Hottest Year on Record!

The seasons here in the Midwest can whipsaw you with its extremes, but like most places in the last ten years, what they look like are undergoing massive change. This spring was very cool and rainy which is not typical for us. Usually spring lasts a few short weeks at best and then we’re catapulted into summer without much of a getting-to-know-you honeymoon period. The heat and humidity is oppresssive come July and August zapping your energy, your patience, and your ability to do anything outside.

Coupled with that the thunderstorms seem to be more intense and damaging than at any other time that I’ve lived here. The trees are repeatedly sending out an SOS call. “They’re getting old,” I keep hearing, “they’re at the end of their life span,” and I don’t buy that at all. While some are weakened due to disease there are others that seem healthy until one day you’re walking in the neighborhood and a giant limb is laying in somebody’s yard. It happened last month in our front yard and it turns out the chainsaw Michael bought at Costco two years ago was not a bad investment.

Now annually we hear that it’s the hottest year on record and at some point in the not so distant future the bough will break. Mark and I were once buying a lawnmower off Craigslist and it turns out the woman selling it was a scientist. She and Mark started talking shop and when he said he was doing some work on Anthrax she suggested he contact the Defense Department for research funding. It never materialized but he did go to a conference that was predominantly attended by military officials. He came home wide-eyed saying, “You want to know what our goverment considers the highest threat to national security? Climate change.” That was fifteen years ago.

This summer started with wildfires in Canada and Minnesota followed by horrific scenes from Europe. While we have our weather challenges here, I can’t think of anything more terrifying than a wildfire roaring through the place you call home. Massive flooding is so common now it hardly garners more than five minutes on the news. Catastrophic weather fatigue is our new normal.

Michael and I just came back from Sonoma and a trip up the California coast to see his family. We visited a winery and in talking to the sommelier I asked about the wildfires in France and how that will affect their wine in coming years. Sonoma has had significant losses for the same reason and he explained that if the fire burns the vine you can start over but if it affects the root of the grape then you have a wine that tastes like an ashtray. The only way you know is after you’ve harvested the grapes, crushed them, and made the wine which gets dumped after the first taste.

Driving north we stopped many times along the way in utter astonishment, me saying, “Oh my god,” a hundred times. We went with his family to a beach close to their house at low tide to collect sand dollars where we came across starfish clinging to a rock along the shore which felt like stumbling into a sanctuary. On our last day we drove to see the redwoods and I could have cried under the quiet beauty of those stately woods.

The following day we drove two plus hours to the airport under a canopy of trees followed by our last look at the wild coastline of Nothern California. From the time we got there the same thought repeated itself over and over.

This is our home. Why aren’t we doing everything to protect it?