If my family and friends were to write me a letter, what address would they use? When I type my name on one of my stories, what address should I give?

It occurred to me that Space Station is a place as deserving of an address as other frontier stations like McMurdo Base or the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Base in Antarctica. These places have formal addresses, complete with zip codes. Even Navy ships have addresses. With the future development of commercial spaceships, I could realistically contemplate someone sending me a letter. So what address would they use? Do they need a zip code? Do you affix an “airmail stamp” or do we create a new category of “rocket mail” stamps? If Space Station were to have an address, instead of writing letters to Santa Claus asking for stuff, kids could write letters to astronauts asking questions about science and engineering.

My sleep station, a coffin-sized box, is located in the fifth deck space of Node 2. From an Earth-based perspective, I pop out of my sleep station as if I were coming out of the floor. I am thus situated on the International Space Station (ISS) in Low Earth Orbit (LEO) with an orbital inclination of 51.6 degrees (the angle of our orbit plane to the equator) and an average altitude of 400 kilometers. It occurred to me that my address should be: Node 2, Deck 5, ISS, LEO 51.603. The first three digits of your space zip code would be your orbital inclination and the last two a designator for your particular space station, with ISS being the third in this location (after the Salyut series and Mir). This zip code nomenclature should suffice, at least until there are more than 99 different space stations in orbit.

A poem written after my Soyuz TMA-1 landing in 2003.

Oh Mother Earth, embrace me
     with all of your weight.
I am pressed into your bosom
     and like Atlas, I carry the World’s load.
I leave the comforts of an orbital womb
     and am born a second time.
Rudely thrust into the world of weight,
     my chest sinks from heavy load
     my arms do not move at my command
     and my head spins.
But there is work to do, we must keep our wits.
We want to survive this test to prove our
worthiness for life on Earth.
And finally, our just reward,
     the sweet smell of freshly tilled earth
     and of crushed spring grass.
The Sparrow’s song greets our ears.
Did we perish and land on Heaven’s door?
I spew bile and mucus into desert soil,
     a reminder that I am still among the living.
Oh Mother Earth, I have returned
     Embrace me!

Don's blog also appears at airspacemag.com.

It was time to get new socks. Mine had been worn for a week, and had reached their pull date. Groping in the bag of socks, I pulled out a pair of women's (small) ankle socks by mistake. Not wanting to fold them up and put them back, I decided to just try them on - maybe they would stretch. They covered my toes, but only reached just past the ball of my foot. I quickly concluded, "This will not work."

But that was based on my experience on Earth. It occurred to me that up here, you use your feet differently. In zero-g, you hook your feet under "handrails," thus shifting the load from the bottom to the top of the foot, just behind the toe knuckle. After about two months in orbit your feet molt, and like some reptilian creature the callused skin on the bottom of your foot sheds, leaving soft pink flesh in its place. In the weightless environment, calluses apparently have no use, at least on the bottoms of your feet. However, the tops of your feet become red-rubbed raw and gnarly. And the bottom calluses shed faster than the top calluses can grow. Perpetually raw and hypersensitive, your foot tops can use a bit of padding to ease the pain.

Serendipitously, I discovered that these short socks provide the necessary protection for toes and toe tops while leaving your heels out where they can breathe. They are the zero-gravity equivalent to flip-flops. The more that I wore them, the more I liked them. I have dubbed this new space fashion "toe koozies" - they are perfect for lounging around in a Node or the Cupola.

Space is a desert unlike anything encountered on Earth. The human body is not configured to be able to survive in the cold, dark vacuum of this unearthly realm; creatures of this planet were never meant to go into space. We can only go there if we make machines to take and provide us with all the necessary things our bodies need to stay alive.

To survive and thrive in this machine-dominated environment, we need to know how those machines work and how to maintain them. This takes a strong background in technical subjects—mathematics, science, and engineering. These subjects are interesting, and for many people, mostly fun. But they can be difficult to master.

The theoretical basis for our machines must be understood, but we must also have the practical hands-on mechanical-electrical skills needed to keep them running and fix them when they break down. Crew members who work on their cars and do their own home repairs are well prepared for what is required when they venture into space. When something breaks on a spacecraft, you have to get your hands dirty.

If you want to fly into space and be a part of this new frontier, you must study and absorb the fundamentals of these subjects, and develop the hands-on repair skills needed to keep things running smoothly. As in any wilderness, be it on Earth or in space, if you should find yourself without the necessary technical knowledge and skills, you will be at the mercy of the elements. You will have compromised your ability to complete the mission, and perhaps even decreased your chances of survival.

Don's blog also appears at airspacemag.com.

March 26
I have new leaves!  I am no longer naked to the cosmos.  They are not as big as before however they are just as green.  Broccoli and Sunflower have leaves as well and are vibrant.  We all have happy roots.  This is a hard to explain to a non-plant, but I am feeling very zucchini now.

March 27
We are all back in the space flight game.  Tomorrow is a big day.  An unplanted spacecraft is arriving with a cargo of much needed supplies.  If the automatics fail, we as crew have to be prepared to take over in the final stages of docking.  I am ready; it will not fail because of me. 

March 28
The cargo spacecraft arrived and docked without any problems.  We have had all this training, we have prepared with leaf and stem just in case things go wrong.  There is a small voice inside that would like the chance to use this training, thus saving the day in the face of a malady.  On the frontier of space, it is unwise to wish for malfunctions; you do not want to be a hero.

March 31
We had a long and tiring week.  There was much activity that took us well into Friday evening.  We were all looking forward to some off duty time.  Gardener said he would treat us to some window time.  There is nothing like catching a few rays to green up the foliage.  Saturday morning, the big gardener that speaks from the wall told us the cargo vehicle had an electrical failure and might need to undergo a contingency undock in the next day or two.  It was planned to stay docked for months where we could unpack the supplies in an orderly process over a three-week period.  To save our precious supplies, we had one day to do three weeks of work.  With all the large bags floating by, it was good to stay out of the way.  Any one of them could have easily smash us into salad.  Later that evening, Gardener came by and we presented him with our vibrant green and tickled his nose with our fresh aroma.  When we saw a tired smile come to his face, we knew we had done our part in this contingency.

Don's blog also appears at airspacemag.com.

March 20
There was a time where I had no memory; I thought this must be the Great Compost.  Since waking I heard Gardener talking to me about what happened.  We were transplanted once again into new plastic bags.  Our stems and roots were trimmed.  Our water diet was replaced with a new tea, one that is not salty.  Our roots are happy drinking this new concoction.  It is actually quite pleasant and is free from that sour taste.  It makes me smile.  I noticed that Sunflower and Broccoli are still with us and we are all part of the crew.  We may be leafless stalks but are sprouting new tiny leaf-buds.  They are a vibrant green and brought a smile to Gardener’s face.  Did I notice a small bit of water in the corner of his eyes?  Oh the magic in a topical meristem.  Plants have an incredible capacity to regenerate, something that Gardener says he cannot do.  I have a meristem on top that generates new leaves and a meristem below that generates new roots.  As long as these meristems live, we can regenerate ourselves.  There are perils when you explore, when you venture off into the space frontier.  You go into the unknown where the answers are no longer in the back of the book.  You observe, thus gathering new knowledge to share with all those plants that remain firmly root-bound on the Earth.  And sometimes the price is paid with leaf and stem.

Gardener, Commander Burbank and the rest of the human crew closed all the hatches on the International Space Station before taking shelter in their Soyuz spacecraft. Broc, Sunflower and I stayed behind.

March 21
We are getting stronger every day.  Both my meristems are generating new leaves and roots.  Sunflower and Broccoli are too.  Soon, we will be ready to carry on our duties as active crew.  This new tea is actually quite nice, my roots are happy.  I wonder what the new tea is made from?

March 22
I overheard my gardener talking to his crewmates about the new tea.  He was reluctant to say how it was made.  He said it was an ancient recipe, “Don’t ask, don’t tell”

March 23
We are recovering, growing greener every day.  I still only have only four tiny leaves but am able to return to my crew duties.  Sunflower grows his leaves in pairs and now has two.  Broccoli is in the best shape with a bunch of new leaves coming out.  For such a weak sproutling, he is one tough crewmate.  It is good to have him along.

March 24
We got a radio call from my gardener’s gardener at 03:50, which woke everyone from a deep Saturday morning sleep.  A piece of space junk, an old rocket body, was on a possible collision course with our spaceship.  All hands on alert!

We had to prepare for an emergency evacuation.  The chance of a collision was small but would be devastating so we had to prepare.  As a precaution, we closed every hatch on our spaceship leading up to where our escape capsule was docked.  This took about half an hour.  When closing the last hatch leading from the Laboratory module, I volunteered to stay behind with Sunflower and Broccoli.  We may be sporting small leaves but we are here standing tall, ready to do our job.  Somebody had to stay behind to take care of the spaceship.  With all the hatches closed and the ventilation turned off, it became real quiet, and stuffy too.  In weightlessness, there is no buoyancy driven convection thus the cabin air remains stagnant.  The droning of fans operating 24 hours a day are required to keep the air stirred and of uniform composition.  I have heard Gardener say that when working behind a rack or some confined place where there is no circulation, a pocket of carbon dioxide can build up and give him a headache.  Sometimes he will set up a small portable fan when working in such a place.  He should take Sunflower, Broccoli, or me with him and perhaps he would not need the fan.  Thus sealed in the Laboratory module for the collision safe haven, there was no air movement of any kind and we felt the oxygen building up around our leaves.  If this lasted too long we might suffocate for lack of carbon dioxide.  The space junk passed without hitting us.  When my crew opened the hatch and ventured back into the module, we were able to greet them with a small breath of fresh air.

Don's blog also appears at airspacemag.com.

Helen of Earth

An Alien force,

          smitten by the sight of Earth.

Stunning occipital pleasure,

with a face of such beauty.

As to launch a thousand ships,

laying siege to our planet,

                   until they can take her as their own.