January 2026

Natural History in Print | Tenants of An Old Farm (1886)

Cover of an old book titled Tenants of Old Farms. Text is gilt; illustration shows spider web and insects. 1886. I am very fond of old natural history books, particularly those published prior to about 1910. They are usually charmingly written, often perspicacious in their discussions of science, and almost always beautifully printed and illustrated.

Tenants of an Old Farm: Leaves from the Note-book of a Naturalist (which I bought for $20 at last year’s Trinity College Book Sale) is a splendid example of this type of book. Originally published in 1884 (my copy the Third Edition of 1886), it was written by Henry C. McCook (1837-1911), a noted American naturalist and (Presbyterian) clergyman. McCook was, among many other things, an expert on ants and spiders. He published eight books on insects and nearly a dozen on theology—a particularly interesting confluence in the wake of Charles Darwin’s work on natural selection.

And indeed, evolution—and Darwin himself—are referenced in Tenants of an Old Farm. In a chapter on burrowing insects, the narrator (McCook himself, the reader presumes) probes into a farm visitor’s views on evolution , hoping to spur an argument:

“Perhaps, I suggested, thinking to draw the Doctor’s theological fire, “The insect is a far-away ancestor of the vertebrate? At least, an evolutionist might have no difficulty in accounting for such resemblances by some application of this theory.”

The Doctor surprises the narrator by supporting the proposition:

The Doctor glanced slily at me, smiled, and answered: “Ah! you shall not disturb my equanimity so. Evolution is no theological bête noir to me. Not that I believe it all; on the contrary, I think it is yet an unproved hypothesis. But, considered as a method of creation simply, I am willing to leave it wholly in the hands of the naturalists and philosophers. Of course, that materialistic view of evolution, which dispenses with a Divine Creator as the First Cause of all things, has no place in my thought. That is not for a moment to be tolerated; but, as for the rest, why should Christian people disturb themselves? Science has not yet said her last word, by any means, and we can well afford to wait.”

In this way, McCook introduces and quells the theological argument against evolution while deftly modeling the method of science: weighing theories in light of the available evidence and remaining open to new explanations.

Later, in a chapter titled ‘The History of a Bumble-Bee,’ the narrator directly references “the late Mr. Darwin [and] his book on the “Origin of Species” in a discussion of co-evolved relationships among living things:

We may infer, he says, as highly probable, that were the entire genus of bumble-bees to become extinct or very rare in England, the heart’s-ease and red clover (which they fertilize by carrying pollen from flower to flower), would become very rare or wholly disappear.

Given that some religious leaders remained hostile to the emerging science, viewing it as a threat to Biblical teachings, McCook’s handling of the subject comes across as nuanced and refreshingly balanced. Would that such differences could be handled nearly as deftly in this ideological age!

The book’s illustrations are detailed and often amusing. Look at these images showing the life-cycle of the cicada:

… and these highly anthropomorphic images of the hard-working bumblebee:

… plus this cross-section of ground-dwelling bumblebee nests:

… and, finally, these two somewhat perplexing images (which make perfect sense in narrative context) of “Ants Bewitching the Cows” and “The Grasshopper’s Dirge Among the Graves:”

If you are interested in McCook’s work, the Biodiversity Heritage Library has several of his books and articles available in digital format. Tenants of an Old Farm is also available at the Internet Archive.

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winter sunrise, showing hues of blue and pink silhouetting bare oak and a tall spruce or fir

Winter Sunrise

winter sunrise, showing hues of blue and pink silhouetting bare oak and a tall spruce or firSix years ago, on the second day of the year, I took this picture from the rooftop deck of our home in the west end of Toronto. I like the way it captures the slow return of light to the hemisphere, silhouetting stark wintry forms in the middle distance.

Light returns: already the days are seven minutes longer than they were at the Solstice, with precious extra minutes of daylight currently noticeable mainly at dusk. Soon the sun will rise noticeably earlier, and when it does, around the end of January, the buds on the silver maples will grow fat and the crows will again begin to call.

Light also returns at night. The full Wolf Moon—a Supermoon this month—rides high overhead (at its fullest this morning at 5:03 am EST), and if the weather is clear this will be the best evening to view it, rising in the east right at dusk. In Toronto, the best place to view the full Wolf Moon is in a car traveling east toward downtown along the lakeshore, early in the evening. There is uncanny beauty in the city skyline laid out beneath the huge glowing moon. If the conditions on the water are right, moonlight illuminates the lake like a painting.

I have no good photos to share of the full moon over Toronto, so here is Tom Thomson’s luminous painting ‘Moonlight’ (1915-16).

Tom Thomson painting, Moonlight, Winter 1915-16, showing a nighttime scene of moonlight over a lake with trees in the foreground
Tom Thomson, Moonlight, 1915-16.

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Leo Gestel painting in shades of blue and yellow showing shafts of sunlight illuminating a Dutch landscape.

In the Studio | The Work of Leo Gestel

Leo Gestel painting of woman reading, circa 1910
Leo Gestel, ‘Atelierhoek,” 1910 (signed, titled and dated). Oil on canvas, 52 x 43 cm

Leo Gestel (1881-1941) was a Dutch painter. This lovely work is ‘Atelierhoek’ or ‘The Studio Corner,’ winter 1910. Sold at auction in 2016 for 55,500 Euros, the original is reportedly held in a private collection. Wish it was in mine!

Described as a leading artist of Dutch modernism alongside Piet Mondrian and Jan Sluijters, Gestel’s work exemplifies the new art styles emerging in early twentieth century Europe, from cubism to expressionism to neoimpressionism. The above painting strikes me as mainly neoimpressionist, while retaining some cubist elements.

I like the reader’s contemplative pose: absorbed in her books, she has little concern for her observer.

There appears to be little scholarship on Gestel available in English, and only a few biographical details are available online. Gestel’s father Willem was reportedly also an artist. As a young man Leo was introduced to Avant-Garde artists and exhibited in Paris and Berlin. In 1914 as the First World War broke out, Gestel sketched chaotic border scenes of Belgians fleeing the widening conflict, and sold lithographs of these sketches to raise money for the Committee for Refugees. A fire in 1929 destroyed much of Gestel’s work; he died in 1941, reportedly from a longstanding stomach-related complaint.

The Cultural Heritage Agency of the Netherlands reportedly has custody of many of Gestel’s surviving sketches, notebooks and papers: fortunate are those who are able to access these materials readily!

Another Gestel work I like a great deal and sometimes use as an online profile picture is ‘Lisette at Toilette’ or ‘Woman at Make-up Table, 1911, painted in a similar style although in far brighter tones. Note the image hanging on the wall, which is likely a cameo of another of Gestel’s paintings.

Painting by Leo Gestel titled 'Woman at Make-up Table,' 1911.
Leo Gestel, ‘Lisette a Toilette’ or ‘Woman at Make-up Table, 1911.

There’s also this beauty, reflecting the influence of luminism in his work. Reportedly Gestel became interested in the play of light upon landscapes. ‘Herfst’ (or ‘Autumn,’ 1909) is an excellent example of his work in this area (and cannot help but remind me, as a Canadian, of some of Lawren Harris’ work). This painting is held by the Museum Kranenburgh in Bergen, where Gestel lived and worked for a period.

painting by Dutch artist Leo Gestel titled 'Autum,' showing light breaching clouds upon an autumnal landscape
Leo Gestel, ‘Herfst’ or ‘Autumn’ (1909). Oil on canvas, 53.5 x 61 cm. Museum Kranenburgh, Bergen, Netherlands

Here’s Gestel himself, photographed later in life and in a youthful self-portrait (1913).

A note about this post: my initial plan was simply to share the first image, which so well evokes the contemplative mode suited to the beginning of the year. Unfortunately the quality of information available on the open internet has declined so precipitously (and in fact has been in steady decline for the last decade, as any researcher can confirm) that I had to dig quite deeply to find accurate information about the painting. The upside was that I learned more about Gestel (until today he was little more than a name), and encountered much more of his surviving work. I am sharing some of this information here as part of a commitment to ensuring decent quality information continues to be available on what remains of the open internet.

There are a number of print exhibition catalogues and/or retrospectives on Gestel’s work, available in Dutch. If you know of any material available in translation, I would be grateful to hear from you!

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A Red Bird in Winter

northern cardinal
Northern cardinal. Image source. Creative Commons license.

During the long night of winter the city pauses, midway between dark and day. It goes on like this for weeks: each bleary dawn, the fickle light, the slow descent into twilight. There are consolations, however. A morning sky like burnished silver; the sly moon, gliding across the landscape. After a snow the light is brilliant, and on the first day of the year we dredge for hope in its drifts.

All the things we might love appear without warning, appear out of nowhere, like the red bird in winter that turns the season toward light. The winter swells like a wound; it wells up in us; suspends us, our shovels frozen in mid-air. We are like mammoths, fossils imprisoned in ice until something in us trickles free, until the crystalline structure shatters and we move again, flowing toward the light.

On the first day of the year the houses across the alley loom like old ghosts. They waver in a squall, their shape traced and erased by branches. A cardinal lands in the cedar, sings despite the storm. A light goes on in someone’s kitchen, a kettle scrapes across the stove. And rapidly I dress and put on my coat, and go out to greet the year.

[A version of this post appeared at Reading Toronto on 1 January 2008.]

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