Maybe it’s a pandemic thing, what with humans huddling away more, but the big birds have come back.Turkey buzzards and Canada geese are pretty common most of the time, it seems, but other large birds have been putting in an appearance around here lately.Perhaps the most spectacular are the bald eagles.My wife and I saw a couple on election day.(I’ve been a lifelong believer in signs, as much as I try to deny it.)We were out on a rare errand when one of them flew right over our car.A couple days later I saw one out the window while I was at work.My home office has a window that looks out over a small local park.There are trees and a creek runs through it.The eagle was likely keeping a look out for fish.
Image by Kathy Büscher from Pixabay.
This past week, however, the activity stepped up.On a bleary-eyed Monday I sat in my office chair thinking that there were five whole days until I could relax again.Mondays are hard.I glanced out my west window and a bald eagle was heading straight toward our house.I got a good look, but didn’t have time to grab my phone for a photo.Two days latter, as I was getting through my email, a flash of wings caught my attention.A great horned owl swooped up into a tree across the street.Since the leaves are down, I had a chance to grab some binoculars and get a good look.It was far enough away that a photo would’ve shown only a blur.I should’ve been working, but sometimes you simply have to stop and look.
On Thursday, again in the morning, a broad winged hawk came and landed on the large electric wire that runs down my street.The electric (I presume) cable is quite thick and sturdy.With the binoculars I could see the bird’s claws gripping the twisted contours of the cable.We regarded one another for some time.We’ve only lived here for just over two years but I sit in that office nearly every day and I’d not seen such a slow riot of predatory birds.As I said, I tend to take things as symbols.I don’t always interpret them correctly, of course.One thing that makes me glad is that seeing a bald eagle around here, at least for the time being, isn’t such a rare sight.And I think I know what it means.
Having watched What the Bleep Do We Know? a few weeks ago, I became curious about Masaru Emoto’s The Hidden Messages in Water.The book is highlighted in the film, and in a world where money decides truth, the fact that it was a New York Times bestseller must count for something, right?I am of a skeptical bent, but I like to keep an open mind.This itself is a delicate waltz at times since just about anybody can make truth claims and find a following.Curiosity, as they say…So instead of critiquing Emoto’s obviously slipshod methodology, I want to reflect on whether he really might have been onto something.Many people around the world thought so, after all.
What it comes down to is water.If you haven’t seen the movie or read the book, I owe you a brief explanation.Emoto suggests that water crystals reflect the influences to which they’re subjected.For example, water frozen as classical music plays forms beautiful crystals.If heavy metal is played, it doesn’t.Water frozen in beautiful surroundings forms beautiful crystals.If that’s not controversial enough, Emoto suggested that emotionally freighted words typed on paper wrapped around the water bottle as it was frozen would reflect the emotions on the paper.There are lots of problems here, but what I wonder is if water might not somehow be related to consciousness.Emoto makes that claim, but since science can’t yet explain consciousness there’s no way to test it.Could it be that water is a recording medium in some way?Without raising the woo factor too far, some ghost hunters (it is October, after all) suggest moving water has something to do with “recording” spirits.
Like most critical readers, I left Emoto’s book not at all convinced.I also left thinking that we shouldn’t throw the bath water out with the baby.There are crazy ideas in the book, for sure.But there may also be just a hint of insight as well.That insight comes in the recognition of spirituality as an important aspect of human life.The book was a bestseller.Not all people are credulous.We are, however, spiritual.Many deny it.Some violently rail against it but still have feelings along with their rationality.Water can lift spirits.The negative ions of breaking water tend to make people feel at ease.We visit the coast where waves break against beach or rocks.We visit waterfalls where cascades scatter water particles.Even a fast-flowing stream will do.Emoto clearly went too far with his ideas, but I think, deep down, he might’ve been onto something.
Homeostasis is, if I recall correctly, the state of equilibrium that entities and systems seek.When we’re too warm we seek someplace cooler and when we’re hungry we look for something to eat.It’s a great process of evening things out because we live in a world of extremes.Well, relative extremes for a planet that suited to life.Autumn came in with a chill this year, at least around here.We had a couple of nights with frost before apple-picking season even began.Over in Denver they went from a heat wave to inches of snow overnight.I often wonder, if our species manages to survive long enough, what life will be like once everything evens out.Until then, because of human climate degradation, we’ll be facing more extremes.That’s the way the GOP likes it.
Meanwhile, there may be evidence that life exists on Venus.Or at least in the atmosphere of the hottest planet in the solar system.Up through my college years I toyed with the idea of being an astronomer.I’d learned in high school (for we were a Sputnik-era school in rural Pennsylvania that had a working planetarium) that it was mostly about math.I’m afraid I have no head for such things.Still, I remain fascinated by other planets and their potential.I’m in the market, you might say.Venus had captured my young imagination not only because Ray Bradbury and C. S. Lewis wrote stories about living there, but because of the images from the Russian Venera (blush, giggle) probe program.I knew in high school (planetarium, remember?) that Russia had landed probes on the rocky surface of Venus that had only functioned for a couple of hours at most before breaking down in the extreme conditions.Extremes, again.
Venus could, it was thought, never have supported life.The new evidence, however, stands to show us just how little we understand life.It exists in the most inhospitable environments on our planet.When life was found near black smokers on the ocean floor it was considered a fluke.Maybe life is the norm instead of the rarity our exaggerated sense of self-importance suggests.Venus, after the sun and moon, is the brightest natural object regularly visible in our skies.Both the morning and evening star, it beckons to us.Although not definitive, we’ve found evidence of life on both Venus and Mars.And yet many of us prefer science deniers to lead our nation.So I think of homeostasis as I look at Venus out my early morning window.
With all that’s been happening lately—as 2020 shudders along—we find ourselves at the equinox.For some of us the weather has already been unseasonably cool, feeling like mid-October rather than September.It stands as a reminder that the wheel of nature continues to turn, despite human foibles and plans.Some trees have begun to sense the change and have started their winter fast while others keep their green to suck the last possible sugar from the sun.Days have been getting shorter since late June, of course, but now the drama will increase until the winter solstice has us in the dark for much of the time.It all depends on where you live, but for me the temperate zones have always been home.
I suspect our various predilections toward the oughtness of the world depend in large measure on what we experienced in childhood. I knew winter before I ever experienced summer and the transitional seasons have always been my favorites. The idea that we can take more time and reflect, it seems to me, mirrors what happens in autumn. It’s cooler, so we spend time indoors a bit more. Some years that doesn’t kick in until later, when the heat is on and there’s a coziness to a house that’s been left to nature’s fever all summer. Windows are shut and locked. Artificial warmth reminds us that we can find some solace inside. Meanwhile the trees show us the proper way to face harsh conditions, and yet half a year from now we’ll be eagerly watching for buds. The Celts, temperate zone dwellers, thought of this change as the wheel of the year, slowly turning.
From where I sit in my study, with south and west-facing windows, I watch the path of the sun.Having worked in a cubicle with no outside windows for years, I was always disoriented at the end of the day.Now I can watch and begin to understand.The difference is really striking if you have a single place from which to watch it unfold.The sun is so much higher in the sky in July that it’s evident we’ve entered a new phase now.Instead of being overhead at noon, the shining orb rolls more to the south, sending blinding rays directly through my window.When it reaches the west (where it will, before long, sink before touching that window) I know the work day is over.It’s no wonder our ancient ancestors kept this transition with holidays we’ve long sacrificed to capitalism.I can still, however, see the changes and appreciate them for what they are.
How many people could it be?That’s the question a pandemic naturally raises.Last weekend my wife and I ventured to a Vegan Festival in Easton.Since we vegans are a rare bunch anyway, and since we tend to be socially conscious, there wasn’t likely to be any dangerous behavior.That, and how many people would actually show up for what is often considered a somewhat wobbly crowd who don’t like to “rise, kill, and eat.”It felt like a safe place to be with socially distanced kindred spirits.Everyone was wearing masks and there was no Trump bravado going on.For a moment it reminded me of the kind of accepting country the United States used to be.
Veganism, you see, isn’t just about not eating and not exploiting animals.It’s about honoring the wonder of life in all creatures.I realize some of the issues—believe me, I try to think things through thoroughly.It’s all about consciousness.We’re still a considerable distance from being able to define it, and some people, like philosopher Thomas Nagel, believe it might go all the way down and through the plant kingdom as well.Consciousness is one of the great mysteries of science.We hardly know what it is, and how are we to know where it stops?If we assume other people are conscious (with a few notable exceptions) based on their words and actions, might we not suppose at least some of the “higher” animals are as well?Or are you just being a fool when you talk to your dog?
You see how this naturally suggests consciousness may lessen by matters of degree, but then we learn that even some insects know how to count and can understand a concept of zero (beyond most Republicans).We like to put insects down at the bottom because we’re bigger and therefore more important.Veganism suggests that we stop and think about these things.We don’t necessarily take everything for granted.It is clear that the largest polluter and environmental problem is industrial animal farming.Rainforests are cleared for grazing land.Profits from big agra are staggering.Wandering through the stalls, keeping our distance from others who perhaps think too much, we partook of the counterculture in our own quiet way.The street festival was small this year, but I do have hopes that it might grow, along with some serious thinking about the consequences of our actions.
Speaking of resurrection, a news story I saw on Agade, apparently originating in the New York Times, tells of dates.The kind you eat.These dates were newsworthy because they were grown from seeds two millennia old, found in an archaeological dig in Israel.The story shows just how tenacious life can be.Seeds dead for centuries came back to life and bore fruit.Things like this fill me with an optimism about this thing we call life.Two thousand years is a long time to be buried.These seeds nevertheless came back when the conditions were right.There’s a parable here.The parable of the dates.
Tardigrades are remarkable.Sometimes known as “water bears” or “moss piglets,” they are actually microscopic animals.Google them and take a look.The amazing thing about tardigrades is their ability to survive.Although they are animals, they can go three decades without food or water.(Not quite the same as two millennia, but trees have their own remarkable abilities.)Tardigrades can survive temperatures as low as absolute zero and higher than boiling.Scientists study what makes these little critters so sturdy, but the takeaway for me is that life is remarkably resilient.Given that Republicans and their ilk seem set on destroying the planet, it is comforting to know that life will continue, even if without our particular species to appreciate it.
The idea has been expressed in many ways over the years.Doctor Malcolm in Jurassic Park says “Life will find a way.”Stephen Jay Gould wrote in Bully for Brontosaurus that when we talk of the destruction of the earth what we really mean is the end of our own survival.The planet—life—can and will persist.The funny thing is that we don’t really have an accurate understanding of what life is.If a tardigrade can be revived after thirty years without water, isn’t this an exuberant expression of what life can do?And what about the Galapagos Tortoise, surviving a century-and-a-half?If we leave them alone, sea creatures can live even longer.Bowhead whales last two hundred years while at least one Greenland shark doubled that.And the news story about dates raised from two-thousand-year-old seeds indicates something wondrous about life.It persists.These dates are from the time of Jesus and the Roman Empire.Some trees, such as the bristlecone pine, have been continuously alive for double that span.We should be in awe of life.And we should act like it, for it will outlive us by a long stretch.
Since I like to blog about books, my usual reading practice is to stick with a book once I start it.This can be problematic for short story collections because often there’s one in particular I want to read.Somewhat embarrassed about it, I have to confess that sometimes it’s because I saw the movie first.So it was with Daphne du Maurier’s “The Birds.”Du Maurier, the daughter of a father who also wrote horror, caught Alfred Hitchcock’s attention.Several of his movies were based on her works.Not all of them can be called horror—a genre that’s difficult to pin down—but they deal with gothic and thriller themes that had an appeal for Hitch.In fact some analysts date the modern horror film to the period initiated by this iconic director.
I have a collection of du Maurier’s short stories, written in the day when 50 pages counted as a short story rather than “product” that could be “exploited” in various formats.(Today it’s not easy to find literary magazines that will publish anything over 3,000 words, or roughly 10–12 pages.)In any case, “The Birds” is an immersive tale.The movie is quite different, of course, set in America with a cast of characters that can only be described as, well, Hitchcockian.Du Maurier’s vision is much closer to the claustrophobic pandemic mindset.A single English family, poor, tenant farmers, far from the centers of commerce, must figure out how to survive the bird attacks on their own.The suddenly angry birds attack their hovel in time with the tides (they live near the coast) so the family has to gather supplies between attacks and try to last another night of pecking and clawing.
The story is quite effective.Reading it suggests the importance of self-reliance and willingness to accept a changed reality on its own terms.No explanation is given for the birds’ change of attitude.Human intervention in the environment is supposed but how would a simple family living of the fringes of the fabric woven by the wealthy know?Forced to react, they try to keep the kids calm while knowing, at some level, this can never end well.The movie maintains the ambiguous ending, which is probably what makes it so scary.Corvid or covid, there are things out there that drive us into our homes where we must shelter in place.Although I didn’t read the whole book, this choice of story seems strangely apt for the current circumstances.
Deeply conflicted.That’s how I feel about calling the exterminator.The longer I’m alive the more eastern my thinking becomes.What right do I have to kill other animals for doing just what they’ve evolved to do?The yellow jackets who made a nest in our siding were doing just what nature directed them to do.In what sense is our house natural?When they started getting inside, though, memories of having been traumatized by stepping on a yellow jacket nest when I was younger came to too sharp a focus.Terror is probably the right word.We were catching and releasing five or six a day and summer doesn’t look to be about to give way to autumn very soon.There’s nothing like being startled by an angry bee when you walk into a room in summer-weight clothes.So the exterminator came.
As the yellow jackets fled into the house to escape the poison I pondered what right I had to deprive them of their lives (here’s the eastern thinking part).How was my comfort, or my lack of terror, more important than their need for a home?Couldn’t we peacefully coexist?You see, I’m no fan of violence of any sort.In my ideal world there would be no war and no meanness.You might not be able to call yellow jackets cuddly, but they don’t seem the happiest of creatures with whom to interact.They’re industrious, like business owners want their drones to be, but their people skills aren’t too good.Maybe it’s just projecting, but when they swarm the only word that comes to mind is anger.Even their evolved body armor reflects that.Still, I didn’t want them killed.I just wanted them not to misunderstand our human interactions while shut in during a pandemic.
Life is a gift to all creatures.I became a vegan years ago because of humanitarian concern for our fellow creatures.The mess our world’s in now because of our lack of care for anything but money plainly shows.Bees, it could be argued, make more of a contribution to the well-being of the planet than I do.Who am I to make any claim of superiority?Still, I’m responsible to pay half my salary on a mortgage that will keep me in one location until the situation betters.When I see that silhouette in the window a sting of terror from my childhood comes back as I grab an empty peanutbutter jar to catch and release, only to have another bee replace the first.Childhood traumas are like that, of course.But now I apologize for bringing on the death of fellow creatures and I walk through the rooms through which they had freely flown.
It began as an odd sort of noise.I had the study windows open during the morning of a heat wave and I heard a small, but metallic noise coming from the roof outside.My study overlooks part of the first floor roof and slinking to the window I saw a sparrow trying to pick up a roofing nail.We’ve had the roofers over twice already since we moved in a couple years back (and will have them again), and some of the nails from their work on the second-story roof landed here.I’ve noticed sparrows pecking at them before.Instead of skittishly flying away when I came up—I was only about a yard away—she still tried to lift the nail without success.She then flew even closer to me, snatched up a different nail, and flew off with it.Sparrows have, of course, adapted well to human dwellings, but what would a bird be wanting with a nail?Surely not to make a nest?It wasn’t even shiny—it was a rusty old one from the shingles replaced—since everyone knows birds are attracted to bright objects.
I’ve been a close watcher of nature my entire life.This isn’t the same as being an outdoorsman, but when I can see outside, or when I do spend valued time outdoors, I look closely.I always keep an eye out for animals on my daily jogs.And I watch animal behavior through the window when work isn’t too pressing.Still, I wonder about what a sparrow could want with a nail.The next-door neighbors moved out a couple of months ago, and I watch the sparrows on their porch roof.With no human activity nearby, they frequently gather there.They seem to be picking up bits of human detritus—even pulling at, it looks from here, nails.Now this behavior has me a little worried.I’ve read about sparrows before and despite their innocent looks, they can be very aggressive birds, even attacking and sometimes killing larger perching fowl.The idea of them weaponizing themselves is disconcerting.
Intelligence in nature is one of the last features many scientists want to admit to the the discussion.There seems to be too strong a supposed correlation with shape of the physical brain and the ability to “think,” it seems to me.I don’t know what the sparrows are planning, but clearly it involves gathering rusty old nails.Even as I was writing this I noticed sparrows chirping aggressively.Looking out my window across the street, I saw that a squirrel had crawled across an electric cable into a bushy roost where there must’ve been a sparrow nest.Sparrows began flying into the fracas from all over the place, loudly chirping.I couldn’t see what what happening because of the leaves, but the squirrel soon rushed out with a whole flutter of sparrows in pursuit.Perhaps he’d discovered their plan with the nails.
People have been debating how to pronounce Hurricane “Isaias,” an hispanic name based on Isaiah.Pennsylvania, which has few distinguishing features, is generally well enough inland not to have too much hurricane damage.Isaias, however you pronounce it, dumped over five inches of rain in the small town in which we live.Multiple roof leaks sprang up in our house and a small part of the ceiling in one room came down.Not exactly wrath of God level treatment, but unwelcome nevertheless.The real problem was the short amount of time in which the rain fell.Averaging about an inch per hour, the water simply overwhelmed the devices put in place to keep it outside.Being of my particular disposition I can’t help but think of the prophet Isaiah.
Not a classical prophet of doom per se, Isaiah is the most quoted prophet in the New Testament.He is remembered for “predictions” and soaring rhetoric that promises deliverance.He’s also a prophet known for his woe declarations, as reflected in the Hebrew Bible.This storm, I suspect, has delivered more of the woe than of the hope.Streets were flooded as the local creek burst its banks.Our own street was closed as I called our roofer who, I’m sure, had more than wanted popularity in one day.Being a homeowner, I quickly discovered, is largely a matter of trying to keep the water out.Our sump pump was working overtime and still the rain came.
My book Weathering the Psalms was intended to be the first in a series of volumes exploring meteorotheology in several books of the Bible.The weather, you see, is a popular topic of discussion since in ancient times their meteorology was theology.After the Psalms my exploration was intended to move toward the prophets.There are dramatic events where these saintly folk were able to bring down rain, or withhold it.Israel never experienced hurricanes because they don’t form in the Mediterranean.Meteorological terms, however, shift over time just as by the time Isaias reached us it was a tropical storm.The wind buffeted us a bit, but it was mainly a rain event.I thought at first that I would look at weather terminology in Isaiah and see what I could find there.I don’t know what my conclusions would have been since I was cut off before I could get that far.Like those who cast their bread upon the waters, after many days it came back, ironically in the form of Isaias.
While on a rare family visit (it’s scary to get out too much) we visited Watkins Glen State Park in upstate New York.My mother’s family has roots in this area, and we’ve visited it several times in the past.There are always people there, but in manageable numbers.The website declared it was mandatory to wear a mask (“New York tough”!) and to keep social distancing.It perhaps didn’t help that we went during a heat wave when a walk along a waterfall-laced path seemed like a refreshing idea.I guess I had in my head the modest crowds we’d encountered in our many past visits.We were, however, not the only tourists (although somewhat local) with that particular plan.Not by any metric I can conceive.
If you’ve never been to Watkins Glen, the park has a Civilian Conservation Corp-built stairway and trail (approximately 600 stairs) through a glacial and water-cut gorge.The sedimentary layers are fascinating for anyone with an interest in geology and for those who like to ponder the millions of years required for the laying down and lifting up of multiple bedding planes.The gorge itself has a curvilinear appeal that is almost mystical.Waterfalls produce negative ions which, everyone knows, tend to make people happy.I was, however, more on the terrified side of the spectrum.It became clear even before we reached the gorge that there were hundreds of people already in the park.Most of them unmasked.Large crowds gathered around the more picturesque waterfalls, blocking the narrow walkways.Tourists have no idea what “six feet” might possibly mean.Stair-climbing is an aerobic exercise, and wearing a mask in such circumstances is the only smart thing to do.
While on the considerably less crowded trails of the Pennsylvania outdoors venues we more commonly frequent, I’m nervous when someone walks even more than six feet away in the opposite direction.This felt like a nightmare to me.Too many people paying too little heed to the mandated caution.I’ll be quarantining myself for two weeks for sure. Maybe more.I don’t get out much in any case, but even though we were obstructing our view through cloudy glasses and trying to get adequate oxygen through made-to-specification cloth masks, there’s only so much that prophylactics can do.I jog at first light to avoid other health nuts on the local trails.I go to stores only for necessities.Being in a canyon with the careless invincibles inspired less than confidence in this petrified pilgrim.Knowing human nature, it seems closing popular state parks until people get smart may be the best way out of a tight squeeze.
This wasn’t the work of ghosts, but it sure looked like it.I snapped on the kitchen lights at 3:00 a.m. to find one of the counters dripping with slime.It looked like the basement of the New York Public Library.As I grabbed a damp rag and a roll of paper towels, I thought about Ghostbusters and fresh produce.The slime, you see, came from a burst freezer pack.During the pandemic we’ve been using Misfits, a service that delivers fresh fruits and vegetables to your door.Early on, back in March and April, it looked like various shortages, apart from toilet paper, were here to stay. Every couple of weeks we’d get a Misfits box, so we’d at least have that.
Since fruits and vegetables are perishable, and since there is a time lag involved, they are packed with freezer bags.These cold-pack bags are reusable and we began sticking them in our ice-box.We have no free-standing freezer, so the unit atop our fridge was getting full.The last week’s pack had begun to leak in transit, and, being too busy, I’d set it aside until I could figure out how to dispose of it in the most environmentally friendly way.We don’t generate a huge amount of trash.We compost our food scraps, and being vegan we don’t have smelly animal byproducts to toss.And we recycle all that we can.I guess just “throwing it out” has become a kind of last resort.In the dark, the freezer bag made the decision for me and so I found myself mopping in the middle of the night.
It’s a small price to pay, really, to try to help save the environment.The past four years have contributed unconscionably to global warming.We tend not to care because those who’ll bear the brunt of it in the short-term are the poor.Industrialists can afford vacation homes in the mountains.Our lifestyles have an impact everywhere.We need to learn to think differently about things.Of course, that leaky freezer pack did cause quite a mess.The gooey slime was everywhere, but it was everywhere with a conscience.I have to wonder what happens to the world when leaders lack conscience.Unfortunately I don’t have to wonder long since I have the headlines to read.No, this wasn’t the work of ghosts, but unless we change our ways it could well be. And when those treating you like enemies are your leaders, who you gonna call?
The summer solstice is nearly here (on which more anon).The coronavirus outbreak reached crisis level in the United States just before the vernal equinox, so we’ve been living with this now for over a quarter of the year.The World Health Organization has been warning that the greatest danger now is complacency.I’ve been seeing troubling signs of it.Many people equate the partial opening up as a license to ditch the masks and start having parties again.I go jogging around 5 a.m. these days because, well, the solstice.It’s light enough and I’ve already been awake a couple of hours by then.Parks and playgrounds around here are officially closed still, but the other day just after first light I jogged by a group of guys playing basketball before sunrise.The days are longer and it feels like nothing can harm us in summer.
Like most other people I worry about the economy.You’d think books would be big business during a lockdown and in fact many kinds are doing quite well.The academic kind less so.Still, I haven’t given up my hope that the pandemic will prove transformative.We should emerge from this better than we were going into it.Granted, the Republican Party has put the bar really, really low, but people are, I hope, starting to realize we’re better than our government.We know that black lives matter.We know that science is real.We know that people matter more than money.Nevertheless it’s difficult to keep wearing masks when we’ve shed the winter clothes and donned short sleeves.Disease, like Republicanism, doesn’t respect human desires.We need to keep the masks on.
A strange kind of giddiness comes upon us during these long days.There’s so much light!Those who can sleep past 4 a.m. are finding the sky already glowing when they awake.At this latitude it stays light until almost 9 p.m., or so I’m told.Thinking back to our primal ancestors, we were only really active during daylight hours.Sluggish and sleepy in the winter, we’re now stimulated with so many photons we don’t know what to do with them all.I sincerely hope that Covid-19 has had enough of the human race and is ready to leave us alone.In the light of the day, however, the evidence isn’t there to bear that out.We can still celebrate the longest day of the year with masks on, knowing that six months from now things will be very different.
Apart from being Shakespearen click-bait, the title of this post reflects a present-day fear.We live on the edge of rural Pennsylvania.If you’re not familiar with the state, let me assure you, there are tons of woodlands and rural communities. You can drive for hours in a straight line and seldom leave the forest.When my wife sent me a warning email—I go to bed early and can’t seem to sleep late—I paid heed.A bear has been ambling through our town.My usual morning jog is along a trail at the edge of the woods.Bears are crepuscular.I watch horror movies.Put it all together and a Shakespearean level of anxiety quickly builds.It wouldn’t be so bad, but the photos show the bear romping through backyards and one of the reasons I jog the way I do is to avoid other people.
I see wildlife on my jogs.I see deer frequently, along with feral cats, rabbits, and, in season, ducks.I’ve seen raccoons, foxes, groundhogs, and even snapping turtles and salamanders.It’s not much of a stretch to think a bear could be lurking there.So instead I took to jogging the human streets.The danger out here, of course, is the human-borne kind.Covid-19 lurks, and even though I jog at 5 a.m. there are other elderly out and about.I hear a cough and wonder whether my chances might be better with the bear.The broken sidewalk’s a problem too.I have tripped before in the half light, but without Superman’s knack for flying. Or at least landing gracefully.
Thinking back, I wonder what has happened.As I child I lived in truly rural Pennsylvania.My brothers and I used to sleep on our open porch in the summers, even though we could occasionally hear bears going through the trashcans around the side of the house.Our place was hard up on the woods, right at the edge of town.I didn’t worry about the bears back then, though.We’ve perhaps become more afraid of nature because we know we’ve not been good to it.The episode of the X-Files we watched before bed last night had Scully saying that nature’s always out to get us.Perhaps we’ve drawn too solid a line between ourselves and brother or sister bear.We’re not above nature; we are nature.But still, I’d rather not be pursued, or eaten by a bear, no matter how much I like Shakespeare.So I’ll jog in town for awhile, taking my chances with the dangers of my own kind.
Photo credit: Manitoba Provincial Archives, via Wikimedia Commons
It’s funny how old fascinations have the power to reemerge with the slightest provocation.I guess writing a book will do that to you.I just finished Peter J. Thuesen’s Tornado God: American Religion and Violent Weather.There’s a certain kinship among those of us enamored of this relationship.Thuesen finds himself in Indiana, and I was in Wisconsin during my research and writing of Weathering the Psalms.I still haven’t reconciled myself with tornadoes, which were far too likely during my years in the Midwest.As Thuesen explains, there’s just something about them.Neither scientist nor theologian can fully explain them and the feeling of awe spans both disciplines.The book covers a wide range that includes early Protestant settlers and their ideas of providence as well as modern understandings of atmospheric dynamics.Still, the tornadoes…
Randomness also lies behind both tornadoes and science.The eerie function of quantum mechanics makes it seem if there’s a kind of willfulness to even particle physics.Too quick to join in are those among the evangelical camp that want to raise the flag of intelligent design.Thuesen interrogates their theology as he asks questions about both theodicy and global warming.Tornadoes are notorious for killing one person and leaving another right next door completely unscathed.Literally tearing families apart.Some of those we meet in these pages have turned to black-and-white religion for answers.Others tend to see things more in shades of gray.Does God send storms or merely allow them?Are victims singled out or simply unfortunate to be in the wrong place at the right time?America’s armchair theologians have their ready answers, but the weather remains unpredictable.
Readers will find interesting connections throughout.The celestial orientation of religion is pretty obvious as well.Even though modern believers don’t accept a heaven directly overhead, the orientation is still there.Their maddening obtuseness when it comes to global warming is more than just a little naive.Either that or they’re secretly gunning for armageddon.Whichever it is, Thuesen treats all comers with respect.Storms are awe-inspiring events.I recall standing on the edge of a farm field in Illinois and staring up at a lightning display in clouds towering thousands of feet above me.Looking out the south window one night as a cloud continuously lit by lightning made its slow way from west to east just south of where I stood.It was a religious experience.How could it not be?If any of this resonates with you, this is a book you ought to read.