Milkweed Husk.
I got thinking today about a little biannual routine I’ve had for the past several years. It involves a clock downstairs in my office and the chore of moving the time forward and back an hour, thanks to the wacky phenomenon of Daylight Savings Time. See, the clock is hanging from a loose nail—a nail that slides easily in all the way to its head. Thus, after I take the clock down and change the time, I spend about three or four minutes working to match the hole in the back of it to the head of the nail without pushing the nail in so far that the clock has nothing to hang on.
December fluff.
There’s a lot of irony there—the clock, the time, the “waste” of time, Daylight Savings Time. Over the years, I bet I’ve spent forty-five minutes or more hanging that clock on that nail. Why don’t I simply change the nail? I suppose it’s a sort of trial. A test of myself. A game.
On this gray day the temperature hovered at right about 35 degrees (F)—warm enough not to freeze water, but cool enough not to melt old snow. I spent much of it doing errands, tidying up, hauling the last of the storm-fallen branches to the dump. But I did (of course) manage to squeeze in a Beech Hill hike with dog.
Nobody but us two navigating the muddy track up there today, and not a single bird to be seen. I did hear two species. Likely would’ve heard a few more, too, had it not been for the incessant racket of machines.
Specifically, machines that run on fossil fuels: a chain saw on the other side of Beech Hill Road, some heavy equipment working to clear a home lot over there, the distant sound of the engines of cars on Route 17. As Jack and I climbed that familiar old carriage road not often traveled by modern vehicles, I mused again—as I have done lately—about how much more peaceful that walk would be without all our modern conveniences.
Centuries ago, people walked a lot more. They had an intimate familiarity with horses and sheep and goats and barnyard fowl. They worked hard, raised their own food, took some measure of comfort and contentment out of the miracle of life on our tilted planet. They lived simply and attentively, and with a sense of having had direct influence over their immediate world. And they did it all—aside from the hue and clash of battle—without having to make a lot of noise.
Or, come to think of it, without trashing our precious planet.
Sure, they also did it without living quite so long, without knowing as much about the rest of the world, without the luxury of modern conveniences. Lacking elevators, they had to take the stairs. But, really, were their lives any less fulfilled?
Consider what modern conveniences have gotten us. For one thing, the ability to travel pretty far in a pretty short time, with few risks and little physical effort. Just about everything we do these days, in fact, happens faster and with less effort. Which is why we live long enough to suffer for our lack of exercise. And why few of us think much about what we eat. Why too many of us carry too much weight around—because, after all, fast food.
I wonder, are all these conveniences—all this magical speed and efficiency—really giving us better lives? Is what we do with the time we save worth all the costs incurred? Is having tropical coffee always within arm’s reach worth the decimation of the teeming, bountiful rain forests? Is all this ease and quickness worth such noise?
Seems to me we could stand to take back our time.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 12:15 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Northern Flicker (v)
2. American Crow* (v)
Elsewhere
3. Herring Gull
4. Blue Jay (v)
5. Rock Pigeon
6. European Starling
7. Black-capped Chickadee (v)
8. Canada Goose
9. American Coot
10. Red-tailed Hawk
v = Voice only
*Also elsewhere
Tags: American coot, American crow, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, Canada goose, European starling, herring gull, northern flicker, red-tailed hawk, rock pigeon
