Denial is a powerful thing. Today is June 22nd and I refuse to turn on the heat because I should not have to turn on the heat on June 22nd. I should be begging for mercy from the heat and humidity gods. Instead I dress in layers: sweatshirt, wool sweater, heavy socks, a toque for god’s sake. But I do NOT turn on the heat. It is summer.
It is somewhat warmer outside so, despite being sick, I go out to the garden. When I return, my partner asks me what I’ve been doing and I tell her I’ve been weeding and thinking. I tell her I’ve been thinking about survival of the fittest and how sad that really is because who and what is fittest seems to change from day to day. Or maybe that’s actually good because whoever is down one day might be up the next? These are the places my brain goes.
I was weeding and thinking about a film I just watched about walruses. Used to resting on the arctic ice after feasting, they now have to swim hundreds of miles looking for a place to hang out because their beloved ice has melted. When they finally meet land, they climb up the highest cliff and are so exhausted many fall back down to their death. Hundreds of them lie dead or dying on the rocks at any given time.
Here on the Atlantic coast where I’ve been living for the past seven years, young people I know in their 20s and 30s have decided they will not have children because of climate change. I ask and am told that yes, they would have liked to have children but feel they cannot, in good conscience, bring children into a world that is burning up, into a world where the youth will have to struggle in ways that we in North America cannot even imagine.
And yet still, they have not given up. They fight every day to make a difference, to get the rest of us to pay attention. So when I am in the garden, I have hope too. Especially in the spring. I see the pollinators that overwinter here in the north struggle to survive. And while some of them don’t, many more do.
I started ground cherries indoors this year where they grew beautifully. When the time came to transplant them, I think the wet windy weather caught them off guard. I thought they were done for as they shed one leaf after the other. But I put them in the ground anyway and most of them have rallied. Most of them look like maybe, just maybe, they’ll make it.
And then there’s the peach tree. For 5 years now, I’ve watched a pit thrown on the compost pile root into a seedling and finally into a tree that is at least a few feet taller than me and produces the most delicious fruit I think I’ve ever had.
Whatever goes on in the world at large, nature goes on. We humans tend to forget we are part of that cycle. We’ve lost some of our grace but I’ll continue to hold onto hope.
And look at that … the sun just came out and it looks like summer again.