Francesca G. Varela's Blog, page 18

The Greening of Cities, The Restoration of Wilderness,

I hope for a world in which the wild has been restored. Seas of open wilderness interspersed with islands of settlements. Cities, but not as we know them now. Buildings with solar panel roofs. Streets of moss, or low-growing grass, lined with raspberry bushes and flickering birch trees. Small homes; open, light, window-heavy, where blue sky leaks in through skylights. Everything is close enough to walk to. The schools. The farmer’s market. The post-office, hospitals, dentists, library, train station. Behind each house is a garden with kale, carrots, and many ripe tomatoes that will be canned before winter. Inside there are closets filled with well-made clothes, bought from the store down the street where the items are all hand-sewn, and repaired for free. The purpose of life is no longer to buy, or to sell. Everyone has enough to be comfortable. Family and the Earth and the well-being of the community; these are what matter. Health, peacefulness, beauty. On weekends, many people take the train out of the city, out past the farmlands and orchards, into the forests, where the air is pierced with a distant, fireless smoke. Here, they spend the weekend with trees young and old, with all the stars at night, and they reclaim the wildness within themselves.

Tagged: Agroecology, Author, Culture, Eco Cities, Edible landscaping, Environment, Fiction, Food Forests, Future, Green, Idealism, Life, Lifestyle, Random, Restoration, Sustainability, Thoughts, Writing

The Redwoods

In my “barefoot” walking sandals I wander along endless wood sorrel carpets. Head tilted up, always up. I want to hum to match their steady breathing. There is no wind. The trees; they catch it all. They are not the ones who show us the wind; they are the ones who steal it, who absorb it into their other-world canopies and let it shiver down their trunks until, at last, it may drizzle over vine maples or red huckleberries. Each footstep is soft with leaves of rust and copper. Twigs scrape against my legs but I don’t look down to watch my step. Here is the place where we are small. Here is the place where ancient time crumbles and stands of its own will. I touch the trunk of one tree, particularly furled, particularly ochre. I tilt my head back and I whisper, thank you, because that’s all that there is to say.

Tagged: Environment, Hiking, Life, Nature, Outdoors, Personal, Philosophy, Prose, Prose-poetry, Random, Redwoods, Thoughts, travel, Writing

Which is Greener: E-Readers or Paper Books?

As an environmental studies grad, an author, and a lover of reading, I often think about the environmental impact of books. I wrote my first novel, Call of the Sun Child, in praise of the natural world–especially the magnificence of trees–yet every paper copy I sell is the carcass of a dead tree.

From across the forest come cracking, splintering calls. Suddenly I stop. In great, sweeping lunges the trees bend. Such music. Such majesty. This wind is different than that of the desert. It sings. Leaves become green-white waves. Warm, dancing.  – Call of the Sun Child (pg. 101)

Are the kindle, nook, and kobo versions any better? The e-readers take energy and petroleum-derived resources to manufacture, then they’re shipped great distances using fossil fuels, and then they’re charged using (most likely) more fossil fuels, and, at the end of their lives, they’ll contribute to e-waste, or, at best, be refurbished into another energy-sucking electronic gadget. Apparently, e-books are only more efficient for those who read a large amount of books. This makes sense. If you were reading lots and lots of paper books, it would take resources to manufacture each one. If you were reading all those books on a single e-reader, it would take one base amount of resources (more than for a paper book), but you have to read enough to make up for it.

I’ve heard many people say that they prefer the feel of a paper book. The smell. The crisp turn of the pages. And they’re collectible. There’s something charming about a bookshelf full of titles that mean something to you, and say something about your personality.

But then, isn’t that clutter? Isn’t that placing too much value on things? Wouldn’t an e-reader be much sleeker, simpler, and cleaner? That comes down to personal preference. Even if you’re a minimalist, you could narrow it down to the books that mean the most to you, and keep a small but heartfelt collection. Just buy the books you love, and get the rest from the library. Because, even though I’m an author and I want you all to buy my book, I’ll admit that the library is the greenest way to pursue your everyday reading.

Tagged: Author, Books, Consumerism, Culture, Environment, Ethics, Fiction, Green, Life, Lifestyle, Nature, Philosophy, Random, Thoughts, Trees, Writing

Has Wilderness Solitude Been Stolen From Women?

There are times when what I want to walk into the forest alone. Walk where there are no paths. No concrete, or gravel, or dirt trails worn thin by hiking boots. I want ferns by my feet. When I pause, and hold my breath, and listen closely, I want to hear branches clipping together, and distant, wind-woven birds — chickadees, robins, osprey. Then I’ll sit by the creek, my ankles pressed into the softened earth. Streaks of rust scatter from the mud to the water. Heavy; all the branches and sky above me. It’s all heavy.

I want to be alone and just sit there and write. Stare at the water. But I’m a girl. A woman (that sounds weird. But I’m 22 years old, so…?). Whatever — I’m female. And my parents raised me to be cautious. A journey into the forest alone would be dangerous — not because of bears, or losing my way, or injuring myself (I’ve been trained to handle all of those situations), but because of people. If some creepy person was hiding out in the woods and attacked me, there would be no one there to help. This is my greatest fear of traveling alone.

I could easily drive out to the Cascades and wander. Couldn’t I then be like Thoreau, or Muir, and absorb the teachings of wilderness solitude? But instead I have to coordinate plans with friends or hiking groups. This is fine but admittedly limiting. Sometimes I don’t want the burden of conversation. Or I want to sit back and stare at the sky, and marvel at its immensity without looking weird, or slowing the group. I want to forage for red huckleberries, collect them in a maple leaf, and practice making a fire with flint. I want to be alone.

Some women go for it. Like Cheryl Strayed in “Wild”. There are lots of solo-hiking and solo-backpacking women out there. Some are well prepared and some aren’t, but they’re all willing to become vulnerable. What bothers me is that this is even a concern, and that it can’t be prepared for. Sure, you can learn self-defense. But are you ever really prepared for a guy with a knife to pop out from behind a Douglas-fir and come at you?

And why is this even an issue? It’s just not fair. Apparently it wasn’t always like that. The world has become more dangerous as the population grows and as people grow restless. I don’t really hear about wilderness attacks all that often, but the threat is out there, and it shouldn’t be, and it makes me angry. The mountains are calling, and I want to go, but I can’t, because I’m a woman and I wouldn’t feel safe.

Tagged: Culture, Environment, Feminism, Hiking, Life, Lifestyle, Nature, Outdoors, Philosophy, Random, Women, Writing

The Great Peril of Our Existence

“The great peril of our existence lies in the fact that our diet consists entirely of souls.” A few years ago I read this on Wikipedia while researching the Inuit worldview for a school paper, and, for some reason, it’s always stuck with me. Maybe because it’s true. Scaldingly true. Our diet consists entirely of souls.

I take soul, in this case, to mean life. Anything that’s alive harbors some sort of energy. It’s this energy that allows us to distinguish what’s alive from what isn’t– the fierce green fire to which Leopold referred in A Sand County Almanac:

“We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes – something known only to her and to the mountain.”

That fire, that essence that drains from the dead and hums through the living, is the soul, or the spirit– or the life-force, if you want to get new-agey about it. Whatever you call it, it’s there, undeniably there. And it is, simply, life.

Like the philosopher Schweitzer, I feel a reverence for life. All living beings– from coral to trailing yellow violets to the warm, steady wingbeat of a turkey vulture. Everything alive has a will-to-live. Each being should be respected, not for its usefulness, but because it is valuable in its own right, just for existing, for being our distant relative, for coexisting with us, for contributing to the unending constellations of the ecosystem.

So, in order to be respectful, and to feel comfortable in my ethics, it makes sense to harm other beings as little as possible. Obviously, there are limits to this. There will always be dead bacteria, and trails of stepped-on insects. Crushed mosquitos. A fallen dandelion. If these occurrences are involuntary, what more can I do? But — and this is where the tragedy lies — I still need to fulfill my own needs. And, honestly, all ethics exist outside of that. First I need to be comfortable. I need to support my own will-to-live. Like most creatures, this means I need to eat.

At the very least I need to eat plants. They, too, are alive, but there are some plants that you can harvest without killing. Some plants are even designed to be eaten, adapted to symbiotic relationships with mammals like ourselves. Not only would it be difficult to eat only such plants (fruits, berries, the tips of leafy greens, squash?), it would be, I believe, less healthy. There are nutrients in animal foods that can’t be found anywhere else, such as Vitamin B12. Our ancestors have always eaten omnivorously. Our bodies have evolved to thrive on diets of animal and plant foods (just look at our teeth!). Is it immoral for the bear to kill his food? He, too, is omnivorous, and could survive while eating only berries, perhaps. But his health would suffer.

So this is the great tragedy that burdened the Inuit, and continues to burden us all. It’s the tragedy of all life. Sometimes it’s easy to look at the natural world and see only the light parts; the sea turtles, the fields of wildflowers, the family of deer bounding through a dusk forest. But there will always be seals eaten by killer whales, terns snatched by arctic foxes, blood and wrestling and the painful leaking of life from the eyes. We need plants for food and clothing and shelter. We need animals for food. We can’t exist without using, without taking. So the best we can do is take our place alongside the other omnivores. I choose the most ethically raised food sources I can afford. I try my best to show respect. This is my existence. This is the way the Earth is. This is life. And it is horrible, but it is also beautiful.

Tagged: Animals, Environment, Ethics, Food, Leopold, Life, Lifestyle, Nature, Omnivorism, Philosophy, Random, Schweitzer, Thoughts, Vegetarianism, Writing

My Book Was A Finalist In the Next Generation Indie Book Awards!!!

Call of the Sun Child may not have won an award this time, but it did come close… it was a finalist in the Young-Adult category at the 2015 Next Generation Indie Book Awards!

My book has been out for over a year now; it was released all the way back in March 2014. It’s been even longer since I wrote it– I’d just graduated high school when I started writing it; I was living in the U of O dorms when I signed the publishing contract; and now I’m graduating college, with another Young-Adult novel coming out in March 2016. And who knows what’s next, but hopefully it will be just as rewarding!

Tagged: Author, Awards, Books, Culture, Fiction, Life, News, Next Generation Indie Book Awards, Novels, Publishing, Random, Writing

Premonition – A Short Story

“Don’t say that,” he said softly. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s just this feeling, Brian. I just��� I know I’m not going to make it past the weekend. I just know.”�� Her eyes closed, and her shoulders shook as she cried. She brushed away each tear as it rolled to her delicate nose. Soon her fingers were wet and glistening. She looked at him steadily.

Brian moved closer to her on the leather couch. He reached out to stroke her blond hair, but she leaned away from him.

“They made fun of me. They always made fun of me and now I’m going to die. And they don’t even know. What would they say if they knew?” She held her breath.

“If who knew what? Baby, nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re fine.”

“You need to tell them that I knew, alright?”

“Who?”

“Everyone. My family. Everyone I’ve ever met. Tell them that I knew it was going to happen and I had a dream about it. Then they’ll finally believe me. It’s the only good thing that can come out of this.”

Brian turned on the television and stretched his legs onto the vintage ottoman. He unhooked the first two buttons of his collared shirt.

“Babe, I just got home from work,” he said. “Can we talk about it later?”

“Oh yeah, sure, later.” She stepped toward the patio and opened the sliding door. “Later when I’m dead.”

The newscaster read the weekend’s weather forecast��� sunny skies with a slight chance of rain in the afternoon. Brian muted the sound. He opened the door a crack and yelled to his wife.

“They say it’s going to be sunny!”

She was sitting on the grass with her legs sprawled out in front of her. The sky held bright wisps of cloud colored red by the sunset. One last ray of light rested on her angled face. The rose bushes surrounding their manicured yard withdrew into shadow.

“Your mom wants us to go, and I don’t see why not,” Brian said. He stepped outside. “Doesn’t it sound like fun? I mean, we haven’t been out to the ranch in a long time. We didn’t even go to the reunion last year.”

“Why not. It’ll be a good place to die,” she said as she plucked at the grass with her fingertips.

“Don’t say that���your skirt’s getting dirty. Don’t you want a beach towel or anything?” Brian walked hesitantly onto the grass, letting only the tips of his loafers touch the earth. He bent over and kissed the coiffed hair above her forehead.

“No. I don’t mind the dirt,” she said. “Not anymore.”

The next morning they left the sunlit halls of their estate. It was a two hour drive through cattle and farmland. He handed her a handkerchief to press over her nose. She wiped her eyes with it instead.

“You’re really upset about this dream, aren’t you?” he asked, glancing at her. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“I can’t explain it and I don’t expect you to understand,” she said, and she crossed her arms.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Lara, look at me.”

She tilted her gray eyes toward him. They were rimmed with thin, red lines.

“I love you,” he said, and then he looked back at the road.

They were halfway to the ranch, where the air smelled more like hay and less like cows, before she spoke again.

“But do you believe me?”

“You’re not going to die. Not anytime soon. Hey, try out the new camera. It’s right there in the backseat.”

She pulled out a heavy Nikon with a long lens. It was the camera all the professionals chose. He pointed out some of the features and which buttons to use. She took a photo of his hands on the steering wheel. The crack of the shutter made both of them jump.

Her parent’s ranch sat at the base of a beige hill, lined by meadows thick with wildflowers. They drove down the gravel road, beneath rows of blossoming pear trees. Pink petals drifted into the car. One landed on Lara’s lap, and she rubbed its velvety skin. Brian rolled up the windows.

The driveway was cluttered with cars. Her two brothers and her cousin had already arrived. Lara’s mother stood in the doorway. She looked hunched and gray beneath the tall, wooden arch.

“Oh, kids. I’m so glad you came.” She hugged them both. “Brian, you look fit. And you’re growing your beard out. And my little Lara. You always look pretty. What’s that in your hand?”

“Nothing, Mom,” she said, and she let the pink petal flutter to the ground.

Her father came out with a beer in his hand.

“Doesn’t that dress look lovely on her, honey?” Lara’s mother asked him.

“Sure does,” he chuckled. “What’re you doing with this guy?”

Everyone laughed except Lara, who only smiled and looked back at the car. She walked into the house arm-in-arm with her mother. Her father and Brian came up behind them with the suitcases.

The house smelled like her mother’s floral perfume. Her brothers emerged from the kitchen with their polo shirts un-tucked and wrinkled. Their cousin came down the staircase wearing tiny plaid shorts that choked her thighs. Everyone hugged and exclaimed how long it had been.

“Great, how about we take a picture? I want to try this baby out,” Brian said with the new camera around his neck. “All of you first. Get together.”

The flash made Lara’s eyes water. She grabbed the camera from him and made him stand between her parents for another photo.

“When are we doing the campout?” she asked.

“It’s either tonight or tomorrow night,” said her brother. “Why don’t we do it tonight, since it’s so nice out?”

They all agreed and gathered their backpacks. ��Their excited voices echoed over the polished wood floors. Lara’s mother handed each of them a sack lunch, which they stuffed in among their sweaters, I-pads, flashlights, I-pods, speakers, solar chargers, pajamas, sleeping pads, sleeping bags, tents, and toiletries.

“You all come back if it rains, okay?” her mother said. She adjusted the necklace of black pearls she wore daily.

“It hasn’t rained in a few months, Mom,” her other brother said. “We’ll be fine.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” her father said. “Be careful.”

Lara hugged her parents tightly. She kissed each of them on the cheek and told them she loved them.

“Look at us,” her cousin said when they were marching across the fields. “We’re just like kids again. Except Brian’s here.”

Brian grabbed Lara’s hand and squeezed it gently. They were both sweaty beneath the late afternoon sun. The wind blew over them and brought with it the tired rustling of songbirds. A robin pecked at the dry ground beside them.

By the time they reached the base of the hill, everyone was ready to set down their heavy packs and take a break.

“Brian, I don’t want to go up there,” Lara said. She buried her face into his chest.

“You can’t be that tired already. We need to see the view!” He rubbed her back.

She stared at him, unblinking, for several seconds. Her face was at once pale and ruddy, and there were purple circles beneath her eyes.

“Did we really need to bring so much stuff?” she asked.

“Come on, let’s get to the top before the sunset. We have to keep up the tradition, guys,” her cousin said.

The five of them began their summit. Tall, crunchy grass brushed against their knees, and the occasional oak tree offered shade. Lara coughed. It came from deep within her chest.

“You can do it,” Brian told her. “Almost there.”

They crouched low, pushing their knees against the sharp incline. Finally, they reached the top. Forest and field stretched into nothingness. Hills in the distance made blue waves against the horizon, and at their feet lay the dark reflections of clouds.

“We’re up so high,” Lara whispered.

“Picture time,” Brian said. He positioned them along the edge of the cliff with the sky at their backs. “Perfect.”

Lara knelt down at the rim. She looked closely at the cracks in the rock. Spongy mosses grew out of them. Brian sat next to her.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said. “I could live up here, right on top of this hill. I could watch the sky, and the birds, and the plants, and the fields, all of it. I could watch all of it forever. Now it’s too late.”

“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen. Just enjoy the view.” He set the camera down and kissed her.

“I just felt a raindrop!” her brother yelled from the other side of the hilltop. His voice was strange and hollow in the open air. It seemed to come from the low clouds.

The wind changed direction. Fat raindrops stained the dirt.

“Let’s go back down,” her other brother said, squinting.

Brian leaped up and held out his hand for Lara. She stood gracefully. They walked toward them with their hands clasped together. Then he pulled away.

“Wait,” Brian said. “I forgot the camera. It’ll get ruined!”

He ran toward it just as the rain crashed down in its full force. The ground grew slick and sodden. The air was thick with freshly formed mud.

Brian slipped. He skidded over the coarse edge of the cliff with the camera clutched in his hands.

The others watched. They were so entrenched in gray mist that they weren’t sure what had happened. Lara stepped closer and peeked over the edge. Brian looked at her through the fog, but he couldn’t see his wife, nor the rain behind her. He closed his eyes just seconds before he crashed to the soil with a soundless thud. Then he lay there in a twisted heap, and the clouds moved lower and covered him up.

She wanted to scream but she couldn’t. Tears mingled with the cold drops of rain. They ran in hurried braids down her cheeks. She dug her fingernails into her scalp, and she shook her head.

“No… I didn’t think it was him,” she managed to say.

“Lara, what is it? What happened?”

Lara closed her eyes. Then she said, “I was right.”

Tagged: Author, Fiction, Life, Nature, Prose, Random, Short Story, Thoughts, Writing

Volando – A Short Story

�������� “Ala,” her boyfriend said with his head turned away. “We need to go.”

She was named after God. Or wings, according to her Spanish parents.

“Uh… just another minute, Sam. Just…” ��Her hands were still drying, one resting on each leg. She curled them up like potato bugs. A leaf fell into the water in front of her. Its smooth edges sliced her reflection.

“Look at the shadows. I want to hike out while we can still see,” he said.

He dug the toe of each boot into the soft dirt and exhaled. His green eyes searched the branches.

Ala’s bare feet skimmed the face of the lake. She swallowed the air, clean and full, and pulled an apple from her backpack. When she bit into it, Sam jumped. He stared at her with both cheeks sucked in.

“Okay. Finish that. Then we’re leaving.” Sam crouched beside her. He wiped his finger under his nose and licked his lips.

“You usually wear your hair up when we go for a hike,” he said.

He took a lock of her hair within his rough fingertips. She raised her black eyebrows.

“I didn’t feel like it today. How else could I let the wind comb it through?”

The last time she came to the lake, she had worn it in a bun so tight her forehead throbbed. Halfway through the day she finally just ripped it out. As soon as she did, a breeze came along. It crept over her shoulders, warm as the sun around the strings of her bathing suit. She still remembered how it smelled, like the inner neck of a dandelion.

“It’s all puffy. You can tell you’ve been swimming in the lake,” Sam laughed through his nostrils. “Damn, aren’t you ever going to finish that apple?”

“Look.”

A cloud of chickadees made black silhouettes above the lake. She pointed for Sam. He never noticed those things.

“Do you not think these things sacred?” she whispered.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sam grunted. “There’s some little birds shitting all over the place. You can see that at home. Hurry up. You want me to leave without you? You want to stay here all night by yourself?”

“You don’t love this. You don’t love any of this.” She had written those same words in her journal. Every day he did something to make her angry. She wasn’t even sure she loved him anymore.

“You want little mosquitoes and gnats crawling in your ears? Huh? You want to sleep curled up in the mud?” he asked, turning in circles.

“No. I want the stars, Sam.”

There was a panic in his eye that she didn’t understand. What was so terrifying about a night in the open air, away from concrete hills and car fumes? She remembered spending summer nights in the open fields behind her childhood home. Bats swept from one edge of the trees to the other, swirling like pieces of fabric lost in the wind. She fell asleep as frogs chimed and chirped around her and the stars emerged overhead. The field was her bed nearly every night in the summer. How could Sam fear what she had grown up with?

He paused a moment, then lunged toward his backpack.

“Sam. You wouldn’t leave without me. What kind of man would you be?”

She realized that he wanted many things; the convertible their neighbor was selling, an apartment downtown, a plate of ribs for dinner. Their hikes were wasted days in his mind. They were small prices to pay to satiate her and win the prize. He wanted her to be rational, wear a ring, and settle down.

They had been together for two years. What would she have without him? Who would she be?

Her lips curled into a somber smile. The answer was all around her, breathing and flowing in the wind. Maybe he didn’t love Alder trees, or Ruby-crowned kinglets, or the pale moon in the sunlit sky, but she did.

“Do whatever you want,” she said. “I’m staying here tonight.”

Tagged: Author, Environment, Fiction, Life, Nature, Philosophy, Prose, Random, Short Stories, Thoughts, Writing

Reconnecting With Nature

When was the last time you stood beneath the sky? Perhaps during a few hurried minutes between commutes. If you���re like most people, you didn���t even look up.

As a society, we have lost our connection to nature. It seems young people, especially, are deprived of connection to the natural world. Notable groups urge us to reconnect with nature. Which, really is where we belong. Too much time inside can have negative effects, both physically and mentally.

According to a study conducted by the Kaiser Family Foundation, students spend over seven hours a day using electronic devices. The same study claimed that excessive media use lowers grade point averages, and may be contributing to the epidemic of obesity. Is this a worthwhile way to spend our time?

The Journal of Optometry and Vision Science also found that those who spend most of their time inside tend to have poorer long-distance vision than those who spend more time outdoors.

To counter these negative effects of modern life, The National Wildlife Federation has launched a ���Be Out There��� program. It encourages children, and people in general, to spend more time playing outside. They state that less time in front of a screen will improve fitness levels, reduce ADHD symptoms, raise test scores, and lower stress. In fact, studies have shown that just looking at photographs of nature can reduce anxiety.

President Barack Obama signed a Presidential Memorandum on April 16, 2010, titled the ���America���s Great Outdoors��� initiative. In the Memorandum, President Obama cited that among conservation efforts, his goal was to ���reconnect Americans, especially children, to America���s rivers and waterways, landscapes of national significance, ranches, farms and forests, great parks, and coasts and beaches.���

There was once a time when nature was all there was. It wasn���t even that long ago. An excerpt from the introduction of author Richard Louv���s book, ���Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature- Deficit Disorder states that, ���Within the space of a few decades, the way children understand and experience nature has changed radically. The polarity of the relationship has reversed. Today, kids are aware of global threats to the environment���but their physical contact, their intimacy with nature, is fading.���

And as development, pollution and progress swiftly increase, so does our detachment from the natural world. We have come to view ourselves as completely separate from nature. This is not the case.

Our connection to all living things, to the Earth itself, is proven by science. The theory of evolution states that all life on Earth came from a single cell. We are technically related to every animal and plant that exists on this planet. Our human ancestors have adapted specifically to the Earth���s natural conditions, therefore, we are designed to live in nature. Perhaps we have lost some of the knowledge to do so in the past century, but not the physical capability.

Despite money and our convoluted societal systems, we still rely on the environment for our food and water. Money is only an extra step. The food chain, the water cycle and the sun are our true providers. We need to respect and protect our mother Earth. After all, we can���t live without her.

School is one of the greatest culprits in our detachment from nature. Since childhood, we���ve been forced to spend almost all day inside. Some classrooms don���t even have windows; we’ve been trapped in prison-like cells.

Curriculum could incorporate outdoor experiences quite easily. Anything can be tied to nature in some way. A love for nature will lead to the desire to protect it. The poetic flourishes of a leaf might be explored in English class, the angles of the sun in math, or the lifestyles of Earth-based cultures in history, but one must see it to truly appreciate it.

Whatever the means, an emphasis should be placed on the environment in all subjects, not just ecology or environmental science. Give us fresh air. Let us feel the rain upon our skin, and we shall be healthier and happier than ever before.

This mentality was shared by Joseph Knowles, author of ���Alone in the Wilderness.��� This long-lost novel chronicles the true story of Knowles��� two month experiment when he entered the woods of northern Maine completely naked. Alone, and without the aid of any tools, he lived off of the land just to prove it could be done.

Upon his return to civilization, he was physically stronger, wise in the ways of the wilderness and enlightened. His message to readers at the end of his journey was, ���Let me appeal to every man, woman, and child to take advantage of the wonderful bounty that nature offers��� let them understand the wild creatures, who have souls like themselves. Let them abandon all things artificial and really live. Let them answer the call of the natural mother���she has blessing untold to bestow. In a word, let humanity be born again.���

Stop leaning on luxury. Don���t place so much importance on electronics or money. In comparison to the boundless wonders of life, these things mean nothing. Erase the constraints set upon you by society��� convenience, sloth, indifference. There���s so much you can learn from the life around you. Imminent voices are shouting in our ears… this is right, this is healthy. Visit nature at a park, on a camping trip, even in your own backyard. No image on a screen can replace the real thing.

A shift in the mindset of this generation is necessary. The world is alive, bright and vivid. Go explore it. See the great cedar trees that stretch into the clouds. Feel the cold water of a distant creek drip between your fingertips. Listen to the wind, the ferns, the owl. There is no better way to spend your time than where you were truly meant to be.

Tagged: Culture, Environment, Essay, Green, Life, Nature, Philosophy, Random, Thoughts, Writing

The Figure Skater – A Short Story

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Photo courtesy of figureskatinginternational.com

Dina stood near the ice with her shoulders hunched over, noting the skater’s lithe jumps and pretty contortions.��The rink felt colder than usual on her bare arms. She stumbled back into the lobby.

Ignoring the spicy smell of pretzels and churros, she sat on a wooden bench near the entrance. A line of bodies blocked her view in every direction. Dull heat encircled her.

“Dina?” Abby shoved her round stomach through the crowd. “How’re you? What are you doing all the way out here? I didn’t even know you would be��� oh. Oh!” Abby paused, her brown eyes falling to Dina’s feet. “You’re not… are you competing?”

Dina lifted one leg, heavy with her worn skate, and crossed it over the other. Abby smiled. Her teeth were yellow in the weak lighting. She eyed Dina’s sequined dress.

“Of course I am,” Dina replied. “I qualified. Second at Regionals.”

“Yes, but you’re���”

“There’s no age limit.”

They glanced at the ice as the skater’s routine ended. Dina was so nervous she’d ceased to hear the music long before. She swallowed and stretched her arms in front of her.

“You know, I’ve seen you practicing at the rink back home. I thought you might’ve switched to the adult competitions by now,” Abby shouted over the cheering. She sat on the bench across from Dina.

“Why is that?”

“You may be a bit younger than me, but you’re no spring chicken. We all know how hard it is to keep up with the kids. My Bree’s just going to run over you one of these days! You know? They’re a little faster, a little stronger, a little quicker at jumping up when they fall. Out there,” Abby paused to gesture at the ice, and laughed gruffly, “you’re gonna look like an ass stuck in with a herd of horses.”

Dina’s lips trembled as she forced a smile.

The skater pushed into the lobby, hovering near vendors selling jackets and stuffed animals. Chunks of ice clung to the back of her beige tights. A new song chimed soothingly over the speakers, then rose quickly into its majestic chorus.

“Yeah, I’m over thirty,” Dina said. “I’m old for a figure skater. I know that. I stopped skating before college so I could focus on school. Once I graduated I had enough money for food and rent, and that was it. I couldn’t afford to start skating again until my restaurant got going. Then I said, why not? If I can still skate, why not skate?”�� She rested her knuckles pensively against her bottom lip.

Abby sniffed.

“If you ask me, Bree’s going to make it to the top before she even gets to high school. And this one,” Abby said as she patted her swollen belly, “if she’s a girl like they say, she’s bound for the 2022 Olympics.”

Dina gripped the bench with her bare, pallid fingers. The skater’s sparkly bun bobbed across the room. Her tears were buried into the armpit of a man��� either a coach or a parent��� in a black jacket. The results were posted next to them.

“The warm-up for novice is next,” Dina said as she stood. “I better go.”

“Well don’t you know how to dress your age? That little outfit!”

She tugged at her velvet skirt as Abby cackled. It was a custom-made dress, longer and humbler than most.

“Dina, dear. Let the children have their fun. Don’t take it from them.”

“I’m not taking anything from anyone.” Dina held her breath. “If I love it, why shouldn’t I compete? Why shouldn’t I skate? At least I go after my own dreams, instead of making my daughter do it for me.” She walked away with all her muscles clenched.

“You don’t even have a daughter, you old maid,” Abby called after her.

Dina stretched her legs next to the rink. She sipped from her water bottle, trying to quiet her thoughts. She would soon��approach the age where becoming pregnant would be challenging, even if she finally found the right guy. After her fianc�� broke off their engagement, calling them incompatible, she had given up. There were other things to worry about.

Silence washed over her mind. The door to the ice opened.

A group of tight-faced teenage girls drove through the entry, leaving a cloud of glitter behind them. Dina eased the plastic skate-guards off her blades and stabbed one toe-pick into the ice.

The girls carved away at the clean, white sheet. Their cheeks blushed pink against the biting air. Dina imagined herself out there, glancing nervously at the stands like��they were. Her face grew hot. She stepped away from the ice and covered her mouth with her hands.

The skater still sobbed beside her.”I’m quitting,” she whined, wiping streaks of mascara from her eyes.”Dead last… that’s it. I’m done. I can’t��� I don’t even like it anymore.”

Abby stood behind the skater and watched her cry. She looked at her, then at Dina.

Dina inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. One of her shoulders pointed toward the ice, the other toward the lobby. Suddenly, a plump hand rested on her shoulder.

“Do it, sweetie,” Abby said softly.

Dina’s smile was weightless. She stepped back toward the ice and glided on. Then she extended her arms proudly, and she skated.

Tagged: Age, Author, Fiction, Figure Skating, Life, Musings, Philosophy, Prose, Random, Sports, Thoughts, Writing