Tag: wonder hollow

Collectanea 24.25 Vacui-Editors-Proximity

/ Derek Mueller

Week of June 9, 2025

Figure 1. Hisstilla (Northern black racer or Eastern rat snake, she won’t say) sunning in the Catalpa tree, back edge of the holler, a few steps away from the Phone of the Wind and in-progress Stick Henge.

Horror Vacui 🕳️

“At Physics IV, 8, 216a26-7, Aristotle cracks a joke. It is one of the relatively few deliberate jokes in the corpus, and its occurrence here is not without significance. Aristotle in these chapters is arguing against those who believe in the existence of the void, or vacuum, or empty space; he says, ‘even if we consider it on its own merits the so-called vacuum will be found to be really vacuous.’2

To be sure, this is not a very funny joke; what is interesting about it, though, is that it underlines the general attitude of dismissive flippancy that seems to run through Aristotle’s consideration of the void.
He seems to refuse to take the hypothesis of the void at all seriously. He never argues directly that the void does not or cannot exist,3 but contents himself with criticizing the arguments that other thinkers had advanced in its favour. And even this criticism seems disorganized4 and strawmannish—it doesn’t really meet these thinkers on their own terms; moreover, it is heavily bound up with Aristotle’s peculiar views about the phenomena and laws of motion.5 One comes away with an uneasy feeling that the problem itself has not been addressed, that Aristotle has been unable or unwilling to give his real reasons for disliking the void; it seems almost as though he suffers from an irrational aversion to the void, a neurotic horror vacui, and will clutch at straws to refute it.”

—John Thorp. (1990). “Aristotle’s Horror Vacui1. Canadian Journal of Philosophy, 20(2), 149–166. #emptiness #vacuum #void #clearings

CCC Editors

  • Kara Taczak & Matt Davis, Feb 2025- (U Central Florida & UMass-Boston)
  • Malea Powell, Feb 2020-Dec 2024 (Michigan St U); 4 years, 10 months
  • Jonathan Alexander, Feb 2015-Dec 2019 (UC-Irvine); 4 years, 10 months
  • Kathleen Blake Yancey, Feb 2010-Dec 2014 (Florida St U); 4 years, 10 months
  • Deborah Holdstein, Feb 2005-Dec 2009 (Governors St U; Columbia C Chicago); 4 years, 10 months
  • Marilyn Cooper, Feb 2000-Dec 2004 (Michigan Tech); 4 years, 10 months
  • Joseph Harris, Feb 1994-Dec 1999 (U Pittsburgh; Duke U); 5 years, 10 months
  • Richard Gebhardt, Feb 1987-Dec 1993 (Findlay C; Bowling Green St U); 6 years, 10 months
  • Richard Larson, Feb 1980-Dec 1986 (Lehman C CUNY); 6 years, 10 months
  • Edward P.J. Corbett, Feb 1974-Dec 1979 (Ohio St U); 5 years, 10 months
  • William Irmscher, Feb 1965-Dec 1973 (U Washington); 8 years, 10 months
  • Ken Macrorie, Feb 1962-Dec 1964 (Western Michigan U); 2 years, 10 months
  • Cecil B. Williams, Dec 1960-Dec 1962 (Texas Christian U); 2 years, 10 months
  • Francis E. Bowman (noted as interim), October 1959-October 1960 (Williams took a Fulbright at U Hamburg) (Duke U); 1 year
  • Cecil B. Williams, Feb 1959-May 1959 (Oklahoma St U); 4 months
  • Francis E. Bowman, Feb 1956-Dec 1958 (Duke U); 2 years, 4 months
  • George W. Wykoff, Oct 1952-Dec 1955 (Purdue U); 3 years, 2 months
  • Charles (Chas) Roberts, March 1950-May 1952 (U Illinois); 2 years, 2 months

〜

Recently I was revisiting Lisa Ede’s editor’s introduction to the collection of the Braddock award-winning essays, On Writing Research: The Braddock Essays, 1975-1998. I noticed the book’s frontmatter included an up-to-date at the time list of CCC editors, Charles Roberts through Joseph Harris, which in turn pointed me to the Wikipedia entry to see whether an up-to-date now list was there, which in turn nudged me to attempt a little bit of updating, so I added institutional affiliations and lengths of terms. A section of this manuscript I’m working on deals only tangentially with this stuff; thus, it’s fitting for Collectanea. Depending upon how you score the Williams-Bowman terms in the late 1950s and early 1960s, Taczak and Davis are editors #16 and #17, or, for the interims-do-count crowd, #18 and #19; they’re the journal’s first co-editors, however you add it up. No institutional affiliations repeat, except Duke with two (Bowman and Harris). Irmscher’s nine year term is longest; Roberts’ is shortest.

Donelon as Elondon

Figure 2. “Elondon as Donelon.”

“In the 2015 anthology First Comes Love: Power Couples, Celebrity Kinship, and Cultural Politics, Vanessa DĂ­az, an assistant professor of communications at Cal State Fullerton, wrote a chapter analyzing the term ‘Brangelina’ and the practice of combining celebrity couples’ names into one. DĂ­az, currently a postdoctoral fellow at UCLA, pointed out that most previous notable portmanteaus were either self-created (Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball’s ‘Desilu’ production company, John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s ‘Lenono Music’) or used by as a term of derision (Bill and Hillary Clinton as ‘Billary’). But the ‘Brangelina’ tag arose during an intense period of competition between celebrity tabloids, and it was part of a wave of gimmicky namings that helped feed public fascination with famous couples—but only certain famous couples” (para. 2).

—Spencer Kornhaber. (2016, September 22). Brangelina’s Mystique Was Because of the Word “Brangelina.” The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/09/brangelina-brad-pitt-angelina-jolie-divorce-vanessa-diaz-interview-celebrity-marriage-nicknames/501050/. #strangeloop #blends #tobetwo #celebrity #combos

As A Kite 🪁, The Nation on Elon Musk’s Drug Use

“In the last few years, the mind of Elon Musk has dramatically moved in two directions, one lateral and the other vertical. Ideologically, he has shifted from a moderate big-business centrist who supported Barack Obama to a far-right partisan of Donald Trump, a White House adviser whose contentious tenure ended last Wednesday. Cognitively, Musk has gone from being hyperbolic but still grounded in reality to being—or so it would seem—almost permanently high as a kite.”

—Jeet Heer. (2025, June 2). Elon Musk’s Real Drug Problem Is Much Worse Than You Think. The Nation. https://www.thenation.com/article/society/elon-musk-drug-use-ideology/ #ideology #alteredstates #mind #ketamine #extremism

5ives

5ives, or Merlin’s Lists of Five Things was one of the early standouts for me among 21st century, digital progymnasmata. The site’s first Internet Archive snapshot shows it was well underway by September 4, 2003, though the earliest entries don’t bear datestamps to follow the sun dial’s shadow any more finely than this. The last entry, Five Musicians to Whom I’ve Drunkenly Introduced Myself, was posted on December 2, 2016, and the site has subsequent sporadic snapshots through this spring, April 2025. Now the URL shows “error establishing a database connection,” so 5ives, well, it’s a gone. And yet. The list of five things still toe taps, still sparks synapse. Gones branch out; what looks like disappearance can be ulteriority, a slow circulation, tacit and inobservable. Why not give 5ives a try here from time to time?

The Wonder Hollow Hens Ranked by How Many Eggs They Laid This Week

  1. Perla
  2. Betty
  3. Tiny Honey
  4. Wizard
  5. Lightfoot
Fivure 3. A screenshot of the last entries posted at 5ives: Merlin’s List of Five Things on December 2, 2016, and July 2, 2015.

Operative Proximity, or Why I Am Growing [Snoring Sounds] of Literature Reviews

“We apply what [Albert North] Whitehead said about a philosophical system’s dynamic self-relation to the relation between generative works. Certain authors’ works share orientations that place them in operative proximity to each other. These are less doctrinal principles than motivating presuppositions that set the conditions of possibility for what the thinking can produce and work it continuously from within. The concepts of different authors working from a similar presuppositional field have the same characteristic Whitehead sought: they connect on the level of what each leaves effectively unsaid for another, by dint of mutual oversaturation. So rather than critiquing, we draw out threads and weave them into a movement of thought emergent in the between. If this is successful, it creates a transindividual field of consistency that becomes our habitat of thought. This way of approaching works constitutes a ‘minor’ treatment of the texts: sidestepping general discussion of ‘major’ concepts (periods, schools, doctrines, stock philosophical problems).”

—Erin Manning, Brian Massumi, Stacey Moran, and Adam Nocek. 2022. “3Ecologies Project: An Interview with Erin Manning and Brian Massumi.” Techniques Journal 2 (Spring).

Reptile Life

As I was taking the garbage to the Rogers drop-off site last Sunday, Hisstilla was napping in the middle of Rosemary Road. So, rather than wait, I grabbed a longish stick from alongside the road and scooted her safely to the edge before continuing on my way. I’ve seen her three times this week, twice while F. was with me. In almost four years that’s more snake encounters in one week than ever before, which gets me thinking, what if she has a stunt double—the racer’s two bodies.

Figure 4. Look, it’s Hisstilla (or her doppelgänger?) in the road.
About Collectanea

Collectanea is a new, provisional series I’m trying out in Summer 2025 at Earth Wide Moth. Each entry accumulates throughout the week and is formed by gathering quotations, links, drawings, and miscellany. The title of the entry notes the week and year (the third in this series from Week 24 of 2025, or the Week of June 9). I open a tab, add a little of this or that most days. Why? Years ago my habitude toward serial composition and, thus, toward blogging, favored lighter, less formal, and more varied fragments; gradually, social media began to reel in many of these short form entries, recasting them as posts dropped a Facebook or Instagram or Twitter (while it lasted), albeit with dwindling ripple effect into the ad-addled and algorithm-ambivalent streams. This space, meanwhile, began to feel to me like it wanted more thoughtfully developed entries bearing the shape and length of what you might find on Medium or Substack. But, because I am drafting toward a book project most mornings, I don’t quite have reliable essayistic bandwidth for Earth Wide Moth this summer. Collectanea, if it goes according to my small bites chicken scratch plan, will be a release valve for the piling up of too many tabs open, functioning as a shareable, intermittent (weekly?) repository for small pieces cut and pasted from stuff I am reading, and also as a scrapbook for illustrations. -DM

Mint sprigs growing mid-creek in the stretch we have with fondness and great creative effort dubbed Mint Creek. #wonderhollow #rollcall

Where Are You?

/ Derek Mueller
Big Sweetie.

This morning, the second morning since the Wednesday late afternoon incident, upon opening the coop door, the flock descended the ladder and settled in pretty much as they usually do, Bitumen and Lightfoot at the feeder, Tiny Honey who is rebounding from her molt heading straightaway to the water, and the others kicking walnut tree detritus and leaning in for the scratch grains mixed with layer pellets, a half cup of which I scatter every morning to ease traffic at the feeder. Keeps peace. Their eyes have been up and searching, noticeably scanning for signs of return since the Wednesday late afternoon incident. This was apparent late yesterday, when I hurried home after teaching to share a few minutes with them before they tucked in, to play the xylophone cover of Shake It Off so as to warm their crossover into the dreamscape. Although I didn’t know it at the time, A., driving separately because it was undecidable for the first half of her day whether she would go to campus at all, happened not to be long behind me. The hens were almost all inside the coop when we arrived at 5:42 p.m. ET (sunset being 5:45 p.m. ET). Only Fluffy-foot, the head hen, was visible there in the coop doorway, posting up as she does for one last look-around before going in for the night, but when I emceed the Taylor Swift tunes, she doubled-back, down the ladder again, and soon after her followed Bitumen, then Lightfoot, then Cinnabon. Everyone can stay up a few extra minutes at times like these, linger for a few plinks, elongate the softly transitioning dusk. Tiny Honey stayed in; her January molt has accompanied a tendency to rest, to hold spacetime with the eggs, and so this was nothing out of the ordinary, her settled reserve. 

Different this morning, the second morning since the Wednesday late afternoon incident, was that after opening the door, setting down food and water, as we walked back toward the house, there came a sharp bird call from the vicinity of the run. Was it from the trees above the run? From one of the hens? Once, twice, again. Three or four seconds between each call. And this was a new sound; a sound I hadn’t heard before: an intense callout expressed so as to travel the holler’s uneven landscape, a sound for finding, for carrying, for bringing back.

Back at the house, I read this, an excerpt of an excerpt from Melissa Caughey’s book:

Still, for days after a hen dies, it is not uncommon for those who were closest to her to mourn the loss of their friend. From the safety of the coop, they call out, using the same sound that means “Where are you?” when they are free-ranging in the yard and can’t find a missing member of the flock. A grieving hen avoids interacting with the flock and sits in a corner with puffed-up feathers like a chicken that feels ill.

And so it happened, on Wednesday afternoon, a Cooper’s Hawk attacked and killed Big Sweetie. The chickens had been out of their run for 90 minutes. Big Sweetie was creekside, curating the muddy banks with Lightfoot and Cinnabon when the raptor made first contact. The offshed feathers tell of an encounter that started on one side of the creek and continued to the other, where A. found Big Sweetie moments later, fatally injured, likely a broken neck or back, as the hawk exited the scene. I wasn’t at home, but A.’s messageless call at 4:50 p.m. ET, near the end of the writing group session I was on (from my campus office), let me know something was not as it should be. There are known risks in free-ranging, especially in mid-late winter, but so too are there deleterious impacts for always and only ever being cooped up. This is not to rationalize away the incident but to take responsibility for caring for vulnerable birds under conditions of a sometimes-predative surrounds. Rather than go long with forensic redescription, though, Big Sweetie deserves a few more eulogistic words.

One of the Wonder Hollow Six, she and her small flock came home from the Radford Rural King in a small cardboard box on April 18, 2023. We’d sought a pair of Cinnamon Queens, a pair of Black Sex-Links, and a pair of Calico Princesses that day. As entropy would have it, with the last pair, we ended up with one Calico Princess, Big Sweetie, and one Buff Brahma, Fluffy-foot: Rural King bin sisters, if sisters from other mothers. Calico Princesses tend to have a shorter lifespan (~3-4 years) than the other breeds, a fact we learned only after bringing them home. Big Sweetie quickly distinguished herself. She was in those especially formative days the biggest and the sweetest, easy to find during that stage when chicks are all down plumage, befuzzed and nonstop peeping. The other chickens grew and eventually caught up with her in size, but never in sweetness. Her sweetness was observable in her seemingly caring deference to the other birds, a conflict-averse friendliness, a palpably joyful regard for human attention, an implicit jolliness. A. identified her quickly as her favorite bird of the six (as Bitumen is special to me, Big Sweetie was and is to A.; what can explain how such a feeling forms?). 

Ten or twelve weeks ago, when Craigs Mountain neighbor H.’s on-the-loose but thankfully slow dog lumbered with a drooling hoggishness through the holler, all of Big Sweetie’s commatriots darted with astonishing speed to the woods, but Big Sweetie, even as she was evidently terrified, rather than running—freeze!—went into statue mode, standing still-still in the tall grass, as if seized by the threat. Nothing happened. And yet, this confirmed an understanding that Big Sweetie was not in the same way as her sisters equipped with a flight response. It was as though because her disposition was deeply defined by friendliness, joy, and curiosity, there was nothing left over for capacitating fear.

Wonder Hollow Six (left to right): Lightfoot, Bitumen, Tiny Honey, Big Sweetie (front center), Fluffy-foot, and Cinnabon.

I have a hundred more anecdotes: about how she was, we think, the first to lay an egg, and how, thereafter, she would linger in the run when each of the other hens laid their first (few) eggs in September and October, companionably close-by but not over-bearing, proximally supportive and being in such a way that hints at the calling of an avian doula, were there such a thing; about how she wanted so badly to be able to perch but didn’t have the flap and spring coordination of Bitumen, Tiny Honey, Lightfoot, or Cinnabon, and still she tried and tried and tried until one day she reached the roost; that night she sat on the roosting bar for 30 minutes after dark, extending her accomplishment, holding onto the moment all for herself (and for A. who photo-documented it from the window) after the others had gone inside the coop for the night; and about what a friend she was, like the day—which just so happened to be the first day of classes last fall—when she went deep up into the pine woods with Lightfoot and Fluffy-foot, the three of them would not—golldammit!—come for calling nor for the irresistible rattle-shake of mealworms in a plastic cup, so I had to climb and navigate bramble and sweat (before leaving for work) only to nudge them from their holdout. The thing was, while the other two birds were entranced in a forest floor dust bath, Big Sweetie was just standing there, along for the joyride. 

Big Sweetie (top) stubbornly remains deep in the pine woods along with Fluffy Foot (bottom) and Lightfoot (right) who are entranced by a forest floor dust bath on Monday, August 21, 2023.

***

Might not be cut out for chicken-keeping, is one thought, one topic of conversation these past 48 hours. Or maybe, instead, this is exactly the structure of feeling we owe to this ecosphere, a structure of feeling that has gone thin socioculturally such that it is uncommon to interact with chickens in this way, to engage them as friends, good, giving, and profoundly mutualistic in what they provide us and each other. It’s been a heavy couple of days. We miss her; we’re sad. And not just we the hominids. The Wonder Hollow mixed flock is looking and calling so hard for their sixth and biggest-hearted; a song of sorrow, and so too a together and onward song, expanded by a life with Big Sweetie so fully and lovingly in it. 

Wonder Hollow Six head hen, Fluffy Foot, expresses “Where are you?” callout for Big Sweetie, who was killed Wednesday afternoon, 1/31/24, by a Cooper’s Hawk.