The Good Shines Through

Today we had our first 70 degree day of the year. It came on a southern breeze under a blue sky flecked with cottony clouds. The soil was cold but the breeze ignored it and brushed everything in its path with a tropical balm. Two days ago the pond was covered with skim ice but there was no evidence of such nonsense today. 

For months the turtles were asleep in the cold, dark mud, but some ancient cue stirred them and they awoke and lined up on the cottonwood log at the pond edge, necks outstretched, basking in radiant heat. Just as suddenly, the spring peepers were among the cattails near shore, peeping as they do when in search of mates. They have no time to waste. The season of renewal has begun!

The pond has a single small island, highly favored by nesting Canada geese. Competition for it commences even while the pond is locked in ice. The victors have long been declared, and today they loiter about the island looking victorious and confident while remaining geese squabble over less preferred sites, those more susceptible to flooding and predation.  

On the deck at the edge of the pond there are two flower boxes, each about two foot square and tall. One has been claimed by a desperate goose. She has lined it with the prickly stems from a nearby juniper and deposited a single egg. She will continue this routine, laying an egg a day, until she has a suitable clutch, then will begin her 28 day incubation.  It is likely the deck and surrounding area will be staunchly defended by the gander and we will be forced elsewhere for afternoon drinks. 

The first 70 degree day spreads magic over the landscape. Turfgrass greens before our eyes. Silver maple buds burst into delicate flower. Skunk cabbage appears in the marshes. Daffodils leap from dormancy.  It’s a day to refresh and regroup as we take in some of the harsh realities in the news. 

Antarctica should be undergoing rapid cooling as the continent moves into winter, but this week temperatures there were 70 degrees above normal. At the opposite pole, where summer is just getting underway, it was 50 degrees above average. This is news that has climate scientists scrambling. They’re using words like “historic”, “unprecedented”, “dramatic”, and “remarkably bad.”

A couple new reports published in indystar.com say Indiana is one of the most polluted of states and its waterways are the dirtiest in the nation. A study done by the Environmental Integrity Project, a nonprofit focused on enforcement of environmental laws, uses the word “impaired,” to describe 25,000 miles of rivers and streams that fail to meet standards for recreation, fish consumption, aquatic life and drinking water.  According to the report, 99 percent of Indiana’s reservoirs and lakes used for drinking water are likewise impaired.  The primary source of contaminants is agricultural runoff. 

The war in Ukraine promises major disruptions in food supply and acute food insecurity for many around the globe. One agency predicts that food will be taken from the hungry to feed the starving.  Around here our grocery shelves are still amply stocked, but that is not guaranteed. I buy organic flour by special order in 50 pound bags. My supplier tells me it may not be available, and to expect a price increase of up to 30 percent if it is. 

Then there is inflation and economic inequality and an assault on voting rights and a lot of people wanting their old lives back while even more are desperate to start new ones. And watching it all are too many elected officials who represent their donors but not their districts and are less effective at compromise than a family of monkeys. 

Earlier today I watched a proud young man with his two talented daughters perform with violins before a small group in Maine, and it was incredibly good and inspiring and sad all at once.  And Amelia is back in the news. The seven year old Ukrainian recently broke the world’s collective heart when she sang “Let It Go” in a bunker while awaiting escape from her war torn city. Now she’s safe in Poland, singing the Ukraine national anthem to a crowd of thousands, and breaking hearts again. 

It’s 70 degrees and we’re planting onions and peas and spring greens and in the time it took to write this the crocus and Scilla popped from the ground and are in full bloom. Just now a bluebird sang.  In spite of all that’s wrong, the good shines through. It always does. 

 

Amelia

This morning the March sky is particularly blue, washed clean and polished, looking like it does high in the Sierras. The mercury hovers around freezing but the sun carries a notable warmth and a certainty of spring.  The wood ducks and hooded mergansers are on the pond, the drakes dressed to the nines, waiting patiently on their mates who are preoccupied, inspecting nest boxes.  The mourning doves and cardinals and redwings are singing, the fall planted garlic pushes green spears through winter mulch, and everywhere are indicators that winter is losing its grip and a season of renewal is at hand.

Oil prices are up, pretty significantly, and might go higher. The people complaining least are those that rely on mass transit or ride bicycles or own electric cars.  Several factors are at play, pushing the price up, among them a stone faced authoritarian in Moscow trying to take hold of a neighboring democratic country.  He’s using a propaganda machine to convince his country that his actions are justified, but many of his people, and much of the remaining world, see it differently.  

In our own country we remain divided, with each side accusing the other of behaviors and policies that threaten democracy and run counter to the constitution and our way of life. On both sides are caring people who ultimately want many of the same things but disagree miserably on how to get them. 

It’s spring in Ukraine, a season marked by mud, mixed precipitation, and blustery winds. With longer day lengths a period of growth and production is initiated regardless of how comfortable the weather feels. But it’s doubtful, this year, that Ukrainians will enjoy the season.  They have other matters to tend to.  

I saw a video of a group of Ukrainians huddled in a bunker trying to find relative shelter from an advancing Russian army. Among them was a young girl, Amelia, maybe 8 years old, and on cue from someone she began singing a Disney tune from the movie “Frozen.”  The people in the shelter fell silent as a voice as sweet as honey and the epitome of innocence filled the room:

Let it go, let it go

I am one with the wind and sky

Let it go, let it go

You’ll never see me cry

Here I stand and here I stay

Let the storm rage on

A couple weeks ago we watched a documentary entitled Living in the Time of Dying. We found it a refreshingly honest review of an impending environmental disaster that will not be avoided but can yet be prepared for. Being ready doesn’t sidestep discomfort or great sadness or assure survival, but it puts us in a better mental place where we can take satisfaction in never giving up and choosing to be at our best while accepting the inevitable. 

And so another war is launched. It garners the world’s attention and fuel costs soar and there are shouts for more drilling amid shouts for green energy and a little girl sings through it all with a voice as pure as a newly opened hyacinth. And we live on in a time of dying with the March sun notably warmer, carrying the certainty of spring. 

Running Up the Deficit

My wife came across an article saying that 13.5 percent of the 39 million tons of wild caught forage fish is eaten by pets, i.e., dogs and cats, and consumption of these products contributes +/- 64 million tons of CO2-equivalent methane and nitrous oxide to the atmosphere. Americans are the largest group of pet owners in the world, and in countries like China, the popularity of pet ownership is growing. As demand for pet foods containing meat-based protein continues to rise, so does the environmental impact of dogs and cats.  

I sat down with our old dog to explain my concern with this news.  She held eye contact for a moment, then struck the pose she’s inclined to use when she’s heard enough. It’s a profile with her chin up, ears laid back, eyes slightly squinted, and for all the world she reminds me of the Luck Dragon from the movie Never Ending Story. Regal. Learned. She uses it when she feels her vast life experience and wisdom deserves adulation and there’s been enough meaningless talk.  

A friend sent an email describing an event hosted by a hypothetical talking car battery on tour to educate the public about batteries and green energy. I don't know who authored the piece but they did a good job describing what a battery does and how much we rely on them. Batteries are inherently toxic, most cannot be recycled, and the embedded fossil fuels that are tied to them and everything they power is huge. Suffice it to say they are far from perfect and no vehicle has “zero emissions” considering the hydrocarbon energy required in its manufacturing. One of our sons works in green energy and says the problem with current battery technologies is their reliance on old extraction industries which always come with big environmental price tags. 

In spite of it all, a shift towards more electrification seems logical.  The talking battery doesn’t address the long list of problems inherent to fossil fuels and it doesn’t speak out directly against electric vehicles or new technologies; it’s just asking us to consider the environmental costs of manufacturing anything, which is a line item rarely seen on business ledgers. 

Journalist Bill McKibben wrote in The Crucial Years that on January 25th a tropical cyclone hit Madagascar leaving dozens dead and 65000 homeless and almost no one reporting it. Madagascar is ranked the fourth most likely country to be impacted by climate change and drought conditions there have brought the country to the brink of a climate induced famine. The people of the US produce about 125 times more CO2 per capita than the people of Madagascar, a fact worth remembering when drafting immigration policy. The poorest countries are the first to be impacted by a warming climate and we’re largely responsible for the warming. Now what?

Two of our state representatives have introduced a bill that would require businesses to work only with banks that have not divested from fossil fuels. At a time when many banks, as well as universities, the Vatican, trusts, and municipalities have chosen to divest because fossil fuel interests are threatening the earth’s ecological health, Representatives Manning and Soliday are proposing a law which might be hilarious if a joke, but it’s not a joke. 

Every year since 1970, human demands have exceeded what the earth’s biosphere can provide through its capacity for renewal, a phenomenon known as ecological overshoot. Last year, by the end of July we had already reached the mark. Think of it as borrowing more from the bank than can be paid back, and the bank is failing. The good news is we can see the problem and choose our way forward. The bad news is the path is not perfectly clear and while we dink around with options our environmental deficit grows and ecological systems slide further into collapse. 

We’ve created a world where we cannot live without making environmental matters worse, at least in the short term, and there are two responses. One is to shift the focus, to talk about anything else because the problem can’t be as bad as predicted or is too much to process or the whole thing’s a farce anyway. The other is to move ahead with an awareness and willingness to play a supportive role, making it a part of every conversation and action, keeping it front and center. 

Maybe I’ve been misreading the old dog. Maybe her pose is meant to show total exasperation. 

We’re knee deep in a winter weather event that is affecting the entire state and a huge swath of the country.  A powdery snow is approaching 12 inch depth. It’s a big inconvenience for many but incredibly beautiful.  A coyote crossed our lane this morning less than 50 feet from me, gray-brown on a white canvas, walking with a purpose. It turned its head mid-stride and made solid eye contact. In the kitchen there is the smell of rising dough and cinnamon. The wood stove is purring. There are birds at the feeders, fewer than expected given the snowy circumstances. Every available snow plow is on the road and people are digging out so life can return to normal, like it always does. Until it doesn’t.

Injustice and the Doldrums

It’s mid January and the winter doldrums are knocking at the door. They could be brushed aside with a reasonable snow event or a string of sunny days, but we seem in a rut with overcast skies and temps that are never long freezing and never long mild, prime conditions for the doldrums. On a river walk this morning we saw several deer, a few geese, a heron, a mature bald eagle, but they all seemed rather pedestrian, lacking enthusiasm, which happens when the doldrums take hold.  They spread a film of gloom on everything and the music of life is muffled.  

A current weather model shows the bulk of the Hoosier state in the clear while being completely surrounded by a substantial snow maker.  The area of Indiana in line to be missed is literally in the shape of a heart, as if the weather gods are favoring us, and it’s not making me feel favored one bit.  I’d love to see a nice 14 inch event. 

The battery on our utility tractor died.  Actually, it failed months ago, so to start the tractor I had to first charge the battery.  It's not a huge deal but does require some disassembling, which becomes a bigger deal during the doldrums, so I went out to buy a replacement.  The battery is small, a lawn and garden type, and the replacement was $125.  I suggested to the cashier that the price was outrageous.  She raised an eyebrow.  I bought the battery.  

Leaving the NAPA store I saw a car along the curb with a flat tire and a missing window.  I imagined the owner coming out to drive to a job that paid less than a livable wage and finding the car out of commission.  Maybe, as a consequence, a store shelf will not get stocked on time or there will be a longer line at the cheeseburger drive up window, and some privileged character dealing with the doldrums will complain about it.  Then I imagined the flat tire person receiving a letter from the local utility warning that services would be shut off if his/her account was not brought current, and somewhere in the background a baby was crying.

There was an interesting opinion piece in The Guardian last month by Amy Westervelt. She said trying to get people to pay attention to science won’t save the planet, but motivating them to fight for justice can have equal benefits because the two are inextricably connected. To her point she mentioned a husband/wife team of crabbers off the California coast who saw their livelihood failing as a result of warming ocean temperatures. Neither of the duo subscribed to human-caused climate change, believing instead it was a naturally occurring event. Then they learned that back in the 70’s and 80’s, oil companies were patenting methods for drilling in arctic waters which would soon become navigable, and at the same time launched ad campaigns designed to question the science behind human-caused climate change, even while their own scientists had proven it a fact. The husband/wife crabbing team signed onto a lawsuit against 30 oil companies, not for their role in climate change, but for their disinformation campaigns which intentionally misled the public for the benefit of corporate stockholders. 

On a mostly unrelated matter, I came across a 2020 blog written by Indi Samarajiva (indi.ca) published in Medium.  Indi was living in Sri Lanka and experienced life in a civil war zone over a decade ago. He has an interesting take on societal collapse, describing it not as a moment in time but a process wherein life goes on for the privileged, more or less as always. He talked about seeing a burned body on the street, hearing an explosion where people were killed, losing acquaintances in skirmishes, but then going to work, dating, attending concerts and weddings as if nothing had changed.  This, he says, is what collapse looks like.

I suppose it makes sense. During our civil war, life for many went on as usual, and for a good number of us it still does. We hear about conflict and unrest and impending environmental disaster but our daily routines are almost always unaffected. It’s not fair or right or just, but true.

Samarajiva mentioned that human behavior in times of crisis can be compared to a herd of gazelles.  A lion attacks and pulls down an animal and the balance of the herd sprints away, putting distance between them and the uncomfortable event that just occurred. Once safe, the gazelles settle into their routine and resume feeding. 

Not all of us behave as gazelles, and throughout our history some have organized and stood up and forced a reckoning with the lions of the world.  It’s a process, but with perseverance and determination injustices can be made right. 

Earlier this month an article appeared in the German media outlet Deutschland Welle (DW) entitled What to Expect From the World’s Sixth Mass Extinction.  Historically, mass extinctions occur over a period of about three million years and result in the loss of about three quarters of all species.  The current extinction, the first caused by humans, is being characterized by a much more rapid loss, with at least a million species expected to be wiped out over the next few decades.  Scientists are in agreement on what to expect if biodiversity loss continues at the current rate. Food insecurity, loss of soil fertility, water shortages, increased pandemics, all make the list, and injustices are firmly muddled in the mix.

We took another walk along the river, and this time the sun peeked through and the geese were honking jubilantly and the eagles were looking particularly regal.  There was a feeling of safety and normality, as if all was well with the world...

A New Year

We were asleep when 2022 slipped in.  The old blue sphere made no issue of the event but held fast to its orbit, spinning away in an expanding universe, responding to the changes we bring to it.

We were just a few days beyond the news that Edward Osborne Wilson had died.  E.O., as he was affectionately known, was a man who studied the smallest of ants but was a giant in the field of biology.  He coined the term “biodiversity,” which recognizes how life in all its endless forms works to sustain the whole, how even the tiniest of organisms play a vital role in the grand orchestra of life.  He showed us that sustainable ecosystems require habitats that exist in contiguous tracts, not fragmented patches, and warned that the overpopulation of humans, our unsustainable economic growth, and our general disregard for environmental health has set us on a tenuous course with little time to act.  “Conservation is a discipline with a deadline.” 

The world also lost a champion of civil and human rights, Desmond Tutu, who said “We need to stop just pulling people out of the river.  We need to go upstream and find out why they’re falling in.”  The witty Nobel Peace Prize recipient understood the threat climate change posed to the world, and that people of less developed nations were destined to be impacted first.  He summed up his understanding and the lack of global response almost 15 years ago in a book aptly titled “This Fatal Complacency.”

Sometimes I think about how frustrating it must be for climate scientists, to see the fruits of their labor withstand the scrutiny of peers then be challenged or belittled or ignored by reporters sent by entertainment “news” outlets or hired by corporate elites  whose bottom lines are threatened by a warming world.  Jeffrey Kiehl, a senior scientist at the National Center for Atmospheric Research in Boulder has talked about how deflating it can be when attempts to sound a climate change alarm falls on deaf ears.  In an interview with Grist, he asks “How would that make you feel?  You take this information to someone and they say they don’t believe you, as if it’s a question of beliefs.  I’m not talking about religion here, I’m talking about facts.”  Jeffrey is not alone.  Working in climate science is proving to be a psychologically devastating career for some climatologists.  Others have resigned to writing what amounts to survival guides for the future. But a few continue to face the cameras with a message that will not be altered or silenced.

Sylvia Earle is among them.  At 86 years old, the highly acclaimed marine biologist has logged thousands of hours in underwater exploration, contributing mightily to her field.  She has seen first hand the degradation of the world’s oceans (and by default, the planet), and does not mince words when warning we have a scant few years to make things right.  She said, “we can know and choose not to care, but we can’t care if we don’t know”, so she welcomes opportunities to be on the public stage and share her science based perspectives and proven concerns.

For too many of us, science means little. In a recent MSNBC interview, astrophysicist Neil Degrasse Tyson said the problem exists because we were never taught why science works, that it’s not a book of facts but a method of inquiry, “something that empowers you to have some sensitivity to your own biases so you’re not fooled into thinking something is true when it’s not.” It’s cultivating our natural curiosity and wonder of natural systems, to see the world as it really is, without which “we’re on a one way street back to the cave.”  Tyson believes the older generation will not change, and his greatest hope lies in today’s kids who are being raised in an era of electronics and satellites and technologies so advanced that respect and appreciation for science will become innate.

But kids today are two generations behind the boomers, and boomers are largely responsible for the environmental mess we’re in.  We are still heading up corporations, holding positions of political power, often standing in the way of viable solutions.  We’re the ones supporting unsustainable economic growth, defending fossil fuels, and doing little to discourage a throw away society, all the while ignoring a clock that continues to tick.  

My wife and I ended 2021 watching a documentary on plastics. It struck me how often the word “never” was used. “Plastics never go away. They don’t break down, they break apart into smaller and smaller pieces.”  Eventually they’re small enough to enter our lungs and bloodstreams, carrying toxins and disguising themselves as hormones, inviting health issues we’ve yet to fully understand. We’ve produced more plastic in the last 10 years than we did in the prior century, and demand is growing significantly.  Eighty percent of the litter in the Great Lakes is plastic.  Eight million tons of it is dumped in the oceans every year and less than 10 percent is being recycled.  It litters our neighborhoods and roadways and the ocean floor.  It drifts in ocean currents in particles the size of plankton and enters the food chain affecting everything from shrimp to fish to whales.  Pelagic birds stuff the bellies of their young with cigarette lighters and plastic toothbrushes.  Sea turtles can’t distinguish the difference between a jellyfish and a remnant piece of shopping bag.

Water bottles, grocery bags, tableware, packaging, plastic items used only once and briefly, are the biggest problem. It is virtually impossible to live in the 21st century and not support the plastics industry.  We need plastics, but not single use.  We got along just fine without them for hundreds of years and can do it again, or we can learn to effectively recycle every scrap.

And that’s how we brought in the new year.  Actually, we also watched a documentary on Antarctica’s Thwaites Glacier.  You know, the one bigger than the state of Florida, the one holding back a magnitude of arctic ice, the one that’s melting at an incredible rate...

Here’s to 2022, the year we come to our senses.

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.