Sea Gulls in a Target Parking Lot in Durham, NC

The first time I saw them I thought they were ghosts, the ocean’s ghosts lost at land.  I was in a Target parking lot when I first set eyes on them – a flock of lily-white seas gulls in Durham, NC – 2+ hours from the nearest ocean.  They made this parking lot their home sea.  The ebb and flow of customer and car traffic had become their new tide, and the streetlights their forever twilight – replacing the subtle star lights of liberated waters.  I was curious of their presence, confused by their being. Why here, and why of all places, Target?  I suppose it could have just as well been a Wal-Mart or a mall parking lot – any parking lot really that gave the appearance of empty vastness, except on one Black Friday of every year.  Surely these sea gulls had gotten lost.  Maybe they had been carried on the winds of Hurricane Fran; maybe they arrived via Target trailer truck.  Whatever the reason, these sea gulls were real, no ghosts of the sea, no mind mirages from a late night trip to Target. These sea gulls were lost sea spirits in a sea-less, nature-less world.  These sea gulls would have baby sea gulls, and grandbaby sea gulls that would never see the sea.  Generations of sea gulls would be created from this small flock – at which point, would it be appropriate to even call them sea gulls at all?  One day these sea gulls would become parking lot gulls, or Target gulls (Larus targetus). One day this new species would be so distinctly different from all her sea gull friends that she would no longer be able to mate with the sea gulls of the real sea.  She would be a new species, independent in her own right. And we – human beings – helped make her. We played God unaware. Unknowingly we created a new species of pigeon in sea gull form.

Unknowingly we as humans are playing like gods every day – selecting for those species, which are most opportunistic, most adaptable to our human and urban environments.  As we continue to colonize this planet, we are losing old species, selecting others, and quite possibly creating new ones. 

I had a high school teacher who once asked me – If evolution suggests “survival of the fittest,” then what if this is how it is suppose to happen?  What if we, as humans, are meant to play this role of driving out species and depleting resources on our planet? What if it is meant to be that we lead ourselves (and our species friends) into an era of extinction? 

What legacy does any man or woman on this earth ever want to leave?  Most people want to leave children that will carry on their name; few may leave behind them libraries or college dormitories left in their name. 

We want to perpetuate the world in our likeness, but what if we considered perpetuating this world in our dislikeness? What if we as humans made it our prerogative to save a species, not like us?  What if, when we passed, we gave a small portion of our financial legacies to a species that needed our help?  Of course, children are the joys of our life, and we always need libraries.  But there is a world around us that is dying, and most of us don’t even know about it, let along care.  We are good to save what is us, but are we not more noble to also save what it is not us?

I suppose Target sea gulls have their place in this world.  I suppose sewer rats and pigeons do too. But how much more interesting a world it is when we have orangutans, manatees, and monarch butterflies?

Although we fell from our Garden of Eden, it does not mean we have to give in to destroying it.  We can be a willful, good people if we want to be. Let us be that people.  Target sea gulls (Larus targetus) of your lost sea, I pray that you find your path back to the sea again.  And Target people of your lost Eden, I pray that you too find your path back to your Eden of a life-full, life-giving world.

Monarch Melancholy

In November of 2012, 60 million Monarch butterflies were estimated to have migrated from southern Canada to northern Mexico.  In November of 2013, only 3 million Monarch butterflies were thought to have made the journey[1].   The sharp decline in Monarch butterflies over the past few years has unsettled the souls of scientists, naturalists, and ecologists everywhere.   What is contributing to the decline of these fragile, beautiful creatures?  Researchers across the U.S. have been conducting studies to pinpoint an answer.  The results from their studies are slowly being revealed.

http://www.nathab.com/photo-tours/latin-america/monarch-butterfly-photography-adventure/

According to a New York Times article published last week the reason for Monarch decline is directly related to both our farming and our landscape practices in the U.S¹.   Chemicals used on crops to kill weeds, are killing native vegetation on which Monarchs thrive.   Milkweed (Asclepias spp.) is the native plant, on which most Monarchs depend for food and reproduction. Additionally, the lack of native plants incorporated into our rural, urban, and suburban landscapes, is creating “food deserts” for Monarch butterflies.  However, this “food desert” reality is not only devastating Monarch populations, but it is also devastating populations of other pollinators, including native bees and honeybees.  Honeybee populations have been on the decline over the last several years as a result of the Varroa mite and a virus that causes a phenomenon in honeybee colonies, known as Colony Collapse Disorder[2].  Both diseases are exacerbated when honeybees cannot find native forage on which to feed².  The lack of native forage lowers immune system effectiveness in bees and thus increases their susceptibility to diseases.  Honeybees are vital to our food system and are responsible for the pollination of many of our nation’s crops. Collectively bee pollinated crops are thought to bring in approximately $15 billion in revenue to the U.S. each year[3].   Monarchs, butterflies, honeybees, and native bees are all pollinators that play an important role in the food we eat.

The good news:  We can stop the decline of both Monarchs and honeybees.  We can encourage policies that support preserving native flora landscapes on our farmlands, in our cities, and along our streets.  We can also plant more native flowers in our yards and home gardens.

The bad news: Does anyone really care?  Are there enough people, who care, to make a positive difference?

 I have shared my distress about the fate of the Monarch butterfly with others.  Some people have nodded their heads in sorrowful acknowledgement, while others have given me blank stares that say, “Why are you upset about a damn butterfly?”  I get it.  I can be weird sometimes, and a little over zealous about the environmental problems of our day.  However, I do not think I am wrong to feel sadness about this phenomenon that is occurring.  Our butterfly friends are ecological indicators, whose health is directly related to the health of our environments – and, in this instance, the health of our agricultural environments.  Without butterflies, bees, and other pollinators, we do not eat.  However, my sadness does not come from this reality alone.  My sadness also comes from a realization of what will be lost if the Monarchs cease to be.

Monarch butterflies are the type of creatures you would find in a J.K Rowling book.  They are mythical, mysterious, and almost believably magical.  Every year the great grandchildren of Monarch butterflies, who fly north to Canada in the spring, fly south to Mexico and California in the fall[4].  How these butterflies know where to fly and when, is still something of a mystery.  Every third generation of Monarch butterfly flies approximately 3,000 miles across the U.S.  When the Monarchs fly south in the fall they end their trips in Southern California or in the Trans-Mexican Volcanic Belt Pine-Oak Forests of Michoacán. In these destination locations, Monarchs congregate by the millions on trees throughout the forests to mate.  In her book, “Flight Pattern,” Barbara Kingsolver uses the following words to describe the spectacle that is the congregation of Monarchs[5]:

            “It looked like the inside of joy, if a person could see that.  A valley of lights,

an ethereal wind.”

http://www.nathab.com/photo-tours/latin-america/monarch-butterfly-photography-adventure/

Should Monarchs cease to be, the magic that is their existence will also cease to be.  I can see no greater loss of something so wonder-filled and beautiful.

I have hope that people will care that these butterflies are dying.  Hope is all I have as a naturalist.  However, I also have hope, because I know that by sharing the story of the Monarchs with others, they will be inspired too.  A few days ago, I shared the story of the Monarch butterfly with the young students I teach.  I expected most of them to give me the “Why are you upset about a damn butterfly?” stare.  However, much to my surprise every single student looked at me with a face of sincere sadness.  They shared with me in my grief, even if just for a moment.  Their faces gave me hope, and it is for them I write. I do not want a world without Monarch butterflies.  A world without Monarchs is almost as tragic as a world without Santa Claus.  Monarchs help us to believe in something unexplainable.  They help us believe in something greater than ourselves, and they help us to believe in a world that is beautiful.  We need butterflies and bees for our food system, yes, but we also need them to instill in us the kind of wonder that keeps us young and life-full.   

So I ask you to please join with me in my sadness, even if just for a moment. I also ask that you feel inspired.  There are many ways you can help improve the fate of the Monarchs and other pollinators.  Planting a butterfly garden that includes milkweed (Asclepias spp.) is a good place to start.  For more information on butterfly and pollinator gardens, please visit this site.  Please see this site for more information about how you can help protect Monarchs.  Be inspired and please help in any way that you are able.

I thank you for being with me in my grief. I hope for you wonder and light, and one day may you see the inside of joy. 

---

[1] Robbins, Jim.  “The Year the Monarch Didn’t Appear.”  New York Times.  November

            22, 2013. 

[2] USDA, EPA.  “USDA and EPA Release New Report on Honey Bee Health.”  May 2,

2013.  http://content.govdelivery.com/bulletins/gd/USDAOC-795a36

[3] Ostrow, Nicole.  “Honeybee Health Damaged by Common Fungicides, Study Finds.” 

            Bloomberg. July 24, 2013. 

           

[4] The Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation. 

            http://www.xerces.org/monarchs/

           

[5] Kingsolver, Barbara.  Flight Pattern.  HarperCollins Publisher.  New York, NY. 2012.

Seeds of Hope: A history of the Urban Garden Resiliency Oasis

A heartfelt thanks goes to Sarah Parsons and to the memory of our mutual friend Liam Rattray whose life was tragically cut short by a drunk driver in May 2011. A number of times before Liam’s passing, the three of us would discuss at great length about the need to explore the many alternative food systems taking root in major cities around the country and see how urban environments can benefit from them. Those conversations truly inspired me to see how I could get more involved in promoting food production in my own community. With assistance of my business partner Marcus Penny, who is the co-founder of Retrofit A Million we were able to become a strategic partner with the West Atlanta Watershed Alliance (WAWA) to ensure that modest means communities within Atlanta have access to healthy and fresh food.

The Urban Garden Resiliency Oasis (UGRO) is a ¾ acre urban garden situated in the heart of West End Atlanta, and was created to provide value added programming for our Applied Mentorship Program for Sustainability (AMPS) EcoTerns. For a majority of EcoTerns, it was the first time they were able to immerse in gardening and experience how healthy food is grown by creating an urban garden with their own hands!  Indeed, since we first broke ground in 2011 we have been able to build a water catchment system, two new compost areas, seven raised beds, a trellis, and a labyrinth in order to create an amazing space for community involvement. The resiliency oasis of our name is very intentional for us in order to not only create a space for urban food production in a food dessert but also establish a beacon of light to overcome the wars of our time. By this I mean, we are building for an era when gardens are front and center for hopes and dreams of a better world or just a better neighborhood, or even the fertile space where the two become one. Every time I enter UGRO, I am spurred by the hope to overcome the alienation of food, of labor, of embodiment, of land, the conflicts between production and consumption, between pleasure and work, the destructiveness of industrial agriculture, the growing problems of global food scarcity, the education debt we owe to urban youth. The list of ideals being planted and tended and sometimes harvested is endless, but the question is simple. What crops are you tending? What do you hope to grow? Hope? Community? Health? Pleasure? Justice? Urban Gardens represent the idealism of this moment and its principal pitfall, I think. An urban garden can be, after all, a sanctuary to retreat from our problems or the ground you stand on to take on the world. 

I have been so blessed to work with a tremendous group of volunteers, corporate groups, AmeriCorps members and Atlanta youth to build UGRO. Special thanks goes to Sarah whose transcendent beauty and knowledge about growing ensures I have the inspiration to see that UGRO is properly maintained. We share a mutual commitment in promoting a second “green revolution”, one that attempts to undo the destructive aspects of the first one, to make an organic and intimate agriculture system that feeds minds and hearts as well as bodies, that measures intangible qualities as well as quantity. In all honesty, so far we produce barely enough of a harvest to donate our food, but of course UGRO’s logic isn’t merely volume. The first green revolution may have increased yield in many cases, but it also increased alienation and toxicity, and it was efficient only if you ignored its fossil fuel dependency, carbon output, and other environmental impacts. It was an industrial revolution for agriculture, and what UGRO is promoting now is distinctly postindustrial, suspicious of the big and the corporate, interested in the old ways and the alternatives. This is more than a production project; it’s a reconnection project, which is why it is also an urban one—if we should all be connected to food production, food production should happen everywhere, urban and rural and every topsoil-laden crevice and traffic congested island in between. 

By working with Green4All, Georgia Organics, Southeastern Horticulture Society, the Atlanta Local Food Initiative, Truly Living Well, Farmer D, Atlanta ToolBank and West End Neighborhood Association partners and local faith based organizations, the goal of UGRO is to  become a site that will train a new generation of agtivists committed to providing fresh, healthy food available to all Atlantans, especially modest means communities and communities of color who typically have reduced access to quality produce at affordable prices. 

UGRO is committed to attracting urban garden practitioners to provide urban agricultural training & leadership through research and teaching to sustain an Atlanta ecosystem, enhance local economic development, and improve the quality of life in an urban setting. For more information about the program and to find out how you can help support UGRO, please checkout UGRO’s facebook page or contact Imran Battla at imran@retrofitamillion.org

Coming of Age with Trees

As a little girl I used to think trees were the most elegant and magical of creatures.  They held up the sky effortlessly - like hundreds of Atlases holding up the world together.  However, unlike the Atlas of Greek mythology my trees joyfully carried their burden - never once did they stop dancing.

In middle school I began to see trees as noble creatures.  It was in middle school I learned of death and the passage of time. Trees I realized were a constant in our lives.  They outlived us, watched us grow, watched our parents grow - and if you were a Quercus alba- watched our grandparents and our great grandparents grow.  Trees saw many changes in our lives and in the life of the world.  They possessed a wealth of knowledge I could never attain.

In college trees took on a spiritual meaning.  Not only were they holding up the sky, but they were also my connection to heaven.  Trees made heaven not seem so far away.

Soon after college I moved to the desert for a year, and I sorely missed my trees.  I never got used to being the tallest creature on the landscape.  I didn't feel qualified to hold up the sky.

Later in graduate school I spent a year helping cut down trees.  I worked with a University Forestry department marking pines that were ready for harvest.  It was in this capacity that I realized what it feels like to possess powers that are God-like, powers that maybe we were never meant to have - or that were never meant to be taken lightly.  In graduate school trees taught me about the burden of being human.

Would we dance with this burden, like the trees, or would we carry it like the Greek Atlas, ever so gravely and solemnly?

After describing to a high school teacher once my dreams to become an environmentalist, he told me:
      "Sarah, don't forget who made the trees."
I suppose he told me this out of fear I would turn into one of those Godless hippie liberals.

Well, Mr. Smith I may have turned out to be one of those hippie liberals, but I am not Godless.  I know who made the trees, and I have my thoughts on why He made them.  But let us be careful not to forget the trees themselves.  Let us not forget what the trees teach us.  And most of all let us not forget what they teach us in terms of the human condition.  Let us not forget that trees teach us about selflessness, joy, mortality, spirituality.  They teach us that the power that comes with being human should not be taken lightly. They teach us that we are powerful, but we are small.

And so I sit here, waiting for my next lesson in tree philosophy.... And hoping that others are open to learning too.

"Falling in Love with the Land"
-Sarah Parsons-
 No one ever writes about falling in love with a piece of land. All the love songs, the love poetry, the hallmark cards - they all talk about a man loving a woman or vice versa. It's all pretty straight, and lacking in diversity if you ask me. Why not love lyrics about loving other kinds of people, beings, places? We as a society are so focused on ourselves. And sadly, I think we will only continue to perpetuate this human focused perspective. (Please forgive the environmental "doom-and-gloom" in the next couple of sentences... I promise it only lasts until the next paragraph).  As the world's population grows we will likely become more anthropocentric. There will likely be more human suffering and we will be more sensitive to it. Dwindling resources have the potential to result in resource wars, and the question will never be - what can we do to protect the environment so that it can sustain people? - but it will be, what can we do to feed the person whose land has been so ruined by unsustainable human activity that it can no longer produce?

I am not generally a pessimist. It's strange now, even as I write this, I feel a hope within... a hope nurtured by friends, family, and the place I am in love with. All these issues do not seem as scary or dire if you have a little place in your world to which you can escape... a place which has somehow escaped the grasp of the problem. For me that place is my parent's backyard in Georgia. It's heaven on earth in my opinion, and there is no other place as beautiful. People would probably tell me that it doesn't look like much - nothing spectacular. But just as we all find beauty in our human partners, I find beauty in that piece of land. I know its contours, its tendencies in inclement weather, its dancing, its voice. I am overwhelmed by the beauty of familiarity when I revisit my parents' backyard. I am smitten. In humans, scientists say beauty lies in symmetry. But in nature, I would have to say beauty lies in the imperfections. They say that imperfections are what we come to love in our human partners as well. In nature, however, the imperfection is the love at first sight. It's the tree with a strange, unique color in the fall, or the tree with the wildly crooked branches, or the flower that popped up in the crack in a sidewalk, or the bird with an off-tune song. Of course in nature there is also beauty in the symmetrical and expected. But it's the imperfections in nature that captivate us and nature's way of reminding us that she's there - her call for attention, her confident assertion of her presence, as well as her plea for help, her way of asking us to care for her.

I recently saw a live oak whose limb protruded out over the water's edge in just such a way that it provided the perfect bench for the lonely passerby. The branch looked awkward, imperfect in every way. But the branch presented itself, and I sat. Upon sitting I realized I had not noticed any of the other live oaks around me. By sitting on this branch, this awkwardly beautiful branch, I saw, not one tree, but the whole forest, not one forest, but a greater reality than myself.

We are all capable of falling love with a place, and changing the course of our environmental future. Even for those of us who do not take the regular walk in the woods, it is possible to love a place- a natural place. All one must do is be observant of his/her surroundings. Once you do that - nature will do the rest. She is a seductive mistress, and she will present herself to you in wildly inappropriate ways. However, unlike some mistresses, once you notice her, she will never go away. She will be with you for life - ever faithful and loyal. So reader I beg of you seek nature's imperfection with an open heart and let yourself be loved.