Happy Earth Day!
I have to admit I'm a little bit sad and not just because of the snow I woke up to this morning. Although snow in April is a catalyst to utter expletives I hadn't yet had reason to use until this morning.
I'm a little bit sad and a little bit tired. And when I'm a little bit sad and a little bit tired, I get a little bit cranky.
And I think Mother Earth is too. And she's trying to tell us her story. Snow in April in Wisconsin. Record high temperatures in Canada. Tornados in March in the south. Record breaking snowfalls in Minnesota. Droughts, floods, earthquakes, volcanoes, wildfires. We've all noticed something in our little corner of the world that makes us think, "what on earth (quite literally) is going on here?"
Nearly eight billion people on this planet is what's going on here. And demand for resources exceeding 175% of what the planet can sustain. And that's all I'm going to say about it because I don't want to sound preachy. And I'm not going to offer suggestions to save the planet because each of us needs to find their own path, if they so choose, to take up arms in this battle.
I am honored to be able to live on three acres on this planet. To make it better by returning it to the way nature intended, and by treading lightly. We practice permaculture and companion planting. We recycle. We grow much of our own food. We relocate spiders that fall into the bathtub and rescue wooly booger caterpillars from the road. We feed the birds, the deer, the rabbits, the possums, the bees, the butterflies.
When we take, we give back. We educate. We write. We photograph. We try to lead by example and our intent is to share our path with anyone and everyone who wants to walk with us. Because we know we can't do it alone. It's too large of a battle for two people to fight alone. And so we choose not to. Hence this blog, the pictures, the soon to be pictures and poetry. If you're here, reading this, it's likely our road is your road. And your road is our road. Stronger together. Here on this earth. Sharing the same mother.
In her book "Woodland Manitou" local writer Heidi Barr writes:
"Through the tree cover,
prairie grasses waving
in the fading light
squeals of jubliation
over a thumb-sized toad
a bucket of soil
a crimson raspberry:
an evolving understanding
what it means to be alive
and present in this place,
seeping into the earth's breath
through the moments
that make up a life
spent in the shade
of the brightness
in the shadow
made by the sun
and all the other things
that come
when we decide to be here on earth."
So we say, thank you for walking this path with us. It is most certainly our pleasure to have your company.
And we also say...
Take care of your mother. She loves you very much.
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