Icestorm renders us powerless

Nature can pack a pretty wild punch in her weather delivery systems. Friday’s icestorm here was a case in point. The soft fizz of freezing rain falling and collecting on the damp vegetation was relentless all day. It was an eerily beautiful, somewhat surreal, sight. The forecasted rise in temperature that was meant to melt the ice accretion did not materialize, and the ice steadily thickened on trees, branches, twigs, and grasses. Many of each collapsed under the weight and pressure, sometimes like the firing of a gun as a huge limb snapped off and the ice cascaded to the ground. Budding branches at the apex were most exposed as treetops took a radical haircut. 

The dull grey of the day contrasted with the sharpness and clarity of the ice. With electric power cut off, contact with the outside world was over the airwaves of the car radio, so we took to the road, gasping at the widespread devastation. By no means universal, certain trees were particularly badly affected – wispy poplars, willows and silver birch which snapped into unruly pieces; and soft pine and cedar which often lay prone or uprooted. Power lines were coated in ice an inch or more thick. Icicles dangled from them in a sagging ribbon. Stunned residents scratched their heads at the sight of shattered old maples and spread-eagled shrubbery. Chainsaws cleared roads and paths, and the loud whine of generators filled the still air. Hydro reported that power would be out for a day or more. The outage for us lasted in fact three days, with power restored over candlelit dinner entertaining friends. In the meantime, no flushing of toilets, no showering, no refrigeration, no music or news. However, we could crank up telephone land line, woodstove heat, buckets of water from our full dug well, cooking on the gas-stove, boiling of water for tea and coffee, lots of strategically-placed beeswax candles, flashlights….

 

By the third day, we recognize our fragility and dependency on the power grid and wish for self-sufficiency from the type of residential-scale wind and solar-generated power that dinner guests Kevin and Jack enjoy. Extreme weather events such as this are a stark reminder that we are all live just a few days away from extreme discomfort and deprivation. Ah well, back to our smug complacency with restored power as today brings sunshine and temperatures in the mid-teens Celsius (mid-twenties in the balmy hoophouses where green shoots take on a growth spurt, oblivious to the commotion outside). My tractor has shed its icy mantle and will soon be called in to action. Spring is surely on its way now.

All Life Is Sacred

This past Sunday I gave a talk-cum-reading on my experiences as an organic grower of food. It was delivered to an audience of some fifty or so First Unitarian Church attendees in Toronto as part of a discussion on “Why Consumers Are Choosing Organics”. I was one of four speakers, the others being Sarah Dobec of The Big Carrot, Jodi Koberinski of the Organic Council of Ontario, and Tanmayo Krupanszky of the Toronto chapter of Canadian Organic Growers.

I really am unaccustomed to public speaking. Only truly at both my dear parents’ passings have I bellied up to do so, then too addressing mostly churchgoers. It is a measure of my passion for organics and the engagement of the public that I chose to take up Unitarian Allen Goldfeder’s invitation to speak at this event. I get nervous, would be more comfortable just reading from a prepared text, but – in the interest of conveying passion – prefer to talk directly to the audience whilst reading. This doesn’t come easy, especially when having to consider the proximity of the microphone and the steady drying up of the mouth. I am not a ready talker, preferring to read, listen, write, and inwardly mull.

Back in my comfort zone of the greenhouse this morning, fork turning over the moist thawing soil and extracting stubborn grasses around the perimeter prior to planting, insightful thoughts come to me. I confess to not being a churchgoer. However, there is something about the questing goodly spirit of those with faith that do worship regularly at the house of God that I admire. Tanmayo related her talk on organics to Love, Faith, and Hope, in turn. Nobody can argue with the value of these virtues.

I do find myself in life always casting around and digging for truth and meaning. I generally find it in honesty, ethical conduct, love, respect, and acting on these principles. In her primeval essence, it is Nature that is my guide. Some thirty years ago, Gundi and I were married by a lovely man called Dr. Dixon. At the time, he was a retired professor of biology at the University of Guelph and a Unitarian minister happy to come out to where we chose to wed. I always remember him saying that he believed that “Human Life is Sacred” and revered him for this. Over the years, it has become apparent to me that all natural life is sacred, in that we need to sustain living populations in all their wondrous diversity.

We, as humans, share this miracle of Life, this Planet with multitudes of other species, other beings that are alive for a short time on this Earth, just as we are. In the twinkling of an eye we are conceived, live our lives inhaling the swirling dynamic forces that have evolved here, then we evaporate into the afterlife, whose nature is full of promise, an unknown quantity, or an eternal void, depending on our faith. Whether we believe in one God, many Gods, or no god at all, it seems to me that our duty while we are alive in the here and now is to respect, honour, and love our earthly home and those we co-exist with, be they animal, vegetable, or mineral. Nature in whatever form will surely inhabit this planet long after our own species has driven itself also to the brink of extinction, and maybe beyond. 

Address to the Soul in the Yellow Wind

This mutated sunflower was found in Manno cho Kagawa prefecture. Kagawa is in Shikoku, Japan.

Iori Mochizuki is a brave man who posts constant updates about the Fukushima disaster at his blog http://fukushima-diary.com/

This post of his, penned on this very day, the second anniversary of “311”, touched me deeply.

As technology made our lives easier and easier, we abandoned our gift called intelligence. We were merely waiting for the spoon to feed us like unthinking reed.

Like they built pyramid or the tower of Babel, we built the huge kettle with Pluto inside.

Delphic oracle revived in the crystal boxes to tell us what to believe and stop us thinking.

We were banned from doubting and doubters were regarded as heresy.

When the mountain became valley, the bottom of ocean reached the sun, the wall of water swallowed our dreams.

Old kettles – the symbol of fake god- were smashed into pieces. We saw Pluto rising in the mushroom cloud.

Haves were afraid of losing all the have-nots. With the pieces of broken kettles, they built the church to keep have-nots inside. Stained glasses are made of notes, the cross is made of bones. It’s a floating cottage on the black river.

They swore they would never open their eyes to God so they won’t have to see Pluto anymore. They poured wax into their own ears.

Pluto is not outside of the church anymore. It’s in our shoes, in our pocket, in our breath and in our blood.

The letter from our parents to our children were rewritten illegibly, our sons and daughters read the “heaven” as “hades”.

Haves are building the army of have-nots and had Delphic oracle tell them to see the enemy with the closed eyes. You hear the choir counting our bodies and tell us where our enemy is.

On the day of the yellow wind, the offered flowers to the lost souls have 3 heads but the blind never see it. The offered water is burning. Breads are glowing blue. The voice of lost souls can never be heard by the waxed ears.

When they notice they killed all the Ichthys, they hear the sound of military boots coming to them.

We Are All One

As discovered on the Google+ profile page of my sister-in-law Heidi Grenda, https://plus.google.com/111392956603917877025/posts.

Heidi creates wonderful recycled art in Managua, Nicaragua, where she has happily lived for many years.  

This incredible short film shares an indigenous Native American prophecy that links all of life and the future of our planet. 

Narration is in English, subtitles in Spanish.

A Poem for the Marcellus

By Sandra Steingraber

From the Huffington Post, full article at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sandra-steingraber/marcellus-shale_b_1428030.html

In praise of unfractured rock.

Everywhere is holy. - Allen Ginsberg, "Footnote to Howl," Howl, and Other Poems

In honor of both National Poetry Month and Earth Day - and with thanks to the Beat poet Allen Ginsberg, who continues to inspire me - I offer below a love song to the bedrock: the methane-suffused shale that geologists call the Marcellus, which now lies in the crosshairs of the oil and gas industry.

By way of prelude: The Marcellus Shale is the geological foundation of upstate New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio and West Virginia. The namesake for this underground layer of rock is the village of Marcellus, New York. The village, in turn, is named for the ancient Roman general, Marcus Claudius Marcellus. Renowned for his cunning military strategies, General Marcellus ultimately perished on the battlefield, run through by a spear. Marcellus reappears as a character in Hamlet (where being run through is a not uncommon cause of death). In Shakespeare's telling, Marcellus is a career officer who utters the memorable line about Denmark.

Geologically speaking, the Marcellus Shale represents an ancient seafloor. The bubbles of natural gas trapped within it are the remains of marine organisms. The Marcellus also contains heavy metals, radioactive elements, sea salt, and carcinogenic vapors, including benzene. When the shale is run through - fractured, fracked - for natural gas extraction, these substances are liberated and brought to the earth's surface.

Carbon-rich geological formations are also living ecosystems. They are the home to relic organisms collectively called "deep life." Some of these microbes form complex colonies, sending nanowires out into the surrounding rock for purposes of electron transfer. Deep-life organisms are ubiquitous and almost certainly play a role in the Earth's carbon cycle. They may, in ways we do not yet understand, contribute to climate stability.

Living organisms also interfere with the flow of gas through pipelines. To prevent this biofouling, gas companies send powerful biocides into the shale, killing everything that inhabits it. The use of biocides, among other factors, makes fracking a highly toxic form of energy extraction.

As a biologist, I've written extensively about the toxicity of fracking. As a poet, I'm interested in it, too. I'm often asked what biology and poetry have in common. The answer for me is that both biology and poetry are about the mystery of being alive. But whereas biology wants to solve the mystery, poetry simply says, behold.

If you like this poem, take it with you. Read it aloud at public hearings, at rallies, in church. Perform it at Earth Day celebrations. Consider this as permission to reprint. Send copies to your elected officials. Set it to music. Add some images and make a video. Whatever we can do to express our belief that the integrity of life on the sunlit surface of this planet depends on the integrity of the bedrock beneath us, we must do. Now.

Marcellus

- for Allen Ginsberg, who reminded us that the worship of Moloch required the sacrifice of children.

I.

Marcellus below us. Marcellus below us. 
Marcellus, tell us, who are you? 
Older than fishes. Older than spinal cord and bone 
and the green day of trees. Older than pollen dust, 
than seeds. Bedrock of grief. 
Subterranean coral reef. Microbe and nanowire. 
Electrically conductive, hypersaline fire. 
Alive.

II.

Marcellus our cellar. Marcellus unlike us. 
Fissured and fossilled sarcophagus 
of sea lilies and squid, ego and id.
The whole periodic table in you. 
Uranium. Radium. Barium. Lead. 
Marcellus, home of the dead. 
Toluene. Mercury. Benzene. Brine. 
Arsenic. The River Styx. 
Five hundred million years thick.

In you Euridice.

Hades. Moloch. Charon's boat.
Hades. Moloch. Ransom note.

III.

Marcellus deserved the name given him 
who waged war and gained fame for the sacking 
of Syracuse, for the battle of Gaul, only to lose 
to the enemy at home. And fall. No exit plan.
Some say your success was embellished, 
General Marcellus, tell us: who called you 
Sword of Rome?

Saudi Arabia below our feet. A prolific monster 
says Wall Street. A sure thing. A shale play. 
Play. Play. Place your bet.

Marcellus: a minor character who guides 
Hamlet away from his father's ghost. 
What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?
Something is rotten in the state of. . . .
Here, sign this lease and let's make the most 
of it.

Enters now Marc Antony breaking bread 
with Bobby Kennedy. Jealous?

Et tu, Marcellus.

O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
that I am meek and gentle with these butchers.

IV.

Hades. Moloch. Charon's boat.
Hades. Moloch. Ransom note.

Marcellus, who are we? Drill. Syringe. 
Derrick. Vein. Two junkies argue how many
atoms of carbon dance on the head of a pin.

Marcellus, quick. Tell us. I hear the trucks. 
They're not far. The plan is reduce you to rubble.
There is no Hubble telescope for you. 
No 24-hour spill cam for us.

Are you a box inscribed with name Pandora? Or a 
scroll on which are written the names of us all?

V.

Holy the rock 
and the fissure, 
the salt and the diatom's fall. 
Holy the unfractured. 
Holy the wall 
between you 
and us, Marcellus. 
Holy the cave. 
Holy the soluble. 
Holy the hall. 
Holy the unmapped 
and abandoned 
well.

Hell.

I know you're down there.

Mom always said, 
don't blow up the basement.

Hades. Moloch. Charon's boat.
Hades. Moloch. Ransom note.

Let me love you 
from a long way up.
Holy the water. 
Holy the cup.

Sandra Steingraber is the author of Living Downstream, published in second edition by Merloyd Lawrence Books/Da Capo Press to coincide with the release of the documentary film adaptation. 

Annus Horribilis

Bluefin tuna, from www.worldwildlife.org

George Monbiot reveals the pitiful state of the global Nature environment, as  governments fiddle, fudge, and turn a blind eye to the runaway trashing of the planet.

 

2012 was the worst year for the environment in living memory.

By George Monbiot, published in the Guardian 1st January 2013

It was the year of living dangerously. In 2012 governments turned their backs on the living planet, demonstrating that no chronic problem, however grave, will take priority over an immediate concern, however trivial. I believe there has been no worse year for the natural world in the past half century.

Three weeks before the minimum occurred, the melting of the Arctic’s sea ice broke the previous record (1). Iconic remnants of the global megafauna – such as rhinos and bluefin tuna – were shoved violently towards extinction (2). Novel tree diseases raged across continents (3). Bird and insect numbers continued to plummet, coral reefs retreated, marine life dwindled. And those charged with protecting us and the world in which we live pretended that none of it was happening.

Their indifference was distilled into a great collective shrug at the Earth Summit in June. The first summit, 20 years before, was supposed to have heralded a new age of environmental responsibility. During that time, thanks largely to the empowerment of corporations and the ultra-rich, the square root of nothing has been achieved. Far from mobilizing to address this, in 2012 the leaders of some of the world’s most powerful governments – the US, the UK, Germany and Russia – didn’t even bother to turn up.

But they did send their representatives to sabotage it. The Obama administration even sought to reverse commitments made by George Bush senior in 1992 (4). The final declaration was a parody of inaction. While the 190 countries that signed it expressed “deep concern” about the world’s escalating crises, they agreed no new targets, dates or commitments, with one exception. Sixteen times they committed themselves to “sustained growth”, a term they used interchangeably with its polar opposite, “sustainability” (5).

The climate meeting in Doha at the end of the year produced a similar combination of inanity and contradiction. Governments have now begun to concede, without evincing any great concern, that they will miss their target of no more than two degrees of global warming this century (6). Instead we’re on track for between four and six (7,8,9). To prevent climate breakdown, coal burning should be in steep decline. Far from it: the International Energy Agency reports that global use of the most carbon-dense fossil fuel is climbing by around 200 million tonnes a year (10). This helps to explain why global emissions are rising so fast.

Our leaders now treat climate change as a guilty secret. Even after the devastations of Hurricane Sandy and the record droughts and wildfires that savaged the United States, the two main presidential contenders refused to mention the subject, except for one throwaway sentence each (11). Has an issue this big ever received as little attention in a presidential race?

The same failures surround the other forces of destruction. In 2012 European governments flunked their proposed reform of the Common Agricultural Policy, which is perfectly designed to maximize environmental damage. The farm subsidies it provides are conditional upon farmers destroying the vegetation (which also means the other wildlife) on their land (12). We pay €55bn a year to trash the natural world.

This contributes to what I have come to see as a great global polishing: a rubbing away of ecosystems and natural structures by the intensification of farming, fishing, mining and other industries. Looking back on this year a few decades hence, this destruction will seem vastly more significant than any of the stories with which the media is obsessed. Like governments, media companies have abandoned the living world.

In the UK in 2012, the vandals were given the keys to the art gallery. Environmental policy is now in the hands of people – such as George Osborne, Owen Paterson, Richard Benyon and Eric Pickles – who have no more feeling for the natural world than the Puritans had for fine art. They are busy defacing the old masters and smashing the ancient sculptures. They have lit a bonfire of environmental regulations (13), hobbled bodies such as Natural England and the Environment Agency and ensured that the countryside becomes even more of an exclusive playground for the ultra-rich, unhampered by effective restraints on the burning of grouse moors, the use of lead shot, the killing of birds of prey and the spraying of pesticides that are wiping out our bees and other invertebrates (14,15).

In the same spirit, the government has reduced the list of possible marine conservation zones from 127 to 31 (16). Even these 31 will be protected in name only: the fishing industry will still be allowed to rampage through them. A fortnight ago, the UK lobbied successfully for quotas of several overexploited fish species to be raised, while pouring scorn on the scientific evidence which shows that this is madness (17).

George Osborne has done the same thing to the UK’s climate change policies. Though even the big power companies oppose him (18), he is seeking to scrap or delay our targets for cutting carbon emissions and to ensure that we remain hooked on natural gas as our primary source of power. The green investment bank which was supposed to have funded the transition to new technologies is the only state bank in Europe which is forbidden to borrow (19). It might as well not be there at all.

If there is hope, it lies with the people. Opinion polls show that voters do not support their governments’ inaction. Even a majority of Conservatives believe that the UK should generate most of its electricity from renewables by 2030 (20). In the United States, 80% of people polled now say that climate change will be a serious problem for their country if nothing is done about it: a substantial rise since 2009 (21). The problem is that most people are not prepared to act on these beliefs. Citizens, as well as governments and the media, have turned their faces away from humanity’s greatest problem.

To avoid another terrible year like 2012, we must translate these passive concerns into a mass mobilization. Groups like 350.org show how it might be done(22). If this annus horribilis tells us anything it’s that action, in the absence of such mobilization, is simply not going to happen. Governments care only as much as their citizens force them to care. Nothing changes unless we change.

www.monbiot.com

References:

1. http://www.monbiot.com/2012/08/27/the-heat-of-the-moment/

2. See for example http://e360.yale.edu/feature/the_dirty_war_against_africas_remaining_rhinos/2595/

3. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2012/nov/03/scots-pine-tree-diseases

4. http://www.monbiot.com/2012/06/18/the-mendacity-of-hope/

5. http://www.monbiot.com/2012/06/22/how-%E2%80%9Csustainability%E2%80%9D-became-%E2%80%9Csustained-growth%E2%80%9D/

6. e.g. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2012/dec/03/four-reasons-avert-impacts-climate-change

7. Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research and Climate Analytics, November 2012. Turn Down the Heat: why a 4C warmer World Must be Avoided. Report for the World Bank. http://climatechange.worldbank.org/sites/default/files/Turn_Down_the_heat_Why_a_4_degree_centrigrade_warmer_world_must_be_avoided.pdf

8. http://thinkprogress.org/climate/2011/11/09/364895/iea-global-warming-delaying-action-is-a-false-economy/

9. PriceWaterhouseCoopers, November 2012. Too late for two degrees? Low carbon economy index 2012. http://www.pwc.co.uk/sustainability-climate-change/publications/low-carbon-economy-index-overview.jhtml

10. http://www.iea.org/newsroomandevents/pressreleases/2012/december/name,34441,en.html

11. http://www.monbiot.com/2012/11/05/struck-dumb/

12. http://www.monbiot.com/2012/11/26/the-fat-of-the-land/

13. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2012/mar/16/environmental-regulations-slashed-red-tape

14. http://www.monbiot.com/2012/06/04/the-resurgent-aristocracy/

15. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2012/dec/12/mps-insecticide-regulators-bees

16. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2012/dec/13/uk-marine-conservation-zones

17. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2012/dec/20/fish-eu-quota-deal-delighted

18. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2012/dec/02/energy-firms-clear-emissions-targets

19. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/damian-carrington-blog/2012/may/24/green-investment-bank-energy-efficiency

20. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2012/dec/05/public-opposed-osborne-anti-green

21. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2248468/A-growing-number-global-warming-sceptics-Americans-say-global-warming-real-threat.html

22. http://www.350.org/

Fall Canoeing, Camping; Giving Thanks

On the Sunday following Canadian Thanksgiving, my paddle pal David and I embarked on our tenth annual Fall canoeing and camping trip. After two trips each to Algonquin, Temagami, Massasauga, and Killarney, we chose to take on our second visit to Kawartha Highlands, an hour north of our homes. Serpentine Lake was our destination, four portages up Anstruther Lake, via Rathbun and Copper Lakes to the recommended island campsite greeting us as we entered Serpentine.

New rules of this newly-designated provincial park demanded that we book our exact campsite in advance, even though we were the only campers in the park this late in the season. It is a glorious time of year to get out there in Nature, with fall colours resplendent and the weather constantly changing, with sunshine, showers, wind gusts and calm, warmth and nippy cold. And nobody but ourselves and the wildlife to enjoy it… or so we had assumed.

The Park had recommended renting our canoe direct at the put-in at Anstruther Marina. Of course, with several portages to negotiate up a height of 150 feet and piles of essential sustenance, cooking materials, shelter, and clothing, we would like to have had a nice light preferably Kevlar canoe to carry and be carried by, as was our custom. Instead, we were landed with a short heavy fibreglass beast which we cursed as we plodded lugging it from lake to lake not four (as per the map) but five portages. (Beavers had created extra work for us as we manoeuvred around their dam). At the top of the first portage, we encountered two hunters visible from afar as they approached from their camp in their day-glo orange jackets and caps. Uh-huh, it’s moose-hunting season. Not only were we not forewarned by the Park when we booked our campsite for four nights, but we were unaware that our route is in the thick of moose country. In thirty years of living in Ontario and many trips out in wild country, I had never encountered one of these majestic beasts. The two smokes-and-beer-toting hunters sneered at our lack of day-glo orange garb and warned that there would be hunting going on all around us up on Serpentine Lake.

The headwind whipped up Copper Lake and we were happy to enter the calm of the river winding through the wetland leading to our final portage (see photo above). After all, we had been paddling and mostly portaging for six hours or so, and we were eager to set up camp. Tired, I took a wrong turn with my first load at the final portage. I returned to pick up the packs, to be rewarded by the late-afternoon sight of a large moose rooting around in the adjacent wetland basin surrounded by forest. 

I was awestruck as I always have been when sighting white-tailed deer, wild turkeys, grey wolves, coyotes, red foxes, black bears at home in and around the fields below our house. This was special to me as the moose looked dark and primeval in its grandeur against the pallor of the faded grasses midst which he or she grazes and roams.

After our reconnaissance around our temporary home and set-up of camp, we went for a wander around the island. Lo, and behold, there was another moose grazing in another wetland opposite us. Another breathtaking sight to behold, I christened him George.

                      

We spent our first full day just bumbling around, resting up after the exertions of getting up here to this high lake in these Kawartha Highlands. Serpentine is pretty, with lots of bays, rocks, and mixed trees. By no means as dramatic as the white quartzite ranges and pink rock of Killarney or the old growth forests of Temagami or the Barron Canyon in Algonquin or the weathered pink rock of Georgian Bay off Massasauga, the landscape is softer, more subtle, but the wetland basins and winding rivers provide a pleasant foil to the mixed woodlands and lakes. And it provides rich habitat for the moose, the largest and grandest of all the wildlife we have encountered on these ten trips.

By the roaring campfire after our grilled steak and red wine dinner, we toasted George and gave thanks for all that these forays out to experience the feral bring us – a humble sense of place in this world, an awe of the wild earth and the blazing night sky heavens above, a joy in being temporarily and spacially one stage removed from the hubbub of humanity, a simple gratitude to be here and now. Nature is the perfect host.

And yet… Nature is under constant threat, and George is under imminent threat. As we breakfasted on bacon and eggs, the first of the day’s day-glo orange-populated motor boats sped down the lake from one hunt camp to the next. We made ourselves visible as they blew past us. In mid-afternoon, my heart sank as another motor-boat approached and docked opposite our island. Two day-glo hunters disembarked and headed with their long-guns toward George’s wetland. After an hour or so, David could bear the tension no longer and bellowed out GEORGE. Not once, but twice. We heard no gunshots and were happy to see the two hunters emerge from the forest a while later, fire up their motor and leave. George lives another day. And the next day, as we paddled casually around the lake, lunching, collecting firewood, clambering up the rocks to lap up the sun and the view over our island, no hunters disturbed the peace, George was free to graze, and a day on this particular piece of Earth unfolded as it should.

On our final morning before heading back to commitments, duties and eking out a living, we breakfasted in bright sunshine and began to pack up camp. The distant drone of motor-boats heralded the arrival of the big guns and the launch of a hunting operation conducted with military-style precision. Nine day-glo hunters in three boats motored in at speed, all fully armed and accompanied by two dogs, whistles, and radio communication devices. David stopped one boat to ensure our safety in negotiating the trail we would be taking back, directly through their hunting territory. We heard dogs barking in the distance, then a few loud echoing shots, then nothing. Six hunters emerged from the wood, and a boatload of them left. We headed out onto the trail, warning loudly CAMPERS COMING THROUGH, all the while hoping that George and his kin were alive and safe.

As David Suzuki wrote about hunting in this particular park: “While I don’t hunt (although I love fishing), I’m not opposed to sustainable hunting and fishing for subsistence and even commercial purposes. But we should be clear: the Ontario government’s proposed hunting rules for Kawartha Highlands Park are not about putting venison on the table. This is about expanding the human footprint within a protected area. Doing so is hardly consistent with the park’s stated mandate to “preserve, protect and enhance the natural composition and abundance of native species, biological communities and ecological processes in the Park.” I’d bet it’s also at odds with the values of most citizens in Ontario, who believe that parks should provide a safe haven for wildlife - especially considering that more than 90 percent of Ontario is already open for hunting.”        

The park’s website notes: “Large wilderness areas, such as the northern portion of the Kawartha Highlands, may provide refuge for species that are particularly vulnerable to human disturbance or which deliberately avoid areas with human activity.” This is especially applicable to moose. “Refuge” is not provided by the sanctioned hunting.

We go on our trips into Nature precisely so that we can witness a safe haven for wildlife, and a safe haven for all the wild in all its wonder. We do not go to witness hunting, shooting, culling, mining, logging, which are all at odds in parks with conservation and with the Ontario public’s right to quiet peaceful relaxation in Nature. As David Suzuki concludes: “Wildlife species in Canada are already under enormous pressure, due mainly to habitat loss and fragmentation. We need to act in a precautionary way now to minimize our actions that affect the ability of species to survive and evolve.”

Next year we will be forced to find our little piece of wild Nature elsewhere.