While We Are Distracted

It’s cold. The mercury didn’t break the single digits today. We strapped on skis and took a couple laps around the north field.  My breath froze to my face. 

I shoveled the walks and topped off the woodpile on the porch. The cold, forecasters say, is here for a week, maybe more. The bathroom shower is frozen, which isn’t much of a problem since the water heater’s on the fritz. 

Snowflakes resembling dandelion fluff have been freeze-dried to pellets that flow like sugar and squeak underfoot. Branches of maple trees snap and pop in the frigid stillness. Ponds and rivers are iced over, even the riffles. Soil is hard as stone. Billions of seeds and insect eggs and miles of roots lie suspended in frost, waiting. 

We returned from a road trip ahead of a storm that stretched from New Mexico to Maine, the ice and snow wreaking inconvenience and misery.  “This too shall pass,” I heard the ghost of my mother say. 

Russia is attacking power infrastructure in Ukraine where the temperature is 20 below zero. Millions have no electricity, water, or heat. Ukrainians long for spring as a matter of survival. It’s not patience they need, but military might and the strength that lies deep in the human spirit. It’s one thing to curse the weather, another to curse the humans responsible for making weather unbearable. 

Elsewhere, the chill takes a different form. Minnesotans have taken to the streets in response to immigration officers killing peaceful protesters. It’s what good people do when governments overstep their bounds and democracies are threatened. 

A couple weeks ago we pulled into Ash Meadows National Wildlife Refuge in the Amargosa Valley, east of Death Valley.  It was warm, mid-70’s, as we sauntered along a loop trail behind the visitor’s center. The trail led to a crystalline pool, one of several in the valley, where tens of thousands of gallons of warm water rises to the surface every minute.  In the pool were Ash Meadows Armargosa pupfish, an endemic species marked as endangered. The males were sporting vivid blue sides marking the start of the breeding season. 

The water at Ash Meadows is fossilized, flowing from an aquifer formed during the last ice age. Ninety-degree springs create the largest oasis in the Mojave Desert, with habitats for dozens of plants and animals found nowhere else. 

It was all nearly destroyed. First by peat mining, then cattle ranching, then by developers bent on turning the valley into a resort town with easy access to Las Vegas.  Homes, hotels, an airport, retail stores, were all scheduled to transform the heart of Ash Meadows. Roadways were constructed, billboards announced “New City Being Born Here.” 

In 1984 the Nature Conservancy stepped in and negotiated a land transfer to the US Fish and Wildlife Service.  But the fight is not over. Mining interests continue to eye the Valley for lithium and other valued minerals. 

Hundreds of unique places like Ash Meadows were destroyed and developed before science and society recognized their value; before protections like the Endangered Species Act leveraged parcels from the wants of developers, farmers, and extraction industries.  

Ash Meadows National Wildlife Refuge is not so much a happy ending as a reprieve.  Protecting what’s left of a beautiful planet doesn’t happen while we sit on the sidelines. The persistent cold seeping through insulated walls will ease soon enough, but the human inclination to damage what sustains us will not. 

I remind myself that being ignorant or uninvolved is to be complicit, and staying vigilant with a willingness to take a stand allows hope to live on. But our shower is frozen, we have no hot water, and there seems no end to the distractions that blind us to the threats that matter most. Our response will be our legacy.  

A New Year

While I slept a new year rolled in, but it was nothing the earth hadn’t seen billions of times before.  Most of the living didn’t celebrate. The oak trees and jays and deer mice went about their business. Fishes lurked about underwater structure, whales continued their migration, elephant seals gathered on beaches to mate. 

On the first day of the year the sun rose and illuminated the darkness. Wind whispered through the pines. Water dripped, trickled, and roared toward the oceans. 

The clock ticked past midnight as 8.2 billion people stood by. Some celebrated, some were mired in depression, some resolved to build better lives.

I awoke to a Facebook post from Indiana Attorney General Todd Rokita featuring a photo of Leonardo DiCaprio offering a toast. Superimposed on the photo were the words, “To all my haters! Be patient. So much more is coming”.  Then a few days later, without congressional approval, our commander in chief strong-armed his way into Venezuela in classic dictatorship style. My pride overfloweth. 

It’s hard to sort out the truth. Initial reports suggest Venezuelan oil is rightfully ours so our control of the area is long overdue. But it’s an embarrassing argument as much of the world moves to lessen dependence on fossil fuels. 

According to Bill McKibben, half of Australia’s states will get three free hours of electricity every day beginning in July, and the rest of the country will follow in 2027. It’s the result of the country’s massive solar production. Free power to charge electric vehicles, to ramp up manufacturing, to top off energy storage systems. 

We’re awaiting final figures, but 2025 total greenhouse gas output by the US is projected to reach 6.2 billion metric tons, slightly more than previous years. Fossil fuel emissions continue to rise as we initiate another war to secure more oil. We might claim other reasons, but it’s the oil and other resources that drive the decisions. 

We spent the holidays with our sons in CA, dividing our time between the northern coast and the Sierra. A series of atmospheric rivers brought needed moisture ashore and dumped inches of rain on lower elevations and feet of snow to the mountains. We were in the Tahoe basin between Christmas and New Year’s and were treated to a blanket of white that hung heavy on the Jeffrey pines and cedars. We strapped on cross country skis and kicked/glided across the magnificent Hope Valley, surrounded by panoramic mountain peaks. If a more beautiful spot exists, I’m not sure I could handle it.

A few days later we left that reverent place and after driving a couple hours every hint of snow was gone and there were citrus trees and valleys lush with green and warmed by a winter sun. In the time required for a winter-sick midwesterner to get to the airport, pass security and board a plane, we had driven into a different world. In California, a person can ski the mountains, surf the ocean or hike the high desert by investing only a few hours of road time. There’s little wonder the state has such appeal. 

We don’t influence time, and the earth has an agenda that doesn’t wait for our approval. The pines photosynthesize without our permission. Rivers flood at will. Snow falls regardless of whether or not it’s convenient for us. 

The planet has shown an amazing capacity to absorb our abuses and excesses but it doesn’t forget. Every war, every ton of pollution, every abused acre is entered in a ledger. And like tectonic pressure, there are consequences when thresholds are exceeded.

A new year comes and spreads light across spectacular mountain valleys and war-torn communities alike. Somewhere, a whale surfaces for air as offshore oil rigs drill deeper; a wren sings a courtship song as its territory is bombed; fire-ravaged forests turn to deserts as climatic conditions shift. 

A new calendar brings questions, not promises. We will greet it with wisdom or arrogance. The earth will answer either way.