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The Wild Cost

I continue to follow developments in the disastrous illegal war that the Liar in Chief chose as a multi-purpose ruse to distract from the Epstein files and other corruptions while also enriching himself and his sycophant cronies through weapons investments and market manipulation. The costs are glossed over by the government and complicit legacy media so I’m grateful there are some people keeping track. Twenty hours and twenty minutes into it, as I write this, the US government has spent 42 billion of our tax dollars, and adding $5000 every second on this real-time clock. What a bitter, bitter pill it was to deliver paperwork to my accountant last week.

“168 Pairs of Shoes” video from No Kings Day 3, Paonia, Colorado. 15 minutes

The human cost rises daily as well. It started dramatically with the slaughter of innocents represented above in Virginia Unseld’s moving tribute 168 Pairs of Shoes. Her next installation last Friday at a Methodist church presented the shoes lining the sidewalks to the steps, where they formed the shape of a heart.

photo courtesy of Virginia Unseld

The human cost is grave, the financial cost is staggering, but what about the wild world? Who is talking about the environmental cost? I’ve only noticed one person on my social and news networks making noise about it, environmentalist drag queen Pattie Gonia.

So, I’ll talk about it. It’s taken hours of searching online to learn that there’s a paucity of research on the subject; however, what research there is concurs: War is bad not just for children but for the whole wild world. I also looked into the wildlife of Iran. One of the first hits was an article called “Conservation Policies in Iran: Protecting Biodiversity and Endangered Species” from November 2024.

We savored a long ramble through the woods this Easter Sunday, playing with the infrared Bucktown Pack on my imaginary camera.

It states that Iran’s unique geographical position at the intersection of three major zoogeographical regions—Palaearctic, Oriental, and Ethiopian—contributes to its rich biodiversity. There are many endemic plants and animals, which means they occur nowhere else. “The Caspian Hyrcanian mixed forests are UNESCO World Heritage sites, recognized for their exceptional biological diversity and ancient lineage…. Additionally, Iran is home to many threatened and endangered species, such as the Persian leopard, the Asiatic cheetah, and the Caspian seal. These species are crucial for maintaining ecological balance and health within their respective habitats. However, the rich biodiversity of Iran faces numerous challenges, primarily from habitat loss due to urbanization, agricultural expansion, and industrial development. Climate change exacerbates these issues, affecting water availability and altering habitats, which further threatens the survival of many species.” This article doesn’t mention war, because that wasn’t a factor when it was written.

For pictures of Iran’s endangered species, see this list in Animalia. Many of them are aquatic, including several species each of whales, sea turtles, sharks, rays, shorebirds, and the Indian Ocean humpback dolphin. The list also includes the mammals named above, as well as the Siberian crane, Steppe eagle, Kurdistan newt, Latifi’s viper, and the Persian onegar, a subspecies of Asiatic wild ass endemic to Iran with a population of around 700. A full list of Iran’s 156 endangered species including corals, fishes, insects, and at least one plant, is here.

I did find a few articles that touch on the environmental impacts of war, like this from the US Army War College, and this from The Revelator, but most of them come back to focus on the harm that war does to the environment from a human perspective. All agree, though, that war, particularly bombing, wreak havoc on the wild world as well. From a table in a waste management site, bombs release toxic chemicals into the soil, reducing fertility, harming plant growth, and contaminating groundwater; explosions contaminate water bodies, affecting aquatic ecosystems and drinking water sources; they clear large areas of vegetation, displace soil, destroy habitats, and disrupt ecosystems, leading to biodiversity loss; they generate intense noise, causing stress and injury to wildlife, disrupting animal communication, navigation, migration patterns and food chains. They force animals to flee their habitats, removing or destroying key species. The list goes on.

A Brown University article states that The U.S. Department of Defense is the world’s single largest institutional consumer of oil – and as a result, one of the world’s top greenhouse gas emitters. War is destroying the planet faster than any other single factor in climate collapse. That’s my own claim, but it has an air of truthiness to it.

This article from Action on Armed Violence is one of many that highlight our interdependence with animals. “Though animals may be directly killed or injured by the use of explosive weapons, the impact to their environment appears to typically be the more concerning factor, particularly through habitat loss and human displacement. In Syria, for example, it was recently reported that water buffalo in Hama countryside have been highly impacted by the continued use of explosive violence in the region in recent years. Not only have water buffalo become direct casualties of the bombardment, but much of the land has become unusable, and farmers and their buffalo have been displaced by the shelling…. The total number of water buffalo in the area has decreased by two-thirds compared to the pre-conflict level by 2017.”

It continues, “Landmines and other explosive remnants also have a long history of environmental impact. They have directly killed many animals, including for example elephants in Sri Lanka, snow leopards in Afghanistan, tigers in Cambodia, gazelles in Libya, camels in China, and water buffalo Vietnam. While these have been documented in the past, there is little current research on this issue and the scale of the impact.”

The most comprehensive article I’ve encountered is this Canadian review on the effects of modern war and military activities on biodiversity and the environment, which posits, “Dramatic habitat alteration, environmental pollution, and disturbance contributed to population declines and biodiversity losses arising from both acute and chronic effects in both terrestrial and aquatic systems.” It details devastating effects of aerial assault, naval operations, terrestrial war, nuclear tests, military bases and training, chemical warfare, and more.

Toes-up time under the Ancient One, Wren reclining against my legs.

Among other findings, “The numerous explosive techniques and tools at the disposal of army forces during ground warfare have left a legacy on landscapes across the globe by leaving large craters, shrapnel, and contamination, thus devastating many ecosystems across the biosphere. Landmines applied during active ground warfare have left a lasting legacy on the environment and still remain a major threat to biodiversity, even decades after being deployed.”

After offering a paean to the benefits that military technology has contributed to environmental and conservation science, the article concludes, “…it is evident that warfare’s impacts on ecosystem functioning are indeed overwhelmingly deleterious. The impacts of conflict, nuclear weapons, training operations, and chemical contaminations all contribute to both reductions in the populations of local flora and fauna as well as reducing species diversity in the affected ecosystems. Impacts were demonstrated in a number of environments with a diversity of taxonomic groups represented with war resulting in both acute and chronic impacts on the ecosystem.” It illustrates the impact categories in this figure.

“Creations are numberless, I vow to free them.” This is the first line of the Zen vows that I repeat any time I participate in a Upaya teaching. Just imagine the numberless creations, from spiders to rodents, domestic cats and dogs, chickens, lizards, snakes, common or rare and unique life forms who are getting obliterated with every bomb of every war.

Yesterday I finished reading Against the Machine by Paul Kingsnorth. It was a difficult and challenging read. Though I disagree with some of his assertions, notably those regarding introspection, and those on human sexuality and gender, his thesis that “techno-industrial culture has choked Western civilisation and is destroying the Earth itself” resonates brutally with my observations. “From the First Industrial Revolution to the rise of artificial intelligence, this book shows how the hollowing out of humanity has been a long game—and how our very soul is now at stake.” I will be pondering this book for a long time. Trump’s frivolous war on Iran is a consummate example of Machine culture from every angle at which you examine it.

If you’re still with me, you might want an antidote to this post. If so, check out Jessica Craven’s Extra! Extra! good news post today.

Under the Apricot Tree

Savoring the sights, sounds, scents of the fruit trees in flagrant bloom this week, I laid a camping pad under the apricot tree on the day the petals all flew off. I was grateful to see a dozen painted ladies, a few bumblebees, some moths, and several other kinds of native bees as well as a few honeybees also enjoying the flowers.

The next day, the wild plum burst into blossom, and the day after that the peach tree buds started to open.

And Biko showed Wren how to enjoy a strawberry.

Saturday is the third No Kings Day national protest against the corrupt, murderous regime in power in the US. If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention. You can find an event near you here. I’ll be joining friends at the Paonia Town Park, and donating my craftivism to the local Immigrant Protection organization. These little red hat badges will be available for a $10 minimum donation to support local families affected by ICE terrors.

A Walk in the Woods

Today it snowed at least five inches, which gave me a chance to catch up inside, and review photos from the last weeks of this mild and gorgeous autumn. Most days I woke Topaz from her mid-morning nap on the sunroom table to invite her out for a walk. She’s going a little deaf, so a gentle touch on the side of the basket and she startles awake with a little mrrrp!

It takes her awhile to get going once she steps outside. She rolls on the flagstones and stretches, while Wren and I zigzag through the woods close to the yard, noticing details. I call to her occasionally: sometimes she hops through the gate and runs to catch up, but most of the time we’re well on our way before she shows herself.

Some days she doesn’t join us at all. Yesterday I thought was one of those days, so after awhile I gave up on her and we ambled eastward, from one lovely view, one magnificent tree, to another.

I’ve been practicing a meditation instruction I heard a few days ago, to remember, just for a moment now and then, the felt sense of being “without a care in the world.” The woods is the best place to do that. I don’t think of myself as stressed until I realize how that feeling used to be much easier to find.

It’s healthy to now and then shrug off worries about health, mortality, money, the collapse of democracy, and recall that carefree feeling. I was immersed in it. We had wandered on deer trails for half an hour and were pretty far from the house, the canyon in sight. I sat on a log for a short meditation. A quiet mrrrp interrupted my reverie, and Topaz jumped up next to me. I was delighted to see her. She’d been stalking us all along.

Once she had gotten enough appreciation she wandered away and that was my cue to get up and move again. I let her and Wren dictate our route.

There’s an avenue of ancients near the southeast corner that came to my heart to visit, so I steered us in that general direction. The junipers are evenly spaced down a gentle slope to the canyon rim. A couple of them appear to be around the same age, five or six hundred years or older, and some younger, just a couple hundred. The series below shows more than one angle on each of the trees.

I got to the bottom of the avenue and realized there was another tree in the line that I had not once in thirty years understood. It was just below a rocky ledge, at the top of the scree that angles down to Ice Canyon. As I considered the whole slope, I experienced the feeling of this next tree slowly sliding down the edge as rock eroded over centuries. Its powerful roots kept it anchored and it reached upward even as the earth carried it downhill.

I turned, and for the first time followed the sight line uphill from that tree along the avenue…

… and then I turned again and followed it farther downhill, to another tree I had failed to recognize as the last in line, barely hanging on above the drop into Ice Canyon. I wallowed in awe for a long while without a care in the world.

Wren’s Good Week

After four years of practicing gratefulness, knowing at the time I began that it was in response to overwhelming grief, I’m beginning to understand how these two feelings dance together. 

Grief and gratitude are kindred souls, each pointing to the beauty of what is transient and given to us by grace.
Patricia Campbell Carlson

It’s been a tumultuous week. Some weeks are just like that. Equanimity was shaken, largely from inside, but I’ve gotten good practice in letting go and letting be, in beginning again. Exquisite autumn weather has enabled me to be outside a lot with the animals and the trees, which is always soul soothing. We visited the Ancient One a few times and sheltered in her embrace for some meditations.

A nice man came to plant a couple of free trees, a river birch and a Fremont cottonwood, and Wren was very helpful. Afterward she thanked him profusely. What a pleasure it’s been over the past year to see this little dog blossoming into a joyful outgoing creature, from the suspicious, frightened little rescue she was when she came here three years ago.

Despite my internal turmoil, Wren enjoyed a very good week. We had planned since spring to upgrade the patio area on the west side of the pond, and that work finally happened under her capable supervision.

The ‘trail mix’ gravel was spread, edged, and raked all in the nick of time before a good day’s rain left snow low in the mountains and frost on the pumpkin down here. Now this portion of the yarden will be safer for me and my aging friends to access, and more welcoming for mindfulness or purely social gatherings.

Wren also inspected the woodpile after a new addition. A friend was sad to have to cut down a dying aspen in her yarden, but happy to give me half of it, for which I’m very grateful. And I’m grateful that my little aspen thrives still, twenty years after hitchhiking here hidden in the soil of a potentilla shrub I transplanted from a friend’s garden.

The little blueberry bush which didn’t even bloom this year nevertheless grew under its protective netting, and then turned this stunning red. I’m grateful this week for nature’s beauty, bounty, and resilience, and for my own growing capacity to turn mistakes into lessons, to cultivate resilience, and to open my heart over and over. A phrase a friend quoted last week keeps coming back to me: “Your people are the ones who make your heart feel seen and your nervous system feel calm.” Intentionally connecting with ‘my people’, a profound acupuncture treatment, and allowing everyone to be my teacher have all helped restore balance. And this excerpt from a lesson by Sam Harris in the introductory course on his app Waking Up really shook some sense into me:

“The truth is, you know exactly what it’s like to feel overwhelming gratitude for your life. And if you have the freedom and the free attention to listen to this lesson right now, you are in an unusual situation. There are at least a billion people on Earth at this moment who would consider their prayers answered if they could trade places with you. There are at least a billion people who are suffering debilitating pain, or political oppression, or the acute stages of bereavement. To have your health, even just sort of; to have friends, even only a few; to have hobbies or interests and the freedom to pursue them; to have spent this day free from some terrifying encounter with chaos, is to be lucky. Just look around you and take a moment to feel how lucky you are. You get another day to live on this earth. Enjoy it.”

After another busy day delivering oxytocin to me and herding the sparrows, Wren finally rests. She is silently encouraging me to knit faster so she can show off her new sweater that matches her beautiful blue eye.

A Spring Stroll

Beautiful tulips in the garden this morning. After working most of the day, we set off into the woods for an aimless ramble, which I haven’t felt steady enough to do for more than a year. We broke from the main path at the bottom of the first hill, and then meandered along various deer trails, up and down, over a few logs, at a slow, contemplative pace. It was blissful.

Like icing on the cake, as we neared the house again at last, I spied the first Indian paintbrush in bloom, right on schedule. The hummingbirds won’t be far behind! This has been a reliable indicator of their arrival for as long as I’ve lived here. Time to get the feeders out of storage and mix a batch of nectar to be ready when the first one arrives. Remember, if you feed hummingbirds, clean the feeders with hot water, or hot water and a very dilute bleach solution: don’t use soap. Don’t use metal feeders as those can injure tender tongues. And never use store-bought nectar, red nectar, red dye: just use 1 part granulated sugar to 4 parts boiled water and stir until completely dissolved. Let the nectar cool completely before filling feeders. Yes, it takes time, thought, care, and attention, but there are so many things that can go wrong and hurt those tender living jewels that it’s worth doing right.

Wren loves that it’s time to find Biko again every evening. She can hardly wait to get out the door before she races around the whole yard looking for him, and then she tells me when she’s found him.

Resilience

Wren wouldn’t stop licking her forearm where she got the IV during her dental, so last night I had to wrap it. It was quite the struggle, involving a medicated wipe, ointment, gauze, vet wrap, and me briefly holding a dog jerky treat between my teeth. She resisted, walked afterward like she had a thorn in her paw, kept trying to lick off the wrap. Once I got her in bed for the night she settled down.

In the mornings if she gets up before me I don’t even open my eyes, just pat the bed, and she jumps up and rolls onto my hand or curls up in the crook of my arm. This morning I patted the bed with the back of my hand, and she did something she’s never done before. I felt her little paw settle softly in my palm. She lifted it and set it down again like a feather. Moving only my fingers I felt the bandage down around her ankle and gently slipped it over her foot. She flung herself down and curled up on top of my hand.

Today she got ointment and the Donut of Protection, and it was much easier. Neither sore nor donut kept her from her job at the pond.

For lunch today, fresh bread and homemade tomato soup from the freezer. I’m grateful for a tip I got decades ago that avocado is the perfect garnish for tomato soup.

I’m grateful that I’m still meeting old trees for the first time sometimes when I walk in the woods. I noticed this piñon from a distance the other day and assumed these were branches broken down over winter. Today we went to investigate and discovered that they’re growing down like a full skirt, having bent when young in deep snow and kept growing that direction. Bent, not broken; resilient.

Priorities

Late sun before the storm. These tenuous blossoms may be gone tomorrow, like anything else. I stepped away from a meeting this evening to savor the golden sunset light because it seemed more important.

A Multi-Purpose Stump

It was a pleasant morning, with a latté, a good story on the kindle, and a slice of potica. But there was sorrow in store.

Looking east toward the mountains the juniper looks tattered but possibly salvageable.

A juniper has stood by my front gate for hundreds of years longer than there was a gate. A couple of years ago a large limb broke off in a heavy snow, and some weeks ago a few more limbs broke in a similar heavy, wet snow. A remaining limb had already died. It was a hard decision, like putting down a dog whose last legs have gone out from under him. What little life the tree still held would not last long, might well come down in the next storm.

Looking north the extent of the damage is more visible, and it’s clear the one remaining living trunk will break before long.

So, grateful for a friend’s recommendation, I called Paonia Tree Service, and they were able to come out just a few days later. I spent some time before they arrived hugging the juniper and saying goodbye.

Cameron arrived with a warm smile, empathetic, and eager to help. He assessed the tree, positioned the chipper, and set to work. I watched from the west window, sad but sure.

He moved efficiently and gracefully, cutting smaller limbs first and dragging them to a pile out of the way, a few times shutting down the saw and feeding the pile into the chipper, which blew out an astonishing stream of chips and sawdust. As he moved around the tree he effortlessly trimmed, chipped, and cut larger limbs into cordwood lengths stacking them in front of the long gate.

When he was down to the main trunk, he cut three disks about two inches thick as I’d asked him to, so that I can sand and polish them. I don’t know what I’ll do with them, but it’s my way of honoring the tree. Since he could not cut the trunk off at ground level (which would have allowed for a handy parking spot), I asked him to leave it tall enough so that anyone pulling in could see it and avoid running into it.

I look forward to sanding, polishing, and oiling the stump come spring, and then counting the rings.

I imagined I might set something ornamental on it, or it could be a landing pad for outgoing or incoming things like parcels, treats, the kinds of things neighbors drop off or pick up on a flyby. “You could set a plant on it,” Cameron said.

I had sent this picture to Cousin Mel and was telling her this story, when she said, “—or you could set a dog on it! A multi-purpose stump!” Something about that struck our funny bones hard; we laughed a long while over the phone. And we’re both always grateful for a good long laugh.

Roughly the same view to the east as the top picture, minus the tree, with its mortal remains: a big pile of chips, a swath of sawdust over snow, and a multi-purpose stump.

And then it was lunchtime. It had taken Cameron less than an hour to transform the juniper into components. Every time I’ve stepped outside since then, I smell the clean, sweet scent of the tree, lingering; even more strongly since the latest snow which lies six inches deep everywhere except the chip pile: the heat of the tree’s life force melted the snow almost as fast as it fell.

Lunch was another delicious cheese sandwich: mayo, mustard, avocado, Havarti, B&B pickles, and romaine. And our little lives go on, day by day, full of small adventures and simple pleasures, mindful and unmindful moments, gratefully aware of ten thousand joys and ten thousand sorrows.

Today in Pollinators

I stood under the wild plum for an hour as petals rained down in the breeze, amid the flutter of butterflies and the buzz of bees.

And then I stood awhile under the peach tree whose tender pink blossoms are just now opening.

Idle Rambling

In which Topaz leads the way. It’s Mud Season, and the pathways through the woods are half icy, half muddy, and half dry. So it’s a good time to follow Topaz on a walk because she hates mud and ice, so she finds the driest way through the forest. I’m grateful for idle rambling this afternoon, seeing parts of the woods and old juniper friends we haven’t visited all winter.