Back to Basics

The people around me sometimes don't understand why I do the things I do. I suppose that happens to all of us to some extent. Contrarily, we cannot understand why they can't understand. When the reasons for our actions seem so obvious to us, it isn't easy to explain them if and when they are questioned, doubted, or slurred.

The most common misconception in my world is that I am trying to "save the Earth." I guess the expression is a softer way of saying I'm an environmentalist, and I appreciate the sentiment to some degree. But it is a bit of a fallacy.

First, who out there is trying to wreck the Earth, really? Iris Marie Bloom,
director of Protecting Our Waters closes her emails with this Teton Sioux quote in her signature:

"The frog does not drink up the pond in which he lives."

While there are some humans stupid enough to do such a thing, they are not worthy of my attention. They will destroy themselves long before they defeat a planet, so while I wish they would see the error of their ways, I need not come to the Earth's aid for fear of them. They will shrivel when their own pond is dry.

Second, me saving the Earth is like an ant throwing a boulder. If a boulder is ever going to fly, it won't be because of an ant.

Third, the Earth saves me. Every day. Its woods keep me sane when life gets frantic. Its waters refresh my skin when I get thirsty. Its bounty nourishes my brain and keeps me strong.

It offers warning signs to alert me to pending danger and shields me from an uninhabitable universe. The list goes on and on.

Lastly, I do not consider myself a steward. Look up the word. None of its nine definitions in my dictionary apply to me. I am not "a person who manages another property or affairs" nor "a person who has charge" of anything. In fact, I have quiet the opposite. The Earth has charge of me, which brings me to my forth point: I have no doubt that the Earth will persist much longer than me or any of my ancestors or any of the beings that surround me.

Now, if I witnessed an injury to my friend, I would most certainly try to stop the bleeding. I would try to save her. But when that friend lives, she will be alive first because of goodness, not heroics.

Additionally, if a stranger is kind to you, do you kick him in the teeth? If a child brings you a flower, do you tear it to bits? If a neighbor brings you a pie, do you stuff it your mouth and slam the door? The people in my life would answer, "never" to all of the above.

Why then would we take what the Earth gives, manipulate it into something toxic, and then stuff it back into its pores? Earth's gifts are not meant only for us. American society takes and takes, without ever putting anything back where it was found or without offering anything but spent fuel in return. It is I who doesn't understand why people do what they do.

When I recycle, conserve, reuse, abstain, and act in the ways that I do, I'm not doing it to save something. I'm doing it because I appreciate what the Earth gives to me. I'm doing it because I am grateful for yesterday, thankful for this moment, and hopeful for today. And if tomorrow is the day I die, I want to be sure my existence did not rob others of the same experience. I want to leave water in the pond for the next frog, save him though it may.

The fallacy then? When people say, "you want to save the Earth," they infer that you are either more qualified or more naive than them. You become a scapegoat – they don't need to do it because you'll take care of it. However, if they say, "you are grateful for the Earth," they infer either acknowledgement that they feel the same or remorse that they do not.

Life will always bring us past people who cannot understand. In the end, I'm grateful for them too, as they force me to acknowledge my own virtues. They'll have to excuse me though, because I can't linger too long to explain. I have an entire planet to save.

...three powerful little words.

So powerful, in fact, "I see you" moves me more than "I love you."

I was recently reminded of this phrase when a friend brought up the blockbuster hit, "Avatar." In the movie, the native people of the alien world Pandora say to each other, "I see you" as greeting as well as an expression of empathy. Simple yet magical, it almost gave me goose bumps when I heard it.

"I see you" is not a distant glance; it's much deeper than that. To be seen is to be understood; you need not further explain. To be seen is to be vindicated; your presence is meaningful to another. To be seen is to be accepted; your heart shines through, no matter how many veils life has hung around you.

If I am in a doctor's office, I want to be seen. If I am at a social function or volunteering for a charitable event, I want to be seen. Even if I am alone in the woods, I want to be seen. I want to know my existence touches another and that the other knows the true me.

Consider how those three little words can make a baby laugh endlessly during a game of peekaboo. Toddlers playing tag will run and hide with total excitement upon hearing the phrase. Youth may pretend to want to keep away from a parent's line of sight, but in frustration, their desire for recognition screams from inside.

As we grow older, having already traveled through these phases, we tend to give up on the dream that anyone is ever going to see us. Still, no matter what our age, we are as worthy as the infant giggling in its mothers arms. We hold on to the hope that someday, someone will at least see the mark we've made -- the legacy -- the values and the hopes. But how?

First, to be truly seen, we must take off our disguise. Like the teenager that puts on a costume of independence, we hide our true feelings so as to protect them. After awhile, we get comfortable in our tricky outfit. We begin to fool even ourselves.

Second, we must learn to accept another's gaze. I'm unsure how to act when someone sees me. I should be at ease, confident, and calm. Instead, the attention makes me feel nervous and exposed. Courage is needed to accept the notion of being seen, naked without a mask.

Third, and most important, we must see others. I cannot make someone see me. Ploys for attention will only spotlight my ego, not my heart. What I can do is look at others in a way that offers them the same consideration I hope they would give to me...to let go of false pretense or expectations. Upon greeting someone, I shall assume they are neither innocent nor guilty, presume them to be neither kind nor cruel, or expect neither their compassion nor their judgment. I must throw away all preconceived notions so as not to get distracted from the truth. I must be willing to open my eyes.

This isn't easy; it takes practice and intention. However once the clouds lift, whether it be a child to a father, a husband to a wife, or a friend to a friend, a simple magic will come after three little words are expressed: I see you.

I finally broke down and watched it.

I'd heard about the documentary "GasLand" when it was released, but I had never rented it for few reasons. Pennsylvania's large-scale, industrial, natural gas development has been a topic I've been watching before it reached mainstream conversation. Primarily, as a writer I didn't want to be tempted to cite the movie, or quote it, or use its contents as an example of the looming abuse our environment was about to take at the hands of the energy industry. I already knew the horrors, and I wanted to remain an independent voice. Plus, I just didn't want to know any more.

Today, the terms hydraulic fracturing (a.k.a., fracking) and Marcellus Shale are no longer foreign ones to the general public, especially to those who live in Northeast PA. This is, in part, due to the wide circulation of this movie by concerned citizen groups as a means to wake people up to the seriousness of the issue. Another reason is the media attention given to our Governor Tom Corbett's refusal to properly charge the industry for the assets it is stealing from our natural resources bank.

GasLand is far from the only resource for information on how Shale drilling can destroy the ecological health of our most valuable, pristine areas. Well-told stories of ruined drinking water supplies have hit the New York Times (see "The Fracturing of Pennsylvania" by Eliza Griswold; November 17, 2011) while citizen action groups have popped up everywhere. Watchdogs, environmental regulators, scientists, and others -- armed with environmental studies -- have been battling for transparency since the first rig came to town.

Like mist cloaking a waterway, sometimes we can't see what is right in front of us.

A Battle for Fairness

Besides the environmental aspect, the corporate unfairness is overwhelming. America is subject to an ever-growing list of strict regulations in the name of clean air and water. Take for example how the entire automatic dish detergent industry must find an alternative to a key ingredient called phosphorus in their products because it pollutes our water. Yet, the natural gas industry seems to have free reign over what it takes and what it leaves behind, setting the scene for every advancement to be washed away in just a few years.

All this is happening at a time when our rivers and streams are finally healing from the coal-mining mistakes of our past. The movement that brought about the Clean Water Act occurred 40 years ago. Since many who witnessed the once-common environmental atrocities have now died, we've come to take the improvements for granted. It is assumed that you simply cannot pollute the air or water without accountability today.

New technology, in the hands of aggressive wealth seekers, has made that a very dangerous assumption.

Look closely to see; there's an eagle in that tree -- another reminder of how far we've come.

The Courage to Watch

As much as I wanted to shout from the mountaintops, I never had the courage fight the atrocities with any real fervor. Josh Fox, GasLand's creator, has become a hero of sorts to environmental advocates like me because he not only had the courage to shout, he had the courage to investigate in the first place. He now appears at key press conferences, public meetings, and movie screenings because he is a human being who -- if the development comes to his neighborhood -- will suffer emotional pain that is possibly greater than my own.

So my essays were written; a few articles were submitted for publication; and the population learned from numerous sources what Marcellus Shale meant. It was time to watch the movie.

I rented it from Netflix and watched it from my comfortable couch in my warm, heated home. I had to turn it off halfway through, to take a little break. An overwhelming sadness hit me when it was over just as I had expected.

Now it's a few days later. I've had a chance to recover ... a little. I find myself wondering how Josh goes on. Knowing first-hand the people whose lives have been destroyed by this quest has got to take a toll on a person, especially a hippie like Josh. Meanwhile, that old panic I felt when the Lehigh Valley Audubon Society first told me about the Marcellus Shale has returned once again.

Remembering What I Can Do

Personally, I haven't vacationed in any of my favorite beautiful places such as the mountains of northern and north central Pennsylvania since I first learned of the issue. Sullivan, Bradford, or Luzerne counties are now places I avoid for fear that my mental state will take a dive at first witness of thousands of tanker trucks rolling through the woods or at the sight of a freshly cut gas well access road.

Then I thought about the one place I can still go: the Delaware river. The Delaware is a unique river for many ecological reasons, but all you need to do is visit it one time to understand its value. The headwaters to the Delaware are in the Catskill Mountains of New York. I've long heard about New York's award-winning attention to its natural drinking water supply -- an effort made famous by good old Pete Seeger.

My husband and I and our rented canoe near Lackawaxen, PA.

New York's government had already had banned new Marcellus Shale drilling when I first learned of the issue. Before any new wells were permited, they wanted to get a better handle on the environmental impacts of the violent process (and all its byproducts) required to reach the natural gas far beneath our feet. Fortunately for us who live near Philadelphia, New York's action was helping to protect the supply for all 15 million water drinkers who rely on the Delaware.

Anyone who has learned about stream ecology knows just how important protection of the headwaters -- the place where a river starts -- is to a river. It's like the care and feeding of an infant; what you do at the beginning will impact it for the rest of its life.

However, New York's ban won't last forever. And when the Delaware flows into Pennsylvania, it isn't guarded by that award-winning foresight. The geological formation that holds the gas reaches under the northern section of the Delaware in Pennsylvania -- under the most beautiful sections of its 330-mile expanse; under the place where Josh Fox lives.

Simply put, toxic chemicals or high volumes of salt must NEVER enter the Delaware River. As expected, I started grappling with how to turn despair into action. I can't fight big business. I can't get the world to stop consuming energy. I can't argue against job creation. I can't break open a cover up.

Then it came to me: there are others -- like Fox -- doing what I cannot. I don't have to learn how to defeat a giant; I can support those who already have the weapons, armor, and know-how. One of those armies is called the Delaware Riverkeeper Network (DRN).

For now, there are no wells in the Delaware River watershed, thanks in part to the DRN-lead public pressure placed on the Delaware River Basin Commission. Since the push to drill and pipe the Delaware Watershed will not be going away, we need a Riverkeeper to stay on guard.

Along the river at the Roebling Inn in Lackawaxen, PA.

DRN stands up to the bullies, even fighting them in court when necessary. But they can't do that without money. If you love the Delaware River like I do, I encourage you to support this organization. You can learn more about them at www.delawareriverkeeper.org.

For Readers Near and Far

The Marcellus and Utica Shale formations have spawned natural gas development in nearly half the states in the country. The Delaware is only one of thousands of waterways that need protection from poisoning. Please don't hide behind the hopes that someone else will stop the absurdity of going backwards to an era of environmental pollution -- send a gift or volunteer to help out a trustworthy, local organization that is fighting for you.

Then, pray if you pray. Scream if you scream. Cry if you cry. Do what ever you have to to work through the emotions that are stirred up when you watch a film like GasLand. Just don't pretend it isn't happening. The Earth needs you to care -- no matter how painful that caring can be.

My life is filled with dilemmas, many of which manifest themselves at the grocery store. Should I take action that puts my own interests first or those of my community and environment?

You see, I don't always accept the notion that only the best will do. Of course I never want to spend my money on junk, nor do I want to be ripped off, but I also challenge today's unreasonably high consumer standards.

American consumers have been buying the only-the-best myth for so long, we've become unwilling to accept anything else, even when less-than-perfect is a more logical or sustainable choice.

Out of nothing more than habit, our buying decisions favor protection of individual wealth over protection of that of our community and planetary home. Then, in the next isle, we allow our penchant for fancy things to overrun prudence in an instant.

The other day, I was leaning on my grocery shopping cart as I looked over the apple display, inspecting the tidy piles of fruit that had traveled many miles to be there. I read the signs to choose a variety that would taste good when baked. Then, acting as was expected of me, I began to snub my nose at any one with a blemish. Even though I was planning to peal and cook my purchase until it turned to mush, to chose the ugly apple was a bad consumer choice ... unless maybe the store would discount it. Only a fool would buy the bruised apple when a spotless one was available for same price, right?

Before I rejected a firm but injured apple, I wondered what would happen if everybody did what I was doing. What would happen when the grocer was unable to sell it? He would undoubtedly lose some money.

I thought about what could happen after repeated scenarios like this caused the grocer to lose too much money: he would close the store.

I knew what would happen if this anchor store would close in this rural shopping center: the neighborhood's standard of living would decline.

Then I thought about a six-year old kid, biting into his otherwise delicious lunchtime snack, finding that little yucky part missed by his busy mom.

I thought about the farmer being forced to focus on the product's cosmetic appearance instead of its nutritional quality.

I thought about my fellow middle-class mates, struggling to find a job and buy any apples at all.

Is a responsible consumer's primary goal to get the prettiest apple? Should my intention always be to grab up the best and leave the rest for someone else?

I slipped the apple into my cart, hoping no one would spy me intentionally buying a bruise and reminded myself to cook the meal before my husband saw what I had bought.

I continued shopping. I passed fish fillets symmetrically laid over an excessive pile of ice, bottles and cans coated in brightly colored labels, cookies standing tall in their individual compartments, surrounded by more plastic than snack. I navigated safely around the five-foot cardboard display that held just two inches of product.

Finally, I reached the dairy section. There I pulled a carton of organic milk off the shelf, only to notice that the one behind it was marked with a sell-by date that was later than the one in my hand. Mine was entirely fresh; there was no question I would consume it long before its due date. But the second one was fresher -- its date was nearly two weeks later! The trained consumer in me screamed, "grab the fresher one you dummy."

Myself or my community? Could the two be separated?

Which milk carton would you chose?

Keys. When is the last time you gave any thought to all those metal tokens you have? The average person carries around a lot of them; we rarely go anywhere without at least one. A life void of keys is a difficult thing to imagine.

Every key represents something we want to keep safe. Money. Cars. Houses. Belongings. At hospitals, visitors are locked out of the Intensive Care Unit to protect the patients. At prisons, criminals are locked in to protect the innocent. In a digital world, metal turns to codes and passwords, but no matter the scenario, the whole process comes down to the key.

Alot of Keys
The quintessential example of a person with many keys is the janitor. His or her salary may be at the low end of the scale, but if status were measured in keys, the janitor would be tops.

Even some non-janitorial citizens like to dangle their entire key collection off their hip, presumably for attention or recognition or just because they want instant access to all their possessions -- at any given time -- without the need to search for a key.

A Single Key
Carrying only a single key represents a simplistic life, whether it be a youth with just a house key or an adult who wants to travel light.

Lost Keys
Appreciation for keys quickly returns the moment we cannot find the one we need.

Unknown Keys
From past apartments to old cars, who doesn't posses at least one key that has lost its lock? We hold on to every straggler because a key is too valuable a thing to toss.

Sharing Keys
I thought about keys as I asked the hardware store clerk to cut me a copy of one. Sharing a key is big deal. Take for example lovers. A key to one's place represents a relationship milestone - a commitment wherein they've decided to start sharing a life together.

It's not always easy to hand over a key, but we should resist the temptation to hoard them because life is more meaningful when we share.

Symbolic Keys
Every time you touch a key, give thanks for whatever it unlocks. Remember the homeless who have no house key. Appreciate the freedom of driving a car. When a friend gives you a key to watch her house or care for his pet, be grateful for their trust -- a borrowed key means earned responsibility.

Some of the best things in life come when locks are opened. Let us remember then how wonderful it is to have the key.