Fourth Saturday's Loneliest Liberal: It's the process

...not the product

By James Knudsen

Math is a funny thing. I have to look at it with a sense of humor to keep from crying. My grandfather, Dr. Vern Oliver Knudsen, PhD in physics, understood math. My father, Vern Oliver Morris Knudsen, BA in Greek, understood math to a lesser degree, but still well enough to negotiate the usual hurdles en route to his diploma. Not so me. The only reason I am able to put two diplomas on the wall...assuming I can find them, is because I discovered a loop-hole I could wriggle through in the form of Philosophy 9, Logic and Reasoning.
    The point of all this is that comprehension of higher math always eluded me. For the most part I've made peace with it. But I'm aware of the career paths that were shut off to me. The gear-head part of me might have enjoyed engineering the next Columbo V-12. And the scientist part of me would still like to spend a year observing the resurgent hawks of my hometown region. But being insufferably dense regarding algebra means I never pursued a degree in biology, and it wasn't a hawk I found in the yard last month.

My sister Morissa, prior to departing the San Joaquin Valley for the cooler climes of Puget Sound, planted a tomato plant in the front patio. Presently it is laden with fruit ranging from pale green to deep red. It has also been laden with the larvae of the Sphinx moth. If you're not familiar with the Sphinx moth larva, also known as the horned tomato worm, allow me to elaborate. They're HUGE.

    Well, not initially, when first hatched they are quite small and fast. I didn't realize this until I tried to remove one from the plant with kitchen shears. But soon they grow to a size that, while not huge, is enough to slow them down enough to make them easy to pluck from the plant. And still later they become the slow, ponderous, vegetation-processing machines that give one a start when they are found.
    It was one these that I found contentedly munching away on the delicate tomato leaves a few weeks ago. I surmised that given its size it had done most of the damage it was going to do already and that it was nearing the point when it would pupate. The thought of observing this was reason enough to spare it. I clipped the branch it was consuming along with some other branches, placed them in a large jar, covered it with a colander, and placed it on the kitchen counter. And I learned some things: Tomato worms are poop factories. It is extraordinary how much stuff they excrete. Perhaps I should revise that to Industrial Poop Combines. Within hours the bottom of the jar was littered with several clumps of green waste, and it didn't stop.
    This thing was not done eating. In addition to the branch it was on, I placed several leafy sprigs of tomato plant in the jar, just in case. Within a day or two they had been stripped bare. I was unaware of some important facts regarding Sphinx Ligustri. The tomato worm has some things to teach us.
    Along with the sprigs of tomato leaves, I had put some water in the bottom of the jar. I did this to keep the leaves from wilting. It was a bad idea because the caterpillar devoured the leaves so fast they didn't have time to wilt. And a tomato worm will do anything, go anywhere for a meal. Even headlong into a pool of water, which is where I found the beast when I returned after many hours away. I've learned some biological facts since that might explain this behavior. The first is that unlike other similar creatures, the Sphinx Moth does not spin its cocoon in the branches of its host plant but descends and pupates beneath the ground. It could also be that the caterpillar was employing the spiracles along its body to keep breathing even while its head was submerged in fetid water. But none of that occurred to me when I discovered it. All I could think was, Why?
    Why keep eating? It was big when I put it in the jar and it had only grown larger after devouring the leaves I'd provided. What madness, to consume and devour without thought, without knowing why. To continue in an endless quest for food. To live to eat and not the other way around. How big do you need to be to pupate anyway? I began to wonder how many pursue an endeavor without knowing, without ever thinking about the why, and then one day they're under water. The would-be moth seemed pathetic.
    A higher life form is cognizant of its future. It stands tall, eyes on the horizon, aware of its surroundings, firm in its beliefs, and steadfast in the pursuit of victory. That sounds so good in my head recited in the commanding tones of John Facenda, voice of NFL films. But I know it’s crap. I remembered Henry V as he stood alone in the night, the weight of crown upon his head and kingdom upon his shoulders, pondering the idea that the lowliest of his subjects enjoyed a better lot than he.

...Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,
Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,
And follows so the ever-running year,
With profitable labour, to his grave....

    I chided my caterpillar sensei when I found him submerged in water, clinging to a branch. But I was reminded of the guiding principle of my graduate studies: It is the process, not the product that must be our focus. For it is in doing that we find purpose. It's a concept with which I once again wrestle. Even now I have written the last line of this piece before I have arrived at it. And so I can rush to spin my chrysalis and emerge incomplete, unsatisfied. Or, I can try to munch away at my task. Gnawing away, letter by letter, syllable by syllable, word by word, phrase by phrase, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph.
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Copyright © 2013 by James Knudsen

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