Elephant No. 249: Interlocking Popsicle Sticks

I came across these in a discount store yesterday and thought they might make an interesting elephant. I was useless at popsicle-stick constructions in elementary school, but I thought that maybe the fact that these were interlocking might help. And at least I wouldn't have to glue anything.

The original interlocking popsicle sticks are often said to be the plastic sticks used in Borden-brand ice cream bars. Nicknamed "Elsie Stix" for the Ohio company's bovine mascot, the sticks could be used to produce sturdy plastic shapes. Many people fondly remember begging for a popsicle in the 1970s, just to get the Elsie Stix.

Vintage box for Borden ice milk bars featuring Elsie Stix.
Source: http://blog.innovationcreation.us/2006/10/innovation-history-elsie-stix-how-to.html

Elsie Stix, however, were predated by interlocking wooden popsicle sticks, developed by the Missouri-based Southern Ice Cream Company in the late 1950s. The wooden sticks—which looked more or less like the ones I have today—were conceived as part of a construction kit, purchased popsicle by popsicle.

Drawings from Thomas R. Korchak's patent application
for the Southern Ice Cream Company's interlocking
popsicle sticks.
Source: http://www.google.com/patents/US2844910?printsec=
drawing#v=onepage&q&f=false

The plastic Elsie Stix—known as "Icestix" in many other parts of the world—were originally invented in 1967 by an Israeli artist, also as a construction kit. When Borden marketing director Lyle Smith saw them, however, he thought immediately of using them for the company's ice cream bars, and bought the licensing rights. Following a testing period, Borden began using Elsie Stix in their ice cream, making them at a rate of 500 million a year.

Collection of vintage Elsie Stix.
Source: http://www.etsy.com/listing/28712372/vintage-borden-elsie-popscicle-
sticks?image_id=83007669

Many of the Elsie Stix produced by Borden were offered by other companies in cereal boxes and, of course, popsicles—something Borden didn't make at the time. Unfortunately, Lyle Smith bought only the North American manufacturing rights, leaving the Israeli inventor free to license them to other producers throughout the world.

Today, Elsie Stix are no longer made, but are highly sought after as a vintage toy—particularly in the boxed sets that were later manufactured to capitalize on the craze.

Box of Elsie Stix.
Source: http://theoradesign.com/product?id=1

The interlocking popsicle sticks I had didn't seem to have deep enough grooves to interlock firmly, but I figured I'd just see what happens. This activity struck me from the outset as being a bit too much like engineering—something at which I really don't excel—so I was pretty much expecting it to collapse in a heap at least once before I was done.

This was the package of interlocking sticks I bought yesterday. The name "Skill-Sticks" printed on the label did not inspire confidence. If it needed actual skill, I was doomed.

Each stick has single square notches, double square notches, and strange triangular cuts. I wasn't sure what the triangle cuts were for, as they don't hold anything very well. Then I realized they're to help you break the sticks. At least, that's what I decided they were for.

Never having used these before, I played a bit before trying to actually build anything. The main activity involves slotting single square notches into other single square notches at right angles, and pushing them as far as they'll go. The two photographs below show my first join.

I started by making a simple square, leaving two long ends that I thought might come in handy for joining on a trunk later. Or not.

Having never built anything like this before, I had no real idea what I was doing. I fiddled with various configurations, and came up with the structure below as a basis for building an elephant head. I had originally thought I'd make an entire elephant, but I really couldn't wrap my mind around how to attach legs with these sticks.

Clearly, there's a reason I'm not an architect.

I continued in much the same way, inserting sticks, taking them out, inserting new sticks, pushing the whole thing back together when it tried to collapse, cursing, pulling out splinters. When I started, I had planned to use only full-length sticks, then realized I would never be able to make a proper elephant that way. I began to quite like the little triangular snap-off points, and made use of quite a few shortened pieces.

I built up various areas, interlocking things as much as I could. One of the drawbacks to these particular sticks is that the centre section has no notches. I got around this by using some of the shorter ends I'd snapped off, but it's not an ideal solution.

The piece eventually stopped trying to fall apart, but it's never going to be the sturdiest construction. I also angled a few of the sticks to make it look a little more interesting. It's virtually impossible to attach anything securely to the angled sticks, and they like to fall off. On the other hand, if you don't manhandle the piece too much, the angled pieces will mostly stay where you put them.

I was relatively pleased with the final piece, given that I'm a terrible engineer—despite growing up surrounded by them. This took me about an hour and about 75 sticks, and is reasonably secure. If I think of it as an abstract, it's even rather pleasing to the eye. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that it's a pretty good piece of interlocking-popsicle-stick art.

I'm glad I gave this a try, but we won't be expecting me to pick up a set square and beam compass anytime soon.

Elephant Lore of the Day
Although it seems slightly preposterous, a story from the Third Macedonian War (172–168 B.C.) tells of elephants sliding down a hill on wooden platforms.

In 172 B.C., Rome declared war on Greece. In addition to legions of soldiers, 34 war elephants were part of the contingent. Following a series of small victories, in 170 B.C., the Romans marched to the top of a hill. While the high ground is normally a good place to be in a battle, the Romans found themselves cut off by Greeks on the lower reaches of the hill. This caused supply problems in particular, so the Romans decided to take the lower parts of the hill as well. This raised a problem: how to get the war elephants down a steep hill?

The historian Polybius writes that the Roman commander Quintus Marcus Philippus ordered his soldiers to build collapsible wooden platforms. The idea was that the elephants would sit on these and slide gently down the hill. Despite the fact that elephants are quite surefooted, the platforms were thought to be a better idea.

According to Polybius—who is thought to have heard it directly from Philippus—over two dozen elephants slid down the hill in stages, atop the wooden platforms. Although all of the elephants arrived at the base of the hill without injury, their terrified trumpeting sent the Roman army's pack animals fleeing in all directions.

Victorian illustration of war elephants at the Battle of the
Hydaspes River in 326 B.C.
André Castaigne (1861–1929)
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:The_phalanx_
attacking_the_centre_in_the_battle_of_the_Hydaspes_
by_Andre_Castaigne_%281898-1899%29.jpg

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on a number of sanctuaries around the world)

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Wildlife Trust of India

Elephant No. 108: Rhinestones

For today's elephant, I wanted to do something fairly simple, so I decided to glue plastic rhinestones onto a wooden box. It's an object perhaps only a child could love, but it was something I'd never done before, so what the heck.

Historically, rhinestones were literally small sparkly pebbles found along the Rhine River, which runs through several European countries, including Germany and Austria. In the late nineteenth century, the Rhine abounded in the colourful quartz stones, which were much sought-after for use in jewellery and other adornments. As the supply of naturally occurring rhinestones diminished, glass was substituted.

In 1891, Austrian designer Daniel Swarovski revolutionized the costume jewellery industry when he invented a machine capable of cutting and faceting glass. This significantly reduced the amount of time it took to produce faceted glass stones—a task previously done by hand. Swarovski then began simulating rhinestones by adding a high 32% lead content to his glass, resulting in faceted stones with stunning brilliance. Swarovski also created a vacuum-plating machine to bond silver and gold leaf to the back of his glass, making the reproduction rhinestones sparkle even more.

Sometimes the word "paste" has been applied to rhinestones. Paste jewellery, however, dates back millennia earlier, to Ancient Egypt. Unlike natural gems, paste jewellery was made by grinding clear or coloured glass into a paste. The paste was then pushed into a mould and melted at high heat. 

Unlike rhinestones, paste jewels were opaque and dense, and had a frosted surface. If lead had been added to the glass paste, the final jewel would be faceted in order to better reflect the light. To enhance the sparkle of paste jewellery, metallic leaf or foil was often applied to the back of the stones, even in antiquity. 

A couple of days ago, I bought a bag of plastic rhinestones—possibly one of the most far-removed-from-the-original concepts there could ever be—and a wooden box. This was an investment of less than three dollars, so even if it ended up looking terrible, or terribly stupid, it wasn't a huge waste of money.

The box is almost too nice for plastic glue-on "jewels", but I couldn't think of anything else to use, so it was pressed into service.

The rhinestones came in a bag of 300 in various sizes—hearts, squares, oblongs, ovals, and two sizes of circles. While rooting through the pile, I also found a single small cabuchon shape (probably an errant blob of plastic) that was perfect for the elephant's eye.

There also appeared to be three colours: clear, gold, ochre and brown.

I started by mentally planning what the elephant would look like. I didn't want to draw anything on the box, so I laid out a possible pattern on top before glueing anything down. 

This arrangement looked like it might work, so I glued the eye down first. I then glued two oblongs on either side of the eye. I found it difficult to work with all the rhinestones still on the top, but I didn't think I would be able to reproduce this if I removed them all. Then it occurred to me that I had a photo in my digital camera. Duh.

I quickly discovered that the glue doesn't dry quickly enough to keep the rhinestones from sliding around at the slightest nudge. This meant working in small areas and taking a lot of breaks while each section dried.

The final result isn't exactly like my original layout, but I think it works a little better. Because of the time it took to allow the glue to dry, this took about two hours, but if you were to use a hot-glue gun instead, it's probably a fifteen-minute job.  

It's a silly object, but not as tacky as I thought it would be, so I'm happy with it. Now that I see how easy it is, I may try this kind of thing again sometime—but with nicer rhinestones, more colours, and perhaps a painted or stained box to start with.

Elephant Lore of the Day
Although Carthaginian general Hannibal never crossed the Rhine, he did cross the Rhône in 218 B.C. Travelling from Spain to invade Italy and Rome via southern France, Hannibal is perhaps most famous for crossing the Alps with elephants. 

In addition to about 70,000 soldiers and 12,000 horses, Hannibal's army included 37 elephants. When the army reached the Rhône, the elephants were loaded onto sturdy rafts and floated across. 

Hannibal's Army Crossing the Rhône by Henri Lamotte, 1878.
Source: https://tinyurl.com/ykhh35jz

Five months later, Hannibal and his army reached the Alps, in the depths of winter. By this time, only half the army was left, and they still had to cross the Alps in order to reach Rome. Roman historian Polybius described the scene:

"After nine days' climb, Hannibal's army reached the snow-covered summit of the pass over the Alps—all the time being attacked by mountain tribes. However, when the enemy attacked the army, the elephants were of great use to the Carthaginians. The enemy was so terrified of the animals' strange appearance, that they dared not come anywhere near them."

Hannibal and his army eventually entered Italy to fight the Romans. Sadly, all but one of Hannibal's elephants died en route.

Source: https://www.realmofhistory.com/2016/04/05/microbiologists-find-route-hannibal-crossing-alps/

 

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Elephant No. 40: Poppy Collage

Today is Remembrance Day here in Canada, so I thought I'd make a collage using poppy images for today's elephant. An elephant never forgets, and neither should we.

Remembrance Day is observed in Canada, and in countries throughout the Commonwealth, every November 11. In some countries it is called Armistice Day or Poppy Day, and is marked by the wearing of lapel poppies as a mark of respect and remembrance. In the United States, although the poppy is not worn, November 11 is observed as Veteran's Day.

Canadian Remembrance Day poppy.
Source: http://www.medicinehatmedia.com/2010/11/
remembrance-day-lest-we-forget/poppy/

British Remembrance Day poppy.
Source: http://mybritishlog.blogspot.com/2010/11/
poppy-day-remembrance-day-and-london.html

The First World War ended at the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, and each year 11:00 a.m. is marked with two minutes of silence. Interestingly, at the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa, a small window aligned with the Sun's movements casts a beam of light on the headstone of Canada's Unknown Soldier at precisely 11:00 a.m. each November 11.

The poppy as a symbol of Remembrance Day derives from the poem In Flanders Fields, written in 1915 by Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae. McCrae was a Canadian surgeon during the First World War, and wrote the poem on a battlefield following the death of a close friend. The poem is something Canadian children often learn in school, and many of us can probably recite the first few lines from memory.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Sadly, Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae died in early 1918 of pneumonia. He was buried with full military honours in the Commonwealth Cemetery at Wimereux, near Boulogne, France. 

Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae.
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:
Lieut.-Col._John_McCrae,_M.D..jpg

Today's elephant is a simple collage—a process that involves nothing more than cutting out images and pasting them to a sheet of paper. I wasn't sure a red elephant made only of poppies would work without looking a mite too cartoonish, but it was something I really wanted to try.

Because it's Remembrance Day and I wanted to use poppies, I downloaded poppy images from a wide range of sources. Because I'm going to alter them beyond recognition, I haven't included the sources here.

I thought about sketching something, but decided instead to just let the collage evolve. I started, as I often do, with the elephant's topline.

Once I can more or less see the outline of the elephant in my mind, it becomes easy enough to start filling things in.

This actually took nearly two hours. It's surprisingly difficult to find whole poppies in the right sizes and shapes, and I didn't want to reprint or resize anything. In the trunk area in particular, there is quite a lot of layering.

Today's elephant is dedicated to all of my friends and family, past and present, who have been willing to lay down their lives for the rest of us—in places I would never want to go, and under circumstances I would never want to face. "Thanks" will never be a big enough word.

Elephant Lore of the Day

The use of war elephants originates in India sometime between 1000 and 500 B.C. Heavily armoured elephants were a key part of most large battles, often leading the charge against the enemy. Towards the end of this period, as civilizations advanced, Indian kingdoms developed a four-part military system: infantry, elephants, chariots and archers.

When Alexander the Great began his invasion of India in 326 B.C., it was the first time a western military had encountered elephants on the field of battle. After crossing the Indus River, Alexander and his troops were faced with a massive army led by Porus, ruler of the Punjab. Although the Indian army were master charioteers and archers, the most frightening aspect of the military force facing the Greeks was the war elephants. 

Outmanoeuvred by Alexander, and with his chariots stuck in the mud, Porus sent his infantry and elephants against the Greek forces. Although the Greek army was a disciplined and well-armoured force, the elephants with their bronze facial armour terrified the Greeks and their horses.  

However, although the elephants killed many of the Greeks, the Indian infantry was no match for Alexander's soldiers. The Indians took shelter near the elephants; unfortunately, the elephants were distressed by the many wounds they had suffered, and became enraged, trampling the men sheltering around them. The Greek cavalry circled around behind the Indian army and won the battle. 

Although Alexander's forces had won this battle, they refused to march farther east, afraid that even bigger Indian armies might await them, likely with thousands of war elephants. The Greeks turned around and headed back home. 

For centuries, Indian armies used war elephants, and the four military divisions: chariots, infantry, archers and elephants remained. Because of their thick skin, elephants needed less armour than horses and men, and were a terrifying sight on any field of battle. Along with being the first people in the world to use war elephants, Indians were also the last, using them right into the nineteenth century.

 

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Elephant No. 10: Mapping

The earliest known map is the sixth-century B.C. Babylonian World Map, incised in stone. Other early maps include the sixth-century B.C. Anaximander Map, which locates the Aegean Sea at the centre of the world's three continents (Europe, Asia and Libya); and the surprisingly accurate Ptolemy Map of A.D. 150.

By medieval times, there were world maps, regional maps, maps of trade routes, and even pilgrimage maps showing the faithful every shrine and church along the way. In addition to land maps, there were also maps of the heavens, and sea charts indicating the location of known dangers—including the odd sea monster.

The first reasonably accurate maps were not drawn until the Renaissance, when greater exploration by both land and sea gave people a better idea of how the world actually looked. From then on, maps improved with every advance in navigational equipment, and every newly established trade route or settlement.

Today's maps are created using computers, satellites and Geographic Information Systems (GIS). They can map everything from rainfall to the location of small populations of endangered animals. They can also be redrawn quickly when changes occur—as in the aftermath of a tsunami, hurricane or earthquake.

When I originally thought of doing something related to maps, my first idea was to draw a mythical country in the shape of an elephant. I figured I could make it look like a medieval chart, with things like "Here be dragons" on the edge of the known world, and little sea monsters poking their heads out of the oceans. Then I decided that it might be more interesting and challenging to find an elephant shape within an existing map.

The rules I set myself were these: I could only cut along lines that already existed on an actual map, such as rivers, political boundaries, roads, mountain ranges, oceans and lakes. I toyed with buying a map of either India or Africa, given that those are the traditional homes of elephants. I figured, however, that it might be too easy to cheat by cutting along whatever tiny little geographical feature suited me best. So I decided on a map of London, England instead.

The reason I chose London—apart from it being my favourite city—is that it's a city with a long history. This would give me lots of curving lines to play with, which I wouldn't have in a city that's built on a grid. London also has a place called Elephant and Castle, which I decided to use as the elephant's eye.

Cutting an elephant out of a map was actually harder than I expected. Although I could see an elephant shape almost immediately, once I was contending with actual roads, it was difficult to find the lines I needed. It didn't help that I'd limited my options by determining the eye ahead of time.

I started by cutting along the trunk, which was the most obvious line to me. Then I could see an ear to the right, flying in the wind, so I cut that. Then I thought I saw another raised ear, so I cut that, too. Unfortunately, then it started looking like Dumbo from the Walt Disney film, or maybe a vampire bat. So I cut off the second ear, then the first.

I had no idea how to contend with the body, since it would have trailed off the bottom of the map. To make matters worse, the toplines were really weird. I thought I might deal with the problem by cutting along the grid lines, making it sort of abstract. But that looked stupid, because the squares on this particular map were so big. So I cut off the squares as well, ultimately leaving just the head.

The elephant originally had a higher forehead, but I didn't like that, either, so I shaved bits of it away. I would have liked a much thinner trunk as well, but there weren't enough streets in that part of the map. If I'd started whittling away at the trunk along the available lines, it would have looked like it had been nibbled by meerkats or bandicoots.

I also had to contend with some very strange street configurations in the ear area, making the ear tip interestingly raggedy.

When I was done, I darkened the eye so that it was a little more obvious, but decided not to darken any of the other lines. It's a little less abstract in real life, when you can look at it up close. I think that, if I were to try this again, I wouldn't limit myself to a specific starting point.

One of my favourite writers on London is Iain Sinclair. In his book London Orbital, he details a journey along London's ring road, the M25, in a highly personal but compelling account. It makes me think that, the next time I go to London, I should consider taking this map with me to try and walk its circumference. Good thing I didn't cut any of the lines in the middle of the Thames.

Elephant Lore of the Day
In today's London, Elephant and Castle is a major road intersection, occupying the former site of an eighteenth-century coaching inn by the same name. Before the inn was built, the site was occupied by a blacksmith and cutler (a maker of knives and weapons with a cutting edge). This is probably where the name originally came from, as the coat of arms of the Worshipful Company of Cutlers features an elephant with a castle on its back. The Worshipful Company chose the elephant for their coat of arms because of the once-extensive use of elephant ivory in knife handles.

Elephant and Castle was badly bombed in the Blitz in 1941, but was extensively redeveloped in the 1960s. It now includes an office tower called Hannibal House—named for the Carthaginian general who crossed the Alps with elephants in 218 B.C.


To Support Elephant Welfare
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World Society for the Protection of Animals
Elephant sanctuaries (this Wikipedia list allows you to click through to information on a number of sanctuaries around the world)
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