I think there's good reason to believe that human beings evolved from closely-related primates who abandoned the land during long periods of time when it was uninhabitable and lived a semi-aquatic life.
The theory is outlined in a book called The Descent of Woman, by Elaine Morgan, which I happened to pick up and read at least twenty years ago.
I am reminded of it every time I hear someone complain of back pain, sore feet, or cold weather.
While it makes sense for a mammal to lose body hair if it takes to the water, the benefits of fur are well understood. Perhaps it also adds some irony to the fact that neolithic peoples dressed in furs, a custom which lasts to the present day.
It also makes sense for a seagoing animal to develop wide, soft feet which must be dressed in animal hides or the synthetic equivalent to be of use on dry land.
The lower back of a human being is poorly-designed and inneficentunless the human being is living in a bouyant environment where more sensible proportions around the waist would just be wasted.
On a more ethereal plain, I believe there is more to our clustering around seacoasts to live than simple convenience.
I grew up in a small coastal town where there was an endless stream of visitors from landbound states.
The first thing they wanted to find was the beach.
They wanted to sink their toes into the sand, examine the dried flotsam of the driftline...and stare mutely at the rolling water, sometimes for hours.
They made pilgrimages of thousands of miles to enjoy a wordless communion with the sea.
Sometimes they would go fishing or engage in other recreations and almost always they would find a restaurant serving shrimp Louie and grilled salmon.
I know some people don't like seafood but a think a lot more do like it.
Of course recent scientific research has shown that a diet rich in fish oils is of great benefit to the human constitution.
I would just as soon eat fish every day, and I'd be content to flavor it with seaweed and spice it with the salt I'd gleaned from sandstone pockets above the tideline, where spray leaves deposits on certain coasts. To taste this salt, which forms a thin layer of exquisitely joined flakes, is to feel your own blood, your own chemistry, repeated and refined.
I think this is a very sensible theory. Has anyone ever heard of the book?
The theory is outlined in a book called The Descent of Woman, by Elaine Morgan, which I happened to pick up and read at least twenty years ago.
I am reminded of it every time I hear someone complain of back pain, sore feet, or cold weather.
While it makes sense for a mammal to lose body hair if it takes to the water, the benefits of fur are well understood. Perhaps it also adds some irony to the fact that neolithic peoples dressed in furs, a custom which lasts to the present day.
It also makes sense for a seagoing animal to develop wide, soft feet which must be dressed in animal hides or the synthetic equivalent to be of use on dry land.
The lower back of a human being is poorly-designed and inneficentunless the human being is living in a bouyant environment where more sensible proportions around the waist would just be wasted.
On a more ethereal plain, I believe there is more to our clustering around seacoasts to live than simple convenience.
I grew up in a small coastal town where there was an endless stream of visitors from landbound states.
The first thing they wanted to find was the beach.
They wanted to sink their toes into the sand, examine the dried flotsam of the driftline...and stare mutely at the rolling water, sometimes for hours.
They made pilgrimages of thousands of miles to enjoy a wordless communion with the sea.
Sometimes they would go fishing or engage in other recreations and almost always they would find a restaurant serving shrimp Louie and grilled salmon.
I know some people don't like seafood but a think a lot more do like it.
Of course recent scientific research has shown that a diet rich in fish oils is of great benefit to the human constitution.
I would just as soon eat fish every day, and I'd be content to flavor it with seaweed and spice it with the salt I'd gleaned from sandstone pockets above the tideline, where spray leaves deposits on certain coasts. To taste this salt, which forms a thin layer of exquisitely joined flakes, is to feel your own blood, your own chemistry, repeated and refined.
I think this is a very sensible theory. Has anyone ever heard of the book?
cultchylde:
I haven't heard of it, but I'm planning on running out and getting it as as soon as possible.