Subject: [Tweeters] Fill of inspiration
Date: Jul 30 09:26:39 2006
From: csidles at isomedia.com - csidles at isomedia.com


Hey tweets, following the recent threads on tweeters about overpopulation
and the bleak future of the environment, I find it is all too easy to get
discouraged, simply by looking around the world.

A psychologist friend of mine, John Jenson, used to say that people make
emotional and intellectual judgments based on what he called an evidence
system. In this case, what evidence do we have about how the environment
is doing?

Well, there is plenty of evidence of doom: global warming; the growing
energy demands of gigantico third world countries such as China, India,
and Indonesia; plummeting bird populations. You know the litany.

There is also plenty of evidence for hope: improving air quality; the
return of raptors from the brink of extinction; the success of the Nature
Conservancy's strategy of combining private buyouts of land with
widespread agreements with other large landowners to maximize the
preservation of important ecosystems.

The problem with judging an issue as big as saving the environment,
however, is that no amount of evidence seems to justify the amount of
success or failure that I myself can achieve in my little corner of the
world. The things that I can do personally seem so small, and the problem
seems so large. The evidence I see around the world - either pro or con -
does not give me much traction. What I need is not evidence, but
inspiration.

For that, I go to the Fill.

Two days ago, feeling bummed out, I plunked my camp stool in the middle of
the dense foliage around the secluded pond near the dime parking lot. I
turned my back to the trail and the traffic and focused on the pond before
me. It was my feeble attempt to shut out a world that was making my
stomach churn.

The pond itself is not beautiful by conventional standards. Scum covers
its surface, and dead snags poke up like petrified strands of Medusa's
hair. But green cattails wave in the breeze, too, and wildflowers bloom.
In my curmudgeonly mood, I noted that some of those wildflowers are purple
loosestrife, a plant all too accurately termed noxious by the state.

As my thoughts turned to the dark side again, I heard two birds chipping
in the willow beside my head. I froze. Soon a common yellowthroat popped
into view just inches away. A juvenile, newly come into this old world of
ours. The bird cocked its head at me, black eye glinting in the sun. It
was so close I could see the feathery edges of its plumage lift slightly
in the breeze. The yellow of its throat shaded into cream and olive. Its
little feet clutched the reed to which it clung. It stayed like that for a
second, perhaps two, and then twitched its tail and hopped onto a branch.
It began chipping again, answered by another yellowthroat. Its mother? A
sibling? I don't know. I caught only a brief glimpse of the second bird.
Meanwhile the first bird, having decided that I posed no immediate threat,
came back to its reed perch. It gave me a short glance, just to see that I
was still quite unable to eat it, then it flicked its way along the
foliage, picking up bugs here and there. If it stayed still for more than
a second, I could have seen its tiny heart beating, but it never stayed
still that long. Hunting, flicking, pecking, crouching, leaping, flapping
- that tiny creature was filled from head to claw with the very force of
life itself. Amazing that something so small could be so alive.

I remember when my son went to boot camp. He had been told that the Marine
Corps would provide everything for him, so he walked out the door carrying
absolutely nothing. I stopped him and asked where was his bag? He said he
didn't need anything. I asked him, "Not even a toothbrush?" Nope, the
Marines would provide. But what, I asked, if the Marines were a little
slow in providing a toothbrush? Shouldn't he take at least a backup
toothbrush? No. He left unencumbered by anything, as free as a bird.

It wasn't until I shared a piece of the planet with the common
yellowthroat that I could really appreciate what it means to be free as a
bird. Soon the yellowthroat will leap into the sky and head south for the
winter. It will leave unencumbered by anything, certainly not a
toothbrush. It will somehow find its way to its wintering grounds and live
there till spring, when it will fly all the way back to the pond near the
dime parking lot. It will be less than a year old, and yet it will do
this.

I cannot, by my own single efforts, stop global warming. I can't reduce
overpopulation. I can't restore the vast flyways that supported untold
billions of migrating birds. But I can make sure that the ugly, scummy
little pond by the dime parking lot is still there when the yellowthroat
returns. Maybe I can make that ugly little pond a little more beautiful. I
can show friends and family the wonder of that little bird so that they
will understand and help. I can talk to the gardeners at the Fill and let
them know the importance of cover and clean water. Most of all, I can
share my sense of wonder with others and hope that they too will see it as
I do and bend every effort to make just a little corner of the world
better. And if that spreads? Think what we can do.

Here's everything I saw two days ago and yesterday:

pied-billed grebe
Canada goose
mallard
gadwall
HOODED MERGANSER (JUVENILE!)
wood duck
American coot
glaucous-winged gull
great blue heron
killdeer
long-billed dowitcher
least sandpiper
PEREGRINE FALCON (hunting over the main pond!)
belted kingfisher
rock pigeon
Anna's hummingbird
northern flicker
Vaux's swift
tree swallow
violet-green swallow
barn swallow
cliff swallow
American crow
black-capped chickadee
bushtit
Bewick's wren
American robin
European starling
cedar waxwing
common yellowthroat
red-winged blackbird
white-crowned sparrow
savannah sparrow
song sparrow
spotted towhee (juvenile)
house finch
American goldfinch - Connie, Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com