Metal has delocalized electrons. The delocalized electrons make it a great conductor of heat. When the metal spoon is left in the hot soup, it gets hot also. I was fully convinced that, when I came to college, chemistry would be my thing, but I actually haven’t taken a single chem class. I’m a biologist because one of the chemistry professors intimidated me out of his subject. He gave a spiel that sounded suspiciously like “If you ever want to do anything even remotely cool, you have to do lots of stuff RIGHT NOW.” Unhappy words for a newly-arrived freshman.
On perfect Maine mornings, my dad and I would awaken even before the sun and head to the lake. As we rowed into the uneasy pre-dawn dark, Alamoosook felt leaden beneath our fishing oars. We rarely said a word, listening instead to loon and owl, to oars clunking against the gunnel.
One morning, as the sun coppered the lake, we turned wearily back to shore, empty-handed, having forgotten freshwater tackle. As we rowed, huge fish surfaced to the sunrise: trout and bass. Hawks plummeted repeatedly to pull with silver talons the shimmery flanks of plump prey from the molten waters.
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Metal has delocalized electrons. The delocalized electrons make it a great conductor of heat. When the metal spoon is left in the hot soup, it gets hot also. I was fully convinced that, when I came to college, chemistry would be my thing, but I actually haven’t taken a single chem class. I’m a biologist because one of the chemistry professors intimidated me out of his subject. He gave a spiel that sounded suspiciously like “If you ever want to do anything even remotely cool, you have to do lots of stuff RIGHT NOW.” Unhappy words for a newly-arrived freshman.
On perfect Maine mornings, my dad and I would awaken even before the sun and head to the lake. As we rowed into the uneasy pre-dawn dark, Alamoosook felt leaden beneath our fishing oars. We rarely said a word, listening instead to loon and owl, to oars clunking against the gunnel.
One morning, as the sun coppered the lake, we turned wearily back to shore, empty-handed, having forgotten freshwater tackle. As we rowed, huge fish surfaced to the sunrise: trout and bass. Hawks plummeted repeatedly to pull with silver talons the shimmery flanks of plump prey from the molten waters.
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