Category Archives: Environment

Survival

From an intriguing book I just picked up: Behaving As If the God in All Life Mattered, by Machaelle Small Wright, 1983 (1997):

Overlighting Deva: “By survival, we mean the act of maintaining the fusion and balance between spirit and matter on the physical planet Earth…. The very physical existence of [humans] on Earth has depended upon all kingdoms of nature…. [The dynamic] must shift from being one of distant benevolence, as it has been in the best of past times, to being one of conscious co-creativity…. Humans do not, on the whole, understand the dynamic relationships between spirit and matter. Nature does. It is a dynamic that is inherent within the life force of nature….

But in order for the dynamic to be fully useful to all the other levels of reality within this universe, [this dynamic] must be unlocked from its custodianship within nature and linked with the human tool of intelligence. Only then can it be applied in principle within all realms of life.

If humans continue in their reluctance to join [nature] … then surely out of human ignorance and arrogance, we will all continue to experience difficult challenges to our survival and, eventually, we will be faced with the full separation of spirit from matter on this planet (xvi–xvii).

Wright says, “ The nature intelligence I speak of contains within it the truth—a truth that has been present and available to us since the beginning of time. It is not available exclusively to the gifted. It is a vast universal truth that is present around us everywhere. Our doorway to this truth is through nature itself” (xiv).

Thank God the Fourth of July Is Over

“Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave…” I ask, over what, exactly, is that banner waving?

July 5, 2020. The full thunder moon. Fitting. We sit within a tempest, even as it is dry as a bone here in the American Northeast: a tempestuous energy that blows through the psyche, through our communities and cities, across the land from coast to coast, and border to border.

I was struck yesterday by how fraught the Fourth of July felt to me this year—with the wildly surging pandemic and the administrative gas-lighting (rather than problem-solving) that plagues the pandemic’s resolution, or at least its reduction. With the occupant in the White House conducting audacious displays of divisiveness at Mount Rushmore and the Washington Mall, inciting people to gather in large numbers, close together (in zip-tied chairs no less) and a “wink wink” no masks or social distancing needed here. “We are invincible! No virus can get us. And if it does, well that is god’s will.” It’s just a little flu, right? One that has killed over 125,000 people just in the U.S. in less than six months—that pesky little virus. It’s of no matter, so the Occupant, in his Rushmore speech, focused instead on protecting racist statues and decrying the progressive left as fascists.

Really??! I looked up the word “fascist” just now to double check. Did I have the meaning wrong? No, I don’t think so … Dictionary.com says, “a governmental system led by a dictator having complete power, forcibly suppressing opposition and criticism … emphasizing an aggressive nationalism and often racism.” Now I know the meaning of fascist has many more nuances, too many to go into here, but this sounds, well enough, like our current status with this president.

Last I knew, the progressive left are fervently focused on saving the earth’s ecosystems before it’s too late and creating social systems that support ALL people, not just those glittering with ill-gotten wealth. Seems reasonable to be passionate about these goals.

Countries with competent leadership and intelligent citizenry abroad are watching us, aghast, and utterly flummoxed. They won’t let Americans fly into their countries without quarantine, if at all. Who could blame them? Countries led by despots just like ours are applauding our idiocy. The weaker America gets, the better for them.

This past week, I’ve noticed that the houses in the rural New England towns near where I live are the “flagged” and the “unflagged.” Or in some cases, the flagged and the “Black Lives Matter” houses. Yesterday, for the Fourth, one house had decorated its yard with quite an impressive number of medium-sized, seemingly brand new flags and a quaint little colonial-style sign that says “God Bless America” hung on a tree. I thought, as I walked past, “Man, we need blessing badly.” Now I like this family, a lot, so as I walked, I tried to understand how, maybe, they viewed the divisive issues we are grappling with as a country. Judging from their flags and crosses, obviously their views are quite different from mine.

Part of me wants to sit down with them and have a good ole lengthy civil discussion about philosophy, religion, politics, and the meaning of life. Or several discussions. But I can’t. For one, civility seems to be in short supply these days. It would be a risk. And, of course, we need to physically distance. And they would probably think I was a weirdo, with my belief that even plants have intelligence; and that all is interconnected and equal, even rocks and minerals; and that consciousness is primary and physical matter is a manifestation of consciousness. (The latter is not that crazy—some quantum physicists are starting to think in these terms. Space-time is starting to appear doomed as a theory. Ancient religions have been saying this for thousands of years.) But I digress.

To me, the Fourth of July felt this year a surreal pageant, playing out like a Stephen King or Robert R. McCammon novel. Indeed the whole year has felt this way. The past four years… The “rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem” in Yeats’ poem “The Second Coming” appears to have awoken. We are all painfully aware of its presence. How we view the beast is a matter of perception, and how much love we still connect with in our hearts.

On a long walk down my country road yesterday, on the Fourth of July, I was thinking about the town I grew up in. It was a small New Hampshire town with one general store, a town hall, a town garage, and a library. That’s it. It is still that way to this day, due to vigilant zoning and a coop running the general store. It was mostly white, this town. But we had diversity of economics for sure with some families being very poor. I like to think we all looked out for them, for each other. I know my dad used to stop in regularly to check on an old hermit who lived in a one-room house with his German shepherd. This old hermit knew the town history like no one else and often helped my dad solve his surveying questions (my dad had a part-time gig as a land surveyor).

So as I walked, I was thinking about July 4, 1976 in my hometown: the two-hundredth anniversary of the year that the Declaration of Independence was signed (August 2, 1776). Okay, I didn’t know this but independence was declared on July 2nd; Congress approved the text on July 4th; and it was signed on August 2nd. A little history thanks to Constitutional Facts online.

What a celebration that was in 1976!! I was thirteen. I believe I wore red, white, and blue elephant-bellbottom pants—remember those? Just about everyone in town joined in for picnics, a softball game, log rolling, and fireworks. We even had frog races. One of my favorite memories of time spent with my dad was he and I trying to catch those dang frogs with nets and white buckets at the pond up the road that morning. Easier said than done! Still, my dad and I realized our error as we watched the poor things prodded on hot pavement by clumsy children. We’d just engaged in an act of cruelty. A small dampening of an otherwise happy day. I never caught frogs again. Neither did my dad.

Being young teens, my friends and I were thrilled to find a half-eaten vodka-spiked watermelon on a picnic table that evening. We ate a generous quantity and I was drunk for the first time in my life. We ran through the cemetery, “oohed and awed” at the fireworks, and, on the town hall steps, I kissed a boy for whom I’d been harboring a huge crush.

Never in my wildest dreams, did I ever think that the Fourth of July would be a sad day, as it felt this year, in 2020.

Even as I got older, the Fourth was always a cause for celebration. Fireworks synced to WHEB Portsmouth playing Pink Floyd, “Dark Side of the Moon.” Sitting on my friend’s roof on State Street with a big party of folks watching the display, my friend’s brother smiling and saying to me as the colorful sparks burst and fluttered earthward, “Each one looks like it’s coming right to us.”

It was my father-in-law driving his old Corvette in the town parade and the barbecue afterwards at their big, old New England home. My husband and his dad squabbling over how to grill properly. My mother-in-law proudly presenting her cucumber molded salad that none of us liked but ate out of duty and our love for her.

Of course, history is never ideal. We had our problems for sure. Humans have always been prone to treat each other and the planet poorly. Wars, genocides, nuclear arms proliferation, Cancer Alleys created by toxic manufacturing of chemicals. Elephants slaughtered for ivory. Crooked politicians: Watergate, Iran-Contra. Religious differences. Serial killers. Crazy cult leaders like Charles Manson. Persistent racism and sexism. The tenacious patriarchy. Cultural revolution in the ‘60s followed by an insipid, growing apathy. And the ever-present human ills: selfishness, greed, egoism, and the like.

But it’s never felt like this.

Like a tinderbox ready to burst into flame. Like a tempest about to unleash. Like a very, very sick society that just needs to go to the infirmary to heal. I’m not the first to wonder if the coronavirus is an outward manifestation of our inner illness, of our cultural ills, of our sick planet.

Yesterday, it felt that the Fourth of July was a symbol of that illness with worries about people gathering in large numbers and giving another boost to the accelerating pandemic in the U.S. The fireworks—I didn’t even have the heart to watch my neighbor’s fireworks out my front windows—they felt as if erupting like the tinderbox I sense that we are. (And I actually worried about a wildfire, it being so dry.) And then there is my knowledge, contrary to my elementary and high school education in the ’70s, that the real narrative is that our independence was won by colonizing and enacting genocide on the indigenous people whose land this was when Europeans arrived. I can’t unsee that and I don’t wish to. It’s the reality we need to face and accept. And fix.

We are encouraged by this holiday to celebrate “freedom.” Yet those with little means, without the justice and respect they deserve, with health issues from toxic pollution from now unregulated or less-regulated factories, can’t take advantage of that freedom in equal ways. The indigenous tribal members who protested at the entrance to Mount Rushmore are still, centuries later, calling for the respect and apology they deserve. They are still fighting to protect their sacred lands, currently dug up and destroyed for oil and gas endeavors and other infrastructure projects we really don’t need and should not build.

The giant Formosa plastics plant they are attempting to build in St. James Parish in Louisiana would further pollute the already polluted communities nearby. The plant will create mountains of trash we can’t dispose of safely. Trash that will float to the shores of other countries. Trash that mother birds will feed to their babies, thinking its food. By 2050 it’s predicted that we will have more plastics in our oceans than fish. We already have enough fossil fuels out of the ground to warm the planet the precarious 2 degrees Celsius that will see 90% of coral reefs die off and flood out major cities (The Story of Plastics; Center for Biological Diversity). We don’t need more oil and gas extracted and piped under the Appalachian Trail or sacred indigenous lakes. We just don’t.

Our country not only has a dangerous, delusional ruler who gleefully supports the fossil fuel industry and rolls out the red carpet for projects like Formosa’s, our country has been, for decades, hijacked by corporate interests that think nothing of melting our polar ice caps or destroying every single species on this earth. More resources to grab and profit from.

Speaking of freedom, what of the brown people we have locked up in detention centers? How is it, that in the land of the free, the “give me your tired, your poor” America, that we deny asylum, lock up people in this way, and simply go about our business?

None of this is cause for celebration.

These are signals that the light of love has burnt out in our hearts, leaving us in darkness. Perhaps this is a necessary part of the process for us to learn, by coming to our knees, that love is the only truth. Maybe this is the only way forward? I don’t know. But it’s painful. And heart-wrenchingly sad. Grief is my constant companion these days. Even as I see the light everywhere: in the nest of blue-headed vireos that flourished in my lilac bush this past month. In the full thunder moon that will rise tonight.

How will we carry America forward? How will we steward the earth? With the light of love reignited in our hearts? Co-created in the spirit of thoughtfulness, communication, and cooperation? Or in pieces and tatters, barricaded behind walls and waving flags, while sacrificing the vulnerable, the “others,” and all the beauty of this planet on the altar of short-term gratification, selfishness, independence, and greed?

We get to choose. We choose every single day. Each day there are consequences of our choices—individually and collectively. Each day we create consequences that could turn us from this darkness to light. Or, we create consequences that could take hundreds of years to rectify. And we create consequences that can never be undone—such as melting permafrost, or a grandmother who dies in the ICU because her grandchild went to a party and, not meaning to, passed the coronavirus on to her.

Let’s pause … live slowly and deliberately. Let’s rethink and revise our words, our actions, and our beliefs. Let’s realize that individually we really don’t know everything and that together, with open ears and minds, we might figure out something. Let’s create good ripples. Let’s celebrate independence in conjunction with cooperation and collective wellness—for we can’t separate them. They have never been separate. In the illusion of separateness, we won’t survive. But with the inclusion of interconnected hearts, we will.

Communion

“Okay, this is where I am. How am I going to let that grief alchemize me into something that can listen to life in a different way? …the awakening is so strong, so rich. Because there’s so much loss going on. The love that’s becoming available because of the grief is so huge [so as to] blast through our apathy.” Clare Dubois, interview on Buddha at the Gas Pump, March 9, 2020

These words and this entire interview with Clare Dubois, the intelligent and passionate founder of Tree Sisters, strikes me in this time. Especially when, this morning, I took a bit of time to catch up on the news and saw headline after headline, from PBS to the NRDC, about this heartless U.S. administration destroying one environmental protection after another—migratory birds, old growth forests, trophy hunting on nature preserves with the allowance to kill animals raising young in their dens, industry bypassing environmental impact studies and rules, deregulation of chemicals and pesticides (that go into our food and our homes, by the way), and the frightening list goes on.

This is where the Orange One has been putting his energy (when he is not bolstering his ego and his image with those he has in his thrall) during Covid-19, during a nation uprising in rightful and right-minded protest. He and those focused only on GDP and $$$ would like us so very much to just forget about the protests and especially the coronavirus. I’ve seen politicians and media encouraging us to go out and spend money! Drink at a bar! Go to the beach! To return to “normal” ASAP. It’s a gas-lighting campaign, for anyone who hasn’t figured that out. If you tell folks it is safe and everything is great enough times, they will believe it.

I know we are weary, but racism is a deep, deep societal ill that will require long, sustained energy to change and heal. We need long-range activism to deal with it. And the virus is still here. This novel coronavirus is here to stay. Yes, we will have waves, spikes, and outbreaks for the foreseeable future (aka, years). Yes, case counts and mortality of the First Wave continue to rise, especially in countries led by despots like the U.S., Brazil & Russia. Yes, if you haven’t already, you will know someone who dies of Covid-19 before long. No, they don’t know how herd immunity will look or if it is likely, yet. Or how long immunity will last – a few months, a year, permanent? We just don’t know yet. No, we won’t have a vaccine distributed to 7 billion people by next year. No, a vaccine won’t magically make normal life reappear. Only small pox was eradicated by vaccine and it took a drastic concerted effort and decades upon decades. Eventually, scientists are thinking Covid’s effects upon those who are vulnerable will grow milder over time, but that will take years. (https://www.washingtonpost.com/…/2020/05/27/coronavirus-en…/)

So we need to build long-range, thoughtful strategies. We need to work together to RETHINK how we live and what we value, to build a new vision. We should not return to the damaging “normal,” to, in the words of Dubois, “kneel at the altar of the current economy that requires the death of nature [and people] to thrive.”

Donald Trump and his administration have made war on us—war on the environment, war on our health through inaction or negligent action concerning the virus and increased pollutants through deregulation, and have incited renewed war on race, color, and difference of any kind.

This is reality. And acceptance of what IS now, not what once WAS, or what we WISH were true, is the only sensible path. Because acceptance allows us to make rational decisions. Like removing this man and those who support him from office as soon as possible, by whatever legal means we can find.

This is no time for apathy, or magical thinking. And we are rising up, no longer apathetic. This is full of heart and is heart-lifting.

All of these “illnesses” above are rooted in dualistic thinking and the ideology/worship of domination. I have said it and will say it again. We are all interconnected. That small snail crawling on the stone wall after the rain? It is no less important than you. It deserves just as much compassion as you. It deserves life, just like you. Clare Dubois goes on to say that “Communion—oh my god, communion! The most exquisite level of belonging!” It is time for communion my friends. The time is NOW. Before it is too late.

It Is Time for New Visions

The refrain to open up and get back to business as usual, back to “normal” is amplifying. Understandable—being asked to stay mostly in our houses, many not working, and with a tanking economy is not healthy. However, I have a thought: I would like to see a conversation emerge—a loud and pervasive conversation, an unrelenting conversation—that seriously explores the question: “Is ‘normal’ even what we want to or should go back to?”

Initially, of course, we will just need to get up and running, to the extent that we are able, so as to not create a second, more deadly wave of the virus. Just because we have cabin fever does not mean the virus is magically gone. Nor will it be gone for a long while. Nor do we have herd immunity. Researchers are not even certain, at this point (as far as I’ve read) how herd immunity will even play out. But, though I feel we will open too fast and too soon, I get that we need to “open” CAREFULLY so that financially bereft families have income coming in, so they can eat and keep a roof over their heads. I am one of those people. BUT I hope that we will self-reflect for the longer trajectory of “opening.”

Do we really want gridlocked highways? To be sitting in our cars for 2-3 hours a day? To be so harried that we barely get to see our families? To be mindlessly consuming the next shiny thing to quell the existential ache in our hearts?

Do we really want brown air, the same level of noise from traffic and planes, and the machines that bulldoze and carve up our remaining wild spaces? Do we really want a world with so many fewer birds, so many species gone extinct? Do we really want particles of discarded plastic ending up in our food and water, like they are now? Do we really want to eliminate our pollinators with loosely or now unregulated pesticides? (Look sharp to the EPA rules that were suspended and are being drastically eroded.)

Do we want a world of unprecedented droughts, storms, fires and floods due to a dramatically altering climate? Do we really want no ice sheets at our polar caps?? For the permafrost to melt and release large quantities of methane gas and create a runaway warming?

And do we even need to rescue the fossil fuel industry (with price per barrel in the negative)? Let it fall. It is time. It is way past time.

Do we really want to continue a society where some people don’t have a place to get out of danger in the face of a threat like a virus, or a catastrophic weather event? A society where the poorest had the least ability to self-isolate safely, due to crowded living conditions? Where the poorest ran out of food first? Or had the highest mortality rates?

Let’s instead open up to a new idea of “wealth” where the wellbeing of all people, animals, and wild spaces is what is measured, is what drives our decisions, and is the focus of our “work.” Capitalist consumerism is soulless; neoliberalism only works for an elite few and it sucks the life out of Nature and out of us.

Let’s instead pour the recovery energy and money into green technology, into local sustainable living, into buying ourselves more time to do what we love, into more practices of working from home for some of the week, into a new way of living.

Let’s ALL re-envision this, so we can preserve the precious little gifts we’ve discovered while self-isolating.

For those of us privileged enough to have a place to self-isolate, how many people, in the past month, have deepened their relationships with partners and children? How many people made some art for the first time since they could remember? How many people read a really good book? Or several? How many people made amazing food and relished the process? How many people meditated more, walked more, did yoga more? How many people created a much more healthy routine in working from home? How many people did some thoughtful introspection and felt themselves grow consciously and in dedication to live a more compassionate, meaningful life?

Let’s not throw away the silver lining while we chase the gold of the opening up. The reality is that there is no “normal.” We can create a new normal, a better normal.

Renewed Commitment for the Coming Year

It is New Year’s Eve. In our culture we refresh and reset goals. Make new commitments. Try again. I’ve been paying close attention to the news about the Australian bush fires for the past several weeks, some of the worst ever due to extreme heat, changes in rainfall patterns, ocean currents, and extreme drought. The amount of scorched acres is staggering, and the damage to the Gondwana rainforests (an ecosystem that dates back to the dinosaurs) appalling. Today, on New Year’s Eve, I woke up to hear just a brief news mention that researchers estimate up to 500 million animals are dead.

The broadcaster went breezily on to another story, but I had to sit down with that in meditation – 500 million animals. Including 8,000 koalas, 1/3 of the New South Wales koala population. There is a koala hospital there that treated 72 badly burned koalas on Christmas Day. Much of their prime habitat is gone.

I have no words. But it feels important to bear witness to this continuing tragedy. Humanity has major lessons to learn about being good stewards of the earth. Apparently we stubbornly stand to learn the hard way. And sadly, the world’s species are paying a terrible, painful price.

I will keep the spirits of these animals lost, and the ones still living and fighting for their lives, in my mind and heart. I feel grateful for all the fire fighters and animal rescuers on the ground in Australia. I wish I could do more than this in this moment. Separateness is an illusion. We are the web of life. The web of life is us. Those animals were and are us. I will continue to make whatever difference I can to turn this dark tide in the coming year. Who’s with me?

Summer’s End

Summer—
It just found me
old state forest
tall wise trees.

Dipped into
large tidal river running.

Still woods
silvery trunks so straight and smooth
leaves rattle and sigh.

Field of tall grasses
splashes of wildflowers
goldenrod
ragweed.

Merry painter
wearing summer cap.

We start to climb
a long hill but
now
places change.

Saw-teeth and tread roll
out the wide wheels
groaning and whining
branches break.

Where are we climbing to?

Re-framing a Homeowner’s Perspective on Wildlife and Insects: To Me They are Not “Pests.”

I wish people would find alternatives to lethal elimination of wildlife and insect “pests” from their property. In the past few weeks, I have learned of sad situations, in my supposedly nature-loving state of Vermont, in which humans have deemed a particular critter a “pest” and animals suffered as a result.

In one story, a resident was out for a peaceful walk when she came upon a raccoon in a steel leg-hold trap in a culvert. The animal was in terrible pain, and it was later discovered that the critter had a compound fracture on the leg that was clamped in the trap. Raccoons have heightened sensitivity in their front paws for feeling around for their food in rivers and such. Imagine the agony of having this appendage in the trap for hours and hours. Turns out the town road crew was setting the leg-hold traps to catch beavers as a way of maintaining their roads. The suffering coon was “by-catch.” After a public outcry and citizen letter writing, the town has thankfully pledged to cease the trapping and will find other nonlethal ways of mitigating the issues they perceive with wildlife. Let’s hope they keep their word.

In another recent story, a homeowner had decided a raccoon needed to be removed from her property. So she called a professional “pest elimination” company to come trap it, under the impression that the company would simply relocate the animal. (I am pretty sure relocating is deemed illegal, so not sure why she had that idea.) Instead she discovered that the pest elimination company had water tanks where they submerged the live animal in the cage to drown it. This is a process that takes up to six minutes. And in a cage. No escape. Imagine the panic. This process has been deemed inhumane by even conservative veterinarian organizations.

Then there are the various medieval-style torture traps for mice sold at the local Aubuchon Hardware store. Hard plastic boxes that allow not enough air so the critter suffocates. The worst – the glue boards that trap the mouse by sticking their feet in place. Thus immobilized, they die a frightened death of dehydration. Meanwhile, researchers have found mice to be incredibly family-oriented, with complex social systems. Do they really deserve such treatment for simply trying to find food and warmth? These are Maslow’s basic needs.

My slate is not crystal clean. I am not finger-wagging. But I’ve been significantly re-framing the notion of wildlife (and insects even) from “pests” to “community members” at my place of residence, and in the world at large. Since sixth-grade science class, when the idea was taught that all living organisms are connected in a complex web, I’ve felt this. But as an adult, I’ve been challenged to really live in a fashion of interconnectedness.

My story: I have had skunks live under my porch on and off for years. In my misguided thinking, I thought I must remove them since I had a dog and a cat. So I hired a trapper who, after careful research, I found was one who put them to sleep with an injection. But I was soon dismayed because every day he was trapping a new skunk near my house. Where were they all coming from?? As the death toll mounted to 5 or 6 beautiful black and white skunks, I felt like scum. The final straw was when the trapper had set the trap somehow at the drip-edge of the house eaves. And it poured all morning! I watched an adult skunk basically get water-boarded for four hours, water streaming off the drip-edge like a waterfall. I tried again and again to approach the trap with a tarp, but the skunk, understandably highly agitated, prepared to spray. I frantically called the trapper to say, please come soon! After that, I swore I would never ever again call someone to trap another animal.

Since then, sometimes a skunk or several winter under the porch. Other than an occasional light waft of “Pepe Le Pew,” they never cause a problem. When they wake up in the spring, there is sometimes a spray or two in the yard, but it dissipates in a day and no big deal. I wish I could put out some rabies vaccine bait, just in case, but am not sure how to obtain it…or if I even am allowed to. But otherwise the skunks, my cat, and I have cohabited peacefully (my old dog passed away).

And then I discovered that resident skunks have a benefit! I had a ton of Japanese beetles in my gardens and on my berries. All summer I would grimace in disgust while plucking the beetles off my plants to drop them in soapy water, where I am sure their drowning took equally long. I felt awful as I watched the beetles try to climb on top of one another to get to the top of the dish for some air. Horrible. I quit doing that method which had been highly recommended both online and by fellow gardeners. But soon I noticed the skunks were digging all over my lawn. Something that would send most homeowners over the deep end. Instead of getting mad, I researched online and found the skunks were eating the Japanese beetle grubs. Now I have no more Japanese beetles, without nasty pesticides! And my lawn looks just fine.

I also have a resident groundhog. Other neighbors consider them “pests” and shoot them. Even the babies. So sad. I call the groundhog in my yard “Chubby.” He (or she) has never once troubled my garden—I simply put a short wire fence around it. Veggies are untouched. Mostly the groundhog eats the clover in the lawn. And I have not seen a big invasion of groundhogs, as most folks online fretfully caution.

Last, one time a colony of carpenter ants came in on a piece of firewood in my fall wood delivery. Soon the ants ventured into the house! Tons of them. After several failed attempts to stop the problem with organic methods, I resorted to calling pest control. The guy came and sprayed all around the base of my house, for two years in a row. He wore only a light protective jacket and had his kid with him. He was a nice fellow, but wasn’t he worried about toxic exposure? I asked him about the safety of the stuff…for me, my dog, and my cat. Oh, just fine. Not dangerous at all. This was about 5 years ago. Still, when the crickets come out in late summer, I find a few crickets (and spiders and moths) who have the misfortune to hang out near the base of my house. Soon they are writhing in a chemical-nerve agent twitchy sort of death. The stuff he sprayed is still deadly. Not just to ants. Probably to us! Next time, I will be wiser. If carpenter ants come in on wood, I will not throw it in the brush pile (duh!!). I will carry it far into the nearby wild woods, so the ants are not deposited on my property. I am also in progress to redo the base of my house with solid flashing to prevent insect and mouse access. Really, the mitigation of these problems is up to me and my nonlethal, non-toxic ingenuity (well, and that of a trusty carpenter).

Anyway, I am finding, the more I just work to cohabitate with the wild creatures, the more peaceful, humane and even beneficial our relationship becomes. And guess what—my property is just fine. Side note: since as a human species I am only here for, if I am lucky, 80–100 years, I really don’t view the land as “my property.” It is land on which I live for the short time I exist. It is land that will exist long after me. The land belongs to plants, and trees, and insects, and wildlife, and for now, me. The land essentially belongs to Earth.