Birds on the Move

Last night as we slept, countless millions of birds passed overhead in waves, guided by stars or magnetic fields or some mystery we have yet to unravel. Some were traveling long distances. Shorebirds like godwits and red knots and curlews fly nonstop for days on end, covering multiple thousands of miles without rest or food.  Even tiny species of warblers and hummingbirds find the energy to stay airborne day and night, fueled by a few grams of fat and muscle and raw determination. They fly with incredible accuracy and can land within yards of where they nested the prior year. 

My wife is a lover of wildlife and a dedicated bird feeder. Among her offerings is grape jelly, which she dobs on a small plate attached to our deck rail as soon as the first oriole arrives. If this year is typical, on a day in late April or early May we’ll hear the song and find the bird perched on the rail eight feet from our patio door. And here will be a bird which has just flown from as far away as South America that has not only found its way back to our yard but remembers with pinpoint accuracy where there was something to eat a year ago. Rested and fortified, it will fill our days with song and flashes of flaming orange as it feeds, pursues a mate, and rears its young.  And then in August it will feel a restless wanderlust and disappear beyond the southern horizon as if nothing at all spectacular were happening.

About 40 percent of the world’s birds migrate. We might assume it’s because their nesting grounds become inhospitable in winter but that’s not always the case. There are seasonal movements of insignificant distance, a hundred miles or less, with no obvious difference between summer and winter digs.  And the majority of birds don’t migrate at all but stay in a given area year round. It doesn't always make logical sense but who are we to question an animal that’s been around since the Jurassic era?  Birds have had plenty of time to sort things out and find their place. 

We’ve come to appreciate the role birds play in providing environmental services. Their contributions in seed dissemination, pollination, nutrient cycling, scavenging, and pest control are well documented.  Beyond their ecological value, they give us a sense of environmental wellbeing wherever diverse and abundant populations are found. They sing, lift our spirits, color our days.

We’ve seen the number of orioles that liven our summer landscape drop by more than half over the past 25 years. Across the globe there are far fewer birds than fifty years ago, fewer still than fifty or a hundred years before then. Their decline has been driven by our propensity for clearing and draining and fouling land that had been prime habitat. Ridding ourselves of so many birds was never a stated objective but a predictable outcome, and it continues today in the name of growth or dominion or some misguided sense of what we consider expendable.  We are slow to give up old methods and behaviors even when we know or suspect they have damaging consequences.  Ecological systems show remarkable tolerance for abuse but they have limits and we’re exposing them. 

Across the US and Canada more than three billion birds have been lost over the past 50 years, with populations plummeting in almost all habitats. More than 90 species not yet recognized by the Endangered Species Act have declined by half or more in the same period.  If these trends continue, more extinctions are inevitable and every bird species will eventually be impacted.  Losing birdlife is both a part of and a contribution to a larger environmental calamity. 

This morning there is a literal symphony outside our window— a riot of birds. We live in a state known for agribusiness and manufacturing, a state that has drained over 85 percent of its wetlands, cleared the majority of its forests, led the nation in toxic air emissions and been recognized for having the most dirty waterways.  Yet, the birds!  If ever there was a testament to the resiliency in nature it is here, for the time being, on a bit of midwestern wildland at the dawning of a spring day. 

Like the canary in the coal mine, bird varieties and their densities are a litmus test for environmental quality. In the night skies a migration has commenced, an age old event filled with determined and admirable and essential participants. They will carry on as long as we let them. 

A Watchful and Responsive Mother

On a mid afternoon in January we watched a bobcat stroll nonchalantly across the headlands of the North American continent. Its belly apparently satisfied, it soon sat down and began grooming itself on a bluff overlooking the rocky Pacific shore.  Oystercatchers, godwits and curlews fed on a reef a hundred feet below, among dozens of harbor seals that were sprawled on the exposed shale during low tide. Nearby, burrowing owls perched outside underground digs, highly attuned, I suspect, to the cat’s proximity. A white tailed kite soared overhead, western bluebirds flitted over open pastures, brush rabbits moved from the cover of coyote brush to nibble succulent greens. Within a square kilometer was life in abundance, wild and relatively unchanged over hundreds of years. And from our vantage point we could see the city of San Francisco and pick out its downtown, its culturally distinct districts, Golden Gate Park. The city known for tech superstars, master artisans, and eclectic spirits lay a mere 15 miles distant but seemed a world away. 

Life in the city and on the headlands and in every nook and cranny is linked by a thread, and it moves beyond the living and winds its way through rock and water and branches into the atmosphere so everything is connected. The Gaia principle, first proposed by English scientist James Lovelock and named for the Greek goddess of earth, says the living interacts with the nonliving to form a self-regulating system that maintains life. It’s a perspective that views the entire planet as a living organism, having the tendencies of a nurturing mother. Indigenous societies recognized the principle long before science.

Stephan Harding, a former student of James Lovelock and a deep ecology research fellow at Schumacher College in England says, “It’s our natural humanity to feel the earth as alive and as a mother… (But we) don’t relate to Gaia with our aboriginality; we relate to her through our greed and our desire for more stuff and more money and more prestige…We’ve pushed nature back, evoking feedbacks… (and if) we don’t do anything about greenhouse gasses and the destruction of biodiversity, which helps us control greenhouse gasses amongst other things, we haven’t got much hope, really, not in the long term. That’s the science.”

Such dire warnings might raise an eyebrow but convictions and behaviors are slow to follow. The majority of us don’t take environmental threats seriously enough to modify our actions or spending habits. We have friends whose wealthy neighbors express heartfelt concern for the environment even as they shop for bigger sailboats and plan yet another European excursion, and when given a choice between a rooftop solar array and an updated bath, a new jacuzzi is the sure winner.  This isn’t to say we deny ourselves nonessential travel or reasonable home improvements, but the true costs of our activities should be weighed against personal efforts to lessen our environmental impact. It’s a matter of respect and gratitude, where carbon neutral or carbon negative living is the goal and extraneous indulgences are earned. 

The predicament where we find ourselves— questioning the earth’s ability to continue its support of human life—  is not helped by an economy and GDP formula in serious need of updating. Canadian scientist David Suzuki points out that essential services such as those provided by soil-building mycorrhiza, pollinating insects, and aquifer-replenishing wetlands are viewed as “externalities” in our quest for wealth and given no monetary value at all, yet without these we’re subscribing to an economy better suited for Mars.

Home and building valuations are also behind the times, at least in some states. Not long ago I met a home appraiser and asked what price he put on insulation or improved energy efficiencies. “None at all,” he said. “Banks and lenders are only interested in general building conditions, number of beds and baths and total square footage. Besides, 75 percent of owners don’t even know if their homes are insulated and there’s no easy way for me to measure it.”

Aldo Leopold warned of two spiritual dangers: one is supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery and the other that heat comes from the furnace.  Both are pleas to understand our deep connection to the earth and the need for a land ethic rooted in sustainability. Today there’s a third danger: supposing that humanity’s greatest environmental threat is for someone else to fix. 

The bobcat stood up and yawned and stretched and began a meander southward. The kite stopped mid flight and hovered, scanning the grasslands for errant gophers.  Small bits of fractured rock broke free from the bluff and rained onto the reef below. A coyote appeared on a rise to our east, an exceptionally handsome specimen unconcerned by our presence. We looked south towards the great City on the Bay, thought about its long and colorful history, the talent and spirit of its people, the risks it faces from rising seas and storms that grow ever stronger. 

And standing by was a watchful and responsive mother, prepared for any outcome. 

Remembering Yellow Dog

A few decades ago Oscar Theodore Blank was contemplating his mortality, organizing his final wishes, and asked if I’d say a few words at his memorial service. I agreed. As the years skimmed by and he showed no evidence of slowing down, I began to wonder if I should have been the one making arrangements with him. But here we are, as he intended. 

My wife and I first met Ted when we were hired to move a spruce tree from the yard of his friend Jud Druck to Ted’s yard at 301 Davis Road. Lee and I had a landscape and nursery business and in that first meeting Ted showed an interest in helping us out on a part time basis. We felt an immediate connection with the old farmer and a deal was struck. 

On the week he showed up we needed someone to man a booth at the WSAL Home Show and we asked Ted if he’d stand in. He seemed a bit shocked by this vote of confidence, but agreed. Late in the evening we slipped in and found him sharply dressed, exuding professionalism. He was with a prospective client, paging through a book of plants as if it were a well practiced routine. He was listening respectfully, responding with humility, fostering a relationship. We knew we had a winner. 

From that moment his friendship, value and dedication were rock solid for the nearly 15 years he helped us out. He became a surrogate grandfather to our two sons, a sounding board and a source of advice in all matters of business and personal life, and a man we leaned on and worked, in his words, “like a dirty yellow dog.” And then, at the tender age of 83, he announced he would pull stakes and move to Bainbridge Island. 

It surprised us. His history and livelihood, his community, his long established and close friends were all here. He was by definition not a young man, but he set his jaw to moving cross country and pulled it off. In no time he was volunteering at the local art scene, counting wild salmon in area streams and raising oysters in Puget Sound, all while transforming his yard into a garden showcase and establishing himself as Bainbridge Island’s new troublemaker. Few that met him could resist his charm and humor and home spun simplicity. 

I’d never known a centenarian before Ted and often wondered what allowed him to exceed the century mark with gusto. Maybe it was diet: half and half on breakfast cereal, biscuits and gravy, lots of bacon, marbled steaks, rich pastries, daily martinis. Maybe avoiding the dentist chair played a role, or an aversion to exercise for exercise’s sake. It could not have been for lack of worry because the man worried— about family and friends, community, country, money. He’d get fed up and claim he didn’t care. “To heck with it,” he’d say. But he lied.  He cared deeply. No doubt his longevity was fueled by his social life, his broad range of interests, his curiosity and willingness to engage. He had a trap line requiring daily tending and it kept him abreast of goings on. Years after he moved away we’d call Bainbridge Island to get Logansport news and he’d always have it. 

He had a memory like an elephant and his ability to solve math on the fly left me astounded. Give the man a string of numbers and he’d tilt his head and squint one eye and spit out the answer as sure as a Texas Instrument calculator. He was quick to embrace new practices in agriculture but carried to the grave a disdain for home computers and modern gadgetry. He was a hands-on manager who kept business transactions under his thumb and clearly recorded on lined paper. When information deemed personal began showing up on the internet, he drew the line and would have no part of it.  There was a limit to what a man could accept having had intimate experience with workhorses and threshing machines and home butchering. 

He would often remind me that there was no better advice than what came from an old farmer, and that I was indeed fortunate to receive said advice free of charge. He was driven by persistent effort, careful planning, and balance sheets free of red ink. We once had a prominent location in town to sell Christmas trees and we asked Ted if he, with other employees, would run it for all the profit it held. He took to the job like a boar in a pen full of receptive gilts, recruiting family members to assist, and over the years it arguably became the best Christmas tree stand in the county. The trees were hand picked and of finest quality, and if the customer needed home delivery and the tree placed in a stand inside the living room window, so be it. You won’t find that kind of service at Walmart. 

Back at the nursery, when a plant combination didn’t suit him, he’d say, “That looks shitty,” or if Lee was present, “Pardon me, Lee, that looks shitty.”  If he disapproved of something I said he’d remind me that I fell from a tree and hit my head and had yet to fully recover. Every morning he’d arrive at the office ahead of the other employees and pull a notepad and sharpie from his overalls chest pocket and scratch off pertinent news and thoughts for the day. His concern for us and our welfare sometimes exceeded our own. He was thrilled on the days he could report he was “making bag,” and apologized on those when he felt fine but just didn’t want to do a damn thing. His presence in our lives was a constant, his service and companionship beyond measure. 

A man who valued education, hard work, and integrity, he was at once a jokester and gentleman, a devoted husband, parent, gramps and great grandpa. I was always moved, long after his relocation to WA, by his requests for fresh roses on Helen’s tombstone and evergreen blankets for the graves of his mom and dad on Christmas. He was a respectful man and it earned him the same. 

When Ted asked me to say a few words on this long dreaded day, he insinuated that I not be remorseful but instead say something smart, liven the mood, celebrate. I’m not sure I’m entirely capable. I often called him an old goat, which he said wasn’t very nice and it probably wasn’t. Nevertheless, today I want to thank him for being the stubborn old goat he was: stubbornly dedicated to friends and to being the best he could be, stubbornly determined to spend his earthly time well, to smile and laugh often, to encourage by example. His influence will live on for generations. Well done, Mr Blank, very well done. We’ll miss you, ole Yellow Dog. 

A House For Sale

Our house is for sale. It’s been nearly forty years since we closed, and I remember it well. The home, the acreage, the outbuildings, captured our enthusiasm and spirits and promised to satisfy our wildest dreams. Taking ownership was seconded only by the birth of our sons, and our years occupying this speck of land have been extremely satisfying. We made a lot of changes— all for the better, we think— and still love the place. But it’s for sale. 

Not everything is included— not the 40 years of memories in raising a family, starting a business from scratch, creating a carbon neutral home. Not included is building ponds and watching them become an integral part of the landscape, in seeing abandoned crop fields become places of immeasurable value to local wildlife. Memories of moonlit excursions on cross country skis, hot saunas on frigid nights, the return of migrating birds, the sweet scent of fallen leaves piled on the deck, the explosion of rhododendron and crabapple and dogwood flowers in spring— these we take with us. Time has passed quickly. Trees planted as mere saplings now tower overhead. They are included in the sale but the thrill in documenting their incredible growth is ours to keep. 

There is a degree of self sufficiency here. A  grid-tied solar array provides electricity at essentially no cost. Organic gardens routinely produce a year’s worth of amazing vegetables. Most are canned, frozen, or dehydrated; some are stored long term in a highly functioning root cellar. Also included is ready access to wild raspberries and morel mushrooms, venison and fresh fish. With reasonable effort, a family can live here with few trips to the grocery.  

So why leave? Our motivation is driven by several factors— a desire to downsize and live closer to our sons chief among them. But there’s also appeal in the idea of living out our days in a different ecotype, exchanging hackberry, hickory, and black walnut for redwoods, Douglas fir, and huge forest ferns; trading views of unbroken industrial agriculture for ancient forests and a horizon where saltwater meets the sky; to live among big game and top predators and whales and seals and yet be within a few hours drive of snow-ladened mountains and prairies and deserts.  

How crazy is it to deliberately disconnect from the familiar and comfortable, to trade a place of proven satisfaction and contentment for the possibility of new adventure and experience? How reckless to move to an area with a higher cost of living and increased risk of natural disasters? It would certainly be easier to stay where we are, and maybe we will. There’s no guarantee we’ll find someone who appreciates this place like we do.

Today we canned up a batch of tomato juice— pulp heavy, rich color. Then we sowed winter rye on the part of the garden that gave us a year’s worth of sweet corn and potatoes and cucumbers and green beans. We harvested pumpkins— big, gorgeous, orange pumpkins. We took a bike ride along the river with roadside crickets cheering us on, saw redwings gathered in fall flocks, raising a ruckus. Friends are coming over this evening. We’ll sit on the dock and enjoy good ale and sort through the world’s problems, solving most. 

Tomorrow at 10 AM we’ll show the house again. Maybe we’ll get a full price offer and our lives will be forever changed. Or maybe in five or twenty years we’ll still be here putting up food, listening to crickets, and wondering what might have been.  We won’t be too disappointed either way. 

We Really Do Have Everything

It’s early August and for lunch I’ll have a couple pieces of homemade buttered toast with sliced, lightly salted tomatoes and freshly chopped basil topped with whatever cheese is on hand. It’ll get broiled for four minutes then drizzled with jalapeño infused olive oil. Yes, it’s as simple and delicious as it sounds.  

The garden is in full production mode. The sweet corn is perfect, tomatoes are red and glorious, potatoes and onions and peppers are bursting with goodness.  In the kitchen the canner rattles daily, jalapeño sauce ferments on the counter, baskets of produce litter the floor— cucumbers, green beans, zucchini. Our cup runneth over.

We had to put down our beloved dog last fall and lost both a loyal companion and the Head of Vermin Control. Groundhogs, rabbits, and raccoons are now daily visitors and their impact on the garden is hard to overlook. We installed a perimeter electric fence which raccoons respect but groundhogs ignore. Maybe they are slow to associate thin metal wires with 3000 DC volts, or maybe the little buggers take the jolt in fair exchange for the ecstasy found in tender greens.  As for cottontails, they hop nimbly over the wires surrounding paradise and hide among the cucumbers and zucchini when they’re not munching green beans and parsley. They are remarkably tame and unconcerned by our presence. 

There is no evidence of willful vandalism or gluttonous behavior and everyone seems happy enough with the arrangement, including ourselves. We miss the old dog but the locals are finding relative peace in her absence. It’s all good. 

The heat has been perfect for the tomatoes, peppers, and sweet corn while globally setting records.  The report that most caught my eye was the 100+ degree temperatures recorded in ocean waters off south Florida. Over 100 Fahrenheit degrees at five foot depth.  That’s within the preferred temperature range of hot tubs and exceeds what corals and other marine life can withstand.  

Recently, I came across a quote by Gus Speth, founder of the National Resources Defense Council: “I used to think the top environmental problems facing the world were global warming, environmental degradation and ecosystem collapse, and that we scientists could fix those problems with enough science. But I was wrong. The real problem is not those three items, but greed, selfishness and apathy.  And for that we need a spiritual and cultural transformation.  And we scientists don’t know how to do that.”

And then there was a post from our friend Beckie Menten who is working to build a decarbonization coalition in the green energy sector. She mentioned the 2021 movie Don’t Look Up starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence, where two low-level astronomers go on a media tour to warn of an approaching comet that will destroy civilization. World opinion is divided with some believing the threat while others deny its existence, decry alarmism, or believe the comet is loaded with rare-earth elements that will be a boon to the economy.  The plot is meant to be a satirical portrayal of how our world is responding to climate change. 

In Beckie’s view the movie is a dead ringer at depicting the real life challenges in her world. She sees so much promise, but putting an end to the planet’s warming “is going to take sacrifice, money, and change on the part of people who are accustomed to having it all, and none of this will even make a dent without releasing our political system from the death grip of those who stand to profit from squeezing every drop of oil and every BTU of gas from our planet… I can't help feeling like we're just rearranging deck chairs on the titanic. I guess the point is......vote? And buy your friends in climate work a drink. Trust me, they need it.” 

We respond to environmental threats every day. The decisions we make, from supporting local food to reducing plastics to choosing our mode of transportation, has an impact. It starts with awareness and becomes significant when enough people participate. The most wealthy and poorest among us are doing the least, and the latter are excused. Our greatest hope is that those in the middle, the majority of us, will force change. Ousting lawmakers who are beholden to archaic fossil fuel interests is the first step.

Today we’ll pull the onions and spread them in the shade of the barn to cure.  Some are so large a single slice will hide a piece of bread, so sweet they can be eaten like an apple. A year’s worth in three months' time. There’s more than enough sweet corn in the freezer so the hot wire is coming down and the raccoons can have their way with the remnants. At some point we’ll sit on the dock listening to bird song and cicadas, go for a swim in the pond, feel the healing sun on our backs. We’ll remind ourselves how good it still is, how threatened it still is. We’ll think of those on the front lines in the battle to save the planet and toast a cool beer to their unwavering spirits.  

Beckie compared the dinner scene at the end of Don’t Look Up with her own life, her search for normalcy with friends and those she loves, “while the world around (her) burns.”  In the scene, the comet has struck off the coast of Chili and its wave of destruction is spreading across the globe while the young astronomers and friends gather for what they know is their final meal.  They're making small talk about homemade versus processed food and their love for coffee from freshly ground beans. As the house shakes, lights flicker, and the end draws near, Leonardo DiCaprio says, “The thing of it is, we really… we really did have everything, didn’t we? 

Listening for Loons

We were in Canada a couple weeks ago at a place we’ve enjoyed for 24 years: a small cabin on a remote river once used by the voyageurs. It had been a while since we were there during June. Spring was just getting a solid foothold and the warblers and kinglets and thrushes were singing their hearts out. We saw old friends— fringed polygala, wild lily of the valley, sarsaparilla, blue bead lily. We filled our lungs with the essence of spruce-fir, floated lazily downriver casting for pike, saw an impressive moose in a river tributary, watched eagles and beavers and snowshoe hares. The mosquitoes were in peak season, but they are as much a part of the June north woods as the voices of nesting songbirds.  The experience would be strangely different without them. 

They were days well spent, unplugged from electronic gadgetry, living simply, tuned into solitude. Time in the north never fails to inspire and offer perspective. It gives us a chance to recalibrate and consider what has changed and what needs to. 

An article appearing in Nature describes a peer reviewed study on the planet’s health. A team of scientists looked at eight key thresholds and concluded seven have already been breached. The areas measured were climate change, aerosols (air pollution), surface water, ground water, nitrogen fertilizer, phosphorus fertilizer, intact ecosystems, and the functional integrity of all ecosystems. Aerosols were the only category not breached, but the team warned that no amount of polluted air can be considered safe.

Within 20 years projected sales of electric cars are expected to surpass combustion engine vehicles. A Washington Post article indicates that electric cars “require six times the mineral input, by weight, of conventional cars.”  The minerals have to be extracted and processed which invariably results in harm to workers, communities, and the local environment. In a separate article published in The Guardian, carmaker Volvo claims greenhouse gas emissions during production of an electric car are 70 percent higher than gasoline vehicles.  Both articles are irritating because neither mentions that upfront environmental costs in manufacturing EVs are readily offset by zero emissions over the car’s lifetime, especially when batteries are charged with renewable energy.  I love our electric car— roomy, peppy, economical to operate, almost zero maintenance. EVs are, at the moment, the most earth-friendly automobile option. 

We noticed as we reached the boreal forest on our drive north that our windshield became littered with smashed insects, something we no longer experience in the industrial heartland. The Indiana Economic Digest ran an article entitled Scientists, Advocates Decry Drastic Declines in Insect Populations in Indiana and Throughout the World.  In April of this year, a CNN report stated “between the climate crisis and high-intensity agriculture… insect abundance has already dropped by nearly 50%, while the number of species has been slashed by 27%.”  As I read the piece an ad popped up promoting a new and improved bug zapper guaranteed to make summer outdoor activities more enjoyable.  Seriously?

For the past several days we’ve smelled and looked through the haze of smoke from Canadian forest fires.  The air quality throughout the northeast and Midwest has been in the dangerous category, at times considered the most polluted in the world. It’s a record breaking year for fires across Canada with no end in sight as peak fire season approaches. 

A man that suffers a serious heart attack is likely to develop a sudden interest in the workings of the human heart.  In the same way, the health of the planet and the stream of ecological services that allow life to flourish will one day garner the respect and attention it deserves.  We need an epiphany before tipping points and feedback loops are fully engaged and everyone becomes grimly aware we waited too long. 

I turned 70 this year. There are some in my cohort who say our remaining decades are few and the environmental crisis is for the next generation to fix. Yet we’re responsible for the mess. We’ve spent our lifetimes supporting an economy powered by polluting energies and poisonous land use practices with little consideration of its uncertain end. We were warned early enough, but special interests and our own determination to carve out a slice of the American dream killed the messengers.  If anyone is obliged to make reparation it is the boomers, and we’re mostly dragging our feet. 

This morning a loon is calling on a celebrated waterway connecting James Bay to Lake Superior. The song is mournful and eerie and melancholic, and a sense of the wild and pristine is carried in it.  It’s a plea to review our priorities, an urge to slow down and look at how our living impacts the bedrock systems that support us. It’s a voice known to carry a long distance. Anyone listening can hear it. 

A Good Casserole for a Better World

Dinner tonight is a casserole that starts with a mass of chopped kale and spinach, lightly salted and wilted in a hot skillet.  A pound of penne is cooked al dente and layered atop the greens.  Next, the cast iron gets a drizzle of oil, a large diced onion, and a couple pounds of sliced mushrooms (any kind will do, but it’s spring so we treat ourselves to plump morels). As the fungi  soften a pint of frozen sweet corn and several stalks of fresh chopped asparagus are added, seasoned to perfection, and spread evenly over the pasta.  Then comes the white sauce, rich and creamy, complemented with the remnants of mushrooms and onions, a dash of salt and pepper, a generous portion of shredded cheddar.  It is ceremoniously draped over the awaiting casserole and all goes in the oven until bubbly and lightly browned. Somebody pinch me. 

There is much to be said about wholesome food prepared in a home kitchen, food that is unprocessed and grown without chemical inputs and free of preservatives or dyes or ingredients I can’t pronounce.  Too many highly processed items on grocery shelves are palatable but not actually food, and as a regular diet they can lead to a myriad of health problems. There’s an unavoidable string of environmental benefits attached to organic production and the quality of the final product is superior in nutrition and flavor.  According to Mayo Clinic, foods earning the organic label are also higher in Omega 3 fatty acids, likely higher in antioxidants, and lower in heavy metals and pesticide residues.

We had a meeting with our financial advisor, Brad. He’s worked at his trade for nearly 40 years and is good at it. He understands the market and the merits of portfolio diversification and has expectations based on historic performance. He is confident in his advice with one caveat: the mounting national debt and the looming economic hardship it promises. But not all debt are monetary. Within the first few months of every year we take from the planet more resources than can be replaced the same year. That is a debt that gets little attention and has been mounting for decades. Environmental bankruptcy can’t turn out well.  

I said, “Brad, do you rate climate change as a world threat?”  He answered swiftly: “If we don’t get the debt under control, we won’t have a world.”  

And there you have it: the economy trumping the environment. It’s nothing against Brad doing his job, and it’s not that we’ve totally ignored the environment in our zeal for growth. We’ve cleaned up rivers, added scrubbers to smokestacks, pollution controls to combustion engines, protected areas of wilderness and rich habitats. And while we seem to have less tolerance for blatant environmental offenses, we continue to overlook some of the most threatening— the loss of microbial life in soil, the worldwide decline in biodiversity, the record concentration of carbon in the atmosphere.

In March the ocean temperature off the east coast of North America was the highest ever recorded, more than 50 degrees Fahrenheit above the 1981-2011 average, and scientists don’t quite know what it means. Wildfires in Alberta have already consumed 150 times more land at this time of year than in the last five years combined.  

Our visit with Brad was good, and he gave us a thread of confidence that what is left of our life savings might carry us a few more years. Meanwhile, as the US flirts with default on its debt and our representatives pretend to negotiate the matter (which by law is non-negotiable), proposals to cut environmental spending are brought to the fore, and as capitalism runs amuck and environmental threats are discounted, the damage continues.  There are so many great ideas— actions that would give ecological systems highest priority and offer genuine hope for a prosperous and more just world— but apathy, misinformation, special interests, and the status quo are hogging center stage. 

It’s May in the heartland, and the blue skies are whitened with smoke from Alberta fires. The other day on a walkabout, the Merlin app picked up over 50 birdsongs: orioles, warblers, vireos, thrushes, a bonafide symphony.  Birds still make a worthy show on our little piece of the continent, though nearly every species is experiencing population decline, as are insects, amphibians, and reptiles. 

But right now there’s a casserole, golden brown and bubbling with goodness, most of it made from what we grew or wild harvested, all of it prepared with satisfaction in our home kitchen. We know every ingredient, it fits our budget, and producing it did not contribute to the environmental or national debt. It is simplicity and wholesomeness and gratitude baked in a dish, hope with a cheese topping, common sense for a better planet. The world needs a good casserole.