26 February 2011

Stumbling Across A Conviction

It has been COLD here in Missoula these past few days!  We had an Arctic front move down into Western Montana--with winds wildly blowing and buffeting buildings, trees, people . . . on my walk to work on Thursday morning I kept thinking of Laura Ingalls Wilder and The Long Winter and all those blizzards, and I was grateful that, though the wind and snow were definitely blizzard-like, I could still see across the street and didn't have to break too many tracks through the snow (though in some places the wind had piled the snow up in crazy heaps that I had to struggle through).  I was definitely more than a little chilled by the time I had walked the mile to work, though!  BRRR.

But mostly I have been staying inside, wearing several layers, and drinking tea and eating soup and reading.  I just picked up an E.O. Wilson book, my first.  I have been hearing about him for years, but have never read any of his books.  At work this past week I was looking through our library and noticed The Future of Life sitting on a shelf, and I picked it up, began reading, and was immediately hooked.  Wilson is an excellent writer and a knowledgeable and well-trained biologist, and has won two Pulitzer Prizes.   In this book, he lays out the fragile state of this beautiful biosphere we call home, and presents a hopeful vision for how we can turn the tide of environmental exploitation and destruction while there is still time.  I'm only a couple of chapters in, but already I am mesmerized by the complexities and intricacies of our amazingly created world.

For instance, there exist bacteria who thrive in 221-degree water (found near hydrothermal vents on the ocean floor).  Hundreds of bacteria, archaeans, and fungi have been discovered in the mud of the lowest point of the Mariana Trench (35,750 feet below sea level).  And there is even a bacterium that can live through radiation 1,000 times more powerful than the atomic bombs that leveled Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  I am amazed.

Wilson goes on to discuss the incredible diversity of life on this planet, from bacteria that exist in every conceivable setting to plants, fungi, and animals, including Homo sapiens.  Right now I am reading about how human beings have changed and are changing (exponentially) the balance of life on Earth.  The more I read, the more I realize (again) that in order for us to survive, in order for ALL life on this planet to survive, we need to change our actions--and that this is NOT a choice.

This is part of why I am so deeply saddened, angered, and terrified at some of the laws being put forward by our lawmakers.  Disabling the Endangered Species Act.  Cutting funding for renewable energy.  Spending MORE money on extracting non-renewable resources from our hurting planet.  Kow-towing to Big Oil, Coal, Corporate Agriculture, and other extremely powerful and extremely short-sighted entities.  Taking away rights and care from women, children, the poor, the environment--those that have been and will be the most negatively affected by the imbalance of power.  We do not have the right to gamble away the lives of others, but that is what we are doing.

The challenge is that we ALL need to change, even those of us who live the most simply.  Because every time I get into my car and drive, I am contributing to the degradation of the planet, and there are no two ways about that.  Every time I eat meat, I am contributing to an inefficient system that ultimately contributes to world hunger (eating meat that eats grain is FAR less efficient than me simply eating grain directly).

What each of us does--what each of us chooses to do--matters.  Each small action makes a difference, and while it may seem that we have the luxury not to ponder this too deeply (we do lead busy lives, after all, and there are so many more important things to figure out, right?), it is a false luxury.  We don't even have the luxury our grandparents did, that we won't have to deal with the results of our choices in our lifetimes.  That luxury is gone.  What we do today WILL affect our lives in the space of only a few years or decades.  I don't want to regret my choices (and regret them we may, in the worst possible way, if we continue to live as short-sightedly as we have been).

You may have noticed that I've been writing more activist/political posts, of late.  Perhaps I should stick to fun pictures and recountings of my adventures, but I find it hard to do so when there are so many hurting people and creatures in this world, when there is such an imbalance of power and resources, when there is so much injustice.  I know that I am one of the lucky ones, to live in a wealthy, democratic nation.  To have health insurance.  To have a warm home and space to grow my own food.  To have a job, to have a husband who has a job.  To have access to clean water and grocery stores and a good education.  The hardest thing is that I know that I don't really deserve it, any more than people who live in poverty and hunger in the slums of Mumbai deserve their fate.  And, as long as there are people in this world who have less than I do, it is my responsibility to work for justice and equality.

I think I need to write that again.

As long as there are people in this world who have less than I do, it is my responsibility to work for justice and equality.

That may be one of the most difficult things I have ever had to write.  That I have ever had to realize.  The question I will be wrestling with now and in the future is:  How best to do this?

06 February 2011

Winter Zen

I love winter. I love snow and cold and crisp, clear days.

But February can be difficult. Warmer temps and slush and slick roads--I'm not really a fan. Grey skies are hard to see day after day, especially if I stay in town. I think I'm entering the mid-winter doldrums.

So today my friend Ann and I decided to go skiing up at Lolo Pass. There's glorious FEET of snow up there, and more was drifting gently down as we clicked into our skis and started out on the blue loop. The sky was grey, with bits of blue in the distance, the snow was floating down, and we were nearly the only people out there. (Super Bowl Sunday is a GREAT day to go skiing!)

There's something magical about just being outdoors for several hours. The fresh air and silence and beauty start working their way inside. Two weekends ago I was up at Lubrecht, 45 miles east of Missoula, for a workshop. We spent a good 4-5 hours outside, walking around on snowshoes and scouting out tracks. It was a warm day, and I was comfortable without my jacket (as long as I was moving). We saw numerous coyote tracks, elegant in their long direct lines from point A to point B. Squirrel tracks appearing from holes in the snow, where the squirrels stay warm and protected in the subnivean layer. Grouse tracks in precise lines. Deer and elk tracks, punched deep into the snow. And the long, running tracks of a moose, with a 108" stride. Oh, the stories that are just waiting to be discovered, if only one takes the time to look!

Then our instructor went on a mad hunt for cougar tracks. He walked quickly, almost jogging, and we panted and strained to keep up with him. Through thickets, around Ponderosa pines, up hills, down into the riparian zone. Alas, no cougar tracks, but ah, the delight of dashing through the snow on a bright January day! We turned to head back, walking briskly atop the snow. Sweat broke out on my skin, my breath came more quickly, my stride lengthened, and suddenly I fell into a beautiful rhythm of breath and movement and felt the mid-winter doldrums and workaday worries fall off, left behind in the layers of snow. Do you ever look inside yourself and realize that you are, simply, HAPPY? That the world is a rich and beautiful place, full of delights, and that you are so deeply glad and grateful to be a part of it? And you wonder why you don't do these things that bring you to this contentment more often . . . and then you decide to let that go, too, and just live fully in the moment?

Oh, to be alive on such a day!

Today was another such day. Ann and I skied the 6.5-mile loop, amidst Doug firs and Western larches and Ponderosa pines. We noticed the snowshoe hare and squirrel tracks, heard the squeak of snow beneath our skis, moved in and out among the snowflakes. We talked about life and relationships and finances and dreams and work and change. We stopped to take a breath and listen to the silence and eat dark chocolate. I breathed in the peace of that place and felt its stillness.

On the way home, we stopped to sit in a commercial hot spring for an hour, letting the hot, sulfury water sooth our muscles. The snow began falling more thickly as darkness fell, and the flakes swirled in the headlights and streamed toward the windshield. I felt as though I was flying through space and showers of stars, as though I were part of a glorious wildness.

These are the feelings to hold inside as I begin my week and continue through these February days. Ah, February.