Here in Western Minnesota we’re experiencing an unusual dearth of snow this year. A slight covering of flakes one day and then meltdown the next. It reminds me of four years ago, our first in this northern prairie, only more extreme on the side of minimalism.
Last year we were buried amongst towering drifts and I had to put on snowshoes in order to reach and refill the bird feeders. But the weather predictions suggest that what we are now experiencing is likely to be the new normal.
If I’m going to become a proper Minnesotan it seems I should not have to gaze out at brown lawns and puddles in the middle of January. Something is amiss. Today on the East Coast there is a force which has been named Juno, after the Roman Goddess Queen of war and fertility, pounding the coast and blizzarding across 7 states. It could be she caught that lascivious naughty Jupiter cavorting with a sea nymph in a romantic hideaway in old Cape Cod and yanked the jet stream right off the Canadian Clipper thoroughfare and hurled it towards their rendezvous. It wouldn’t be the first time. More likely it’s a collaborative human error, piling up ecological travesty in the face of scientific admonitions.
You know when the Pope, bless his heart, announces that he is writing a papal edict about the reality of global warming and climate change, we’re in deep trouble. And don’t just take my word for it. According to Paul, my favorite Twin Cities weatherman – “Fourteen of the 15 warmest years on record have been observed since 2000. An estimated 93 percent of the extra warmth is going into the world’s oceans.” Gulp!
If, like me, you feel utterly helpless and distressed and furious at those world “leaders” who, seemingly without shame or forethought, continue to pull our world towards its demise, then I can sympathize. Oh, I add my name to every petition that crosses my computer screen. I rant to friends and write letters to politicians. I reprint articles and pass them out. But really, I ask you, do you think it’s working?
Nothing left to do but join virtual hands, take a deep breath, set our sights on global protection for Mother Earth, and chant together – “I do believe, I do believe, I do believe.” Or something like that. If collective thought can bring Tinkerbell back to life, just maybe it can change the planetary consciousness whatever the words. If you have any better ideas, please let me know. I’m open. OM.