A few weeks ago, I followed a hawk that was following the cliff edge above the beach, flying into the wind. It rarely flapped its wings, except when the wind gusted; then it flapped them slowly, just enough to not lose ground — or air, I should say. It reminded me of taking my chocolate Lab tubing on the rivers of western Massachusetts. She’d float alongside us, dog-paddling only when necessary to sustain her momentum or skirt an obstacle, working with, rather than against, the forces of nature.
I was supposed to be camping in a sky-island pine forest at 7,000 feet. I’ve been there before, in summer. It was hot and dusty, but the soft breezes wafting that sweet pine aroma made it a haven nonetheless, and I’d been looking forward to returning this fall. However, October heat waves are not uncommon where I live, so the trip was a gamble from the start. Earlier in the week, a red-flag warning was issued, then lifted, followed by the yellowy band of an “excessive heat watch.” Overnight it grew into an excessive heat warning, now solid red. That morning, when I should have been packing the car, it was already 92 degrees in the ridgetop pine forest. There is only one way in and out of this place: an unkempt mountain road with steep drop-offs, crumbling asphalt and no cell signal. I decided not to risk it.
At the beach there was thick fog, and it was 10 degrees cooler there than just a mile up the road, where the sun was out. No excessive heat here, thanks to coastal weather. Meanwhile, people in the Southeastern U.S. were trying to reassemble their lives in the wake of one unprecedented hurricane while awaiting the landfall of another. We are like that hawk, navigating stiff headwinds and trying not to lose ground against runaway climate change. And we are like my chocolate Lab, submitting to the current yet steering around obstacles as they arise. We are staring into the eye of an extremely consequential presidential election, with misinformation circulating widely and rapidly, peddled as truth to overly trusting voters while others unknowingly have had their voting rights revoked.
At moments like these, I find myself asking: How can we do the least harm? How can we make wise choices, with an understanding of how our actions will affect the future? How can we work with, rather than against, nature to get out of this mess? By seeking facts. By showing up, and knowing when it’s time to leave. By being vigilant, and being prudent. By flapping our wings enough to make progress, yet reserving energy for the long journey ahead.
We welcome reader letters. Email High Country News at editor@hcn.org or submit a letter to the editor. See our letters to the editor policy.
Republish our articles for free, online or in print, under a Creative Commons license.
