A Deep Breath of Cold Air

The other day the thermometer stayed below freezing for the first time this season.  The wind was light, the soil surface frozen, but with a couple layers of clothing, staying warm was a piece of cake.  There’s something about cold air hitting warm lungs that invigorates and motivates like a slap in the face.  It just doesn’t happen at 70 degrees.  

I love the short days of winter, the mornings when darkness drags on, the wood stove comes to life, and the coffee is steeped to perfection. I am retired, so most days are filled as I see fit, which is profoundly satisfying. No one, having worked to support themselves and the economy for forty or fifty years, should be denied the privilege. But it’s a challenge some days to not be distracted by news that may or may not be true, to keep the turmoil of the world at bay, to remain flexible to interruptions.  

Not all interruptions are bad. Yesterday we received an early morning call from county dispatch giving the location of a freshly killed deer, ours for the taking. The highway was busy with traffic, people hurrying, headlights glaring.  I don’t miss the hustle, the deadlines, the unexpected obstacles that disrupt the day’s carefully choreographed routine.   We pulled up behind the deputy's car with its blinding red and blue strobe lights, loaded the yearling buck, and made a quick retreat to the quiet of home base. 

For the first time, we field dressed a deer aware that it might be infected with Covid. A recent study found a percentage of wild deer to be asymptomatic carriers of the virus. Whether or not it can jump from deer to man is unknown, but we now know the virus has found another host where it is free to mutate and do what viruses do, adding to the likelihood we’ll be living with coronavirus for the foreseeable future.  Meanwhile, one of our state’s hospitals has called on the national guard because beds are full and more are needed to treat those with Covid, 95-99 percent of whom are unvaccinated. 

We recently bought a lightly used two burner induction stovetop. It sits atop our 1920’s era gas range, looking as much out of place as a cell phone in the hands of Tecumseh.  Induction technology is impressive.  It uses electromagnetic waves to turn pots and pans into heating elements with a high level of efficiency and temperature control.  The valve to the old range is turned off, the fracked gas rests in the pipe, carbon intact, the power to the new cooktop comes from the sun via solar panels. It feels right. 

There is so much happening that feels right— solar and wind farms springing up everywhere, regenerative practices making their way into modern agriculture, near-daily advances in battery and energy technologies, innovative approaches to tracking and pricing carbon— all supported by grassroot movements comprised largely of youth who have the audacity to demand a cleaner, sustainable, and more just world for themselves and generations that follow. 

Every corner of the planet has been contaminated to some degree by our activities.  The ecological services we depend on for survival are breaking down.  What we see and define as wilderness is an amended version of what once was. Our measure of abundance, be it fish or fowl or biodiversity, is in many cases a shadow of what existed mere decades ago.  In reality, some things are gone for good, and the best we can do is establish new benchmarks and hope to hold onto what’s left. 

That will be a challenge if our population continues to grow, if we prolong our use of carbon fuels, increase our use of petroleum based plastics, continue to support unsustainable practices.  It will be a challenge when both old and new technologies lack the capability of being fully recyclable, when too much of the world questions science, when we’re faced with increasingly frequent disruptions that stem from melting ice caps and weather related disasters.

I thought I might write an essay that made no more than a casual reference to climate change, that a mention of biodiversity loss and the need for clean energy technologies would be enough. But then I heard about a new film entitled “Don’t Look Up”, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Jennifer Lawrence, and Meryl Streep.  It’s a satirical comedy about an approaching comet destined to destroy Earth, and a dysfunctional media and government that refuses to take it seriously.  It’s a surrogate for climate change treated as something less than an existential threat.  From a human survival standpoint, there may be little difference between four degrees warming and a direct meteor strike. The need to act with urgency, in either case, is the same.

So let’s say there’s a comet heading for earth and a direct hit is assured. What are the odds we’d be hesitant to respond out of fear we might cause a blip in the economy or shake up Wall Street?  What if we found there was something each of us could do that would somehow shift the comet’s trajectory?  What if the threat could be reduced if we just had a greater awareness and willingness to accept a few lifestyle changes and some modifications to our diets; if all we really needed was a commitment to start living with an uncompromising respect for our place in a world where everything’s connected and resources are limited? Would we have a unified front?

Greenhouse gas emissions continue to rise, the work that has been accomplished isn’t enough, the comet’s course has not been altered. We need action, measurable and significant, to keep hope alive. 

We need a good slap in the face like we get when cold air hits warm lungs.  We can start right now.  Are you ready?  On three: one, two,...

Thanksgiving

On Thanksgiving Day the sun rose but was hidden by clouds that shed a misty rain.  We took a walk and disrupted a meeting among crows, apparently of some importance from the sound of it, then surprised a dozen deer which chose to bolt rather than remain perfectly hidden in plain sight.  On a day we recognize as a holiday there was no indication the deer were celebrating anything, but who am I to say?  But there was something going on with the crows, a high level meeting perhaps, or a spontaneous chorus from an old hymn that only crows know.   There is no good evidence that animals lack a spiritual connection.  

The day is all about gratitude. For people in the US, it conjures up images of native Americans and European immigrants gathered for a great feast.  No doubt the new arrivals were thankful for safe passage to a land full of promise, but were the natives necessarily grateful for the company?  We know some were hospitable and welcoming, at least until their lands were taken, their numbers decimated, treaties broken.  

A few years ago one of our sons lived and worked on a community farm in the great state of California.  We were visiting, and before every dinner they held a gratitude circle where everyone would find something in the day to be thankful for.  It was a therapeutic routine with the smallest of things appreciated and was always uplifting, sometimes powerful.

A nice ash tree south of the house was killed a few years ago by the emerald ash borer. We were not happy with this development and had enjoyed the tree and its shade since transplanting it decades before.  It had grown to be a strapping specimen but now was dead, needing removal. It held a disproportionate weight on its north side so would need encouragement to fall south and not smash the house.  It took more than two years to garner the courage for the task and during that time the tree shot up a sucker from its base which stood about four feet tall. I thought it’d be great to fell the tree and save the sprout, knowing it would be supported by a massive root system and make phenomenal growth. After a thorough review of tree felling techniques I took the tree down, successfully sparing the house and the sprout, and in the following season it more than doubled in height and girth. 

I was just admiring the young ash a couple days ago, then got up this morning to see a beaver had chewed it off right at the ground. I felt no gratitude towards the beaver, especially given it had sauntered past dozens of prime shrub dogwoods and willows growing wild in the muck before reaching the young ash.  We recognize the value of beavers in the landscape and have made many accommodations on their behalf over the years, and here was one more. 

Gratitude is often one sided.  In sports, politics, wars, with beavers invited to your backyard, there are always winners and losers, and the probability of being thankful generally depends on which side you’re on.  My old buddy, John, once observed that he cusses when he’s mad but cusses equally when happy.  That’s how gratitude should be, practiced in every scenario, but it’s a tough pill for parents of kids killed in school shootings, or the wrongfully imprisoned, or those forced into homelessness.   

Sometimes hope has to open the door for gratitude.  I’m not thankful for the one percent, for greedy corporations, disinformation, antivaxxers, corrupt leaders, or any action that threatens the health of our beautiful planet, but I can hope and then be grateful for opportunities that allow things to get better one step at a time.

And so went Thanksgiving Day, 2021: a brisk walk, a meeting of crows, a flushing of deer, a scowl aimed at a local beaver, and a dose of gratitude found in hope.  Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese monk, said “Walk as if you are kissing the earth with your feet.”  Try to do it without being grateful.  You can’t.  Good days lie ahead.