Modern Biology, the Blue Version; that’s the text book we taught back in the 1980’s. There was a Green Version available but it was written from an environmental perspective. I would have preferred the Green Version but someone higher up made that call. I was never able to get through the whole book in two semesters so I skipped chapters that I thought less important or that I just didn’t want to teach. By the end of April the choice was either microorganisms (bacteria & virus) or cellular respiration. Remember, to tackle a challenging subject after spring break was to beat one’s proverbial head against the wall. Cellular respiration has little or nothing to do with breathing or lungs. What it is is a long, complicated chemical reaction inside cells. In that process, chemical energy stored in a glucose molecule releases carbon dioxide and water as waste. After that, 38 molecules of ATP remain, pure chemical energy. Living cells burn that fuel, not altogether unlike the way a solar panel converts light into electrical energy. Memorizing long, branching equations full of brackets and byproducts was too much to expect. Young lovers have little or no motivation to engage with biology when they are totally fueled by run amok sex hormones. So we did microorganisms.
In the early 1980’s genetics had not yet been made easy and high school text books didn’t do a very good job unraveling the mystery we now take for granted. DNA was enough. Making the RNA distinction was a high hurdle. Virus doesn’t have DNA, only RNA. It replicates itself but not like bacteria or birds or squirrels. How can virus live without DNA? That question always came up. Well, it isn’t really alive; but it’s not dead either. Virus is sort of a hybrid form that defies an easy answer. So, the Blue Version provided a simple story a 3rd grader could understand. It went as follows.
Imagine a war with battle tanks, with tracks and turrets and big guns. The tanks roar all over the battlefield until they find a factory that makes something useful, like washing machines. The tank crashes into the factory, breaking a hole through the wall and goes inside. Its crew jumps out, takes washing machines apart and uses the parts to make new tanks. When all the washing machines have been repurposed, the tanks all go back outside and look for more factories to break into. In this example, Viruses are the tanks and living cells are the factories. Once a cell has been stripped of its parts it dies and many new virus have been created, and so the story loops and repeats itself. Everybody understood the 3rd grade version. Still, the only one who cared at all how RNA works was me. But I didn’t count then, I already understood and I don’t count now, I’m not in that business anymore.
Coronavirus is just another virus. One virus’s RNA can attack human cells (Covid-19) while another attacks sycamore trees or fungus or squirrels or blackbirds or bacteria, etc.. Our immune system can fight off the virus with antibodies that stay in our blood, make us immune to the virus next time. But Covid is new, never known before so nobody has preexisting antibodies until after they are infected or receive a vaccine. The tank/washing machine story sounded cool until I realized that I am a washing machine. I don’t have any antibodies for this virus and it can be deadly, especially if you are old like me. So I spend most of my time closed up inside my house, wash my hands even when they are still clean. I wear a mask outside or in proximity with other people and as much as possible, I keep my distance from anyone and everybody who may or may not be carriers. After four months of paranoia, this is still scary shit, for real.
A Red Bellied Woodpecker brought its immature offspring to the suet feeder this morning while I ate my own breakfast. It loaded up a beak-full then let the neophyte nurse. Young birds nursing from the parent’s beak; is that the proper term? I don’t know. But they both flew away with a free meal. That part made me feel good. I can not forget for long that the virus is a relentless danger or that it requires people in order to access new hosts. I can not see the virus but humans who may be carriers are easy to see, to avoid, and I do. But I can’t forget to take comfort in my birds and my bike and my network of amigos who live at this strange, disturbing place in time.
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