Value chain

In her lovely book The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, Elisabeth Tova Bailey mentions one of the ironies of nature: those species lowest on the food chain, the microbes and worms and molluscs and insects, not to mention plants, contribute most to the construction and maintenance of the planet and would be missed the most; those species highest on the food chain, the mammals and of course humans, contribute least and would hardly be missed if every one of us died. In fact, humans contribute most to the destruction of the planet. The acme of evolution seems to be leading to the nadir of the world.

Even more embarrassing, most species have been on earth far longer, are far more diverse and profligate than Homo sapiens. We're a bit of a blip, yet a blip with the power of a million atomic bombs. Our little Holocene epoch of geological time, our little 12,000 years or so, is killing off species at a faster rate than ever before. What makes us think we're invulnerable?

It seems to me it wouldn't take much to return humans to a position of real power. How about being impressed not by a Lexus but by a snail? How about de-gassing vanity? Just a little rebellion, perhaps, against all the traditional philosophical systems that encourage feelings of power and glory and this nonsense of the Great Chain of Being. Maybe a dash of consciousness about self-consciousness: the thing that allows me to reflect on these issues is the same thing that puffs me up and blinds me. Maybe put your watch in your pocket. Help an old species across the street. Stop and smell the prose. Love thy nuthatch as thyself.

Merely a few minor suggestions....

Or just take a walk through the woods and along the shore, imagining the incredible lives all around and below and above and behind and beyond in time and space.

Creative Economy

The huge paper mills in Millinocket and East Millinocket are quiet. Once the largest in the world, they have been shuttered, to the devastation of the local community and its tax base and its work force. The devastation they themselves produced - the clear-cutting, the chemicals, the noise - has in turn devastated the lives of the town people, perhaps forever. In the world of the mining of natural resources, one apparently lives and dies by the sword.

The towns are not sitting back and capitulating. Many people are trying still to save the mills, including US Rep. Mike Michaud, who grew up working there. The high school seeks to remain open by recruiting paying students from China. But most are hoping for succor from new sources of cash, from a more creative (so-called) economy. In this part of the Great North Woods, so close to Baxter State Park, gateway to 10 million acres of the Unorganized Territories, this is code for tourism.

Unfortunately, in most people's minds, a tourist is not a person particularly interested in local flora and fauna, or hiking, or beautiful vistas, or local history, or wilderness experiences, or even local people (except as "help"). A tourist these days is someone from the city who complements an hour or two of mental or physical exertion with utter luxury for the rest of the day. He wants a hotel with spas and lobbies and soft beds, a suitable collection of restaurants, and shopping if it rains; and if he does go out into the wilderness to see a loon or a moose, he wants a guide. This sad state of affairs is the same all over the world, from Azerbaijan to Zanzibar. Every city council, every tourist organization, every government produces the same plan - a luxury resort, or two, possibly with an "eco-center."

Judging by recent news reports, Millinocket seems to be no different. I would hope that Maine might be a little more creative in this transition from exploiting the land, for example, with real eco-tourism, or support for local arts and crafts, or sustainable farming. But as with Plum Creek on Moosehead Lake, and the Modena family's wish to develop the incredibly beautiful Schoodic Peninsula, the "quiet" side of Acadia National Park, Millinocket wants a quick fix to its troubles. Say a resort does get built. After a certain hoo-ha, after a few construction jobs, how will it really benefit the people? The jobs on offer will be mostly menial; the real money stays out-of-state. The tax base may increase; the people base does not. And who's to say people will actually come, when every other destination is offering the same formula? With better weather?

Maiden Tiff

I'll never be able to climb Maiden Cliff in innocence again. It was bad enough with that young maiden falling to her death in the 19th century. It was bad enough that the large white cross raised in her memory stuck in your view and reminded you on a beautiful Sunday afternoon that you hadn't been to church in ages. It was bad enough when you walked to the edge and had to imagine falling 800 feet. Now we've got a tangled murder/suicide/marital tiff/clumsy husband/weird wife story to sort out.

Every other day a new story wrinkle emerges. First the couple just fell off the mountain, the wife somehow being able to walk and flag down some help for her husband. Then she accuses him of hitting her on the head with a rock and pushing her over the edge. Then she says he's involved with another woman. Then she says her recent inheritance of $4 million from her father's estate is a motive. Then she says he's tried it before, by falling off a ladder onto her, and by employing the same rock trick on the top of Mt. Battie.

All he says is that he blacks out a lot (his name is Black, after all) and doesn't remember. All I say is, Why is she climbing mountains with this guy? and How did he manage to fall as well? and What would be a suitable monument to stupidity? Might as well put it up and ruin the view forever.

Let me count the ways

Bullfrogs croaking in the marshy places and in the vernal pools

Blue wildflowers in a little wood next to a house (are they Baby Blue Eyes? I wish! What a name!)

Skunk cabbages in muck

A warmish day after yesterday's obligatory cold, hard rain off the ocean, perilously close to sleet

Clearing the gardens of their leaf duvets

The yellowish-green stubs of hosta and day lily

Turtles warming in the sun

Weeds

The robin scouting the bush next to our door for its annual nest, and periodically attacking the window above it, as if seeing a rival in the glass

The melting of the last of the snow pile at the end of the driveway

Sitting on the deck for a chilly five minutes, but sitting on the deck

Spring