I was flabbergasted to see this photograph of a new class of cruise ships, advertised as ‘better for the planet’ though this claim is roundly debunked in the article describing this behemoth, which carries 7000 people. I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing at first. Now that I’ve understood the photograph, this surrealistic ship entering the port of Miami whence it sets sail (ha! LNG-methane emissions motoring) tomorrow, I still don’t understand, I really cannot comprehend, the very idea of this as vacation.
But some people will love it, and who am I to judge. It just concerns me that as fragile as we know our planet is, and our atmosphere, so many humans still pursue such resource-indulgent recreation. Also crossing my screen this morning was this lovely article about paying attention to and discovering wonders in our own back yards, much more my speed. Alastair Humphreys has traveled the world exploring nature, but he’s beginning to reconsider his impact on the planet: “If I love wild places so much, I’ve begun to wonder, am I willing to not visit them in order to help protect them?”
He goes on, “Only a tiny minority of the people on the planet step onto a plane each year; just 1% of us take more than half of all flights. How can more of us enjoy wild landscapes and the mental and physical benefits of getting out into nature without it costing the Earth?” He suggests we do this with microadventures, taking bike rides and camping trips and other opportunities to experience wild nature close to home.
I’m grateful for the many microadventures I’ve had just this week, and I’ve barely left the house. I’m grateful that I live where I can step out my door into nature, but even if I couldn’t I know that I’d find beauty and wonder in whatever little patch of nature I could experience–even if it were just the spider making her web in the window.
Wonder: walking up the driveway I spy in the mud and ice this gorgeous butterfly; dead, of course, this time of year. I surmise it fell from the grill of the FedEx truck, or my personal shopper’s car, where it had been stuck since warmer weather. To be surprised by such a sight in deep winter was a microadventure. For little Wren, too.
I have microadventures with this aging body all the time. Monday it was a strained tendon, which with the right tool for the job and a sweet resting place is healing well. I’ve graduated to a lighter brace, and no longer have to sleep with it.
I’m grateful for microadventures in the kitchen. Opening this carton of eggs and being surprised by all the colors, shapes, and sizes! I’m grateful for my friend’s adventures raising the chickens, and grateful for her sharing the bounty. With a sudden abundance of eggs I was encouraged to plan some more eggy bakes, and celebrated by poaching two that very night for dinner. Another microadventure: I’ve seen so many ways to poach eggs without using cups, and the few I’ve tried before have been unsuccessful. But I tried again and this time they came out beautifully. With a pat of butter, a sprinkle of salt and pepper, they were perfect.
Using up leftovers is always a microadventure also. The last tortilla, the last of the chicken salad, half an avocado, some cheese on the bottom, and the last (again) of the sunroom tomatoes — but there are blossoms now, and more little green tomatoes growing! The microadventure of growing food in winter.
Driving to town, any of the three towns around, is always a microadventure if you choose to see it that way, which I do. Turning off the radio and turning my attention to the subtle colors and patterns of the sere rolling landscape, alert for wildlife along the roadside, and appreciative of the clouds.
Back home, walking again, appreciating the bright green moss thriving under the junipers, and the cat who walks like a dog, and also climbs trees. Knowing the names of some of the grasses and weeds, knowing the life cycle of the trees, knowing just the tip of the iceberg of the lives in this forest, knowing there’s so much more to know…
The best. loaf. of. sourdough. ever. Learning the alchemy of flour, salt, water, and microbes, each bake a unique microadventure.
Even simply waking up alive each morning is a microadventure. I never know what will be the first thing I see!
Microadventures are better than no adventures, but as a member of the 1% who regularly fly around the world in search of adventure, I take great comfort in knowing that by doing so I am helping to deny resources for much of the other 99% who infest the planet, migrate rather than travel, and continue to breed. As for the cruise ships, I think they should sail through the Persian gulf. That way when the Titanic sinks we will have an excuse the nuke the perps!
Having known you for forty years, I can say with the utmost affection, you are an entitled, impossible curmudgeon. Also, however, you are a talented writer and artist, who has devoted much of your life to preserving and protecting an old-growth forest in one of the most endangered habitats (and the wild diversity it supports) in the states, Florida; and to creating artificial habitats in educational displays around the world that enable travelers and backyard microadventurists alike to experience closeness with remarkable species (especially butterflies 🦋 ) and thereby learn to care about them; and you have a deeper reverence for the wild than most people I know. Your travelogues, like my tiny stay-at-home blog, highlight the dire straits that humans have brought the planet to, and you bring remote parts of the world to readers who can’t or don’t wish to go there, like me. Your edgy sense of humor isn’t for everyone, you seem to lack even a modicum of compassion for any human except possibly yourself, and I truly don’t know where your humor ends and actual hate begins. But I do appreciate you, and your good work in the world, and I hold you always in loving kindness.