Earth Week: Day 5

Several years ago, in 2012 to be specific, the ferns that grow at the edge of the woods in front of our  house had fiddleheads several inches high. This year there's no sign of emergence yet. In fact, most of the plants are just beginning to show any signs of life. I suspect that this year's about as far behind normal as 2012 was ahead. This kind of variability keeps me on my toes and makes me pay attention.

early April 2012, fern fiddleheads

Photo by J. Harrington

I've been spending time on  the last few Thursday afternoons in an on-line book club discussing one of my favorite books, Robin Wall Kimmerer's Braiding Sweetgrass. Most of the themes in the book unsurprisingly fit very nicely with Earth Week. There's one paragraph that I think more of us should know about and all of us should be more mindful of, because I  believe it helps to explain both many of the problems we're facing these days and one of their solutions. Kimmerer writes:

Just as old-growth forests are richly complex, so too were the old-growth cultures that arose at their  feet. Some people equate sustainability with  a diminished standard of living, but  the aboriginal people of the coastal old-growth forests were among the wealthiest in the world. Wise use and care for a huge variety of marine and forest resources, allowed them to avoid overexploiting any  one  of  them while extraordinary art, science, and architecture flowered in their midst. Rather than to greed, prosperity here  gave rise to the great potlatch tradition in which material goods were ritually given away, a direct reflection of the generosity of the land to the people. Wealth meant having enough to give away, social status elevated by generosity. The  cedars taught how to share wealth, and the  people learned.

We are living in a culture that behaves as if we are still pioneers and we are no longer living in that niche. It is time, past time, that we cultivate our own version of an old-growth culture, don't you think? We may have enough time for a second chance on Mother Earth. We don't have enough time to move to another  home planet and, from what we've seen, it would take less time, effort and  other resources to restore habitability to Earth than  to terrascape either the moon or Mars. This  is  our Planet B.

THE CEDAR TREE.

by Richard Walker.

I understand why the People

in the Northwest

say the canoe is sacred,

that the canoe has a spirit.

We know that a cedar tree

can tell us by its rings

when salmon runs were big,

when bears and eagles

and wolves feasted on salmon,

and left the carcasses

near the trees,

and the carcasses decayed, and

the nutrients went into the soil,

and into the roots of the trees.

And what else do we know, but perhaps

this tree grew where an Ancestor

had been buried,

that the Ancestor fed the tree, that

the Ancestor’s flesh became the tree’s

flesh, that the Ancestor’s blood

became the tree’s sap?

And what else do we know, but that

This tree continued the life,

growing to great heights,

providing shelter for birds and

other animals,

providing bark fiber for clothing,

and for fishing nets,

providing bark fiber for baskets

in which to collect berries or cook shellfish,

fine woven baskets that are passed from

mother to daughter, and from grandmother

to granddaughter?

And when the tree’s time was done,

it was felled,

and became a canoe,

a seagoing canoe that carried the People

on waters the Ancestor knew,

carried the People to gatherings and

sacred ceremonies.

And what else do we know, but perhaps the

song that comes out on the water to a puller

in the canoe

is a song from the Ancestor,

a song of thanks for continuing the

circle of life,

and respecting the interconnectedness

of all living things,

a song of thanks for respecting

the sacredness of life?

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