Category: Things to Love

Fencing & Newton’s Laws of Motion

(A Reflection of School-Time)

On a fencing trip at the nearby university: Practicing lunges at a target, photo by Asa for ASP, 18 April 2019.

The button tip of the long metal épée swiftly approaches and the other child freezes, immobile. The flexible weapon bends into an arc immediately after the tip lands on the padded jacket. Touché! The attacker recovers easily from her lunge and the épée relaxes back into its straight form. 

I teach fencing to fourth and fifth graders in my Title I school’s After School Program (ASP). Physics is a large part of the sport’s movements. Fencing is a smorgasbord of movements that require the balancing (or unbalancing) of the forces created most directly from mass and acceleration.

In the example above, Student A’s lunge creates the acceleration her extension needs to move the tip towards the target, while surprised novice Student B’s reaction is to do nothing. He is currently the object at rest and stays at rest throughout this bout exchange because his greater mass and the energy-absorbing safety gear prevent a significant transfer of momentum into his body (Newton’s First Law). Fencer A reflects this law as well because she herself had not moved forward until the energized force of her rear leg muscles pushed her — and her épée’s tip — medially forward along the fencing strip. (See Guide to lunging in fencing for a demonstration of how the back leg propels the fencer forward into a lunge.)

This brings Newton’s Second Law into the spotlight because Fencer A’s controlled movement had created an acceleration appropriate for both her mass and the distance she and her tip needed to cover in order to make a touch. If she had taken a step back, she would have needed to accelerate more in order to reach her opponent’s target area. If she had been closer, however, she would have run the risk of landing a touch with undue force, and/or the tip would have continued to slide, potentially off of the target completely, which brings the “an object in motion tends to stay in motion” portion of the First Law back into play, the angle of the jacket of the opposing fencer (as well as whether or not he moves) determining the angle in which the attacker’s tip slides past.

On a fencing trip at the nearby university: Hooked up to the electric fencing strip equipment and ready for an opponent, photo by Asa for ASP, 18 April 2019.

The immobility of Fencer B in the main example does not seem to reflect Newton’s Third Law, but the blade itself clearly illustrates the Law: “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”. When the épée tip landed, while the force was not enough to move the boy, his mass pushed back on the metal tip, and the weapon bent. An observer could argue that this bend resulted rather from Newton’s First Law — which of course would also be correct — but Fencer A (and everyone who has landed a good touch) would note that recovering out of this particular lunge felt easier, as if the force pushing against the tip helped push her out of her lunge — which is also true, as supported by Newton’s Third Law of motion!

The two young fencers talk after the touch, fifth-grade Fencer A reminding fourth-grade Fencer B about the parry defenses that we had been practicing during drills. I keep an eye and ear out for adjustments that might need to be made, and after she correctly reteaches him how to defend against her attack, I ask the fencers to think about how the energy flows throughout the movement. Here, for full fencing success, Newton’s First and Third Laws must be fully used, and not ignored.

On a fencing trip at the nearby university: Fencing a college student for fun, photo by Asa for ASP, 18 April 2019.

The Olympics Channel (see link below) shows these two laws in action, how a parry deflects an attack — by actually physically moving the blade out of the way — and therefore opening a path to make a riposte, or return attack. During my ASP class, Fencer A lunges slowly at Fencer B, who moves his épée blade to make contact with her blade — click! His movement’s energy transfers to her blade, moving her tip off to the side and therefore causes it to no longer be pointing at his vulnerable target. At this point, he can use the energy flow to keep his épée in motion to continue pushing her épée away (Newton’s First Law), or he can opt to use the energy described by Newton’s Third Law as “an equal and opposite reaction” to allow his épée to bounce off of her blade and direct his tip towards her target in a hopefully smooth, successful riposte. I am constantly amazed that this click of the parry can result in both blades moving off target or just the parried one, depending on how the parrying fencer allows the inertia to be directed — even without adding acceleration or force to further direct the action.

Check out this video’s sections at 1:15-1:20 (parry 4) and at 1:41-1:47 (parry 6) to see the slow-motion movements of two fencing blocks that protect a fencer’s high-line target.

Video Links

Bashir, K. (2012, August 16). Guide to lunging in fencing. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yY0LwH47n6Y

Olympics Channel. (2017, September 12). How to parry/defend in fencing: Olympians’ tips. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbEETULHshE 

Tanana Valley Fair: Weaving Submissions

Deflected doubleweave scarf on loom, 20 July 2022.

I received a Leclerc floor loom as an amazing gift from a woman I took a felting class with last summer. Thank you, Sarah K.! I really enjoy weaving, but I know I am still a novice, so I thought I’d enter some pieces into the Tanana Valley Fair to get some feedback and tips on how to improve. 

I visited the Fair with a friend today to see her quilts (she won a blue ribbon and was awarded as division champion! Yay, Karen!). We walked through the newly blue Badger Hall to look at the knitting, spinning, weaving, and creative arts crafts, and I was excited to see my weaving items on display. I am very much looking forward to reading the critique when I pick up the items on August 8! The bonus is the ribbons hanging next to my works. (I realize that my pieces might be the only one in their divisions, but it’s still fun to see.)

Weaving submissions on display at the Tanana Valley Fair, 3 August 2022.
Close-up of the deflected double weave scarf and ‘Berea Sunflower’ pattern table runner on display at the Tanana Valley Fair, 3 August 2022.
Close-up of waffle weave blanket on display at the Tanana Valley Fair, 3 August 2022.
Helianthus Shifting in the Sun table runner prepped for the Fair, 20 July 2022.

Helianthus Shifting in the Sun: Table runner designed using the ‘Berea Sunflower’ pattern from Marguerite Porter Davidson’s “A Handweaver’s Pattern Book,” (another wonderful gift from Sarah!), with warp and weft of 2/2 worsted spun wool (warp colors: ‘daffodil’ and ‘marigold’; weft colors: ‘tangerine’ and ‘cayenne), hemstitched, fringed.

The large overshot weaving technique delineates the flowers, creating a design that is mirrored on the fabric’s reverse side. Graduating transitions between each red, orange, and yellow helps give the idyllic impression that living sunflowers are following the path of the sun.

Helianthus Shifting in the Sun table runner laid out on love seat, 14 July 2022.

The yellow, red, and orange table runner won the ‘Theme Award’ because I chose colors, fiber, and weaving pattern to fit this year’s Fair theme. Yay!

Deflected Doubleweave Scarf: I love how the deflected doubleweave technique creates a fabric with both a visual pattern and a 3-D-esque texture. The two similar sides of the scarf each have a distinctive look, making this a fun reversible scarf to wear.

Deflected Doubleweave Scarf: Pattern assigned by Elizabeth Springett, with warp and weft of 100% silk nail (‘denim’ and 100” cotton (‘licorice’), hemstitched, twisted fringe, 21 July 2022.

Purple Honeycomb Sparkle: The waffle weave technique blends with the two distinct fibers to give this blanket a delightfully cozy 3-dimensional look and feel.

Purple Honeycomb Sparkle: Blanket pattern designed by Sarah Resnick, with warp of 100% 4/8 Brassard cotton (‘natural’) and weft of Caron Crystal Cakes 64% acrylic, 24% polyester, 7% nylon, 5% metallic yarn (‘dusk’ and ‘amaranth’), hemstitched, fringed.
Purple Honeycomb Sparkle waffle weave blanket laid out on my love seat, 19 July 2022.
Heart Balloon prepped for the fair: Self-designed pattern, with a warp of 100% 4/8 Maysville cotton and weft of yarns pulled from my leftover knitting yarn stash, 20 July 2022.

Before receiving the generous gift of the table loom, I had already been interested in weaving. I had made a couple of small pieces on an Ashford lap loom as I dabbled with the process. I decided to enter one of these small pieces into the fair as well as the larger ones woven on the floor loom. This Heart Balloon was my first venture into tapestry weaving and I experimented with different weaving and binding-off techniques. Currently a decorative hanging, this piece may eventually become half of a cute over-the-shoulder bag for a young girl. Who knows!

Woodpecker, Wind, and Want of Power

The day started with a rapid metallic rat-a-tat-tat. I froze and listened. Rat-a-tat-tat, like miniature gunfire. Or something much more impressive.

Hairy woodpecker on roof, 9:09 a.m., 25 July 2022. Sadly, the photograph does not capture through the window’s screen the bird’s coloration, including the red mark at the back of its head, showing that the bird is male.

I tiptoed to the window and peered through the tulle curtain. There it was. Long toes, red cap, narrow sharp beak. A woodpecker. I was surprised to see it sitting on the metal porch roof, not a common place for a male hairy woodpecker to pause. I drew my head back because I did not want to scare it off. Could I get a video of it?

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Drat. I missed seeing him drum on the metal. I hope his wrap-around tongue provides a good enough cushion for pounding on the hard substance.

I leaned forward once more, setting the curtain to swaying, and he flew off, dipping slightly and two other winged shapes darted away from below the porch roof. I was not sure if the three were all woodpeckers, but it made sense. They were all headed in the same direction, and the flash of tail color was similar. 

Was the metallic drumming a way to signal to the other two?

How strange to see three woodpeckers not in the trees when I so rarely hear much less see one when I’m out walking trails.

Chirping brought me to another window. Birds were darting in and out of the ground vegetation, pecking on the chopped wood, swirling through the air. A couple (at different times) hit the windows. Ouch. I peeked downwards, hoping I would see them fly away or at the very least first stumble then fly. I felt blessed that so many birds had chosen my yard to stop on their way to their next destination. The family of grey jays that occasionally visit whirled around near a spruce tree. I noticed but did not wonder too much about the birds each flying relatively close to the ground. None winged halfway up a tree much less touched the treetops. Gliding and soaring were also seemingly not in their repertoire this morning.

Five hours later I started to understand why: The winds started trying to push the trees onto their sides.

There was not a bird in sight or within hearing. They had all wisely found other places to be. The winds swirled in the treetops, sending broken branches aloft and littering the air and ground with twigs, needles, cones, and leaves. Dust devils churned and gusts of winds caused dry soil to move along the ground like mist across low waves. My wind chimes played musically and at times manically. The clouds swelled and undulated, slowly rolling out curved, stretched, and bulging shapes in every grey shade. The wind rattled the treetops and snapped the weak.

A fat trunk crashed on to a main road, and vehicles stopped so their people could chunk the shattered pieces to the other side of the sidewalk. A couple people in jeans, a woman in a spaghetti string tank top and shorts, and a woman in a flowing garment and a head scarf all worked in busy coordination to clear the street. By the time I drove down the other side of the road from the three vehicles, the road was littered only with some remaining chunks of bark and broken off twigs in a brown chalk-line shadow reaching over nearly three lanes. The drivers and riders climbed back into their vehicles.

Earlier in the day, I headed to a cafe for breakfast later than I had planned. I wished I had arrived early so I could have been ahead of the wildfire hotshot crew and had asked the cashier to put their coffees on my credit card. Working 21 days on/three days off all summer long, they had flown up to Alaska to help out the local crew. As it was, the last man was collecting his coffee as I walked up to order.

Now, here too, I had arrived too late to help.

Due to the winds, my house had lost power by 5 pm., when I returned from the day’s errands. By seven o’clock, a dead, needle-less spruce had taken out three lines, which draped across the dirt road, the only vehicle exit my house has. I was grateful that someone had placed a road emergency triangle as a warning, yet was displeased that the property owner had not cleared away the trees as is their responsibility. I checked the service drop leading to my house in case I was being hypocritical. 

Zoom in to see the shattered fallen tree on the left and the still-attached-to-the-pole lines draping across vegetation on the right. Note the thick storm clouds swirling above, 25 July 2022.

Yep, all clear since my last tidy-up. There is one alder that has sprouted up surprisingly fast and so sometime this week or next I need to chop it down. It is directly under the power line and in a year or two will be able to touch it. So, technically, I admit: I haven’t maintained the 4-foot-wide path (ground-to-sky clearance) after all. Better to take care of it (safely) this summer.

The camera lens captured the sunset more brightly than the naked eye, giving a heartening light to the heavy, swirling storm clouds, 20:43, 25 July 2022.

All of my friends told me via texts that they had to eat their ice cream to keep it from melting…

A loud honking from my phone startled me. I flipped it over and read:

This was when I started to feel a little scared. Not because of the unreachable 911 system (because now I know to call the department I might need directly — I still have phone books in my house! Yay, old school!), but because the 911 dispatch system was not getting electricity. If it wasn’t, then what other important facilities could go down?

If there was a time for a criminal to commit crime, now would be the time.

At 22:38 I received another honk-alarm notification saying the 911 system was back online and people were NOT to call 911 to test the system. Really? People would do that? Yes, of course they would. And some probably still would even after receiving the alert. Sigh…

I heard a bird chirp, although it could have been a squirrel squeak. The first wildlife sound since the birds dropped to safer ground. 

22:58 The house clicks and whirrs. I forget how loud electricity is until it comes back on after a power outage. No wonder people are hesitant about being out in the world without the familiar electric sounds. Wind continues to stir the air. The sounds turn off, then pop back on. So far, they seem to be on for good. A good end to the day for me.

Hopefully the others will soon have a good night, too.

Here is a screen shot of Golden Valley Electric Association’s outage page at 23:25, 25 July 2022. 26,127 customers still affected by outages. The crews have their work cut out for them!

Young Guest in the Yard

A young bull with velvet on his growing antlers visits my yard for the tasty fireweed, 19 July 2021, Fairbanks, Alaska.

Mother Nature surprised me today while I was cleaning the kitchen. I glanced out the window and saw movement. I gasped when I saw the velvet-covered buds on the young moose’s head. Never before have I seen a bull in the process of growing antlers. The ungulate’s size and his smooth hide, free of nicks and discolorations, made me guess the moose was a youthful one. I stayed by the window to watch and awe while he munched on fireweed. He noticed me watching and after a while the attention was too much and he moved on into the stand of willow behind my house. The lucky wonder left me feeling serene and blessed, as Nature’s charm always does.

A young bull moose with velvety new antlers enjoys the fireweed growing in my yard, 19 July 2021, Fairbanks, Alaska.

Action at the Lake: Mostly Wings

Tubing on the lake

At first glance, the Lake appears calm, with few seeking pleasure from its waters on this hot summer Thursday. Out on the lake there are a couple of water skiers, and a child sitting in a green tube being pulled mindfully by a boat, but the few other watercraft seem to be heading purposefully straight across from point A to B.

For me, it will be an active work day at the Lake. Today, I am to help finish painting the cabin’s railing and begin on the windows. I am to learn, too, that many others are also working here, but surprisingly… most have wings…

In the birdhouse under the eave, tree swallow chicks wait for momma and papa to bring collected mosquitoes and other protein. The adults’ black wing feathers flash cobalt blue in the sun as the avians dart busily back and forth.

Dragonfly resting on deck railing at Harding Lake

A few prehistoric dragonflies skim through the air near shore, also stalking insects, while out in the middle of the lake a couple of mew gulls wheel, then dip to the surface, catching lunch, or perhaps teaching their young how to fish. There are more mew gulls flying about today than ever seen here together before.

A black military helicopter turns tight circles and buzzes the open water — testing the pilot or perhaps the machine. (I muse later if it has in fact been scouting ahead for the floatplanes.)

Underwater mowing at the lake. (See man on right.)

A neighbor walks out into the lake to do some underwater mowing. He tosses a long-handled T-shaped metal object smoothly and surely like a fisherman tosses out his line. The man tows it toward him with the ease of repetition, then casts it ahead again. The perpendicular blades on the end of the handle cut the unwanted reeds near the sandy lakebed. The man gathers these mown reeds and takes them ashore. Will they become compost or go directly to the transfer site with the rest of his garbage..?

A bald eagle soars overhead to land in a preferred perch, a sprucetop two houses over, from which it surveys its domain for a tasty nibble, perhaps for itself or perhaps for its young.

Bald eagle purveying its domain from a nearby treetop.

The unmistakable whining roar of a two-engine aircraft growls suddenly overhead — so close! The white airplane circles to the opposite side of the lake, and we realize that there are two. The Lake watercraft turn off their engines. The floatplanes come in ostensibly for a landing — but that is not why they are here: water fills their pontoons, slowing their progress across the surface, visibly making it harder for them to take-off (their ascent is markedly more gradual than their approach), but they do lift off. The planes, now loaded with liquid cargo, head in the direction of the forest fire near Munson Creek. About an hour later they are back, flying again directly over the cabin before circling and dipping into the water without a pause. 

By the time it is time to call it a day, my work is not done, and I’ll be back again sometime soon to join the others still a-work at their daily labors.

  • On the approach…
  • Touchdown!
  • Scooping up water…
  • 1…
  • 2…
  • 3…
  • 4…
  • 5…
  • 6…
  • 7…
  • 8…
  • 9…
  • 10…and…
  • Lifting off.
  • Up, up, and away…
  • Float plane flying overhead. (Note the hatches on the pontoons that open to collect water — and later drop it on the nearest forest fire, which today is only about 35 miles from home.)

Lovely Sun Day at the Lake

Blue sky and blue water at Harding Lake.

A yummy lunch, a doze in the warmth, the waves gushing at the shore when a boat speeds by: It’s a lovely Sunday at the Lake. 

Three hours of helping paint a railing bestowed me a day of sun, diverting conversation, laughter, and the chance to assist good friends — along with the satisfactory transformation of posts, once ragged and peeling, now a pretty grey the color of the deck, a grey that disappears in the mind’s eye when I look out over the water.

Amid the labor of love, the day is full of moments of both tranquility and urgency.

A single sailboat cons silently, softly, back and forth, taking advantage of the gentle wind.

Two motorboats pile on the steam towards a boat vomiting a billow of white smoke — once, twice — but after a brief exchange, the concerned neighbors pilot away and the river boat putters off, unsunk. Four lines dangle off long poles and we wonder if the fishermen (and one woman) have a barbecue unwisely aboard their floating bark. 

The blue surface sparkles in the sun. Rays blaze hotly down on our skin as we cruise along the shore in the pontoon boat and take in the relaxing view.

A water skier makes the smooth glides to and fro seem easy inside the fringe of refreshing white spray kicked up by the tempo.

Three personal watercraft buzzum by, two each ejecting a stream of water behind. The cloudless azure sky draws my eye, then I gaze leisurely downward to see the third PWC tootling back along the shoreline, while the zippier ones end up bouncing like ping-pong balls on vacation off of the peaked wake of a heavier, larger craft.

The balance between speed and leisure is present all day long, even close to the wee hours of the morning when I am on my way into town. A lithe red fox stands, relaxed, at the side of the road, and, after I have hurtled past, it calmly crosses all four lanes of the Richardson Highway, leaving me with a serene sense of wonder all of the way back home.

Keeping the White Dress

Golden daffodils are popping up through the remaining hillocks of sparkling snow. Young girls in Easter dresses gambol about seeking colored eggs among green blades of grass. The sun warms the skin and the heart with the hopes of spring. Somewhere. Somewhere much more southerly.

Here the tiny snow crystals fall — as they have been falling steadily throughout the last eighteen hours. The delicate white flakes blanket the world in another layer of shimmering lace and tug at my truck’s tires like velvet. Mother Nature has decided to keep her white dress.

Yesterday the birds sang, the sun shone brightly in the cerulean sky, and it felt like spring was truly coming. Today I am brushing snow from the truck and scraping ice off of its lights once again.

A female Arctic redpoll alights atop a spruce leader, 13 March 2021.

Spring comes slowly, sometimes stubbornly here. Two weeks ago the birds wheeled and dipped and darted. Water dripped from eaves. Two little healthy avians alit atop the leading branch of a small spruce, using the stiff needles as ladder rungs to walk up and down, around the conifer’s leader and each other. One flitted away but the female hung out for a bit to allow me to snap some photos. Then, she too flew off to continue her aerial dance, singing a rapid vibrato chirp. Their perky excitement lifted my own heart. Now, sounds are hushed by the veil of white. Icicles point downwards, and the snow brume blurs the boundary between the hilltops and the muted sky.

Perhaps some years Mother Nature is just not ready to select her garb from the the browns and dirty yellows of snow- and ice-melt in her closet. Pristine pretty white makes the world look so much more aesthetically appealing. The trade-off for us is more snowfall, and even more…

One of two finches pausing in the bright sunlight, 13 March 2021.

Sunny Cloudburst

A vignette of Alaskan life:

           Black spruce in a blue-sky cloudburst.

The rain was so thick that my wipers could barely keep up. Sunshine blinded, so I quickly pulled on my shades and squinted up at the blue sky. The rapid beat of plinks and plops delightfully drowned out the radio’s music. Sixteen wheels in the other lane threw up a cloud of spray like from a tumbling river waterfall. Mist washed the raindrops’ sillhouettes from the windshield, then immediately speckled with another shower of rain. Charcoal grey clouds threatened from the northeast, but the sunshine and azure heavens followed me all of the way home.