Jamming — where it appears
Named by 6 essays across one field — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The heap that becomes a solid
Sand poured into a jar flows; the same sand shaken down and pressed does not. Nothing about the grains has changed — not their size, their hardness, their friction or their density by more than a per cent — and the thing that changed is a count of contacts, which crosses a threshold set by the dimension of space and by nothing else.
The hourglass that keeps time
Grain leaves a hopper at a rate that does not depend on how much is above it, and that goes as the orifice to the five-halves power rather than the one half a liquid gives. Both facts follow from the same thing: the weight is carried by the walls, not by the grains at the opening.
The pile that is never finished settling
Tap a jar of grains and it settles. Keep tapping and it goes on settling — logarithmically, so that each factor of ten in the number of taps buys the same small improvement as the last. There is no number of taps after which the column is packed; there is only a number after which the next improvement is too small to measure, and the asymptote everyone quotes is a fitted number rather than a measured one.
The suspension that seizes when pushed hard
Cornflour stirred into half its volume of water runs off a spoon like cream, and a fist driven into it bounces off as if it had hit a floor. The particles have not changed and neither has the water. What changes, above a threshold stress, is the kind of contact between neighbouring grains: lubricated, they slide past one another and the suspension can pack to 64 per cent before it locks; pressed into frictional contact, they lock at 58. A suspension sitting between those two numbers is a liquid when handled gently and a solid when handled hard.
The sound sand carries faster the deeper it goes
A solid carries sound at a speed set by what it is made of. A heap of quartz grains is made of quartz, and near its surface it carries sound more slowly than the air above it. The grains are not the solid; their contacts are, and a contact between two spheres grows stiffer the harder it is pressed. So the speed of sound in dry sand rises as the sixth root of the load on it — from about air's speed a few centimetres down to twice that at six metres — the paths of sound in a beach curve back up to the surface, and a water table is a mirror to one kind of wave and almost invisible to the other.
The outlet that jams by chance
A hopper whose outlet is a few grains wide does not flow slowly. It flows at the full rate and then stops dead, when a handful of grains wedge into an arch across the opening, and it flows again only when something knocks the arch down. The number of grains that pass between one jam and the next is random and exponentially distributed, as if every grain leaving had the same small chance of being the last. Its average rises so steeply with the opening's size that it looks like a threshold, and whether there is one is still argued: two laws agree wherever an outlet can be watched, and they part only after millions of grains.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Granular matterForce chainsFrictionRandom close packingAnnealingArchingCloggingConstraint countingCoordination numberCritical pointDegrees of freedomDimensional analysis