Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Tag: nature Page 2 of 5

While There’s Still Time (To Catch the Hawk’s Gaze)

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On January 27, 2018

In Armchair Mayor Column

It is often believed that major revelations come after periods of fasting, isolation from people, or self-imposed hardship of one kind or another, which is expected to bring out of their hiding our other senses – the ones that start with the sixth one. The senses that live like some forgotten tribe in the middle of the jungle; primal and yet capable of bringing a whole new definition of meaning to your daily existence that has been sustained up to that point, with relative success, you’d argue, by the five senses we all know, trust and would never doubt the existence of.

Mine started more like a sunrise of sorts, or a moonrise. The aster is not important, but the rising part. The part where you see the contour of what’s to come, but are still bracing for the surprise, because there will be one.

Two nights ago, Max and I walked the dog to the nearby school field for one last walk before bedtime. It was wet and foggy. Island weather, we joked, minus the island. When we got to the field, I noticed a man walking his dog and recognized our neighbour who has recently lost his wife of many years. Having heard of that a while ago, I was struggling with finding the most respectful, unimposing and inobtrusive way of expressing our condolences. I’ve been through the loss of a loved one many times and I know there’s no right way of doing it, more so when you barely met the people a few times. I also know what it feels like when people avoid getting in touch following a loved one’s death, because they don’t feel comfortable thinking about it.

So I walked right up to him, confessed my struggle and said we are sorry for his loss. I gave him a big hug and he hugged back; I was grateful for his acceptance of my words and hug. He was grateful I reached out, as people are reluctant to talk about death most of the time. We chatted about the preciousness of life, imminence of death included, while our dogs played. We laughed at their antics, and parted, him with an invite to stop by our place for coffee and chat, him with an offer of baby plants, if we are of the green thumb tribe. I said we are.

Max and I walked some more afterwards, the flavour of the meeting trailing behind us like a stray dog that was suddenly enamoured with us and unwilling to part. An unmistakable sense of peace washed over me knowing that we still have time. Or?…

Truth is, we have today. The rest is not even a promise, but a supposition. The rest is hope. Today is the only time that belongs to us fully. That was the lifeline phrase I hung onto after my parents passed away, processing the best I could their disappearance and the meaning of stringing up one today after another without losing hope as it all ends up one day anyway.  We become finality’s happy sad apostles once death takes a loved one away from us, making us aware (more than once in my case,) that the only consolation takeaway we are left with is awareness. Bittersweet it may be, but it’s there. It’s a roller coaster, except that you’re not the observer from up above, or the rider, but the very machine that rattles as you go up and down the tracks, feeling as if you’ll come apart every time the track disappears in a down turn.

All of this came back to me as I plodded along my husband, our steps in sync, words and hearts, post-conversation with our neighbour. Time. So much and so little, so slippery. Fragmented; that is how it feels on most days, due to so many things clinging to be done, interruptions of one kind or another, notifications, the many requests to update our calendars, our social media feeds and the guilt that comes from not keeping on top of it all. Above all, and despite sharing time and space with my sons, I always long for more, as I strive to for remember more of what escapes the fragmentation.

A couple of days later I picked up a copy of When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi, a neurosurgeon and writer whose life was cut short prematurely at the age of 37 by cancer. It’s the kind of book you read with awe and reverence, and do not just read, but cry and think about it long after you put it down. If you are so inclined. It’s the kind of book that invites to contemplation and reassessment; to gratefulness.

It’s a jolt of sorts. Masterfully written, though it was put together in a hurry, as time was not on his side, the book is not one of mourning and self-pity. On the contrary. It is the story of becoming a doctor, the description of the elaborate meanders of options and the clarity of choice through introspection, the re-evaluations once the terminal illness sets in, the contemplation of death from a safe (somewhat) distance as a doctor, and from up-close as a patient.

It is in this context that I make my decision to resist the fragmentation of my time by activities that do not further my contentment with making the most of it. Connection through social media has little meaning if any, if connection through other means is non-existent (face to face, phone, email). Therefore, I will set the unnecessary aside (Facebook and Instagram), and keep what allows me to share my writing, selectively choose my news and reach out, if needed, to like-minded professionals.

It will look like this (or what stays, what goes):

  • Facebook (goes): I will have a ‘hibernating’ profile which I need to perform my administrative responsibilities in my work and volunteer work respectively. That includes social media postings on various topics (sustainability, health, community.)
  • Instagram (goes): While I am fully charmed by so many awe-inspiring photographs that roll out daily through my feed, I am also aware of the daily trickle of time spent seeing the said photos and more. I know I can make better use of my time living it, rather than living vicariously through others. There are ways to follow people’s work – social and environmental, my two major interests – and I will.
  • Twitter (goes): I will maintain my profile for now, but dormant.

As I consciously engage on this path that enables me to make time my ally, I will continue on the journey of writing here, from what I foresee will become a richer perspective. Unfragmented, mindful presence enabled by all those who inspired me through their life, death, writing and presence. From informal mentions of books and ideas, to life bites that define a day, or a moment in a day, or leave an imprint of the kind worth sharing.

I thank you for joining me, if you will, on my new site and through my new blog at www.danielaginta.com. My promise is to make it meaningful. Through mindfulness, which was, after all, the goal behind reaching out of my shell in the first place.

***

It happened this morning that while I was walking along a snowy path battered by human steps and animal tracks, I heard the ping of a notification on my phone, barely audible through the crunch of my steps. I pulled my mitts off, got the phone out of my pocket and checked my messages. Without thinking twice, I penned a reply, retyping a couple of words (I do not believe in auto spellcheck) which got mangled by my cold fingers. I hit ‘send’ only to feel an irrepressible urge to look upwards to my left. At the top of the tallest spruce (?… mental note: learn to identify trees) the resident hawk was standing with its head turned towards me. This is the second time it happened; that it made my gaze peel from the most estranging of devices and look towards it. The closeness such an occurrence conjures cannot be put into words, nor can it be placed in the context of today when being hurried is synonymous with simply being.

Time itself is the keeper of such moments, so long as we do not fragment it. That is what I am after. Time, alone and with my loved ones; closeness to what matters. The hawk’s gaze.

Make Safety Part Of Your Outdoor Adventures

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On January 15, 2018

In Armchair Mayor Column, Health, Homeschooling, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Social issues

To say that winter cannot make up its mind this year would be an understatement. It’s been a weather seesaw of sorts since it first snowed in early November. Cold, snowy, warm, cold, snowy; repeat, or not.

There’s lots of shoveling to be done, but beauty to delight in too. If you drive out of town for snowshoeing, skiing, or hiking, the rewards are more than worth the effort, more so on a sunny day when snow-clad trees push against a sky so blue it takes your breath away.

Every year in winter, our family aims for at least one overnight hike, where we each carry our sleeping bags and sleeping pads, and use a sled for all the other supplies. It’s a good workout plodding through snow, but most of all, it is yet another opportunity to learn about nature and why playing it safe always make fun better.

From deciding on the time we start on the trail to the estimated time of arrival (ideally before dark, so we have time to set up and get everyone warm,) to deciding how much stuff we take and whether we have what we need in case we get stuck somewhere, to letting people know that we’re heading into the wilderness, and assessing weather but knowing that it can change without notice, it’s all there.

When we go to one of the now frozen lakes around Kamloops, the questions revolve around that: could we fall in? How long till you get hypothermia? Then, there is the conversation about avalanches, which has been on the news lately, as it is every year.

There is a low likelihood of avalanches where we take the boys, but not knowing the way very well or hiking too late in the day could still get one in serious trouble. These conversations are never about inducing fear of exploring. On the contrary. Healthy fear encourages learning more and preparing better, and knowing when to hold back when necessary.

We live in a time when the access to information about backcountry is but a click away, and there are countless stores in town and online selling equipment. Unfortunately, that is not enough. Somehow, more people find themselves in dire straits in the great outdoors.

The stats from all the search and rescue organizations in British Columbia show a worrying trend. The number of calls has increased over the years, and most organizations had a record number of rescue missions. In 2017, the Kamloops Search and Rescue (KSAR) volunteers were called on 49 searches (a 32 percent increase from 2016) with over 3,500 hours they put in (more than double compared to previous year.)

Particularly worrisome is that this trend is seen all across the province. The increase from last year seems to hover at 30 to 40 percent. To note: the searches are all conducted by volunteers and the organizations rely on donations, but without soliciting by phone. That’s a lot of heart right there, and willingness to help, considering that sometimes the volunteers’ lives are at risk. Especially commendable is not losing faith after discovering yet again that some people carry very few or no items that can increase their chances of survival, such as extra clothing, matches, water or food.

While the admiration for the search and volunteers is boundless, the question remains: How come that more people, and not just in one area, but throughout BC (possibly other parts of Canada) are in need of assistance, at a time when there is enough knowledge to make one’s journey as safe as possible through supply, route, risk assessment and overall trip planning?

It is always sad to turn on the radio or read the news only to find out that someone was yet again caught in an avalanche while snowmobiling (which sometimes they caused,) or got lost during a hike, or went out of bounds while skiing, snowboarding. Sadder yet is to hear they lost their lives.

Can we possibly hope that in 2018, the news, warnings, and word-of-mouth will lower the numbers of people who access the backcountry unprepared, no matter the season? Or that people will think twice before putting at risk not just their own lives but also those of the search and rescue volunteers? I would like to believe so.

As for the boundless admiration for all the search and rescue volunteers… Feelings are great, always, but not nearly enough. Everyone should consider helping by donating to the local SAR team (https://www.ksar.ca/donate-help-us-out/) – more so because they do not even entertain the thought of charging people, thinking that some would avoid calling for help.

Another way to help is volunteering, if possible (https://www.ksar.ca/join/). It is on my list of potential volunteering options once the boys are all grown-up. Until then, my husband and I will keep safety as part of the must-haves when our family heads out for adventures in the great outdoors.

New Year, Old Problems

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On January 8, 2018

In Armchair Mayor Column, Climate change, Environment, Health, Kamloops, Learning, Self-improvement, Social issues

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops and Armchair Mayor News on January 8, 2018. 

As of two days ago, we are back to slush. A walk to the library yesterday had me jump over soupy snow marshes, making me pay extra attention to the sidewalk. When you do, one thing that stands out is the garbage. A straw here, a wrapper there, a disposable cup here, another one there, lids included, half-revealed by the melting snow. A couple of blocks worth of garbage.

Then come the daily walks through Peterson Creek Park. If you go far enough on the trails, there’s little or no garbage. The main trail though and the portions of trails immediately adjacent to it suffer from the same garbage litter issue. Plus, dog poop, right on the trails. ‘Tis almost the season again when it all comes out, some bagged, some not, all equally disgusting, more so if you happen to step in it. If the past years are a good reference, the worst is yet to come, I know that much.

Moving down the list, there’s the visual references from people who went up to the grasslands recently. Driving along Lac Du Bois Road takes you to a place of wondrous beauty every time, no matter the season. We are ever so lucky to be so close to the grasslands, as they truly are a wonder. They cover less than 1 percent of British Columbia and are home to more threatened and endangered species than any other habitat, according to the Grasslands Conservation Council of BC. Nothing short of magical beauty, and right in our common backyard.

The ‘common backyard’ part is where the heartache starts. It’s where I go back to the recent photos and videos I came across on social media. Loads of garbage. From pizza boxes, to diaper boxes filled with garbage, to Christmas wrappings and more, it was all dumped by the side of the road in the grasslands (could be another wild space too, such as Greenstone Mountain.) This happens every year.

Sure, there will be a cleanup organized by well-intended folks who will fill many garbage bags and remove (again!) more debris than one can possibly imagine. There will be many in fact – one in Peterson Creek, one in the grasslands, one at Riverside Park and in many other places. Thoughtful people are out there, and we need more like them. The question remains though: Will it hold?

Not really. Garbage keeps coming back. One could argue that it is worse to dump a couple of weeks worth of garbage somewhere along a dirt road outside town than it is to drop a candy wrapper in the city.

Well, size matters indeed, but mentality is the common denominator that we ought to pay attention to. It’s the care we manifest for our spaces, big or small, close to home or further away.

Single-use plastic is most commonly found out there, in town and in the back country, but it’s almost impossible to describe the worst of it all. Is it someone’s domestic garbage lying by the side of a road that cuts through beautiful landscape, or the growing heaps of nails from burnt pallets with some crushed beer cans for good measure. There’s unfortunately another shocker lying around the next bend, so you can never tell.

What can be done, one wonders? Install more garbage bins? Those who mean well already use the existing ones, but a higher density helps. Put up more signs warning of steep fines? That could work, but would be there to reinforce it? Perhaps we need to see more conservation officers and park rangers.

Yet the truth is that the most sustainable solution rests not with the reinforcers of laws and by-laws, but with each of us. Our planet is slowly but surely drowning in garbage. The more stuff we buy, the more we throw out. The less we care, the more the beauty that surrounds us shrinks and suffers. It may be that we are the ones causing the trouble, but the chilling reality is that we are also at the receiving end. If not this generation, then the next.

The writer and environmentalist George Monbiot once wrote ‘Progress is measured by the speed at which we destroy the conditions that sustain life.’ The emphasis is on ‘life’; not animal life or plant life, not wild life of any kind, but life. That means us too. It’s high time we see it that way, think it and live it, and raise ourselves and our children breathing it in as if it were oxygen. Because it is.

Why A Different Approach Is Needed This Holiday Season And Beyond

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On December 11, 2017

In Armchair Mayor Column, Climate change, Environment, Health, Learning, Self-improvement, Social issues

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops and Armchair Mayor News on Monday, December 11, 2017. 

Last week, the conservation group Sea Legacy (co-founded by Canadian-born photographer and marine biologist Paul Nicklen and his partner Cristina Mittermeier, also a conservationist, photographer, and writer,) released a video of a starving polar bear, aiming to draw attention to an issue that is not new but is getting increasingly worrisome: the impact of climate change on wildlife and the environment, human life included, since we are, truly, but a piece of the big puzzle we call life.

The video was shared on social media, and the heartbreaking reality the Sea Legacy team was confronted with was discussed in the news. In a nutshell, shorter winters and the melting of the sea ice causes more polar bears to go hungry, as they are forced to spend more time on land instead of replenishing their reserves by going after seals, an activity for which they need sea ice.

Other scientists concur. Nick Lunn, a researcher with Environment and Climate Change Canada, recently warned that climate change may be wiping out the subpopulation of polar bears near Churchill, Manitoba, in 20 to 40 years. Occurrences such as a bear swimming underwater for more than three minutes (almost three times longer than normal) while stalking his prey, only points to the same issue: increased starvation, which also causes many hungry bears to walk into cities in search of food. Aside from climate change, polar bears and other Arctic creatures are affected by persistent pollutants which affect their nervous, digestive, and reproductive systems.

The reactions to the photos and video of the severely emaciated bear were diverse, and some, to be honest, rather shocking. Some called it tragic, and vowed to change their ways to reduce their carbon footprint, others said these conservationists are opportunists trying to push their own agenda (I have a hard time with the ridiculousness of such statements) spreading fake news about the climate, while this is a perfectly normal reality, i.e. wild animals starving to death or being diseased. Yes, you can shake your head.

The bleeding hearts accused the team of being cruel and filming the bear instead of feeding it (as if that would save it, or the rest of the bears threatened by the same fate.) Others went as far as to say that this kind of news ruins their weekend.

The reason I picked this topic to write about is because of the incoming reports on wildlife disappearing at a rate we are not prepared to accept. According to the WWF conservation group, we have lost approximately 60 percent of wildlife since 1970 (which is not that long ago) and by 2020 (which is too darn close) we will see two thirds of them gone. Due mostly to human activity, the WWF report said. Alarmists, some may conclude, yet other studies and direct evidence brought by scientists and conservation photographers point to the same.

Recent reports by the Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada (COSEWIC) draws attention to a few species that are either endangered or threatened due to human activity interfering with their natural cycles, or altering their habitat, which drastically decreases their numbers and in some cases, such as the great northern Caribou herds, pushes them closer to the tipping point (a nice way to say extinction.) Add some species of salmon to the list too, some of trout, migratory birds, and Monarch butterflies. The list is long and getting longer, and the main culprits are interrelated: climate change and human activity.

While I wholeheartedly agree that this cavalcade of troubling environmental news is upsetting (including the ever-increasing plastic and garbage issue,) more so as we approach Christmas, it is important that we not only talk about it all, but that we keep talking about it once the new news is old news.

In many retail stores the lineups are a sight to behold already and seasonal merchandise is choking the shelves. Some of it, mostly plastic, will add to the landfills, soon after the season’s over. We can hope (and help as much as we can) that those who truly are in need, such as the 18.3 percent of children who find themselves below the poverty level in British Columbia (17 percent Canada-wide), will have their needs taken care of. Past the Christmas season too, until no child is found to live in poverty – now that’s a good wish to wish and help come true.

Aside from that, if we can take the stories of our ailing world to heart and give the gifts that matter the most to our loved ones, which are time and presence, while reducing our consumption and material gift footprint to a minimum necessary (donating instead to those in need for example,) I can see that as enabling a much-needed Christmas-and-beyond miracle: our own survival in a world that needs us to pay attention to more than immediate comfort and the next thing to buy.

We can shrug or ignore reports of wildlife suffering or disappearing because of human activity and climate change, or we can start a long-awaited conversation that may see the tide turning in favour of life. Choosing the latter has no dire consequences; on the contrary. It means choosing a better future. Choosing to continue to ignore the signs we see everywhere – animals disappearing, extreme weather phenomena, severe wildfires, that is akin to playing Russian roulette at a time when playing games is not something we can afford.

What About The Kids?

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On September 13, 2017

In Armchair Mayor Column, Health, Homeschooling, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement, Social issues

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops and Armchair Mayor News on Monday, September 11, 2017. 

A few years ago, when my sons were still in public school (now homeschooled), we would get a lunch program to peruse and choose from if we wanted to. We chose nothing, not because we’re fussy, but because the options were deplorable.

One of the options was called taco salad. ‘It’s a salad made of tortilla chips, Mom,’ my oldest announced a couple of weeks later, rather bemused, when he got to see the very dish. No matter how you turn it, that is not food.

Feeding children can be a wild adventure at times, given occasional pickiness and all, but that’s no excuse feeding them junk food or low-quality ingredients as part of the school lunches. Not when we live in the middle of a farm-rich country and there is an abundance of fresh, wholesome foods that could be worked into school lunches.

I am willing to say that more parents would sign up for the program if there were healthy options, and would welcome the break from figuring out next day’s lunch. There is a high chance that many kids would learn about healthy food and be better for it. Which could be amplified if students would have a garden to tend to right on school grounds. You see, gardening invites to more than planting and picking, with the occasional weeding in between.

Gardening means learning about soil and all its wondrous components, from chemical compounds to bugs of all sizes that keep it healthy; it opens the door to learning about how liquids travel through soil and how they get absorbed through the roots. It involves delving into the biochemistry of the cell and if you add a microscope to the mix, you can get hours of intense studying, which will be followed by more curiosity. From there, you get to how fruit and veggies grow, and from there on, it moves into the realm of eating good-for-you foods.

Which isn’t anything that I saw in the school district’s lunch program I happened to come across. Chicken bites, chicken burger, chicken nuggets, all served cold, followed by some fruit slices and either juice or chocolate milk or plain milk. Fruit juice is empty calories that do not benefit children or anyone else for that reason. Eating the whole fruit is where it’s at.

Again, this is happening right here where we see ripe fruit that falls on the ground all summer and fall too, from cherries to apricots to plums, apples, and pears. On top of it, we have a farmer’s market so plentiful this time a year, that it would only make sense to use some of that to provide good food for children. Just imagine connecting local farmers to the department that organizes school lunches in the district.

That being said, there will be a chorus telling me that many kids prefer junk food and they would scoff at healthy (deemed boring by some) food options. Be it so, it should be part of a school mandate to educate about healthy food options. In an age where child obesity and chronic health issues starting in childhood are on the rise, that would be a moral duty, to say the least. That’s one of the reasons why I never refer to junk or processed foods as ‘treats’, but call them by their name.

Living a long, healthy life involves no magic.  Eat wholesome meals, mostly veggies, and never until full, get outside, get moving, and connect with people. In a nutshell. To keep with the scope of this piece, I will ask this: how many kids nowadays are doing all or some of the above?

There are too many processed food options (with attractive advertisements), there are devices that make them sit in one place for hours on end, there is the culture of fear where parents do not want/dare to let their kids play outside on their own, and there is, at society level, for the most part, a growing and deeply worrying trend of living life in an isolated, often self-centered way.

Many of our children are anxious, depressed, obese, or plagued by other eating disorders; some are bullied, others are bullying, at war with the world around them. They all start out eager to learn about the world around (healthy foods included,) and then somewhere down the road they become self-conscious, bored, tired, fearful, addicted to screens and drugs. Reclaiming them becomes the hardest task.

The thing is, it doesn’t have to be this way. Fixing a generation (or more) is no easy thing. As always, one step at a time is where we can start. No drugs can ever fix what healthy food, free play, and time spent together can.

Hippocrates once said, ‘Let food be thy medicine.’ Let’s start with that. Make every bite, treats included, count. As for the rest of the issues, perhaps we should go back to forming the village needed to raise a child. A connected community is where better things happen. When it comes to our children, no effort is too big to make that happen.

I’ll Meet You Where Humbleness Grows

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On June 23, 2017

In Armchair Mayor Column, Health, Learning, Life Stories, Self-improvement, Social issues

Gratefulness is this wonderfully easy-to-forget thought that we stumble upon every now and when we do, we say ‘of course I am.’ Right? On a good day, I remember the thanks, the smiles that go with them, and yes, I am noticing the sun dancing on a bee’s wings.

Life takes any opportunity to remind of all sides of any story though. My daily forays in the park with pup on my side is where many of the reminders come about.

Graceful enough, on any given day, I oblige and show gratefulness for the buzzing that surrounds the tall, yellow-tufted mustard weeds and for the world of tall grasses that hug my legs with long, sharp blades of green and seedy heads.

On any given day, I give my thanks for the silence that is punctuated with the clinking sound of the pup’s tags ringing her presence. Near, far, near, hiding, stop… smell, jump, near, far, near. I stop, she stops. For the sky that traps my gaze in its vivid blue streaked with long, wispy clouds.

I am grateful for the resident hawk that belongs in that blue as much as clouds do; for the graceful circles he traces up there, and for how I can let time sink under my feet as I stop and stare. Grateful for not having to rush, for the humility that I find in walking as the hawk flies, high and wordlessly loud.

On any given day, I am grateful for noticing two round eyes peeking through the foggy-white leaves of a Russian olive tree. A doe, ever so inconspicuous, silently nestled in the warm sand. I give my thanks to the doe through the secrecy I commit to. I do not betray her presence to pup, who translates gratefulness of encounters into mad chases. She’ll never catch up to any deer but the chase is what she’s after.

Last night, a doe we met on the trail stared, as we did too. No chasing by pup, no unnecessary moves for a few long minutes. Just long gazes that needed no deciphering. No explanation other than the gratefulness of sharing time and transcending what we think of communication for a few minutes.

On any given day, it feels like the park with all its green extravaganza of grasses, birds, bugs, and frothy creeks is ours; we stroll, pup and I, with the confidence of knowing its secrets and its songs.

Humbleness never sends a harbinger, that much I know. This morning we walk the same way we always do. We take the path, the bridge, poking the cloud of sweet overgrown summer grasses as we rush through.

Rustling in the brush nearby gives someone’s presence away. Pup’s ears perk up. Startled, she barks. On the side of the path, barely hiding, two young people sit among weeds and scattered belongings. The man looks up, eyes glazed and slurry words barely making their way out as I apologize for my intruding dog.

The woman’s face is covered by long, black hair and she throws a sideway confused look. Sadness overwhelms me as I leave them to it. ‘It’ means injected drugs. Right there, off the path, steps away from people walking dogs and chatting about the day being a good one. Lost souls. I felt conflicted about the privilege I have. To walk, carefree, pup included, through place where I see but beauty and I am reminded of gratefulness. To see and feel the world as is: hurting at times, but beautiful and surprising on any given day.

Today I am reminded of more. Of how deep the wounds that hurt us humans run, of how profound their print on our soul, of how easy it is to be smug when all is lined up and society nods upon you approvingly, and how easy it is to forget that that when people find themselves trapped on the dark side of life, judgment is often what most of us have to offer.

We know judgment distances us from where humanity belongs, but fear of looking at darkness and relating to it (because let’s face it, there’s shreds of darkness in every one of us) makes us push our belonging efforts to where the light is.

Tomorrow, pup and I will pass by the spot where the young couple was. She’ll smell the grasses and wonder, and I will be reminded that gratefulness comes in dark tones as well as bright ones. That I need a whole lot of humbleness to remember that.

Holding Onto Hope Is The Only Way Out

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On June 5, 2017

In Armchair Mayor Column, Climate change, Environment, Health, Homeschooling, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories

Originally published as a column in CFJC Today and Armchair Mayor News on Monday, June 5, 2017. 

I admit to no longer looking forward to checking the news. After a weekend spent with my family, out of reception, on the shore of a little-known lake near Little Fort, the return to the fast-moving, permanently-connected-to-the-internet world, is nowhere near pleasant.

We had a weekend of stories and adventures, laughter over the silly antics of a dog so happy to be exploring the woods and jumping into the lake as she pleased, and full of the togetherness that words like ‘family camping’ do not do justice to. We went paddling in early mornings and late evenings when the water is as smooth as glass and the haunting calls of the loons are but wrapping around your thoughts like vines.

The phone was but a camera. When we left on Friday I was still processing the troubling thoughts caused by the US president’s decision to withdraw his country from the Paris climate change agreement. Overwhelming is an understatement. We are not yet in dire straights environmentally speaking, not over where we are anyway, but the threads that hold it all together disappear with every bad decision.

Lately I have been immersed in a book called ‘The right to be cold’ by Sheila Watt-Cloutier. It is a fascinating read with lots of Inuit history and, at the same time, an accurate and heartbreaking description of the way life in the Arctic has been affected by many factors, mainly climate change. The climate change-induced transformations of the Arctic world are happening twice as fast compared to changes in the rest of the world. A cautionary tale at best.

Yet, there are still climate change deniers. That I will never understand. I’d do but one thing to appeal to their minds and hearts: I’d take them to one of the many places where the sun splashes on a lake trying to coax waterlilies to reach to the surface, and you feel dwarfed by trees of all kinds shading delicate fairy slippers, wild strawberry flowers and newly emerged arnica flowers. Then I’d ask: What if this corner of paradise and many others would cease to exist? What if basic life needs could no longer be satisfied because the planet is simply not enabling for it?

There is still time. There’s hope.

A recent study done in Germany concluded that planting trees to sink carbon is simply not enough to counteract the effects of climate change. Though trees do absorb carbon dioxide as they grow, which makes new trees grow a lot faster due to its high concentrations these days, we would need immense surfaces – the equivalent of all the agricultural land plus some more, if we are to slow down climate change. We need to let go of fossil fuels and focus on alternatives.

Yet letting go of hope is not an option, no matter how deeply disturbing one president’s decision to embrace denial is. Hope we must, hope we will. There are still many countries (some US states too), committed to act towards making life on earth last, Canada included, which is a comforting thought.  Yes, Canada will have to forgo pipelines and dams and LNG soon enough if the commitment is to be a fruitful one.

That was, as I said, the thought context in which I entered the blissful ‘out of reception’ zone with my loved ones. Upon our return, connection grabbed onto our phones half an hour or so after leaving the campsite.

We got home, unloaded, scrubbed dishes, and sorted through the camping gear to store it away till next time. It was my oldest who checked the news first. There was another attack in London, he said.

More people senselessly killed, others critically wounded, more fear and terror spreading, more questions that will remain, once again, unanswered.

I know this is but the one of the facets news outlets focus on. I know that the famine in South Sudan is beyond tragic and millions are on the brink of death due to starvation and diseases; that boats of hopeful migrants, many of whom children, still engage in crossing the Mediterranean in search of a better life, and that the Middle East is still ravaged by bombings, and senseless dying happens everywhere you look.

It’s that and more that made me steer away from connecting back to the world. It’s sad, it’s scary, it’s angering, and it’s not going to end anytime soon, unfortunately. Yet, just like I stated above, it’s hope we must commit to. There simply is no better way.

Hope makes anger dwindle; when solutions are needed, rather than more resentment, hope, and willingness to hold onto what makes us human (kindness is what comes to mind first) must be strengthened. It’s the hardest thing at times.

Whenever dark, hopeless thoughts invade my mind, I seek the one refuge that somehow stays unaltered every time: the hope that the world can be changed. It takes many (most of us?) but it’s possible. Somehow, some of the areas of the drawing board on which we sketch life have become blackened by horror acts and fear. But the big picture can still be lit up if enough well-wishing hands keep on sketching bright, hopeful bits of life. It takes many. Most of us and each of us.

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