The State of Nature

Reading Time: 3 minutes

Sometime in the near future…

As I walk along, I think of this trail as I hiked it decades ago. The signs posted at the trailhead used to say “Mountain Lion Warning.” On some trails, the warning signs would provide advice like “Be Large. Shout. If attacked, fight back”. I even remember some trails, not in this particular area, which posted “Grizzly Bear Warning.” The advice differed: “Play dead. Wait 10-20 minutes before getting up.”


On one hike, a friend and I debated the best strategy if someone was attacked by both a mountain lion and grizzly bear at the same time. I think we ended up agreeing they would be having a bad day and wouldn’t have to ”play” dead.


I know it may be hard to believe that nature is so domesticated and we are so used to it being that way. There was a time when I used to hike trails alone in wilderness areas with creatures which could maim or kill me. In truth, I didn’t worry much about it. I never thought it necessary to arm myself. I once saw a Griz on a distant hill preoccupied with eating wild berries. I kept a safe distance. I’ve come across black bears, even a mom with her cubs. I wasn’t alone then. Other hikers had stopped on the trail including parents with young kids. (You don’t have to outrun the bear; you just have to outrun the person next to you). An idiot with a camera made loud noises to get the mother bear to look up for a picture. She obliged. The startled cubs ran up a dead tree stump. But then Mama went back to her business. The bear could have easily turned and attacked the young kids. I should of fucking punched the photographer.


Should I feel nostalgic for a time when nature meant wilderness? When there was a real risk on the trail, particularly alone? The wild in nature has succumbed—either eliminated outright or domesticated on a farm somewhere. I do feel nostalgic for a time when I didn’t have to pay the “Nature Development Company” money for every single hike I go on.
The “Nature Development Company” is the most arrogant company I’ve ever heard of and their CEO Dr. Sedgewick the brashest person in charge. They refer to themselves simply as “Nature,” with a logo of the largest company on Earth. His company’s motto “We Own Nature” sickens and saddens me. The largest company on earth statement should be an allegory or slogan for real nature. Not for Nature itself. Instead, it means a redesign of nature for profit. You can always spot the troublemakers right off. They usurp the language.


I remember when the question “Who Owns Nature?” was a philosophical discussion. I argued with my friends, telling them they were confused. “You can’t monetize nature because we don’t add any value, not because it doesn’t have any value.” They always countered with, “People need jobs and have to live.” And I, “But I don’t see how charging people for something they used to get for free helps them.” They then dismissed or trivialized me as an idealist or a liberal. I always thought nature was inherently democratic. Apparently, I am wrong.


I trudge up the mountain, gaining almost 1200 feet. The emaciated remains of a deer lie just off the trail. I walk over to take a closer look to see if I can figure out how it died. The smell is pretty bad. I look at some scarring in its fur on its hind leg. The scarring is a brand. It says “Property of Nature.” Perfect, I think.


I finally summit. The view from the top is amazing and makes the hike all worth it. From the highest rock, I take a 360 pan shot carefully turning to rotate the camera. I have my trophy pictures. I take a couple of sips of water and eat my snack then start back.


A bee flies by. I wonder if it is a “Nature” bee or a “nature” bee. Nature’s first big success was co-opting bees. They genetically engineered bees to be attracted to a certain scent that genetically engineered plants produced when they flowered. The genetically engineered plants also produced a pesticide that killed wild bees but they cleverly made the Nature bees immune. Controlling both crops and pollination made Nature a trillion dollar business. And when wild bees interbred with Nature bees diluting the effectiveness of the mutual pairing, the company would patent another “scent” and charge their customers more for the next round of product, claiming the insecticides no longer worked. Even the treadmill of evolution seems to serve “Nature.”


I continue downhill made complacent by exercise, sunshine, and scenery. I smell the scent of sage. Or is it the company scent I smell? My nose doesn’t know. I guess even nature lies when told to.

A removed excerpt from “Property of Nature” after edits rendered the passage obsolete. Reproduced here with permission from the author (me).

The Gift of Giving

Reading Time: 7 minutes

Claxons blare and a red siren’s red light circles the room in earnest. The service dispatcher runs to the monitor, checks the screen, and says “Oh, my!” He picks up his microphone, depresses the button, and broadcasts, “We have a Christmas emergency over on Clayton Street. We still have a few hours before Christmas. Do I have a host that can run over there immediately?”

“What’s the nature of the emergency?” answers back an idle host.

“An old man writing down the ROI of his Christmas gifts.”

“Oh, my! What’s wrong with all these old men? I got this. I’m on my way. What’s his twenty?”

Continue reading “The Gift of Giving”

Forest Floor Scribography

Reading Time: < 1 minuteA convoy of turtles plowing their shells through the surface visible only as moving water humps.

An agitated blue heron screeching its way though a pass in the treeline over the horizon.

A white-tailed deer eyeing us warily hides its white rump under its flapping tail.

Bruce and Bryce walk the outside fence on the narrow running board of a cement bridge over a creek while Peshankus tracks them on the inside.

A fleeting glimpse of two cormorants that hastily skim the muddy water in retreat.

A white heron flickers through the picket fence of tree trunks and dancing leaves.

The racing stripe of a garter snake disappears into the underbrush with Pashankus in pursuit.

** Scribography – I just invented this word as a juxtaposition to photography: the capture of an image with words instead of photos. Somethings I just couldn’t capture on camera.

No Budget

Reading Time: < 1 minute

No Budget,
For the morning meal
Not even with coupons
That make a great deal

No Budget,
For chocolatey sweets,
That tease my taste,
Unaffordable treats

No Budget
To escape the hot sun,
To swim in the wide ocean,
To have some cool fun

No Budget
Nothing is Free,
Not even to Walk,
Down to the Beach.

No Budget
To watch online TV,
Or to work on my laptop,
Given to me

No Budget
At the cinema to see
Nothing but the poster
Of a hot new release

No Budget
Though disk space is free
To compose photos
To send to thee

No Budget
To write or to draw
To cultivate thoughts
That will remain raw

No Budget
To stare at the sky
The sky hides its beauty
Until I can buy

No budget
For iron in my diet
Craving crispy dirt and paper
Desperate enough to try it

No Budget
For My Epilepsy
There is an upside
the seizures might kill me

No Budget
It just isn't fair,
I even get charged,
To breathe in the air

No Budget
A dream isn't free
Money I need
To live transactionally

Christmas Spirits

Reading Time: 5 minutesIt is Christmas eve. Three ghosts have RSVP’d to my card game. They come every year. In years past, they came with all the theatrics of time travel, teleportation, and chroniton phasing. At first, it scared the hell out of me. But over the years, I have adjusted to it to the point where I tried to feign fear and intimidation so as not to offend the egos of my ephemeral antagonists. I think my mock gestures just angered them. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to respect their talents. But, I came clean and said it just wasn’t working for me anymore. At first, they just redoubled their efforts and I continued to play along. Finally, the realization sank in. It takes a lot of energy to muck around with primal forces of the universe. So now they just come over and play cards. I am glad that they still come. It means that I still have lots to learn about how to live and they still think it is worth the effort to come over and inform me.

As usual, Christmas Past shows up first. CP wears the black robes, has the bony fingers, and a skeletal face. He is not much of a fashion leader. Most people mistake him for Christmas Future. But the future is not dead, the past is: you can’t undo it, you can’t unexperience it, or unlive it. I see life and death in the face of CP depending on the lighting. In a good light, the past breaths life into the future; in a bad light, the past suffocates us, drowns us, chokes us, keeps us from all the opportunities of the future. I sit him directly under the ceiling light and to my immediate left.

Christmas Now shows up next. CN is the spitting image of St. Nick himself. He wears a red Santa hat with its cottony ball hanging over the side by his ear. His beard is patched gray and his face just a bit more weathered than last year. He fills out his red suit nicely this year not with the fat of joylessness but with the stuffing of experiences. When he laughs, it is less like a bowl full of jelly and more like the shudder of a person strangely confronted with a very old memory that he would rather not confront.

Finally, Christmas Future shows up. CF is always late. As she walks through the door, her outfit changes faster than a genius Thaumoctopus mimicus eluding an underwater predator, as fast as the thoughts in my head, as fast as the actions I take. Sometimes she looks seductively beautiful; other times she looks like she just rolled out of bed.

My guests take their place at the square table. I pour spirits for the spirits. CP likes the hard stuff; CN like the beer; and the lady likes the wine. CF and CP face off against CN and myself. CF, sitting to my right, cuts the cards. I size up my card-playing friends. CP has the strange habit, whenever he wins a round, he keeps the cards face up. You can always see what was played. I have to keep a very watchful eye on CF. CF cheats. She knows the future, or at least a possible future. Better to keep her guessing. My partner is CN. We actually have to use observation, strategy, and tactics to win. If we don’t learn from the past, and keep an eye on the future, we will lose. Game on!

CP plays the first card. He plays the kid card. Christmas has many meanings, but to me, it has always been about either being a kid or providing a Christmas for my kids. Christmas might be one of the greatest conspiracies ever propagated on this planet. Adults the world over lie to their children. Eventually kids figure it out. If they are really clever, they figure it out and don’t tell their parents that they have figured it out so they can keep receiving copious presents. Kids grow up and most decide to propagate the conspiracy. I think back to my youth. I don’t remember any specific Christmas. I just remember that my mom always made sure the stockings were stuffed and the floor covered with presents for all. We had to take turns opening. On a good Christmas, it would take at least an hour to open all the presents. Jocelyn and I always have a live tree with plenty of presents. When Brooke was two, and I didn’t think she would remember what Christmas was because the last Christmas she was just one and two months old, I brought out the ornaments and I showed her a Santa ornament, she said “Ho Ho Ho”. I remember when Brooke was starting to question the conspiracy and getting savvy. I took a shoe into the fire place ashes and made a trail from the fireplace to the tree. In the morning, she followed the trail and I think Christmas survived for one more year. Damn. CP didn’t play the kid card. CP played the nostalgia card. I lose the first two rounds, one to my own childhood and one to the childhood of my children.

CF leads. She shows me a future of my friends sitting around with their families enjoying Christmas. I am not in any of these images. I am sitting at home watching Christmas specials by myself with no tree and no presents like it is just another day. It is a cold, lonely Christmas future. Her bright, white dress changes to dull grey sweats. She flashes to my friends. All my grinchy friends sit at the head of their tables, their hearts having grown three sizes that day, serving up Who Hash and Roast Beast, to a festive party of their children with all their grandchildren, caroling their Christmas songs hand in hand. Damn. CF played the self-pity card. I didn’t recognize it soon enough. I lose another round.

CN and I get the lead. CN plays. CN plays the Christmas card. I sit in a chair, by myself, saying Bah Humbug! Christmas! It looks a lot like the CF lead. I probably could of invited myself to someone’s house tonight. I’m pretty good at inviting myself over to my friend’s houses, taking the crumbs from my friend’s mouses. But I don’t. I would feel like an intruder on this day when they should be with their families. CN misplayed his hand. I will have my time, it just is delayed a little bit. Christmas is a time and a spirit. But the time is flexible and my family comes from all over. Soon Max, Brooke, my brother, my sister-in-law, and my nieces will all be here. Another lost round. These damn ghosts are getting the best of me, even the one that is supposed to be on my side. I fill up all their drinks to triple strength.

My play. I size up my opponents. The past and the present have a trajectory to the future. And the future has both the face of the trajectory that I am on and the trajectory that I want to be on. My hand has aces and trump but it requires that it must be played creatively. I want to chose a path where I don’t confuse alone with loneliness. I want to chose a path where I embrace creativity over security. I want to chose a path where I bring happiness and joy to the people I care about and maybe even people that I don’t know. I want to think outside myself. I want my ghostly spirits to befriend me, not haunt me. I want to live big not simple. I see CP in the best light. I see CF in a bright, beautiful dress. I see CN as a vibrant, creative, alive spirit that embraces the ambiguity of the future.

I pour myself a drink. And play the next card.