Today at the store I refused a plastic bag, saying to the young man at the register, “They are so bad for the environment. And straws, no straws allowed.”
He looked at me and said, “Yeah. No straws.” And then, “Twelve years. We have 12 years. Nobody listened, nobody paid attention. Nobody heard what the scientists were saying.”
It hit me what these young people, who have grown up in the Catastrophic Generation of gunfire and collapsing towers and blood, contaminated food and water, terrible anger and silencing sarcasm, and the peculiar loneliness of the unheard, have to look forward to. Whether the burning of the planet begins in 12 years or 24 years or longer, theirs will be a terribly difficult life.
He and I observed a tiny moment of silence, a desperate little church of two. I could see that he was angry, so angry. Angry at all of us. And scared.
“We tried,” I said. “There just weren’t enough of us.” He nodded and turned back to his register and to the next customer waiting in line.
As I walked back to the car, I remembered my daughter saying, “We are all really depressed, Ma. We work and stuff, kinda pretending that these things are not going to happen, but I mean, look what’s been left for us.” I could only nod.
I got home, went directly to our rain barrel and cupping my hands, carried water to the giant oak in the way back of our yard. I splashed water on her bark, and said, “I ordain you, Mother Tree. I ordain you because you love us. And you never leave us, staying true to your nature and to your work. You are my teacher. I adore you.”
I took water in a beautiful blue bowl, across the street to the True Queen of all the Trees, the perfectly shaped towering oak which stands by herself directly opposite my front door. I threw water on her bark, and on a few of the acorns under her branches, and said, “I ordain you, True Queen of All the Trees, in recognition of your perfect structure, your grandeur, the strength of your trunk, the soaring of your branches when they shake hands with the wind. I applaud your tremendous size, the majesty of your presence to me. You are my teacher. I adore you.”
Now I have two ordained trees, one before me and one behind me. I hope it is enough. I want it to be enough.
It will never be enough.
today, young people seem to be in a quiet despair and lack empowerment. Where are the Joanna Macys and other deep ecologists? I have run a workshop initiated by Macy called the Council of All Being and adapted it for college aged students to allow them to see that they have a part to play in slowing down and even changing the tide of destruction. They have to sign a petition related to any aspect of earth destruction and present the issue behind it as part of their participation mar. They learn more form this three hour workshop and the research they have to do in preparation than they have ever learned before. Empowerment is the the secret, as in your article.
There are many answers — many ways our terrible problem could be addressed if we had the will, but I applaud you for thinking of the trees. The trees fight pollution and global warming. I belong to an organization that plants a tree every month for me. I need to be planting more.
I read this aloud today to a group of writer friends, and had to stop as my voice was clotted with weeping. This is an essay filled with pain as well as redemption. Afterwards we talked about the huge climate change protests across Europe led by teenaged women. So much hope is right here in front of us. Cardinals on winter branches, wolves repopulating wilderness areas, strangers talking to strangers in grocery stores. And young people stepping up to change the world they were born to.
buzzfeednews.com/article/lesterfeder/europe-climate-change-protests-teens?