Bad News, Good News

Earlier this month while attending a conference I had the pleasure of listening to a speech by Doug Tallamy, author and entomologist at the University of Delaware. His talk, about creating a balanced community i.e. between the natural world and the built world of man, started out horribly depressing. In the U.S. we have 62,500 sq. miles of turf grass; one-third of all bird species in the U.S. are in decline or endangered; "Birds lost 50% of their habitat because we're mowing and raking the world," he quipped.
96% of bird species eat insects. We've left only tiny habitats in our suburban landscapes and many of those contain plants that aren't native, hence the insects that birds, amphibians, and mammals would be feeding on, just aren't around. Only tiny populations can exist in tiny habitats, and tiny populations are vulnerable to extirpation and extinction. Our remaining natural areas--in too many places--are not large enough to sustain creatures.

What to do?
Fortunately, we can do something. Tallamy suggests we reduce our lawn area by at least half and plant native species. For instance, oaks support over 150 different kinds of caterpillars. Hmmm. . . what eats caterpillars? We need to share our space; we need to root out our biological deserts and create functional ecosystems for the creatures we share ecosystems with. We should attempt to reproduce food webs. Are you worried about creepy-crawlies? If you mimic natural systems, most of those creepy-crawlies will be kept in check by their predators--if you let nature do her thing! Animal diversity comes from plant diversity, he noted.

At first I thought his talk was going to be nothing but gloom and doom, doom, doom. No, instead, he instilled us with hope that we can actually do something and create a better living space for all of God's creation. Check out his book: Bringing Nature Home; it's in my "To-Read" pile.

Err...umm...a proposal?

Some in our society bemoan the low literacy rates--heck, the apparent lower interest in the the enterprise of reading itself. We've got rising obesity and diabetes among the young, along with who knows what other "conditions" psychiatrists and psychologists have yet to "diagnose." Children don't play outside as much (this is a battle in my own house), many appear to be regularly incurious about the world. What to be done? What to be done, frets the English teacher.
Why not, starting with the president all the way down to mayors, tell parents and children not to buy video game systems, hold off for a while on buying that movie or TV show on DVD, let the cable bill lapse for a month or two; don't add another song to the ipod for a month. Instead, buy a new board game, plan several trips to a park, go to the library and borrow some books to read aloud. Notice I did not say that the government should ban video games, DVDs, cable TV and such. That would be unconstitutional (Heavens!), and create a black market for such goods that would only increase their desirability. No, I would just like our leaders to give consumerism the bird and strongly recommend that people do something to enrich family life and give their children something that has lasting value. Perhaps parents would find that beyond loving their children, they actually enjoy them.

Wonder and disgust

Why does the sight of the flying V of Canada geese thrill me? The overhead honk and the whistle of flapping mousy brown wings stirs excitement within me.

And yet. . . these same avian wonders nearly always bring out a pantomime routine of mine where I cock a shotgun and fire away at the plump feathered ovals with legs when I see them grazing our (addiction to?) lawns. Perhaps their gift of fertilization causes this reaction? Their oh, so charming hiss when you move too close? I don't know, but it's strange when the same creature brings out two different reactions based on their position on the earth or in the sky.
I guess it's just a puzzle of autumn.

Tradition and Sola Scriptura

We read this statement from a Korean affirmation of faith this past Sunday: "We believe in the Old and New Testaments as the sufficient rule both of faith and of practice." Incredibly, I found myself immediately disagreeing with that. Necessary? Yes. Sufficient? I'm not sure. George Florovsky in "The Function of Tradition in the Ancient Church" writes "Tradition was, in fact, the authentic interpretation of scripture. . . . Tradition was actually scripture rightly understood."
What does that mean? Well, it seems to me, that scripture can't stand on its own as a guide. After all what does Jesus mean when he says "And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes"(Luke 16:9)? I don't know, maybe Robert Tilton can tell us, or your pastor, but better perhaps one of the church fathers. Why trust the accumulation of history, culture, and strange interpretation, when one could see what the fathers had to say about a particular scripture's meaning?
Without tradition, we have the Bible, but we are blind.

Creation Sunday Invocation

Today was Creation Sunday at our humble church in sunny, suburban Livonia. What is that? Simply, a day of worship focusing our gratitude for God's great gift of creation that enables us to breathe, drink, eat, and do many other things that corporeal beings do so well. It is a day of deliberation to think about sharing these gifts and stewarding them for generations to come. This is no reaction to the times--this is the Gospel--part of it, anyway, that far too many evangelicals have ignored.

Anyway, BK liked my invocational prayer I composed so I post it here (my blog which links to FaceBook) for your kindly critiques. I'm still not happy with it, but I'm just so frickin' picky when I write. Can you find where I stole from Ray Bradbury and Gerard Manley Hopkins?

Father, Maker of the Universe,
What can we offer that compares with the extravagant gifts of air, soil, and water You so graciously bestowed upon your creatures?
What picture can we paint that rivals your spectrum of light, a rainbow of feathers, a collage of insects, a field of flowers?
What songs can we sing that bring justice to the call of frogs on a spring evening, the waterfall of birdsong, the lullaby of crickets?
What poem or story can we compose to match the interplay of cells in bodies, the bright and distant glory of starfields, the journey of a drop of water?
We cannot, Lord, we cannot.
We even dared to pin you on a tree you created.
And yet, in spite of the paucity of our gifts, our rapacious greed, and heavy hands, you still chose to rescue us from our own destruction.
Your spirit imparts life, wisdom, and peace and covers us with bright wings.
Teach us to receive your gifts with respect and gratitude.
Move us to enter in to the divine life you offer.
Remind us that your good gifts are to be shared with all people, those living and those not yet born.
Open our eyes to see your world as you see it.
Make us more like Jesus.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,
Amen.

Jeremiad against the machine

Published in 1930 by a group of 12 Southern writers based in Vanderbilt College, I'll Take My Stand: The South and the Agrarian Tradition is a collection of essays issued as a stay against further industrialization of the South. Obviously they failed. In many respects the South is no different from any other region in the US. Regionalism has given way to a corporatized banality. The last bastion of yeoman farmers lost out to Detroit and other industrial powerhouses in the late 30s and 40s.
At times racist and patronizing, bitter and nostalgic, prophetic and prescient, I'll Take My Stand desperately tries to convince the South to keep her identity, but to no avail.
The essays offer no practical advice, merely polemic, but some of them...whew. What would the world be like if their ideas had prevailed? There is no way of knowing...at least not until the oil runs out. And that shouldn't happen for another 250 years--right?

Summer is not over!

Just because Labor Day is nearly finished does not mean that summer ends. The seasons follow no governmental dictate--summer has yet two weeks of life. Work begins again for me tomorrow and strangely I feel neither dread nor excitement; I'm not sure if that is a good thing or ill. The family biked half of the Paint Creek trail today and yesterday visited what may turn out to be the last Michigan State Fair.

Overall, this was a wonderful summer for the Martins. Hikes in Washtenaw and Oakland counties, the children mastered bike riding, rock climbing in New Hampshire, touring Massachusetts, Virginia, and Fort Necessity in PA, camping at Wilderness State Park all added up to a full, fun vacation. Unfortunately, I didn't finish painting the exterior of the house (something I'm going to have to do this month).
I also finished my classes for my Master Naturalist certification and am looking forward to a good honey harvest. If I can fit a fishing trip and weekend of camping with friends in, the fall should be just as refreshing.