Green Options

Autumn brings with it many things to look forward to. An end to the dog days of summer. The return of migratory birds like the white-throated sparrow and junco, the specific species varying by location. Earlier sunsets and later sunrises. And of course the changing of the leaves.

Ah, yes, the changing of the leaves. Being a Blue Ridge boy, autumn has a special place in my heart for this reason alone. When the mountains change their deep emerald shawl for the colors of this cooler season, a person finds it impossible not to stop, stare, and swoon at the spectacle.

If you give in to the natural urge (or instinct) to head into the woods as the leaves change in a deciduous forest near you, without doubt you will have another little gift of autumn waiting for you: acorns.

Oak trees are one of the commonest, most indicative and even symbolic types of trees in temperate climes. And when autumn comes ‘round again, they get busy giving birth to acorns beyond measure. Tons and tons and tons of them. So many that even the industrious and devilish squirrels, try as they might, cannot eat them all.

This preponderance, this abundance, this cornucopia of acorns is great if you are a hungry, nutty little squirrel trying to fatten up for the chills of wintertime. But be warned: acorns can be hazardous to your health.

Think about it. With oak trees numbering in the mega-millions, and each one producing mega-millions of acorns in any one autumn brood, we woodland wanderers have potential hazards aplenty awaiting us. Once those acorns are fully aged and ready to “fly,” they come raining down like miniature bombs. And as autumn progresses, they seem to mature from timid toddlers to ornery adolescents and come raining down like teenagers racing their hotrods.

James Lovelock’s Gaia theory, that the Earth is a single living organism, has been invoked countless times by environmentalists. In their uses (and abuses) of it, the theory becomes evidence for humanity’s connection with nature and so our responsibility to treat nature with care.

In fact, Lovelock is anything but an “environmentalist” in the traditional sense. Nor is he a staunch advocate for rigorous conservation and “dehumanization” of the planet, at least in his first book, Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth (1979). He quite often criticizes as fatuous and downright silly many environmentalists’ claims, using evidence gathered from his work in the sciences.

One passage in Gaia struck me as extremely provocative despite being written nearly thirty years ago. Discussing the atmospheric gases, specifically those produced by human industry, Lovelock writes,

In our persistent self-imposed alienation from nature, we tend to think that our industrial products are not ‘natural’. In fact, they are just as natural as all the other chemicals of the Earth, for they have been made by us, who surely are living creatures. They may of course be aggressive and dangerous, like nerve gases, but no more so than the toxin manufactured by the botulinus bacillus.1

In my post on litterbug hunters, I pointed out some of the environmentally unfriendly and irresponsible actions of this group who uses nature for recreation, sustenance, or other personal reasons. In this post, however, I want to explore the other side of the issue–and thus to highlight the ways that environmentalists and hunters can come together.

While it might be easy to stereotype hunters and fishers as “predators” of both animals and environmental quality, some organizations and many individual hunters are in fact energetic stewards of wildlife and natural habitats. That is, they are “green” even if they (or other ideologues) shun that label.

Ducks Unlimited is one of the largest and most famous hunting organizations that works for conservation. Indeed, it was founded in 1937 by duck hunters because of their concern over the loss of wetlands. Since ducks require wetlands (and other ecosystems), and duck hunters require ducks, Ducks Unlimited has advocated for wetland preservation and taken measures to fight further losses.

But other, lesser known organizations are making equally significant positive impacts on the environment. For example, the National Wild Turkey Federation (NWTF), founded in 1973, provides information on habitat preservation to landowners, encourages conservation easements in order to protect turkey habitats (and hunting grounds), and even helps landowners create turkey-friendly environments, among other things. Their Habitat Conservation Program in particular aims to help private and corporate landowners, as well as wildlife agencies, preserve habitat…as well as supporting hunting.

Autumn is a particularly wonderful season for wandering in the woods. As the leaves start to change color and then reach their peak with smoldering hues, you find yourself surrounded with some of the most spectacular productions of natural “science.”

Of course, autumn brings the natural surroundings into their dying season, the time of falling into a state of rest after sprouting in spring and ripening in summer. Still, a walk in the woods will reveal that even this “dying” season is full of life and wonder, from the acorns hitting you on the head to the fallen leaves swishing around your feet.

But wandering through the woods in this season can also be dangerous because it is a particularly active hunting season. So if you like orange, you will do well to don an extra bit of it so that an eager hunter does not mistake you for a deer, bear, or some other living thing to shoot for. Better safe than sorry.

Wandering through the woods during hunting season is disconcerting, if not dangerous, for another reason as well. Those same hunters with itchy trigger fingers frequently drop more than just shell casings and, sadly, various woodland creatures.

As you stumble through the swishing blanket of leaves, you may well stumble upon and even trip over any number of bottles, cans, boxes, bags, and other bits of litter that hunters often leave behind. It seems that stalking prey is a pretty energy-intensive activity, requiring ample supplies of beer, soda, and convenience foods, among other hunting accessories, to keep the hunting senses keen. (Another favorite seems to be tobacco dip. A bottle or can filled with the spit-water from this surely toxic concoction will likely leave you thinking you have come upon a dead animal; you will certainly not be inclined to pick the litter up!)

Quick: What is your favorite ungulate? If Monte Hummel and Justina C. Ray have their way, you will answer with one resounding word: “CARIBOU!”

In Caribou and the North: A Shared Future, Hummel and Ray use their expertise on these cold-loving herbivores and on the science of conservation to provide a fact-filled, highly persuasive bio-graphy of caribou and the “North” they inhabit. (Hummel is President Emeritus of the World Wildlife Life Fund-Canada, and Ray is Executive Director of the Wildlife Conservation Society.) Even if you are not an ungulate lover or prefer tropical warmth to boreal chill, Caribou and the North is an engaging introduction to these animals and how crucial they are to their environment.

Hummel and Ray begin with the biology of caribou, giving readers a head-full of distinguishing facts. For example, they make clear that there is not just one type of caribou but instead three “ecotypes,” classified by their habitat: migratory tundra, boreal forest, and mountain. While sharing the qualities that make caribou unique, such as a diet consisting mostly of lichens and the reuse of particular calving grounds each year, the different ecotypes each have special characteristics, habits, risk statuses, and sensitivities.

But whatever their differences, the three ecotypes of caribou all share an essential, symbiotic relationship with the places and peoples of the North (i.e., Canada and Alaska). Hummel and Ray do a beautiful job of presenting this symbiosis through both data and anecdotes from a wide spectrum of Northerners. As the authors note, caribou “sustain people, but they are revered for more than the essentials of life, such as food and clothing. Caribou weave their way through stories of creation, values, and respect for the land itself.”1 Because “caribou have both shaped and been shaped by the North,” the two do indeed have “a shared future,” being “inseparable, braided together by the larger forces of nature that have produced both” (38).

Sometimes nature blows you over like an angry breath from Boreas, Greek god of the north wind. Other times, though, and probably more often, nature sneaks up on you like a snake slithering through the grass to catch a witless mouse. Nature can be loud and dazzling and catch you whether you will or no, but, probably more often, nature whispers to us and peeks out from behind a tree trunk or a cloud or a flower petal and will remain hidden if you do not bother to look.

Case in point: The other day, after finishing my lunch outside of the community college where I work, I had the urge to take a little barefooted walk on the grass. It was a warm, sunny day, the grass had just been cut, and there was plenty of wide-open space to wander in with views of the mountains on just about every side, so something in me wanted to ramble a bit rather than kill twenty minutes or so in front of the computer before getting back to work.

So, sandals in hand, I walked down the grassy hill behind the main building, no real destination or direction in mind but letting the sun and wind and spirit-of-the-place guide me. And, as usual, I made a wise decision in doing so.

For someone to appreciate a book (or any expressive work for that matter), to “enter into” it fully the way William Blake described the process, there has to be some connection made between the work and the person. Even if the writer is as gifted a storyteller as Dickens, Dostoyevsky, or Stephen King, the work will never speak to you if it does not hook your interest somehow. If you are not open to what it has to say, you will never hear its message.

The same holds true for nature. If you are preoccupied or in a bad mood, a spectacular sunrise will not set you on fire, a wood thrush’s haunting song will go in one ear and out the other, and a vortex of wind-whipped winter snow will not set your spine a-tingling. If some place or thing does not “do it” for you, or if your “doors of perception” are not “cleansed” and open (Blake again), then you will remain blind to nature’s wonders.1

Now, this essential requirement of “mutual affinity” can either save or damn a book. And the best thing about a collection of nature essays like When the Wild Comes Leaping Up: Personal Encounters with Nature is that you have many different doorways to enter into the work and then connect with it. Or you will end up walking down a lot of dead-end hallways.

Editor David Suzuki brings together very personal pieces from some heavy hitters in the eco-literary world, including Diane Ackerman, Bill McKibben, Wade Davis, and Margaret Atwood. Each author explores some important way that he or she has connected with nature, leading to the reflective musing that is the stock in trade of nature writing. Sometimes these stories will draw you in and hold you breathless; other times they will leave you wondering why some people bother to share their ramblings with the world…and get paid for it!

When the Wild Comes Leaping Up, then, is as variegated and dappled as nature itself. Some pieces will strike you as arid deserts devoid of life while others will be like tropical rainforests teeming with more species than you can count.

For this the third entry in the annals of excellent excrement (after cow and E. coli poop), we will have to travel deep down into the heart of Texas…and then even farther down into the sewers of San Antonio. So don your rubber body suit, gas mask, and sense of humor, for sewage is no longer just stuff to be dumped and forgotten.

No, San Antonio is out to prove that sewage, and specifically the methane that it gives off oh so (i.e., too) naturally without any bother or cost to us, can be used as a source of alternative fuel…I mean it is natural gas, after all.

In an Associated Press story reported by CNN on its website on September 11, the San Antonio Water System plans to capture methane gas produced by the 140,000 tons of sewage it handles (sorry…bad word choice there) every year.1 Officials estimate that they will be able to capture as much as 900,000 cubic feet of methane annually from this big old pile of people poop.

But what do you do with nearly a million tons of methane? If you are a high school kid, you might get a matchbook and invite some friends with a camera for a rip-roaring laugh. If you are more mature and entrepreneurial officials in San Antonio, however, you sell that happy-crappy gas to Ameresco Inc., an energy-services company based in Massachusetts, for use as a fuel source.

When it was first published in 1997, David Suzuki’s The Sacred Balance: Rediscovering Our Place in Nature provided an insightful, heartfelt commentary on the dangers that humanity was facing and creating as a result of its disconnection from the natural world. And it seems that his pleas did not go unheard, for the book did quite well, selling over 100,000 copies in the age before “green” was trendy.

A decade later, Suzuki, with Amanda McConnell and Adrienne Mason, has updated and expanded his work in order to strengthen his case with the most recent scientific data and to tailor his argument to even more alarming conditions on Earth. Indeed, despite a growing focus on the environment, we are probably more out of balance now than when The Sacred Balance was first published. “More than ever,” Suzuki writes in the introduction, “we need agreement about what humankind’s real bottom line is, and achieving that agreement remains the primary goal of this book.”1

What do you love about nature? What place, animal, thing, or experience opened your eyes to the sacredness of the natural world? Who in your life provided a role model for stewardship, activism, or scholarship? Why on Earth do you give a hoot about this planet Earth?

In A Passion for This Earth, edited by Michelle Benjamin and published by Greystone Books and the David Suzuki Foundation, twenty of the biggest movers and shakers in the fields of writing, science, and social activism come together to explore these questions. At the same time, each writer seeks to continue the multifaceted approach to making positive change begun more than fifty years ago by David Suzuki, Canada’s foremost environmentalist.

The book is very reader-friendly and engaging, and the obligatory instances of fêting Suzuki that pop up are not gratuitous, awkward, or irrelevant. Instead, all of the individual pieces coalesce as the writers express their personal perspective on nature and environmentalism. The book’s title may have you suspecting a mélange of ooey gooey green effusions–you know, the sort of stuff I generally tend to write. But what the book delivers is a truly enlightening anthology addressing four different topics relevant to Suzuki’s legacy: “Falling in Love with the Wild,” “Rise Up and Reclaim,” “Uncompromising Dedication,” and “Travels with David Suzuki.”