Originally published as a column in the Armchair Mayor News on Friday, November 28, 2016.
The last two weeks have been tragic in many ways. If you’ve read the news and are perhaps waiting for something positive on the diesel spill near Bella Bella, you most likely know about the unacceptable low-class response that came from the government.
Yes, the Department of Fisheries and Oceans PR team build a nice little positive update stating that the tug boat that leaked diesel into the water has been pumped clean and the attention is now focused on removing the Nathan E. Stewart barge from the waters near Bella Bella. Right. And then?
Then not much. Our premier said that what we have learned from this spill is that the federal government needs to provide better spill response for any future unfortunate incidents. As for the environmental impact of the spill, including the local economy and way of life… chances are you won’t hear much from either the provincial or the federal government.
The latter is likely pondering over the slew of lawsuits that come with the latest governmental insistence that the LNG terminal near Prince Rupert must continue. It will be a big mess, if we are looking at the Muskrat Falls protests that just about wrapped up this last Wednesday though many scientific arguments were brought against the LNG plant, nothing influenced the federal mind towards rethinking the project.
If it sounds topsy-turvy, it’s only because it is. Who is then to stand up for what’s right environmentally speaking? Ideally us, the people who live here and raise our children here hoping that the world we leave to them will be a liveable one. The question is: are we? Are we united in adopting the one goal that can see us alter the course just enough to ensure survival? Hard to tell at times.
A couple of weeks ago my family and I drove through Cache Creek and witnessed a road check by conservation officers. They were searching for poached animals. A few days later I heard on the radio that over 70 wildlife act violation tickets were handed out and some warnings as well. That was of course, in a small community in the interior. Care to guess what the province-wide poaching stats look like? Your guess is as good as any and no one can tell real numbers since there are far too few conservation officers in the field and the paper work that is done by those tied to their desks does not include poaching numbers.
I’m ready to say if you describe these scenarios to anyone without mentioning this is happening in Canada, they’d never guess it was here. After all, we should have world-class spill response units and technology in place, we should have objective and careful documenting of environmental consequences following a spill, we should by now have a ban in place that will protect the West Coast and preserve its pristineness and yes, we should have enough conservation law enforcement officers and tough enough laws that will deter most of the marauders from poaching. People should not be expected to fend for themselves like the Heiltsuk Nation people are doing now and there should be news of the spill all over so people can stay informed, talk about it and help. No environmental crisis should be ignored, no desperate outcry muffled by pollical positivity that can almost (and cruelly so) pass for facetiousness.
Our planet overall is not doing too well either. Climate change is still debated in some circles (beats me) but there are signs that cannot be ignored and science-based facts that stare us in the face. Among them, a recently published report that predicts the disappearance of two thirds of all the wildlife should we not adopt some quick and drastic changes to how we live as citizens of a planet suddenly too small too crowded and seriously taken for granted. It’s enough to make one tear up and ask how this is possible.
Pollution, unrestricted logging, and large scale farming add to the changes brought upon by a now finicky climate, and the ultimate consequences have to do with our existence on this planet. Human life is intricately and intimately connected with that pf other forms of life, from bacteria to large mammals and from invisible plankton to old-growth trees. Seeing the connection becomes a game changer. Educating ourselves and acting out of respect for life in general is not an invitation anymore, it’s an act of civil duty worthy of everyone who care about being alive.
The said crossroad cannot be ignored. It’s a simple question: What’s it going to be? If we are to prevail, something must change. Any less reminds me of a song by an Irish group called Flogging Molly: ’’Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess/Singing drunken lullabies…’ Late as it may be, there is still time to change the tune.
Every week on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays there is a pile of newspapers which my eldest son delivers to people in the neighborhood. Size-wise, Tuesdays are ok, Fridays are occasionally daunting and Thursdays are downright scary. The number of flyers is scary. They cover everything you could think of: food, clothing, cars and trucks, lottery, toys, appliances, furniture and much more.
My son aptly remarked that many people only want their Thursday paper because of the flyers. There’s an inch or so that he lugs around with each paper on his routes. It adds up. But every week that many? How much new stuff can there be on sale every week?
It’s precisely at 7.30 in the morning that we make our way out. Every morning that is. Routines can come close to boring at times but not this one. Poppy and I take to the trails, each curious to see what’s changed since the day before. Yes, nighttime is a time of secrets and small miracles happening in the tall grasses that sing ever so softly as we walk along, parting them with each step.
The trails pup and I find tranquility on are but islands of wilderness in the midst of residential propriety, shaggy grasses and tall bushes attracting wildlife that used to call it home before any of us did. It is all different now but perhaps this is the compromise that can keep things in balance. For now.
The wild flax flowers are rarer these days as it gets hotter. Along wild-growing poppies, their blue is as convincing as the sky itself and just as addictive. My two most favourite. A few middle-aged red-eyed Susan flowers are staring into the morning sun, feeding on its brightness not realizing it will become the heat punishment of later.
There are purple daisy look-alikes that are part of a big family of wildflowers called asters. Shooting stars (also purple, as if that is the choice colour for the wildflowers here) and dandelions, and then, the surprise of a new apparition (yes, purple) delicate looking and of a kind I have yet to learn about.
We follow the path up into the forest patch. Bugs tasting pollen and sliding on grass stalks, a balancing worth stopping for, there is so much life to see other than where I step next… Mushrooms push out of the dirt in shady areas, making themselves visible to us and the occasional slug sliding its sticky way across the path looking for supper. The very definition of slow food.
We stop at the top to look around. Clouds gather over one side of the sky, hinting at the promised last night’s rain that never came close enough to here. We saw it in the distance, a drape of white steam covering part of the northern landscape, making its way across hills of brown and tired green… a big tease in all…
We stop to say hello to the traffic ladies, our friends on the road. They see Poppy grow, admire her foxy looks and laugh when I tell them that someone thought her a wolf the other day… We talk about the unfairness of killing wolves to rectify our wilderness-invading wrongs, about the absurdity of grizzly bear trophy hunts and there’s mentioning of bees and pesticides. How refreshing to not have political correctness stop relevant topics from unfolding.