417.62 ppm

It’s raining, and according to the forecast it might rain for 10 days, maybe 6 or more inches before it winds down. Meanwhile, the west lies parched and baked and the reservoirs are drying up.  The northwest is insanely hot with triple digit temperatures and Siberia set an all time record of 112 degrees.  It’s not craziness, it’s 417.62 ppm CO2.

The national news outlets suggest that half of us have gone mad.  People who know history see indicators of rebellion within our borders.  The pandemic is not over, largely because too many of us refuse to be vaccinated.  Half of our government officials demonstrate less collective reasoning than a group of monkeys.  Which half depends on who you ask.

The other day I met a man for the first time and we exchanged pleasantries before the subject wandered to national affairs.  We expressed our mutual concern and  disgruntlement on matters of economy, environment, and equality, without divulging political affiliation, and later I realized I had no clue which side he was on.  We were in total agreement but might have been miles from understanding each other.  Such are the convictions that divide us. 

The rain is nice.  Gentle.  The wild raspberries are ripening so we’ve begun our forays through the brambles.  We enjoy picking, almost as much as we enjoy a big mound of fruit on our morning oatmeal.  It takes a good number of berries to satisfy a year’s worth of oatmeal and we may fall short but will give it our best shot, one berry at a time.  Wild raspberries behave a bit like mushrooms: last year’s hotspot may not be the same this year.  Yesterday we found a new patch that looks promising, in and around a brush pile we built a few years ago.  A Purdue prof once told us that birds will “plant” their preferred food types near cover they frequent, and right here was solid evidence, which made me think of the unique evolutionary relationships between everything.  Birds and box turtles and raccoons are the raspberry’s ticket to new and greener pastures. It’s a win for all.

Since we sold the business our property has been largely set free and is turning itself into a bit of a jungle.  It’s in an adolescent phase where everything is vying for a spot in the sun, and competition is fierce.  Among the participants are introduced invasives like bush honeysuckle, Bradford pear, and multiflora rose, but the natives still make a strong showing: wild grape, greenbriar, and poison ivy among the mix.  They are determined to have their piece of the pie and contribute mightily to the berry picking experience with a network of entangling stems and tendrils. It’s somewhat impressive, what a man can work through given sight of a clump of berries hanging seductively just out of reach.  It’s like Bathsheba to the eyes of David, beyond the capacity of mortal man to resist. 

We’ve seen some interesting changes in the plant communities around the property.

The place where the woodland meets the county road has always been occupied by a mix of shrubs and brambles, which is expected given the increased sunlight it receives. The area remained virtually unchanged for decades, but now has rather suddenly taken on a different composition.  Choked with invasive species and rampant vines, it has become a nearly impenetrable wall. With increasing CO2, certain plants, including wild grape, hops, and poison ivy, get a boost in virility, so again our observations are not imagined or crazy, but instead likely the result of 417.62 ppm CO2.

The man I met the other day mentioned climate change as one of his concerns.  We both agreed it was an existential threat, second to none.  But it could be he sees the threat as real but not man caused, with the only practical solution involving geo engineering.  It could be he is convinced the election was stolen, all lives matter, voter suppression or rebellion is our only hope.  We both agreed that COVID did a number on the economy but maybe he believes it was all by design and China is to blame.  Maybe he can’t wait until August when our rightful president is reinstated and the wall can be completed and America can be made great again.  

He and I need to pick some raspberries, sort things out, see where we stand. At this point we’ve only established common ground but could be at odds when it comes to solutions.  Maybe if we disagree, there among the brambles, we’ll get drawn into deep discussion and the vines will ensnare us and we’ll die and be composted on the spot because we couldn’t agree on a way forward and in this way mimic the halls of Congress. But the raspberries will get a good shot of nitrogen and our carbon will get locked in the soil and the earth will experience a bit of healing so it would not all be bad.  It might be the best we can do.