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Wild ReSolve.

After years of thought and hope, a lot of circles and circling, and a lot of despair over the changes to our habitat I see taking place ever day — you know the habitat we depend on for life? That one — I finally used my breath to blow the seeds of hope and intent into the wind. I’m starting to create the project I call Wild ReSolve.

It is at the moment living on Patreon (link).

Over the course of the next weeks the project will become a virtual space in the “world wide web” where we can connect. It will feature solutions journalism, updates of all the stories I’ve covered or assigned thru my career as an environmental writer and journalist, but also offer things I’ve always wanted to include: multi-media projects, mini-docs, a podcast of interviews with those who have inspired or informed or warned us for decades about the damage we are doing to the only Home we have here on Earth. And most importantly it will be a cultural center for micro-communities and individuals to gather to find information and ideas that are solutions, solutions, solutions to the habitat destruction and climate changes our human lifestyle fuels. It will be a cultural sphere of hope for our wild and beautiful Earthly habitat.

Why “Wild” and why “ReSolve” you can find at the link above.

Here is my heart: I so love this Eden we live in and share as life itself. We are a part of this natural world; it is our only home as I’ve written previously. I am saddened to the point of despair as I see wildlife lose habitat, or fertile lands dry up with drought, soil destruction, and for marine animals to strangle in plastic or for skies to fill with smoke from out-of control-wildfires driven by increasing temperatures due to our fossil fuel use. I even feel concern as I notice the micro-biome of the soil in my little garden bake in temperatures and heat-intense sun previously unexperienced, all due to climate warming too fast for adaptation.

We humans, every one of us, are driving the change and we are driving too fast.

I want to yell “Do Something!” as I have throughout my long career in writing about environment, but at this point in my age, and in having recently survived yet another year of unexpected illness (this time I’m privileged—lucky? fortunate? yes to all 3—to have survived this novel virus Nature has thrown at us), I feel it is me I am yelling at, not just into the silent void.

So, lets talk about and cheer on rewilding projects. Let’s learn how to foster them in our own communities.

Let’s learn how to connect regional habitats so our fellow wild-living animals have a change to adapt or move to places they can survive in this speeding climate change.

Let’s learn what communities in parts of Africa are doing to use the overflowing ever-present availability of plastic trash to create fuels for lights or cooking. Let’s learn to do it in our own backyard because our communities too too are covered in plastic single-use rubbish.

Let’s also learn how to support those who save, nurture and release orphan elephants to protected areas, work with local villages to foster mutual care for them, and how to support those who die in the service of of protecting the few mountain gorilla left in the national parks of shrinking forests of central Africa.

Let’s learn how indigenous and first nations might have better ideas to steward the land back to health, and how we too can give it a try in our own backyard.

And let’s learn why we need to quit talking about our habitat as if it’s an abstract economic asset. Rather we need to use language that connects us, living-thing to living thing, rather than measuring the value of a place merely by its use or monetary value.

Let’s become inspired rather than overwhelmed. Let’s connect and feel resolve that we can create sweeping change by doing so.

If we all “do something” we will soon find we have assembled a core power of healing action for the only Home, our Earth habitat, sustaining us and life itself. And maybe we will successfully create a culture of care rather than of destruction. With little actions do we express our ever growing love for life itself, in all its amazing beauty.

I hope you love this wild earth, our Eden, too, and will help me to seed a new project!

 

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We don’t know what our own habitat is…

Sir David Attenborough

BBC 16 Dec 2013

 

This off-the-cuff observation, in the midst of a simple radio conversation on BBC today, startled me.

Is it possible that we, in walking through the moments of our lives, do not recognize or ‘know’ our own habitat? This ecosphere of life-giving oxygen, those mountains, that river of water, this bit of nourishment from some plot of dirt?  

Is it possible we suffer from habitat illiteracy – can you read the sky and the wind for on-coming weather, recognize a source of usable water, or observe the movement of wildlife to note puzzling changes?

Being a 3rd generation native of this area of the Rockies, where the prairie meets mountains, and raised by a woman born in the late 1800s whose survival and well-being depended on reading the land and weather, I too taught my children to read the beautiful, huge blue sky here. We pay attention to see, to smell, to feel when snow is in the air and whether it’s a northern ice (and thus cold) scent or a heavy damp one (and thus a deep, heavy snow requiring extra food in the pantry) on the way. I soothed my children with knowledge of when a cloud portended hail rather than tornado weather and which way it was blowing in order that they feel safe at Home in our world and empowered to be a part of it. We see how the prairie Blue Jays have come to inhabit our backyard rather than the foothills variety and that summer’s doves now stay too long (and thus get caught by heavier snows than they are meant for) — puzzling changes in territory and timing we can only presume come from changes in climate and habitat needs.

Reading the weather, the sky, our habitat are essential tools. For we need them to feel at home here on Earth and with earth’s vital resources that support our very life.

We are not unique; so many I know bring their own weather/habitat knowledge with them when they make a new home in a new territory as well. And thus learning and natural evolution take place; yes, it really can be 10-below for a week here and yes, power can go out.

But Sir David speaks of a more profound change:

We don’t know what our own habitat is  . . .

Have a majority of us, like the comic Jetsons of the 1960s, become used to punching a button and food is shoved into our mouths? (Let’s not forget that poor family had to wear helmets for life-giving oxygen; let us hope that is not our future here on Earth.)

Sir David went on to mention the moors and forests of the U.K., every inch of which, of course, are transformed by man’s hand over centuries save, he noted whimsically, a few tops of peaks in Scotland.

Here in the U.S. and elsewhere in the world many of us are lucky enough to see wilderness, where we can see an ‘original’ habitat of man, whether temperate rainforest in British Columbia or parts of the Amazon and here in the Rockies —except that in many cases, the wilderness managed to be preserved is the edge of our habitat, a remnant of land from which man could not carve out a 4-season living, like at the tops of our Eagle’s Nest Wilderness of 13,000 and 14,000 feet, and thus left it to remain wilderness.

We do not know what our own habitat is…

Sir David did mention that we might look upon glass and steel, buildings and tarmack, as our habitat — and if so, he said, that is very distressing. Indeed we are told that a majority of the world’s population now lives in cities. And of course, that is a mixed blessing: with more urban living, more land is able to return to wild, as noted in a previous post (Re*Wilding);  yet with more people, especially our children, living in a city-bound alienation from our Earth, we become dangerous and sad. We suffer both a habitat illiteracy, and a sense of alienation from our natural cradle that gives us water, air, food, life.

The remedy? Take a moment outside. Reconnect to your habitat: notice the sky and read the wind; gaze at your water source and feel grateful it’s even there; consider what the wildlife (surely there is some near you even if a humble pigeon or squirrel) had for their breakfast. And then look to the horizon . . . and think about home. The Earth. Your habitat.

What is your habitat, really? It’s still there, beyond the glass and steel.

And your life-force, maybe even your soul within you, knows you, me, we all need it more than we might want to admit.

 

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