Today, I did the classic move on a New Year's resolution to keep me going. I told someone what my resolution was, why I thought it was an important move for me.
This morning, my nephew, his friend, and I, along with our dogs, hiked Mt. Si. The truth is that they hiked Mt. Si and I hiked three-quarters of Mt. Si. Teddy went with them all the way to the snow at the top of the mountain. I dawdled. I stopped three times for lunch. I talked to people. I looked up into the trees.
All of you serious hikers might roll your eyes. Go ahead. I did not make it to the top. I did not intend to make it to the top. It was a plan for me to hike my own speed, which is slow, and to take the time to look around me.
I felt the joy of being surrounded by trees. Have you ever noticed how many trees have a tiny hole at the base where an animal lives? I spent some time looking at the beautiful front porch on one of these tiny residences, a stone patio, sword fern planted on one side, Oregon grape on the other. And imagine the polished wood ceiling of the foyer. All it needed was a tiny hobbit door and I would have signed up to live in one.
One way to get through all the heaving of walking up a steep hill is to notice minuscule hobbit houses under Douglas fir trees. What a roof to have on your house, an entire tree that rises into the sky, an entire set of roots winding under your feet, polished wood flooring.
When fog rolled in and separated the near trees from the far ones, I was in heaven. I live for days like this, when the clouds wind around the mountain, when diamonds of droplets hang from branches everywhere, when it's safe enough for the yellow-bellied sap sucker to tap tap tap down at eye level with you without hiding behind the tree. I could barely breathe, I was so awed. Awe has probably saved my life. Maybe it can save the planet too.
It's really important for those of us who fight climate change to take a break sometimes and look at what it is that we are saving. I'm serious. I think that once a week might not be too often.
On the way to the trail, I was telling my nephew about photographing jelly fungus with my wide angle lens. I couldn't even see they were little bells until I looked through the view-finder. These are the ways I have of believing that saving the planet, that saving the species that live at these temperatures is worthy of my continued attention.
Not to mention the continuation of the human race.
After the joy of floating through the forest, of talking with like-minded people on the trail, of greeting every friendly dog and wondering if they had played with my Teddy, we all reconvened on the way down the mountain and talked about the environment.
What better time to reinforce what effort it's going to take to fix climate change. I admitted my inability to eliminate my dependence on the big plastic containers of the good greens. They both told me that everyone has their own problem sticking to the list of all the things we can do to reduce our carbon footprint. My nephew admitted that he loved driving. What twenty-something doesn't? And then he told me how exhausted he got protesting climate change for six years before he moved out to the Pacific Northwest.
I didn't know that about him.
He told me too that he wasn't done. He was just taking a break from it. He got burned out, seriously burned out. It sounded like he was beginning to recover.
His friend admitted that she didn't want to give up flying to grand destinations. Then, she told us about cargo travel. Holy cow! I want to go across the ocean on a cargo ship! Don't you? But you need time to travel that way.
Then, my nephew told me about tide turbines. I had always assumed they were hard on sea life. Not so much, he told me, except if you're a barnacle.
Sometimes a conversation is the beginning of how we can save the world. Sometimes it's all about looking closely at what we want to save, imagining the hidden lives around us. Sometimes it's about admitting our failure to give up big plastic containers. Sometimes it's finding out about cargo travel and tide turbines.
And I admitted to my nephew that I thought we could hook all those gym members up to become a waterfall of energy. He laughed when I told him.
But he didn't tell me it was useless to imagine. I love him for that.
Thank you for listening, jules
This morning, my nephew, his friend, and I, along with our dogs, hiked Mt. Si. The truth is that they hiked Mt. Si and I hiked three-quarters of Mt. Si. Teddy went with them all the way to the snow at the top of the mountain. I dawdled. I stopped three times for lunch. I talked to people. I looked up into the trees.
All of you serious hikers might roll your eyes. Go ahead. I did not make it to the top. I did not intend to make it to the top. It was a plan for me to hike my own speed, which is slow, and to take the time to look around me.
I felt the joy of being surrounded by trees. Have you ever noticed how many trees have a tiny hole at the base where an animal lives? I spent some time looking at the beautiful front porch on one of these tiny residences, a stone patio, sword fern planted on one side, Oregon grape on the other. And imagine the polished wood ceiling of the foyer. All it needed was a tiny hobbit door and I would have signed up to live in one.
One way to get through all the heaving of walking up a steep hill is to notice minuscule hobbit houses under Douglas fir trees. What a roof to have on your house, an entire tree that rises into the sky, an entire set of roots winding under your feet, polished wood flooring.
When fog rolled in and separated the near trees from the far ones, I was in heaven. I live for days like this, when the clouds wind around the mountain, when diamonds of droplets hang from branches everywhere, when it's safe enough for the yellow-bellied sap sucker to tap tap tap down at eye level with you without hiding behind the tree. I could barely breathe, I was so awed. Awe has probably saved my life. Maybe it can save the planet too.
It's really important for those of us who fight climate change to take a break sometimes and look at what it is that we are saving. I'm serious. I think that once a week might not be too often.
On the way to the trail, I was telling my nephew about photographing jelly fungus with my wide angle lens. I couldn't even see they were little bells until I looked through the view-finder. These are the ways I have of believing that saving the planet, that saving the species that live at these temperatures is worthy of my continued attention.
Not to mention the continuation of the human race.
After the joy of floating through the forest, of talking with like-minded people on the trail, of greeting every friendly dog and wondering if they had played with my Teddy, we all reconvened on the way down the mountain and talked about the environment.
What better time to reinforce what effort it's going to take to fix climate change. I admitted my inability to eliminate my dependence on the big plastic containers of the good greens. They both told me that everyone has their own problem sticking to the list of all the things we can do to reduce our carbon footprint. My nephew admitted that he loved driving. What twenty-something doesn't? And then he told me how exhausted he got protesting climate change for six years before he moved out to the Pacific Northwest.
I didn't know that about him.
He told me too that he wasn't done. He was just taking a break from it. He got burned out, seriously burned out. It sounded like he was beginning to recover.
His friend admitted that she didn't want to give up flying to grand destinations. Then, she told us about cargo travel. Holy cow! I want to go across the ocean on a cargo ship! Don't you? But you need time to travel that way.
Then, my nephew told me about tide turbines. I had always assumed they were hard on sea life. Not so much, he told me, except if you're a barnacle.
Sometimes a conversation is the beginning of how we can save the world. Sometimes it's all about looking closely at what we want to save, imagining the hidden lives around us. Sometimes it's about admitting our failure to give up big plastic containers. Sometimes it's finding out about cargo travel and tide turbines.
And I admitted to my nephew that I thought we could hook all those gym members up to become a waterfall of energy. He laughed when I told him.
But he didn't tell me it was useless to imagine. I love him for that.
Thank you for listening, jules
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