He even took a picture -- from a safe distance.
I also have just come up with a book for a general audience. The book is calledTheodosia and the Pirates, and though it is just fiction, it contains a lot of truth. Even some truth about morality, the evolution of morality, and how language and non-verbal communication actually work.
Much of what is in the book is what I have always believed. But there are certain contributions that Bow has made to my writing. For instance, the sequences surrounding Theodosia's pleasure cry come from my analysis of how involuntary vocalizations -- in Bow's case, those about food -- are for the benefit of others, not the individual crying out.
It is only after working with Bow that I have come to fully appreciate that intentional communication is full of lies, but unintentional non-verbal cues are the way nature provided for others to learn the truth despite the deceit of the speaker.
While all of the intellectual giants in the universities are lauding the ways in which the weak are protected in moral societies, my book deals with survival issues, and how it is that exposure to disease strengthens populations, while being sheltered from disease weakens.
I am not a Biblical moralist, but I do think that we can see the evolutionary reason why in the ten commandments there is a provision for honoring one's father and mother, but no provision for taking care of babies and the young.
Not only has Bow helped me to understand many of these issues of emerging morality, I share my discoveries with him by reading what I have written aloud.
Bow can be a harsh critic at times. But I do not shelter myself from his criticism. If he disagrees with a position I have taken, he can tell me to my face.
Watch his eyes as I read the book. Who do you think he favors as the better philosopher: Aristotle or Benjamin Franklin?
I am getting ready to publish a new book. The artwork is ready and the cover is set, but I am still doing some last minute proofing of the interior. As always, Bow is eager to help.
When he sees me holding a pen and marking errors, Bow wants to join in. I only let him mark the title and "Other Books by Aya Katz" pages with his corrections, though, because I don't always agree with him about what needs to be corrected. He's a bit pickier than me and finds fault with things that I think might be all right.
I'm not sure exactly what Bow was getting at with the markings he made above, but it could be that he wants me to write more books for children and fewer novels.
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