Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Category: Environment Page 16 of 19

Letters From The Old House

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On December 9, 2014

In Environment, Kamloops, Life Stories

WhiteFive days ago… It is snowing softly and the river is carrying ice floaties towards Kamloops Lake like a train that never ends. It’s peaceful. On a day like this I’d be thinking cross-country skiing and boys tumbling down slopes full of wild, dry grass dressed in thick fresh snow.

This morning I am secretly rejoicing that the lack-of-toilet pee spots in the front yard by the pee-tree will be covered by fresh snow.

It’ll be a while until the toilet will be fixed it seems. Think it absurd, I do too. Uncertainty is never good, yet when you have to pick after kids just like you do after puppies it becomes personal. Yes, a pun, what better time to throw one out.

We’ve been running to coffee shops for a few days now, and continue to be grateful for every flushing toilet. A miracle of technology. Chuckle if you want to; I know it doesn’t compare to the shuttle that was sent around the world early this morning, but trust me, a running toilet makes things alright.

On the mouse front, there seems to be none left on the premises.

Three days ago… I found the 11th mouse in a milk bottle at the bottom of seldom used cupboard. Mummified; the smell gave it away. Faint enough to mislead, unless you put your face in (nose included) looking for a jar. I did. A tough, cruel death by all means, inflicted by its own curious murine nature.

You may be now wondering about the tenth mouse, since we only had nine at the last blog count. He got caught in one of the traps our kitchen is laced with at the moment (it was a quiet subdued celebration, and a few shudders thinking some may still be around). Which brings us to a second question from you: do any of us ever get caught? Well, I almost did once while sweeping. The noise is enough to make one jump; every time.

As for the mummified mouse, the discovery can take your mind off lacking toilets for a bit. Until the smell clears away to make room for others issues at hand. We’re still showering in the go, ditto for laundry and pray that the toilet will not back up unexpectedly. Talk about the straw that breaks the camel’s back… It’s a tired, old camel, let’s just leave it at that.

We have decided to move. No more views of the river and the trees hemming its shores, projecting slim silhouettes in the water; no more guessing the weather based on the shade of the water or the way clouds arch over mountains, no more nighttime gentle blinking all the way into the distance and for me, no more wondering about a lone soft light in the middle of nowhere near the grasslands… an isolated cottage, who knows. The small mysteries we carry with; the answers are not as important as the mysteries itself – but that is the story of another day.

No crying over spilled milk, or moving in this case. We will still have a view and we will discover its mysteries and beauty. The very bright side of it is, of course, a flushing toilet and no setting off mouse any traps on the way to it in the middle of the night. Clouds and trees can be found anywhere, rainbows too, if only we find the time to look.

An old plumber named Bud came by this afternoon and spent a commendable amount of time in the basement. He surfaced with a long face. He left, like many before him, disillusioned, and we almost felt like consoling him. I also admit to feeling slightly envious thinking Bud will go home to a flushing toilet, shower and laundry. We did too, except that they all belonged to friends. Gratefulness reinvented.

One day ago…  A fresh team of plumbers paid us a visit. They came hopeful, they left disillusioned. Again. I knew that would happen. They tried and tried, they brought machines and cameras and skills. They took them with when they left, handing over an invoice and the farewell we have become accustomed to – ‘we are so sorry’. We are too, possibly seasoned by many days of dashing for toilets and making fun of the absurdity of it all, which makes people feel even sorrier for us. The silver lining? Knowing half the plumbers in town. Just ask.

Mice count is still at 11; traps are still set.

Today. After perusing over a few unreliable models, we have capture: A nice portable toilet is parked by the side of the house, welcoming weary inhabitants in its plastic arms. The boys find it funny, we all find it useful and, I am sure, the neighbours find it intriguing.

We are learning the meaning of those simple things we cannot do without, or we could, but with added effort. Like toilets.

We will start packing soon for our impending move and that will be good, as long as no mice jump in the boxes. They are amazing athletes; but you already knew that.

 ***

TodayToday was a balmy day in Kamloops, so unexpectedly balmy at almost two digits over zero that toilet and jumpy rodents worries faded away to make room for the uncomfortable question: is this because of climate change? If not, it may just be an occasional and fascinating Chinook; yet if it is due to climate change… no amount of plumbing can fix that…

I am hoping it’s the Chinook and the cold will return.

Rain draped over faraway hills and it dripped onto our front steps, and muck prevailed. There was a short-lived rainbow arched over the north shore and I was reminded of simple beauty. Of the world that we have and we have to hold onto. Of how short-lived everything is, worries and all, and how, at the end of the day, toilet or not, is what you make of it.

There will always be a bigger worry casting shadows over today, it’s part of the package. Often times we look back and we say ‘Give me mice and plugged drain pipes over this, any day…’ because we are, every now and then, humbled by the weight of life, by the way it takes bites out of us. It always does, and that’s what make it worthwhile; learning to cope, learning to hope, learning to say ‘It will be OK, it has to…’

At the end of the day, it’s what you make of it. It really is…

The Reason We Are Not Oblivious To Magic

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On December 3, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Life Stories, Social issues

Initially published as a column in the AM News on Friday, November 28, 2014.

Beauty to live byToday’s early morning sky had a streak of blue I had never seen before. It was a blue that you pat yourself on the back when you get it by mixing watercolours; it was that beautiful and unique.

Except that someone else mixed the colours this morning. Not only that, it made sure to sift some sunlight on the north shore hills, a patch of brightness splattered here and there, as if some celestial egg was broken over those spots for a reason.

The only reason I could think of was to see. Not the whole landscape, which habitual browsing takes care of but often gets thrown at the back of the mind, but the small patches that stop you short, making you curious and grateful at the same time.

Curious to see more of the hills many times before, because today the sun is shining just so, making you wonder if you’ve ever realized just how pretty that particular slope is… Gratefulness is an automatic response your mind comes up with when you look long enough. I did.

Two hours later I took a walk with my oldest. He remarked on the murky waters of the Thompson River and the white shores hemmed with sand. By then, the cloud curtain had been pulled aside and a whole hill shone white and pretty. Snowy paths snaked their way behind unknown knolls and I wished to be there. I wished for the sunlight to keep on doing its thing many hundreds of years and beyond.

You could say it was one of those moments, which I am grateful to not be oblivious to.

There was something simple yet remarkable about it all: a growing boy, us walking and seeing the world around, a train going clickety-clack pulling its load through town, the light that kept on shifting revealing hill after hill and the realization that the world is changing, every day, and every hour of the day, and unless we make an effort to see it, we won’t. Unless we make an effort to keep it, we won’t…

Everything evolves, the slogan goes. Progress pushes some items out of sight to make room for new ones, and the phenomenon that promotes them. Yet the sun shone on the north shore hills way before progress was accounted for in the way we think of now, and the river kept shifting from murky to blue-green and clear since before this place had the name we know of.

I want my sons to grow up thinking of that as they go about their day. There are no ordinary moments in a day as far as nature is concerned, no matter how menial the daily activities become as we grow accustomed by them.

Like the walk to and from school every day with my youngest. One morning we woke up to snow and we walked through a blizzard that spat snowflakes into our eyes, on our cheeks and down our backs if the scarf got loose. You laugh yourself silly, because what else can you do…

Another morning we witnessed a most spectacular sunrise: a ribbon of sunlight, fresh and bright, rolling down from thick clouds to the bottom of the hill. Everything was shrouded in thick grey fog, save for the patch that looked like golden cotton candy. We were both mesmerized.

I wondered how many people got to see it that day and how many before us, and if they did, did they step out the next morning knowing that there will be something else to see, equally spectacular or more…

WorthyOne of the biggest accomplishment as a parent and guide to life as it happens for my sons, is to have them point out the ordinary bits of everyday life that steal their eyes and hearts. Leaves that are too beautiful to leave behind even as they lay shriveled up by incoming cold weather, grey mornings that have a mysterious feel to them, the ever so perfectly shaped rock that sits among many on the shores of a lake yet somehow it stands out, the occasional mirror-like surface of the river and the miracle of snowflakes. They point them out, and I know what touches their hearts the most. They know of mine.

And then, there is the magic of reminders that are as poignant as they are unique. One night, past midnight and way too close to the witching hour, we heard noises in our sloped back yard. Boys sound asleep cozily nestled in warm beds, we stepped outside.

The next moment I was staring at a beautiful doe. She stared back. Everything was quiet. She walked towards the neighbour’s yard and before swiftly jumping over the low fence, she looked one more time.

We walked up a couple of steps and under the sleepy apricot tree was a buck; not moving a muscle, he looked at us, and he looked towards where the doe went. For a few short seconds we stood, species boundaries notwithstanding, united by the simple magic of being there when no one else was. I could see his breath and I felt privileged.  Never so close… never so magical.

I felt like an intruder, but witnessing their graceful presence reminded me of the big world we should strive to keep alive. It’s a gift like no other.

Perhaps magic is, after all, not only what lies out there but the fact that we choose to see it and that we are, sometimes, given the amazing gift of seeing it. It is not without purpose that that happens. It’s the only way we can find reason to keep it alive; sunlit snowy paths, nighttime deer and all…

It’s A Done Deal – But Did You Know About It?

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On September 20, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Social issues

Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday, September 19, 2014.

On September 12, 2014 the controversial Canada-China Foreign Investment and Promotion Agreement (FIPA) was ratified by the Harper government in a secretive manner, blatantly unbecoming of its important nature and long term consequences. Harsh criticism by many, loud accusations of a major sellout and the chills of having our country’s values betrayed once again by a government that seems to forget its true mission, that is all part of the package.

The sad part is that few knew about it until it happened. It makes one wonder how much of what is important to our well-being as a democratic country we know and how much do we have a say in.

The Hupacasath First Nations legally challenged the treaty in a Court of Law when it was first announced in 2012, arguing that such an agreement violates the constitutional rights of Aboriginal people. While the case managed to delay the signing of the treaty, it did not stop it. Nor did the solid facts provided by Osgoode law professor and global authority on investment trade deals and international arbitration panels, Gus Van Harten, in a letter to the Prime Minister, urging him to reconsider the terms of a deal that he deems unfair to Canada.

Yet a strange level of secrecy made the treaty seem almost surreal to the busy citizens like you and me wrapped in the stress of everyday life. Some news outlets announced it, some did not, and overall it did not get a front seat with the major media outlets because… well, because it didn’t.

Media and us people relying on it for the daily newsfeed, function in a form of an awkward symbiosis: it’s not the truly worthy news that get the front page because they are not entertaining enough to most people, and the few to whom they are cannot bring up the numbers in a way that counts, financially speaking. More often than not, people want glimpses of celebrities lives, whether they are ill, get married, have babies or die. Sad but true, and double-edged sword; we can shape our society with our choices but do we exercise them the right way? If we don’t someone will make them for us. The very topic of this column is one sad example.

Among other things, the treaty in question gives way to Chinese investors to challenge and possibly even change Canadian laws, should existing laws happen to interfere with their investment plans. Worse yet, lawsuits to address that will not be decided in a court of law in Canada but abroad. ‘Hands off’ never sounded more threatening to a country, its constitution, natural resources and ultimately, its democratic values.

To not know the implications of such an agreement because we were not presented with it before a decision was made should make us wonder about how the upcoming elections should turn out. Being in charge of a country that has so much potential is no light deed. Understanding that today’s decisions shape our children’s tomorrow should make one stand in awe of it and ask themselves: do I really have what it takes?

The Canada-China Investment Treaty has just become the argument that it takes a lot more to keep our national dignity intact. Unlike other investment treaties, the terms are extremely unfavourable to Canada, and there is a high risk of future lawsuits that, should we lose, might just see us pay our sanctions in natural resources and large sums of money.

But… it’s a done deal and so it will be for the next 31 years, with a 15-year minimum term. Toss it and turn it on all sides, that’s a long time to be locked in any form of agreement, more so when your treaty partner has a clear upper hand.

In a democratic society, this kind of agreement should’ve taken all pro and cons arguments in, from all members of parliament and from the general public.  None of that happened.

The press release that accompanied the signing also mentions the sectors of interests for the Chinese companies that want to invest in Canada: mining, oil and gas extraction. If you’re still rattled by the Northern Enbridge pipeline indignity, the treaty will seem more lugubrious than ever because once October starts (treaty comes in effect starting October 1), who knows what lies ahead.

We should not oppose treaties, far from that. Our history is witness that treaties work; they helped build Canada into what it is today. If we play it right and fair, if we keep it good for Canada. If our democratic values and sovereignty are respected by the leaders who oversee the signing of any treaty, our leaders that is, then other countries will sign their part knowing that we do not sell anything, but trade.

Advantageous to both parties, that’s how treaties are defined. History has plenty of examples of fair treaties (two-sided, benefiting both parties) and then plenty of examples of unfair ones (one-sided). We’re old enough to know the difference.

Fairness and transparency are never to be taken for granted, and no treaty signed by our government should, at any point in time, give anyone the impression that Canada is for sale when it’s not.

Speaking For The Trees And More Is No Longer A Trend But A Necessity

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On September 17, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Life Stories, Social issues

Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday September 12, 2014.

It took almost two weeks for the trees across the street to be cut and sliced. There were four of them, all old and showing it in impressive girth, some guilty of a modern-day crime: having grown too close to the power lines.

Many early mornings of loud electric sawing later, the power line pole stands by itself, clear of potential danger. It had to be done, the team on site said. Two trees got too close, and the other two… well, it was decided that taking them down could prevent future problems.

Without pulling any Lorax tricks and jumping out of a stump to speak for the trees, I shook my head and wondered if maybe maintenance of a live tree would not be worth more than cutting it. After all, many a tree come down for various reasons, and some of the reasons support wants but not needs. A quick look at the increasing amount of flyers in our mail box in the last two weeks confirms it.

Throwing them and other bits of paper in the recycling bin offers little if any consolation. Trees came down for me to know that I can get pumpkin spice latte for only $3 during the month of October, or two pizzas for the price of one plus an oversized cookie.

I grew up in a yard that abounded with trees. We had a big pear tree that gave us pears and lots of leaves to clean each fall, a walnut tree that provided walnuts, great climbing and a slight amount of leafy grief to our neigbour’s gutters once it grew too big, many apple and plum trees, and a peach tree that was worth its weight in gold.

The gutter issue was solved by sawing off the rambunctious walnut branches and the tree lives to this day.

I remember my dad’s joy when planting yet another fruit tree somewhere around the yard or on the boulevard. I remember the day he showed me a fragile baby walnut tree in the back yard, proud of having saved it and talking about how it’ll grow into a beautiful one. It did. Many years later the fragile beginnings have been replaced by an impressive crown. My beloved dog was buried under it, my dad thought it that way…

One of the most powerful revelations I had as a kid was when I realized the depth of a simple, vital truth: trees provide oxygen for us to breathe. To live. Many strolls through beautiful forests of various kind later, the wonder of that astounding truth is humbling, more so because I know that we have the tools to terminate a 300-year-old tree but also countless, strong reasons to keep it alive.

Conservation of existing forests and wise decisions in logging should align with that. We need our forests more than ever before, given the increased pollution levels and the ever-growing threat of climate change.

A recent report published on September 4 by Global Forest Watch revealed that 8 percent of the world’s remaining pristine forests have been lost since 2000. Canada leads the way, deforestation-wise, the same report points out.

Tree planters may argue that they have been replanting ad nauseam, a welcome enterprise for sure. Yet it is worth remembering that old growth forests are not easily replaceable if at all. New trees simply cannot do the same as the trees of an old virgin forest that has developed a unique ecosystem over many thousands of years.

It is hard not to ask ‘Why?’ and ‘Why us again?’ in the context of many questionable environmental practices that have put our reputation at risk lately. Natural resources are to be exploited on a need-to basis and only after careful consideration, yet reality reveals the opposite.

This year saw the fisheries science libraries being dismantled, many scientists lost their jobs and many revealed a level of censorship defined as ‘muzzling’, which should never be allowed in a democratic society and in a country that has incredible natural resources that should be guarded in a way that befits their worth.

We hear of increased rates of cancer in areas where natural resources exploitation is at an all-time high yet governmental scientists deny it; we hear of tailings pond spillage that independent scientists classify as natural disasters given the way they affect human health and the environment, yet governmental organizations tell us there is no big danger; we hear of high levels of deforestation from international organizations but not from our own leaders, so it’s only natural to scratch our heads and ask who is right, where does the truth lie and whether our democratically voted leaders are truly watching over us and our country the way they should.

The levels of political interference that prevents truth from being revealed by independent scientists here in Canada should be worrying enough for everyone. Our land carries much wealth inside and out, and harvesting it without a conscience can lead to consequences that will haunt us and many generations to come.

Every tree we look at should become a reminder of the great wealth we were entrusted with by past and future generations alike. It is only natural that we make our voices loud enough and our intentions clear enough to save what can be saved and use only what we need. There is enough science to back us up, starting from the roots up.

Because You Came Back

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On September 13, 2014

In Environment, Kamloops, Life Stories

MorningIt was past 6.30am and the forest was silent. As if to tell you that you’re too late for the night swoosh; now they’ve gone to bed, all the critters unseen who own the path you’re stepping on.

The ground is padded with moss and lichen, all dry, all thirsty for water that might or might not come any time soon. Water is precious here. Dry crunching steps make you wonder if you’ve come too soon. You came to see the green. Dry is not enticing enough. Dry is dead. The forest argues that is not with a flap of wings and a rushed squirrel that stares long enough for you to know the forest is alive after all…

TransformDead is not here. Dead is not what you’re stepping on; old wood, soft as melted chocolate, that is not dead but transforming. Welcome to the forest. Have you forgotten? Keep on going, you’ll remember if you keep on going…

Crick, crack, your steps give you away. Creatures shy away in burrows one step away or a hundred, you’ll never know. You are the visitor now. Stop. Listen. Wings again, wideness you can read in distant flapping, wideness you can see if you close your eyes and let your mind draw the bird you just hear. Thus is for now the visitor status… Silence, trees that won’t tell a thing unless you stay long enough.

Once Stray away from the path, up and over the knoll that gives way to greener grass. Your feet are silent now, and they take you near old bones scattered among old gnarly branches and you think yourself as prone to the reality of life and death as the creatures who once bore them were…

Signs of human presence further on are somewhat abhorrent; here, now, an insult. The bone yard you stumble across has deer legs, furry with hooves still attached, scattered at awkward angles. They point to death, not transformation, in stark contrast with the grass they lay on and the clean skulls you found on the knoll… A blue ribbon, old and ruffled, marking something no one will know anything about, reminding of a presence that can be intrusive when it shouldn’t. Today you learn, from today onwards you will leave no marks…

The ground is damp here, grass and clover patches alive and bouncing back as you step on them. You follow the path overgrown with greenness and leave the dryness behind. There is more, there always is more, the leaves of distant birches perk up in a shimmering choir stirred by the gentlest breeze.

Rosehip bushes line the path and your gaze stops on each red blob; they punctuate the green space, diving into leafy pages you read as you walk.

Keep on walking, deeper still, the forest urges, you’ll the reason to return. You’ll hear why.

An animal path, a shy ramification of the human-made one, calls for you to discover how creatures find their way, how they dance and fear when you’re not around. They follow voices coming from within. Mystery.

Tock-tock-tock, a woodpecker. High and busy, it becomes the clock that divides time in increments smaller than you thought possible. Stop. Tick-tock… If time scurries so fast, won’t we run out of it too soon? No. You stop, long enough to make it stop. Listen. Time is measured by clocks with hearts, by hasty breaths, by how long it takes for larvae to grow and become food through relentless pecking. Tick-tock.

LifeNow you’ve seen it too. Time. Silence, and all the sounds hidden in it, coming out when crunchy steps give you away no more.  When your heartbeat matches the rhythms of the forest; not because you made it here and stayed long enough but because you’ve returned.

A Taste Of Canada

By

On September 10, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Life Stories

Originally published as a column on September 5, 2014 in the Armchair Mayor News. 
SilentIt was Saturday morning and the sun was the brightest in a few days. We were planning an overnight hike to a nearby lake, the boys’ first if you don’t count a canoe camping trip we did a while ago.

Six of us, as we had two of our relatives from Europe, hiking enthusiasts who have never been into the Canadian back country. In a very subjective manner, we might’ve mentioned that British Columbia has the best of it. Subjective with a side of love if you will.

We loaded backpacks, fishing rods included, and somewhat delayed by an afternoon storm, started our trip later than planned. We took a forest trail that saw us chat two by two, drenched by sudden rain and amazed at the sight of tiny forest frogs, chipmunks and squirrels. Sudden wing flaps made room for guessing games about the birds we could not see, and so did crunching noises coming from farther away.

We kept our path and hit the lake two hours later. The adventure that followed included hiking through a swampy terrain and finding our way through thickets, thus helping the boys understand what bushwhacking really means. Rain continued, feet dunked occasionally as we stepped over slippery logs, mud abounded, but all six of us kept going.

The youngest of us got to ride on shoulders most of the way because small feet can only do so much in moose paradise. It really was. We found a moose bed and though we didn’t get to see a real one, we knew they were near. Wild and proud, Canada made us mucky travelers humbled to be there.

Our guests loved it, the boys did too (more so after we reached the cabin we were headed to) and we all had the unmistakable feeling of victory as we approached the cabin in what could be described as complete darkness.

CelebrationWe peeled off drenched clothing, the boys huddled in a sleeping bag together for warmth and us adults made a big fire and got dinner going. Restaurant dining and a walk through town would’ve never made our guests see what we truly wanted to show them. Canada at its finest: colours, textures, smells, simple beauty that if seen and felt for real, would make anyone not only proud but willing to work their hardest to keep it like that.

A bucket of stars spilled on the night sky, and we found the brightest ones on the lake surface as well. The chilled air of the early fall was drawing steam from summer-warm lake waters and because dinner was taking a while anyway, we went for a night swim. Try it at least once.

We toasted to great adventures, resilience and togetherness, and then we had a sleep guarded by far away loons and a harvest moon that fit perfectly above tall pines.

Soup for breakfast, pumpkin bread and coffee, complete with fishing and exploring the surroundings. Then we were ready to head back, hoping for a boat to take us across the lake so we can avoid swamp trekking.

Out of the blue, a boat came. We called on it, asked if crossing would be possible and the man graciously obliged. Two by two, we were deposited to the other side, leaving the swamps to the moose, because they do it better anyway.

We asked the man for his contact details so we can repay his kindness. Smiling he said ‘Not to worry, just pay it forward.’ We smiled back and promised we will. We do often; random acts of kindness are the best way to feel yourself human.

We trekked back. Rain and bright sun accompanied us and when we reached the car we knew the trip had become more than we ever hoped it would be. Our guests got to see what Canada is made of. Beautiful wilderness and kindness to start with; two valuable assets we should keep on guarding because they are part of the foundation we build our identity on. It definitely made us proud to say ‘Welcome to Canada!’

Tales Of Ponds And The Physics Principle We Cannot Escape

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On August 13, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Social issues

Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday August 8, 2014.

The day was heavy…I woke up to a hazy sky and had my thoughts clumped under it the whole day. Tailings pond disasters, the humanitarian crisis in Irak, the Ebola outbreak… The list is longer than we care to admit or even know.

We cannot do much about many of the crises in the world other than sign petitions when needed, donate money or goods when possible, and hope.

As for the the tailings pond sad story at home, that is one we can deal with more directly. Some more than they ever bargained for.

Environmental disasters should not happen when there are warning signs to be heeded, not when there are ways to prevent them. Not only is this story not new, but there is a rather worrying precedent of having the disaster in the news for a while and then washed thoroughly in corporate crocodile tears promising cleanup and making amends, but really, much of the aftermath is left in the hands of those who are living with it every day, many of whom likely said no to a potentially risky project to begin with and end up with the worst of it when the proverbial fan gets hit.

The Mount Polley disaster is a sad and anger-causing occurrence, but also a nudge towards considering how our own back yard or part of it could change should something similar take place nearby. Yes, the Ajax mine tailings pond suddenly become more threatening than before.

The problem with environmental disasters like that (the word is harsh, I agree, but so is even a ladle-full of arsenic, let alone a few hundred thousand of them) is that they linger for a long time. It’s not like spilling milk on the kitchen floor.

There are 7 billion of us and growing, and the planet’s resources are dwindling as we speak. In an effort and rush to get the most profit over a short period of time, companies often forgo extra security measures or delay the process of making sure safety comes first. A double whammy if you will.

Then the unthinkable happens and the PR team gets busy. Ethical issues become as appealing as eating a handful of dirt and often they are pushed to the side in ways that are more surreptitious than they should be. That too is an art in itself.

Whether we’re dealing with mines, tar sands, or fracking, the question that comes back every time with more vengeance is this: what is happening to social conscience and to truly understanding and facing the consequences of our actions when we go that way?

What is driving us humans to put our own environment at risk, and why doesn’t the thought of a possible disaster make us all shudder knowing that should we sicken our environment, our own health is affected?

Here’s a thing I keep repeating: no matter how far or close one is from the actual site of a natural resource exploration site, the effects of such enterprises can leave a serious imprint on our world, let alone when disasters happen. We’re in it together.

The hazy sky over Kamloops today was not from any local wildfire but from down south.

We share the planet, we share the consequences of our collective actions. When people oppose mines and pipelines they do not do it because it’s trendy to do so but because they ask loudly ‘What if?’ and because the answer is a complex, often scary one. Even scarier when it becomes reality.

We are not disconnected from the natural world that keeps us alive, I choose to stubbornly believe that; we are just temporarily absorbed by a life that happens too fast and it dazzles us with too much.

We cannot be disconnected because we cannot afford to. There’s nothing remotely positive about the recent Mount Polley disaster but if we agree that knowledge is power, let’s use the power of having just learned that disasters can happen in preventing future ones.

How? That points to another recurrent theme: needs before wants. Nothing else will do. Not when there are so many of us and more coming. Not when we have one planet between all of us to share.

We are but part of the world we live in, and not its uncontested masters. The old physics principle of ‘for every action there is a reaction’ still applies, and recent happenings show that actions can sometimes trigger reactions we are not prepared to deal with or cannot fix any time soon. So why not do it better then?

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