Social DistanceIN SECTION: GEO POEM
By Mary C. Nodine, PE, M.ASCE
As a young engineer, I spent my days
In rain, or sun, or snow, or haze,
With micropiles and drilling rigs.
Some job sites were small, and some were big,
But on each dam, each city block,
Every strip mall, I’d take stock
With cuttings, sand cones, hammer sounds,
Of what was underneath the ground.
Color, cohesion, plasticity,
Gravel content, auger speed,
The silt and sand and I were friends.
We had our strifes; I won’t pretend
That things were always hunky dory.
For example, mandatory
Plastic wrap on claystone cores,
And one-point proctors were a chore…
But most days, I’d choose grubby hands
Over email’s incessant demands.
Years went by, and boring logs
Transitioned to a monthly slog
Through conference calls, drawings, billing too;
Soil and I became one step removed
As I delegated all of the sampling and sun —
The hard work, yes, but a lot of the fun.
The next generation is getting their chance
To develop their judgment — that delicate dance
Of making decisions in a world full of gray
Required for building in sand, silt, and clay.
So, I settle for spending the bulk of my hours
Making good use of computing power
To visit my project sites virtually,
Use lab tests and logs in an effort to "see"
What’s under the ground, so I understand
The geotechnical challenge I can’t view firsthand.
While these tools are useful, I can’t help but compare
My connection with soil to a friend who’s not there
In real life, but encased in a box on a screen.
We can talk, but we can’t share a hug, or caffeine
(Well, you can bring your own but… you know what I mean.)
Project management first revealed it to me.
The pandemic enforced with intensity:
Despite our technology’s big bag of tricks,
There’s no substitute for a real soil fix.
By Mary C. Nodine, PE, M.ASCE
As a young engineer, I spent my days
In rain, or sun, or snow, or haze,
With micropiles and drilling rigs.
Some job sites were small, and some were big,
But on each dam, each city block,
Every strip mall, I’d take stock
With cuttings, sand cones, hammer sounds,
Of what was underneath the ground.
Color, cohesion, plasticity,
Gravel content, auger speed,
The silt and sand and I were friends.
We had our strifes; I won’t pretend
That things were always hunky dory.
For example, mandatory
Plastic wrap on claystone cores,
And one-point proctors were a chore…
But most days, I’d choose grubby hands
Over email’s incessant demands.
Years went by, and boring logs
Transitioned to a monthly slog
Through conference calls, drawings, billing too;
Soil and I became one step removed
As I delegated all of the sampling and sun —
The hard work, yes, but a lot of the fun.
The next generation is getting their chance
To develop their judgment — that delicate dance
Of making decisions in a world full of gray
Required for building in sand, silt, and clay.
So, I settle for spending the bulk of my hours
Making good use of computing power
To visit my project sites virtually,
Use lab tests and logs in an effort to "see"
What’s under the ground, so I understand
The geotechnical challenge I can’t view firsthand.
While these tools are useful, I can’t help but compare
My connection with soil to a friend who’s not there
In real life, but encased in a box on a screen.
We can talk, but we can’t share a hug, or caffeine
(Well, you can bring your own but… you know what I mean.)
Project management first revealed it to me.
The pandemic enforced with intensity:
Despite our technology’s big bag of tricks,
There’s no substitute for a real soil fix.
