Human population growth and overconsumption are at the root of our most pressing environmental issues, including the species extinction cris
Claire Keane
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@drvance3
Human population growth and overconsumption are at the root of our most pressing environmental issues, including the species extinction cris
http://www.old-conservationist.com/struggle-for-hope
This morning we pushed on to Duluth, which means we came about as close to driving diagonally across the State of Minnesota as one can. As is our habit, we stayed off interstates and four-lane highways. We were forced to use I-35 for about fifty miles, but that wasn't bad. The experience did, however, focus my thoughts on the subtle ways in which we damage our precious environment.
As I described in yesterday's post, we spent two days at Birch Coulee in Renville, Co. That's farming country, and for hours this morning we drove through fields of soy beans and corn. Because of our tremendous human over-population, I can hardly complain about the farms. (Actually, I've never complained about farms.) It isn't like putting up another McDonald's or Walmart that we don't need. We need these farms. We need to support family farms! Family farmers love the land and do their bests to care for it because they want to pass it on to future generations. Big Agri-corps just work the land for a profit. They don't take care of it. And, yes, I've seen the memes, "don't complain about farms with your mouth full." The damage we did to the land was done long ago. Minnesota became a state in 1858, and we know that white immigrants began to show up here and start farming as early as 1820.
The farming communities in western Minnesota sure aren't growing. Olivia, the county seat of Renville County, had a staggering 2,347 people in 2019. It had 2,569 in 2000. The really big city in the area is Willmar with a 2018 population of 19,673, up by 63 people from the 2010 census. Then we got to Saint Cloud. Pamela used to travel through St Cloud on the way to her husband's home in Canada each year. The last time through has been quite a few years ago and she said she didn't even recognize it. I can understand. It has grown by around 11.4 to 21.1% every census since 1990. When Pamela was passing through it had a population under 50,000. The 2018 estimate was 68,462. Here we began to see the signs and symptoms of human over-population.
It was actually around St. Cloud that we noticed several changes. Firstly, the big farms were behind us. We were entering a different ecosystem. Behind us the soil was black. Except for some geological features like Birch Coulee, most of that area's "surficial" geology is wetland-organic sediment according to the Minnesota Depart of Natural Resources. Heading northeast from St. Cloud we were entering the famous lake region. This lake region is awesome and the lakes are lovely, so I don't want this to sound derogatory, but the lakes are actually holes left behind by the glaciers that filled with water. But aren't they magnificent holes? Thank you Unci Maka; Grandmother Earth; for such a wonderful remnant of the glaciers. We saw no big farms in this area.
While what few trees we saw in the southwest were ash, hickory, hackberry and oaks, when we entered the lake region we were seeing mostly firs, pines and lots and lots of birch. The birch were as thick as our aspen are back home in Montana. I had to look them up to see if they too reproduce by rhizome. They don't. Birch reproduce by seeds. It makes sense to see so many birch when the area is so wet.
Less than sixty miles from Duluth we had to use an interstate. That's when it really hit me. Up until the introduction of the interstate system during the Eisenhower administration in 1956, our web of county, state and federal highways did minimal damage to the environment. There was still sufficient damage done to the environment as we crossed wetlands and cut through fragile ecologic areas, but the big difference is that our one-lane roads didn't stop or interfere with animal migration. There is, of course, the danger of animals getting hit. According to Outdoor Life, there were six million deer killed by hunters in 2018. The same year 1.6 million deer were killed by vehicles. On interstates there are often barriers in the median as well as high fences on both sides to keep animals away from the road. Not wanting an animal-vehicle accident is admirable but the means used to avoid such tragedy blocks natural wildlife migration which is a tragedy in its own right. Wildlife bridges have begun to show up in the west, but we have never seen one cross an interstate. Our interstates are extremely detrimental to our wildlife! Some of the old highway system had billboards, but generally signs were small, often on a farmer's fence or his barn. In eastern US we've gone from the ubiquitous "See Rock City" painted on the roof of a farmer's barn (my grandfather had "Mail Pouch") to a giant "Cafe Risque" every few miles from southern Georgia to central Florida. Those who have traveled to Florida more than once can tell you about these "adult store" billboards every few miles for several hundred miles. Since the interstate system started there has been a proliferation of giant towers holding advertising billboards and cell towers. These not only destroy the land around them but there must be roads to them for maintenance, etc. Billboards are not only distracting from the beauty of the land, but detrimental to the environment. I was very happy that we only had to be on interstate for fifty miles.
We came to Duluth today because of the weather. There has been a heatwave for the past several days. The temperature effect of Lake Superior makes a big difference. While I was comfortable sitting in the shade at Birch Coulee, I found that my fingers were getting quite cold after sitting at the picnic table above the St. Louis River close to Lake Superior typing. The temperature is still 79 degrees with 69% humidity, so it must be the lake. We're staying at a place called Indian Point Campground, on the southwest edge of Duluth and on the St. Louis River. It is a nice place, but I'm anxious to get out into the wilderness where I belong. We plan to explore this area tomorrow then up the famous North Shore, along Lake Superior, and move into the interior forest and lakes when the cooler weather comes midweek. The anticipation of what we will see and experience next is exhilarating.
We are camped on the Birch Coulee (Fr. stream, river. Most likely archaic.) in Renville County, Minnesota. It is the site of a nasty battle during the Dakota War of 1862. (i) Pamela and I avoid battlefields. Such unnecessary death. In this case, a detachment of Americans (the invaders) was just about wiped out by the Dakota (the locals). As much as I hate the loss of life on either side, we should not have been here. If the roles had been reversed, and we were defending our homeland and families from an invading force, we'd have songs written about our great courage and victory. But enough of that.
I have a choice of direction by which to approach my account of Birch Coulee County Campground. I can take the negative and talk about what we've done to the land, or I can take a more positive approach and talk about the fact that Renville County took grant money and did more than just set up a military memorial. Since we already know the damage we've done to the prairies, I'll stick with the positive story.
There are only four sites occupied right now (Saturday afternoon) with a large group having a picnic at the shelter. When we arrived we met a local couple who were camping next to us. It turned out that they were in the middle of the three sites because they had been camping with friends on either side of them. They gave us a lot of good advice about camping in Minnesota and things to see in their southwest corner of the state. They also shared a large bag of tomatoes from their garden. They said that local youth don't come here to drink but it is a popular place for families to walk the trails and wade in the creek. As you can see from the topo map, the area is a giant gash in otherwise relatively flat terrain. Those cliffs are around one-hundred feet high. It's obvious that part, most, or perhaps even all, of the reason for the area to be left natural is that it isn't useful for farming. However, we can give credit for it not being dammed. I would guess that it has been totally forested since the Ash grove in which we are camped are all relatively young trees. There are a few old trees, but just a few. There is one giant log whose diameter is almost chin-high! I don't want to consider the possibility that the area was not further developed because of the battlefield. Sadly, we all know that a memorial to a good killing spree is far more important than nature. But my Abbeyness is showing.
This entire area is a lesson in glacial geological history which Pamela and I thoroughly enjoy. Many glaciers crossed over Minnesota. An enormous lake was created northeast of here and a great river, called Warren, drained the lake. Tributaries to the Minnesota, like the Birch Coulee, are thought to be channels that were initially eroded proximal to glacial ice, marking recessional ice margins, (ii) surrounded by ground morraine, end morraine, which I would assume accounts for the rolling hills, and wetland organic sentiments. The latter would account for the rich black soil.
There is a bit over twenty-five acres of preserved nature here in midst of active farming, and we should be thankful for that. Its contribution to the health and welfare of the environment is extremely important. I know that Renville County probably received a grant to create this recreation area. Most counties don't have the funds to do things like this on their own. Nevertheless, I have to give the county administration credit for a job well done. They didn't just build a glitzy monument to a nasty, deadly battle. They salvaged land along a geological treasure, returned it to its natural beauty, creating a place for nature to be enjoyed and appreciated.
FOOTNOTES.
(i) https://www.mnhs.org/birchcoulee/learn
(ii) https://files.dnr.state.mn.us/lands_minerals/re_plateB.pdf
One of my favorite Henry David Thoreau quotes is his explanation of going to Walden Pond to live. He wrote, "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not liv
We got a late start today but we had a very short drive to where we were going to spend the evening and meet good friends from Glacier. We were heading in toward Minneapolis. The small campground turned out to be mostly itinerants parked shoulder with their Trump signs out front. We were to stay in a tent site which would have been okay if it was even closecto level. There wasn't a place for a small tent.
Thinking that we should be able to find a place in western Minnesota, well away from Minneapolis, we set out toward a lake region. We were very wrong. Poor Pamela worked feverishly as I drove trying to find us a site. We finally decide to turn south and go back to Mankato in hopes of getting a place. Pamela was driving and saw two county park signs. The first turned out to be a horse camp. The second is where we're staying. It is a pleasant little campground just north of Morton, MN. Who knows what would have happened to us had she not insisted we check out this place. County and city campgrounds are often very nice. Sadly, just as often they don't show up on a map. This one doesn't show up on any map, digital or paper. The nice locals camped next to us gave us a bag of their tomatoes and some good advice.
I think I'm going to have to have a moratorium from news about Miserabilis Culus. I knew I wasn't fit to be around today but when Pamela asked, I didn't think it was the news. Afraid it was. Isn't that sad!?!
We're spending the weekend here. Hope we can make things work. I'll keep you posted. Tomorrow pictures of our campground. Right now I'm going to enjoy the light show, see if my window leak-fix worked, and then off to bed. Good night all.
The sun is setting on another day at Rathbun Lake. Fishers are silently making their way home while the geese overhead make quite a ruckus. Another flock of white water birds bank and land to feed near a half-dozen or so sandpipers. A short while earlier we had watched an eagle hunting above some high grass and a young osprey dive for fish. The pinks, reds and greys of sunset reflect off the lake creating a mix and blend of color. Campers, who have been gone on their adventures during the day, are returning and walking the campground practicing good social distancing. Dogs bark greetings, and the silence of the day is traded for a murmur of activity, exchange of stories and the occasional shreek of a child. Flowers are closing, crickets are singing and campfires are being lit. In a few hours the children will be asleep, the campfires put out, dogs quiet, and lights out. The only sounds those of nature. Night at Rathbun campground.
Iowans are calling for federal assistance after the storm with a wind speed of a Category 2 hurricane ravaged the area.
The Great Plains didn’t need any more trouble! Watch for ways you can help.
CONSCIOUSNESS - Search for a Definition Russell E. Vance, III, PhD. (2017) I do think that I put the proverbial cart before the proverbial horse when I wrote about whether consciousness creates reality. As I became more serious about my investigation, I realized that such a question is several steps advanced of those
Just put this up for fun. It’s a 2017 essay I ran across when I was archiving old files. Thought someone might find it interesting.
I read Edward Abbey's book "Desert Solitaire: a season in the wilderness" quite some time before Pamela and I visited Arches National Park a few years ago. Abbey has always been one of my environmental heroes whom I have quoted frequently. On that trip to Arches we had just spent several day camped on the Colorado Riv
I rolled out of bed this morning. (I mean that literally. That's the easiest way, isn't it? Especially when the arthritis hurts so bad.) Pamela had been up for heaven knows how long with the granddaughter who spent the night. I think she was already finishing her second cup of coffee. (Pamela, that is. Not the granddaughter.) I made my first. The granddaughter was playing and Pamela was looking at her phone, which meant she was probably reading the news. Awe, the news. That's one of those thing which is so disgusting, horrible and terrifying that you don't want to look but have no choice, then you get upset with the person or agency who reported it. Looking doesn't stop it. Looking away doesn't make it worse. Pamela made some delicious scrambled eggs with okra. I helped the granddaughter into her booster seat and sat down with my coffee and egg sandwich. I turned on my phone and sat looking at the screen. I sat for a long time. The screen is a picture of a mountain I explored in southern Arizona. Across the top and bottom are icons; shortcuts to places on my phone. I sat looking. I can't do it. I just can't do it. I can't look. The thought of looking at that news, at looking at dastardly deeds over which I have no control and which will never be punished, seeing articles about how one narcissistic miserabilis culus is going to make me drive 2,000 miles to vote so he can't hurt us any more, . . . the thought of looking is more than I can handle. I can already feel the oppressive sensation of depression which comes with the news. I can't do it. I won't. There is nothing I can do until I make the journey to cast my vote and tell 'him who shall not be named' that I've had enough. This is exactly why, for almost forty years of psych practice, I told patients and colleagues, "never read the news first thing in the morning. It will destroy your day." I've had so many days destroyed, whether reading the news in the morning, noon or night, that I've lost track. It has been my fear for the past 1,373 days. Today - no way! Did I wake up with a bad attitude? . . . . . probably!
We really don’t need another reason to hate President Donald Trump’s stupid border wall, but here’s a new one anyways. Documents the Center for Biological Diversity obtained from the Fish and Wildlife Service through public records requests reveal how the border wall construction is harming critical habitat for eight endangered species at Arizona’s San Bernardino National Wildlife Refuge.
I have been here. I have seen its destruction of the environment, wildlife habitat, native sacred sites. It is an abomination!!!!!
Those of you who know me personally and/or know me well can easily understand how I immediately connected with this meme. Upon seeing it two things made me cry "Yes. Yes! YES!!" Firstly, like perhaps the majority of the masses, I am so tired of the chaos of our world and the degradation perpetrated upon us by our soc
In the Evening Rain
The rain was light; so light that I didn't realize that it was even raining until I stepped outside. The heavy canopy of oak, hickory and ash above my head let little rain through. If I wanted to keep perfectly dry, I could just step up near a tree. I didn't. I stood sensing what warm gentle rain penetrated the canopy and fell on my bare bald head. I felt small and insignificant standing in the dark among these giants, yet I felt safe. It's been too many years since I was a child to actually remember, but I can imagine that this is how a child feels standing with a parent among a group of adults all towering above you. There is a safety; an awe of the giant figures around you. I could almost imagine a giant oak reaching down with a great branch to hold my hand or pat my head. I could just make out the trail ahead of me. A light cream ribbon on a black background. The air was heavy with heat and humidity. It had been insufferably hot and humid throughout the day with 100% humidity without raining. That's normal for this part of the country. For some reason I felt compelled to move forward, deeper among the trees along the narrow path that was both my escape to the bosom of the hollow and my return to the chaotic world I find so repulsive. For a fleeting moment I could pretend that the path would lead me to freedom but I knew that it looped through the hollow and would bring me back to where I started. There really was no escape. Oh, if only there was some escape. To walk into the wilderness and forever leave the oppressive capitalism, the religious big#otry, the racism, and all of the evils of homo sapiens behind. As I said in an essay, "Nature will not lie to you to gain a convert, get a vote or make a buck. Nature will generously and without prejudice provide for your every need. Nature will sooth your soul and make your heart sing." (i) Lost in the sounds and smells of the woods at night, I stand fast, not wanting to return to that altered reality we call civilization. Looking over my shoulder I could see the light coming from the open door. I have no choice. I must return. As I steel myself for the return, nature whispers in my ear "nolite prohibere viventem prius moriatur". (Don't stop living before you die.)
Considering the current US social/political crisis, I couldn't help but wonder whether humans are really rational, or perhaps we've somehow lost our rationality. We do have a pandemic going on which is particularly bad in the US, and we've been polluting the air, water and the soil in which we grow our food for so lon
The clear, fresh water of the brook was tripping and falling through the deep ravine filled with Hell Thickets of Rosebay Rhododendron. That's what the mountain people call a dense thicket of "laurel", their name for the Rhododendron. Large oak and hickory form the upper canopy which helps to cool the ravine. Even t