Bad moon on the rise
When we came back from rural Nova Scotia, almost two years ago now, my head was filled with visions of apocalyptic immediate futures. There were times both towards the end of our stay there and after our return here when I thought it might be sheer madness for us to not immediately find ourselves a quiet piece of land somewhere and start learning how to look after our own needs.
Somehow, in the last 20 months, in the hullabaloo of some unaccustomed career success, a little bit of attention, a couple of nice book contracts (one for currency that may not be worth much in a few years), it was easy to put on the blinkers and stop worrying quite so much about everything. Here in the city, surrounded by busy excitement, interesting culture, young people brimming with life, high-technology ideas, and enthusiasm for the future, it's been easy to forget the worries I had living an admittedly pampered life in the country. There, I saw first-hand, every day, what it was like to live in a community where many people had to spend some part of every day trying to figure out how to scratch together the resources to stay warm and look after their children.
When we first got back to city life, I was determined to learn more about things like solar cooking and urban agriculture and had visions of getting at least a small hunk of land somewhere on which I could build a cabin, a hideout of some kind. Now after a couple of years even those trivially inadequate ambitions have reached a vanishing point. There are a few mutterings to those who wonder about my efforts to protect a window box full of tomatoes from the voracious urban squirrels that "it's important for all children to see at least a bit of food growing at their houses." I use the thyme I grow to season the incredibly costly meat that I buy at the corner market -- well at least I walk there and I use a re-usable shopping bag, and I idly surf the coal-fueled internet looking for some product in a plastic bottle I can buy online to repel the squirrels from my little box of veggies, while still, perhaps, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, realizing that there may come a day, sooner than I had anticipated, when the squirrels will be a thing of the past because we will have had to feed them to our kids.
So now, I wake up on the first post-teaching morning of the term, keen to shirk a few responsibilities and go off to get some exercise. But first, of course, I have to charge up the Ipod and while I'm doing that, I might as well browse through the news, which contains stories like this and this. There's no denying it. Eight thousand Americans are receiving foreclosure notices every day. The US economy is crumbling to dust and it is going to happen quickly -- within 10 years the landscape south of the border will be vastly different. Many will die. Many are dying. Energy prices will fly through the roof. Eventually, we'll stop buying the plastic toys that have driven them there, but by then it will be far too late for many of us. Food riots right now seem like something remote to the average North American, but not forever. In the worst but not extremely unlikely scenarios, my son, perhaps as a teenager or young man, may need to use his fists if he wants to fill his belly. I may not be around to help him.
I've got an offer to go build a cabin on a self-sustaining farm this summer. On days like this I'm thinking it might actually be an immoral act for me not to find the time to do it. But right now I'm going to plug these things into my ears and go deny for one more hour. I'm not sure how long I can keep it up, though.
Somehow, in the last 20 months, in the hullabaloo of some unaccustomed career success, a little bit of attention, a couple of nice book contracts (one for currency that may not be worth much in a few years), it was easy to put on the blinkers and stop worrying quite so much about everything. Here in the city, surrounded by busy excitement, interesting culture, young people brimming with life, high-technology ideas, and enthusiasm for the future, it's been easy to forget the worries I had living an admittedly pampered life in the country. There, I saw first-hand, every day, what it was like to live in a community where many people had to spend some part of every day trying to figure out how to scratch together the resources to stay warm and look after their children.
When we first got back to city life, I was determined to learn more about things like solar cooking and urban agriculture and had visions of getting at least a small hunk of land somewhere on which I could build a cabin, a hideout of some kind. Now after a couple of years even those trivially inadequate ambitions have reached a vanishing point. There are a few mutterings to those who wonder about my efforts to protect a window box full of tomatoes from the voracious urban squirrels that "it's important for all children to see at least a bit of food growing at their houses." I use the thyme I grow to season the incredibly costly meat that I buy at the corner market -- well at least I walk there and I use a re-usable shopping bag, and I idly surf the coal-fueled internet looking for some product in a plastic bottle I can buy online to repel the squirrels from my little box of veggies, while still, perhaps, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, realizing that there may come a day, sooner than I had anticipated, when the squirrels will be a thing of the past because we will have had to feed them to our kids.
So now, I wake up on the first post-teaching morning of the term, keen to shirk a few responsibilities and go off to get some exercise. But first, of course, I have to charge up the Ipod and while I'm doing that, I might as well browse through the news, which contains stories like this and this. There's no denying it. Eight thousand Americans are receiving foreclosure notices every day. The US economy is crumbling to dust and it is going to happen quickly -- within 10 years the landscape south of the border will be vastly different. Many will die. Many are dying. Energy prices will fly through the roof. Eventually, we'll stop buying the plastic toys that have driven them there, but by then it will be far too late for many of us. Food riots right now seem like something remote to the average North American, but not forever. In the worst but not extremely unlikely scenarios, my son, perhaps as a teenager or young man, may need to use his fists if he wants to fill his belly. I may not be around to help him.
I've got an offer to go build a cabin on a self-sustaining farm this summer. On days like this I'm thinking it might actually be an immoral act for me not to find the time to do it. But right now I'm going to plug these things into my ears and go deny for one more hour. I'm not sure how long I can keep it up, though.
posted by Colin at 9:38 AM
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