Exemptions and Consequences

August, 2026

Lee and I just returned from a trip to our cabin outside Wawa, Ontario. It was likely our last visit. After 27 years of ownership, it’s been sold, with closing set for the end of August.

It was a great trip. We saw a fine bull moose browsing aquatics, the bugs were few, the weather near-perfect. Loons were singing, blueberries were ripening, fishing was superb.  It was a carbon copy of so many trips to that beloved wilderness. The cabin, the quiet, the river, the raw northern forest, will all be sorely missed. 

Too many of our good Canadian friends have died over the years but we visited those still among us. Good folks. Welcoming. Even as the leader of our country threatens theirs with annexation and tariffs and accuses them of negligence for allowing wildfire smoke to drift beyond their southern border.  Our Canadian friends don’t hold us accountable for the rants of our commander in chief. They instead give us the benefit of the doubt and treat us as respectable, likeable neighbors. As our unconstitutional war with Iran pushes Ontario’s gas prices beyond $7 USD per gallon ($9.82 in Canada currency), our northern friends smile in the doorway and invite us in. 

The war in Iran and the smoke drifting into the states have a common denominator. According to CTV News, wildfires in Ontario are the worst on record and can be explained by hot and dry conditions amplified by climate change. The Iran war is releasing massive amounts of CO2, fueling further climate disruption.  And it’s not just the war, but the US military in general that is a major contributor to greenhouse gases. 

A new documentary titled Earth’s Greatest Enemy exposes our military as the planet’s biggest institutional polluter and climate change contributor.  Call it what you want—the pursuit of peace, world domination, a quest to uphold America’s global capitalist empire, but our military burns through some 270,000 barrels of oil every day, adding 55 million metric tons of CO2 to the atmosphere—more than most nations. According to the documentary, a Boeing Pegasus, the military’s premier aerial refueling and transport aircraft, spews more CO2 in one flight than the average American does driving a car for 40 years.

The film explores other environmental concerns linked to established bases—radiation and heavy metal pollution, water contamination, wasteful and toxic disposal of munitions—and visits the ongoing threats from sonar on aquatic life. The navy enjoys special exemptions from laws protecting sea life and deploys sonar approaching 240 decibels that can travel up to 300 miles. The effects on marine life are devastating, injuring or disrupting a myriad of life every year. 

Our military has enjoyed unquestioned support from both sides of the aisle for decades, and it’s unlikely we’ll see substantive change over environmental concerns. We give them a free pass, consequences be damned. 

We saw more insects in Canada than we do in the heartland—butterflies, grasshoppers, unidentifiable smudges on our windshield and bumper. There was a province-wide fire ban while we were there so we couldn’t enjoy cooking over an open fire on the bluff above the river, but we could still enjoy the view—the passing waterfowl, the muskeg-stained water, the southern breeze that swept the sky of choking wildfire smoke. 

Fires have always been a natural and necessary part of boreal forest ecology, but their frequency and intensity is on the rise, as long predicted. The moose and wolves, the bears and beavers and loons are all impacted, though innocent in the matter. We have brought it on, and could still adopt policies and attitudes that would prevent the worst of what’s to come. 

When we make an exception for an agency most responsible for greenhouse gas emissions, we open the door to corporate and individual exemptions. It’s the pot calling the kettle black, not that it applies to an administration having little to no regard for environmental health. 

We’re saying goodbye to a wild and pristine place threatened by actions we refuse to condemn. There are consequences. We’re seeing them now. 

 

Choosing the Right Hemisphere

Choosing the Right Hemisphere 

July, 2026

It's hot, so we're swimming laps in the pond early in the day when the water temp is reasonable. By mid afternoon it feels more like a hot tub, which is fine for soaking but lousy for a swim.

We stepped out this July morning under an absolute cloudless sky and a radiant sun promising another sweltering day. I was thinking of a video from last night—meteorologist Chris Gloninger reporting that Salt Lake City was 109 degrees, the hottest temperature recorded in 152 years of monitoring. Billings, Montana, was 111, and Barcelona, Spain logged its highest temperature in 112 years—105 degrees. "Stop calling it weather,” Gloninger said. “This isn’t a heat wave, it’s a pattern, and we’re the reason."

I slid into the pond, remembering a clip featuring Sam Neill of Jurassic Park fame. He said he’d like a night with no dreams and a morning when there's really nothing on the news. No pestilence.  No war. No aggression. People just leaving it alone and getting along with each other. Chickens laying eggs in the coop, a game of football on Saturday that someone might win, but more likely it will be a draw. Neill was looking for a day when really nothing happens. “That's my dream,” he said. “It'd just be nice."

As I swam, reaching and stretching with each stroke, aware of my form, my breath, the sound of water, I thought of brain scientist Dr Jill Taylor who had a stroke that damaged the left side of her brain. It would take eight years to recover. She recounts the experience in a Ted Talk called “My Stroke of Insight”. 

The left side of our brains holds our memories, our language, our fears, ambitions, routines. Dr Taylor lost it all. She was limited to the right half, responsible for creativity, spatial abilities, and emotions. The two hemispheres work together but process things differently. 

With her left side out of commission, she couldn’t walk, talk, read, write, or remember faces . Yet, she was aware. The right hemisphere is about the present moment. It thinks in pictures, gathers information from our sensory perceptions and creates a collage of what the present moment looks like—the smells and tastes, the sounds, the feelings.  

As the effects of her stroke were taking hold, Dr Taylor experienced euphoria when function was limited to her right hemisphere. She knew she was having a stroke, and in the early stages the remnants of her left hemisphere would creep in and  remind her of unfinished work, appointments, deadlines. She had things to do! But she didn’t want to let go of the euphoria, the peace and overwhelming comfort it offered. 

The ordeal would convince her that we are all energy beings, one human family connected by consciousness, here to make the world a better place—perfect, whole, and beautiful. She had found Nirvana, and she knew that anyone at any time could “step to the right of their left hemispheres and find this peace.” 

 

Some, like writer Linda Carroll, took the story further: “In 1992, scientists discovered that the electromagnetic field of a human body can be measured in a bubble around us, roughly the size of our outstretched arms. They can use sensors to measure it. The National Institute of Health says it’s our biofield, short for biometric field. A measure of the electrical energy emanating from our hearts.”

According to Carroll, when the left side of Dr Taylor’s brain shut down, she experienced colors in the biometric fields of people. When her doctor entered the room and said the left side of her brain had shut down and only her right brain was showing activity, she didn’t understand the sounds coming from his mouth. But she liked the colors in the bubble around him, so she smiled and watched, mesmerized. 

A stranger entered the room. Dr Taylor did not recognize her but liked her colors, and allowed her mother to crawl into bed with her. But not everyone’s colors were welcomed. Some were grey and dark, and Taylor would scream until they left the room. 

If the biofield theory is legit, it could explain how we respond, negatively or positively, when someone approaches close enough that our energies mesh. It may give credence to first impressions or gut responses. 

As Dr Taylor was slowly finding her way to recovery, she kept reminding herself to not forget what she felt when controlled solely by her right brain. She saw it as the key to true contentment and peace, available to all, and she is sharing her story like a prophet. 

I’d like to think that Sam Neill had learned to step beyond the endless chatter of his left hemisphere. For a few laps in the pond this morning, I did. As the planet warms, oceans rise, and fires burn, as wars and corruption dominate the news, maybe we need to remind ourselves that alongside our ambitions and fears and baggage is another way of being—one rooted in attention, compassion, and the present moment. Dr Jill Taylor says it’s ours for the taking. 

Fantacies and Inevitabilities

Fantasies and Inevitabilities

July, 2026

We've just entered July and the heat of summer is already old news. Temperatures in the Midwest have been running higher than normal since January. Heat warnings are routine. And it's not just happening here. Europe has been cooking. The oceans are warmer than ever recorded.

The garden responds accordingly. The spinach, lettuce, and arugula bolts. The radishes get woody. But the tomatoes, peppers, and sweet corn take to the heat like a Finn to a sauna.

The people of the world carry on. Construction crews pace themselves, try to stay hydrated. Air conditioners hum, stressing an antiquated grid. Banks funnel money to fossil fuel companies in support of more fracking and drilling and pumping. Data centers appear like dandelions, demanding excessive electricity and water. A blanket of heat-trapping atmospheric gasses grows more dense by the day, as do its consequences. Decades-old climate predictions come to light even as promising green technologies enter the mainstream. A realization settles in: civilization’s influence on global climate will not end well.

There is a trilogy of books titled 2034, 2054, and 2084, novels by Elliot Ackerman and James Stavridis. The books imagine the future through the eyes of two men uniquely qualified to understand how it could unfold.

Elliot Ackerman is a former Marine Raider and CIA Special Activities Officer who completed five tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. James Stavridis is a retired four-star admiral and former supreme allied commander of NATO. Together they weave a cautionary tale rooted in emerging technology, geopolitics, and climate change. Though fiction, the books are based on solid science and a deep understanding of history, demographics, military strategy, and international power.

The impacts of a changing climate have influenced military strategies since the early 1990’s, when the Naval War College warned policymakers about its security risks. Since 2010, the Department of Defense included climate among its highest national security priorities—until the Trump regime took power.

The current administration has weakened considerations on climate change in strategic planning. Crucial safeguards and critical protections have been rolled back. The military’s preparedness for climate-related challenges have been compromised.

In the book 2034, the authors imagine a war between the US and China. In their follow-up novel, 2054, they explore a breakdown in American politics fueled by radical advances in artificial intelligence. And in 2084 they see a world devastated by climate change and threatened by yet another war.

From the website of Admiral Stavridis: “By the year 2084, the world is divided into equatorial countries that bear the brunt of the climate crisis—led by Nigeria, Brazil, and Indonesia—and wealthier countries like China and the US, beset by their own problems after a series of civil wars. Tensions between the two sets of countries have reached a breaking point, until finally the so-called Reparationist nations of the equator decide that only military force can bring them justice.”

This isn’t a Star Wars trilogy. It’s a plausible, cautionary tale based on current realities, written by a duo having a deep understanding of the threats facing our world today. But Admiral Stavridis remains optimistic, saying we can write a different destiny if we imagine it.

But will we?  Or will we continue to act surprised when weather extremes fully explained by a changed climate become more and more commonplace?  Will we divest from fossil fuels? Rise up against a corrupt distribution of wealth? Hold corporations accountable?

Stavridis, clinging to his unshakable optimism, says if we fail to adjust our trajectory and find our way to 2084 as his novel portrays, those standing will still find a way to carry on. That is optimism with a massive cost.

There are fantasies and there are inevitabilities.
We’re writing our sequel now, choosing our future with every barrel of oil burned, every forest preserved, every election, innovation, and act of indifference or courage. 

We’ll get to 2084 one hot July at a time, and history will judge us less by what we believed than by what we were willing to change.

What Raccoons Teach a Consumer

What Raccoons Teach a Consumer 

July, 2026

We have a problem with raccoons raiding our bird feeders. I heard about a gadget that could offer a solution—a solar-powered alarm triggered by motion.

  

Leaving bird feeders out overnight invites raccoons. Sunflower seed, suet cakes, sugar water for hummingbirds, fruit and jelly for orioles—everything gets eaten and licked clean by masked bandits. Feeders are often damaged or hauled off despite our efforts to make them inaccessible. We are forced to bring everything in before dark, which is an inconvenience and hassle. The alarm promised to make things better. I ordered it.

 

When it arrived I mounted it on a pole four feet from suet feeders hanging on the trunk of a big white pine. At dusk I ran a test. When the motion sensor detected me, red strobe lights flashed and the sound of gunshots and barking dogs rang out in deafening volume. This should work, I thought. 

That night, from our second floor bedroom, I repeatedly heard hounds and gunshots. The next morning the suet cakes were gone, the shepherd hooks bent, the hummingbird feeders disassembled. The alarm does what it claims to do with one minor exception—raccoons ignore it. It’s junk. 

A thoughtful man might see that the raccoons aren’t the problem—my unwillingness to tolerate a bit of inconvenience is. Maybe I should realize that every inconvenience doesn’t demand a solution, especially one involving a purchase. The impulse to buy, scaled to billions of people, becomes a culture that drives extraction, pollution, habitat loss, and climate change. A better solution is to accept a little inconvenience and live with fewer wants.

Edwin Way Teale was an American naturalist who wrote extensively about environmental conditions across North America from 1930–1980.  He said, “Reduce the complexity of life by eliminating the needless wants of life, and the labors of life reduce themselves.” It takes money to buy stuff. Money requires time and effort to earn. The less stuff we want, the less money we need. The less  we own, the less we have to take care of.

It’s not a novel concept, but a way of living espoused by Buddhists, early Christians, and Taoists. Socrates advocated for a life of moderation and simplicity. Thoreau promoted simple living as a way to connect with nature and find personal fulfillment. In the US, 86 percent of adults say they were raised in a religion, 70 percent as Christian. Minimalism as a biblical tenet has gained popularity in recent years. A commitment to a faith changes the way we think, live, and respond. A planet that allows life to exist deserves the same commitment.

 

We like convenience, but our desire to make things easier takes precedence over long term sustainability. Single use plastics permeate the environment and take centuries to break down. Microplastics flow in our veins, choke our oceans.  Ready-made foods, the newest fashion, the latest iPhone, an endless assortment of electronics, crowd the marketplace and distract us from what we really need. We’re quick to add to our wants without considering how they push ecosystems to breaking points. Consumerism contributes mightily to our environmental woes.

 

There’s irony here.  To avoid a little inconvenience I bought an electronic device with a plastic housing, solar panel, rechargeable battery, circuit board, shipping box, and instruction manual—the kind of stuff, when combined with the wants of a few billion people, fills cargo ships, expands mining operations, supports the oil industry, and occupies landfills. 

The best path toward sustainability isn’t another invention or fashion design or knickknack. Every impulse to buy doesn’t have to be followed. Every problem doesn’t require a solution. At the top of our list of wants should be learning to live comfortably with less, for our sake and the sake of an ailing planet.  

Passion is Optional

 Passion is Optional 

June, 2026

I remember the day I visited my grandpa with a Daisy BB gun in hand. Grandpa was a farmer when he wasn’t pursuing wild game, and I was a lad wanting to test my sharpshooting skills.

I told him I wanted to shoot a mouse. His eyes narrowed. “Go to the granary and sit quiet. You’ll find your mouse.”

I did as directed and within seconds was surrounded by a flurry of rodents, poking their heads from between grain-filled bags, scurrying up the walls, darting across the floor. I was ecstatic. I don’t think a single BB ever connected with its intended target, but I had a great time and declared grandpa a master hunting guide. From that day I wanted to live in his shadow. 

There are people born with a fervor for the natural world and people passionate about music, math, baseball, or nothing in particular.

And so it’s always been. Indigenous tribes lived close to the land.  Some were dedicated hunters and trackers and others, no doubt, went along because participation was expected. Had food and clothing been readily available without hunting, their culture would likely have evolved differently. They may have developed a written language to replace generational storytelling as a way of passing on customs and history. Or maybe they would’ve developed technologies guided by the Iroquois principle that decision-making be based on the impact to the next seven generations.

Not everyone has an inherent interest in wildlife and wild places or is driven to understand ecological systems and our role in them. Aldo Leopold recognized this when he said “There are some who can live without wild things, and some who cannot. For us of the minority, the opportunity to see geese is more important than television, and the chance to find a pasque-flower is a right as inalienable as free speech.”

Few of us are introduced to the concepts of sustainability and carrying capacity in our formal education. We aren’t taught to hold in reverence a planet with finite resources, a thin, balanced atmosphere, and critical ecological interactions refined over eons.  Understanding that everything is intricately connected and in need of wise stewardship is not something we’re born with, and too often  it’s not given more than a passing thought. 

But it should. 

Today, with more than eight billion of us swarming the planet demanding more comforts and conveniences, living without an uncompromising understanding of our environmental impact is leading us down a perilous path. 

I was recently invited to a local book fair to promote my book of nature essays. I sold a few copies, but the experience reinforced what I knew to be true: The majority of attendees were not especially interested in essays about environmental challenges, even when they included reasons for hope. Other genres—mysteries, history, the paranormal—seemed to have more appeal.  

And that’s okay. We’re all different. If we were all consumed by wildlife, conservation, and natural history, many of our scientific and societal advancements would stall. We need people passionate about medicine, engineering, transportation, and politics. 

But every ambition, project, and decision needs to be weighed against its earthly impact. If it’s wasteful or unsustainable, it needs scrapping. Now that we’re fully aware of threats linked to ancient fuels, we need to wean ourselves of them. Now that we recognize the environmental risks associated with toxic chemicals in manufacturing and food production, we need to use our collective consumer influence to force change. We can’t ignore or justify ongoing destructive practices based on historical precedent.

We don’t have to be nature lovers to understand the imperative. But we do need to be aware and make enough noise to interrupt business as usual before the systems that sustain us collapse.

My grandpa loved the outdoors. He understood the habits of wild animals, including mice. But the concepts of ecological overshoot, sustainability, and planetary limits were rarely part of the conversation in his generation. 

They need to be a part of ours. 

There are growing pressures on this beautiful blue sphere. Reverence for the natural world and ecological literacy is not a niche hobby—it’s a survival skill for a crowded planet.

 

 

  

What Coyotes Can Teach a People

What Coyotes Can Teach a People

June, 2026

A new study by the University of Vermont found 58 percent of people worldwide favor protecting the environment over the economy.  In the US, the number dropped from 65 percent in 2020 to 50 percent today. A Gallup survey in 2023 showed 78 percent of Democrats believe the country should prioritize the environment over economic growth, compared with 20 percent of Republicans. 

Those numbers perfectly explain policy decisions coming out of Washington:

—Repeal of the Clean Power Plan

—Weakening Emissions Standards

—Elimination of the Greenhouse Gas Reporting Program 

—Reconsideration of Mercury and Air Toxic Standards 

—Dismantling the Endangerment Finding

—Withdrawal from the Paris Climate Agreement 

—Delays in Methane Emissions Regulation 

And sadly, there’s much more. 

A deep ocean monitoring system which, among other things, measures the impact of ocean warming, is being junked because our commander in chief denies the planet is warming despite overwhelming evidence. The monitors have been in place for more than 10 years and provide crucial data on physical, chemical, geological, and biological conditions in the ocean—information essential to understanding climate change, marine ecosystems, and ocean circulation patterns. 

It has me thinking. Before crossing the desert on a desolate highway, I should first disconnect the gas gauge on my Chevy lest I worry about getting stranded and cooked to death. Or maybe if radar shows a storm with embedded tornadoes closing in, I should throw the weather alert radio out the window and go to bed. No monitor, no worries.

Another policy of equal absurdity is the administration’s decision to bring back the use of M-44 “cyanide bombs” to control coyotes on BLM land.  The devices are spring loaded and baited, so an investigating coyote, dog, fox, child—anything attracted to the bait— gets a lethal dose of cyanide in the face and mouth and dies immediately or within a few agonizing hours. 

I first heard about M-44’s more than 50 years ago while an undergrad at Purdue. Even then the method was known to be ineffective. Yes, it killed coyotes along with non-targeted species, but did nothing to control actual coyote numbers. The survivors simply had larger litters to compensate for losses.

Coyotes are highly adaptable. They drink from swimming pools in Beverly Hills. They thrive in urban areas, utilizing green space and traveling roadways. Their diet is diverse and includes small mammals, fruits, insects, even garbage. Over the decades, despite being exposed to control measures effectively used against wolves, grizzlies, and cougars, coyotes have expanded their range to include every state but Hawaii, and in many areas have become commonplace.  

Resurrecting a method that is outdated, non-selective, and ineffective is just another action by an administration willing to defy science to pacify a handful of plutocrats. 

Then there’s the aggressive disassembling of the US Forest Service and its 121-year history of managing 193 million acres of public lands. Policymakers have determined that portions of the Service, including its world-renowned research branch, are expendable, along with the dedicated professionals and labs holding decades of irreplaceable long-term findings. Fifty-seven research facilities spread across 31 states will be shuttered.

But back to the coyotes. Since 2000, a long-term study of the wily canids in the Chicago area has been overseen by Stan Gehrt, wildlife ecologist with Ohio State University. Among his many findings, Gehrt learned that coyotes are staunchly monogamous and form life-long bonds. Only three to five percent of mammals practice monogamy, and DNA studies prove most include infidelities. Not so with coyotes in the Chicago study. The pair bond is absolute. The males never leave the female’s side during estrous and the females show no interest in other males. The result is a paternal investment where offspring carry the genes of a single male, giving him an evolutionary stake in keeping them alive. It’s an expenditure of parental energy rarely observed.

The study also found that if either of the pair were killed, the survivor would howl mournfully, show signs of lethargy, lose its appetite, and return often to the last known location of its mate.

There’s a lesson here—about persistence when faced with insurmountable odds, about mourning losses while never losing focus, about winning while staying true to what’s right—and it applies to our response to environmental threats. 

We’re on a perilous trajectory in dire need of a correction.  Only 50 percent of us want it changed.