For dinner tonight we had pork ribs brined in salt, slow cooked for three hours, then slathered with sauce and lightly charred. They were tender and perfect and served up with fresh picked sweetcorn swimming in butter, a sliced tomato the size of a softball, and cucumber rounds doused with ranch dressing. Ahhh, summer in the heartland.
The sign in the meat department said the hog that gave up its ribs was raised humanely with no added hormones or antibiotics. It did not mention how much carbon energy and land mass it took to grow the grain that fattened the hog, or how many wild species were put at risk in the process, or any negative impacts to air and water quality.
The amount of land required to feed global livestock accounts for 77 percent of all farm acreage but provides only 18 percent of the world’s calories and 37 percent of protein. There is more greenhouse gas associated with the livestock industry than with the entire transportation sector, not to mention associated habitat and biodiversity loss.
A climate emergency is in progress and the future that scientists warned of is here. The recent heat wave in Europe that killed 2000, areas of Pakistan that are declared “unlivable for humans”, buckled roads and warped rails in Britain, unprecedented flooding in Missouri, Kentucky, and elsewhere; droughts, wildfires, ocean acidification, melting ice sheets, it's all happening.
By definition, emergencies call for immediate action, a sense of urgency where everyone’s engaged. Travel is up following the COVID shutdown, airlines are swamped, RV sales are off the chart, demand for oil increases even with inflated prices. We had ribs for dinner.
A recent survey conducted over multiple countries indicates widespread awareness of the climate crisis but awareness has yet to be coupled with a willingness to act. It doesn’t feel like an emergency when even those who obsess about the climate continue to contribute to the problem. It feels more like we’re stuck in turnpike traffic and the exit ramps are jammed.
I saw a reel the other day of a middle aged woman: dark skinned, lean, attractive, wearing colorful beads and small wooden earrings. She appeared poised, content, confident, and was casually chewing on the end of a broken leg bone from a small ungulate. After thoroughly cleaning the outside of the bone she took a splinter of wood and began probing the interior for marrow, placing tiny morsels on her tongue as if relishing bits of caviar. At her side was the animal’s fresh hide and metatarsal bones, still covered with shining fur the color of rich mahogany. In the background another woman was on her knees in the dust, flattening dough on a slab of wood. These women, who have contributed nothing to the current crisis, may be better prepared for it than the majority of us.
My wife turned 70 this month. To celebrate, we drove to Lake Michigan and found Caribbean blue water meeting a cloudless sky. We hiked a marsh trail near the dunes, admired the mallow and red cardinal flower, took note of a few pollinators and songbirds, found a nice cafe with outdoor seating overlooking a marina filled with yachts and sailboats. We ate a good chicken sandwich and washed it down with the best brown ale money can buy. We made the round trip in an electric car with batteries charged by the sun. We didn’t talk about the sixth great extinction but instead focused on the not yet extinct and the raft of promising technologies and practices that could turn our economy green. The whole day felt good and was a reprieve from a planetary reality that beats us up, plagues us with guilt, and threatens to shadow the beauty that still remains. For just a day, we found an exit ramp.
