I will graduate this June, and then I will move somewhere else. While I don’t yet know where that “somewhere else” will be, I do know I will not want or need to bring most of what I own along with me. “Need” has taken on a new meaning to me recently, as recent events have given me a glimpse into a future for this world that is far from stable.

Generations before mine were raised to see their lives as stories of steady progress and growth. You go to school, you get a nice job, you fall in love and marry. You work your way up in your careerby being hardworking and loyal, and you steadily gain capital. You have children. You buy your first new car, you buy a house, you buy yourself more stability through flood insurance and fire insurance and health insurance and car insurance for events you suspect will never happen. You save money for a vacation here and there, you put your kids through college so they can follow in your footsteps, and then you retire. Well done.

I suppose there were times in my life when I ascribed to this life story. I suppose in some ways, by being a graduate student at age 24, about to leave academia and venture off into The Real World, I still am. Yet questions have arisen during my time on Earth that challenge this common understanding of the Plot Line for Life. I am a member of a capitalistic society that is running out of fuel. I am a citizen of a country that removed itself from the Paris Climate Agreement, whose president is actively working to undermine environmental protection agencies, research, and regulations, and who seems all too happy to provoke a similarly unstable authoritarian who is making threats of nuclear war. I am a citizen of a world that is in the midst of the largest extinction event in geologic history, and I am a member of a species that is at the root of thatextinction.

For me, “Anthropocene” and “apocalypse” have become virtually synonymous. I swipe through my phone and pause to watch a video of southern California going up in flames. I watch as hundreds of cars wind down a highway in a scene that seems so familiar, but I can’t place it. So I stop, think, and oh, right – this is the image of Hell that is branded into our brains from a young age, seemingly whether we grew up religious or not. This is the climax of the movie when theworld goes up in flames.

Southern Califorina Wildfire

I don’t have a job lined up for the future or plans for kids and a house, but I plan to gather together the essentials for a bug-out bag this winter, so that I am ready to leave my home at a moment’s notice and never return. I plan to coordinate a way of communicating to and meeting up with my loved ones if an earthquake strikes, or a fire erupts, or a flood engulfs the Willamette Valley. And then, I plan to learn how to grow my own food, filter my water, and start a fire without a match. I plan to learn what I can eat in a forest without getting sick, and I plan to become more familiar with my local resources, in case our globalized systems collapse, and my world suddenly shrinks to a few hundred miles or less.

Anti-pipeline protests amidst the building of more pipelines/ occurrences of oil spills.

Do you think I’m crazy? Look at this world. Listen to the President of the United States. Look at the devastation from Hurricane Maria, Hurricane Harvey, the 210,000 gallons of oil that just spilled out of a pipeline in South Dakota, and tell me that the world isn’t crazy.

A message of resistance in a growing city.

But this is the part of my post where I am supposed to offer a ray of hope, so I’m going to try. Have you heard of the Degrowth Movement? At the beginning of this term, Dr. Barbara Muraca gave a talk at the OSU Center for Humanities in which she presented some of the work she has been doing that looks into this movement. I have to be honest with you – I am still wrapping my head around Degrowth and what it means to undergo “downscaling of production and consumption that increases human well-being and enhances ecological conditions and equity on the planet,” as it is described on an online forum for the movement. I am still imagining the implications, based on current power structures, for people of color and other underprivileged communities to transform toward “a future where societies live within their ecological means, with open, localized economies and resources more equally distributed through new forms of democratic institutions.”

Yet, I am excited to see transformative movements gaining traction and earning respect in a university setting, and I plan to keep stoking my glimmers of optimism about the future of this planet by reading and learning about resilience thinking. I plan to keep surrounding myself with strong, passionate people who are ready to approach the future with creativity and wit, and I want to wiggle into that perfect niche where I am both useful and happy.

In the meantime, (and in the spirit of Degrowth), I need to get rid of a few things. Can you help? I have a pile of clothes I don’t wear, boxes of half-broken gadgets, and too many shoes. When I graduate and move out, do you want all my furniture? Do you want my old textbooks? Do you want my phone? Do you want to relieve me of this reflex to consume products I don’t need and resources I shouldn’t use? Do you want to help me start a garden? Do you want to teach me how to sew? I’m trying. I’m learning. And this is my plan for the Anthropocene.

— Lucia Hadella

For more snarky snapshots, visit my personal blog: True Nature Filter.

Leave it to me to go to an arts and music festival for a week and come home with about two tons of environmental angst resting on my shoulders. I just spent six days at the Oregon Eclipse Festival at Big Summit Prairie in the Ochoco National Forest, and although I’ve been home for almost a week, I’m still choking on the dust that will forever be in my lungs.

Before I completely turn you off with my pessimistic take on what most festival-goers probably perceived as a positively transformative experience, I want to be clear that I actually loved many aspects of the festival. The artists were incredibly talented, and nearly every person I encountered was friendly and open to engaging in conversation.

In fact, it is this open, loving attitude embodied by people at the festival that makes it all the more necessary for me to draw attention to the ways in which every single one of us who attended the Oregon Eclipse Festival contributed to the displacement and destruction of lives, purely for our own enjoyment. The festival was amazing in many ways, but the emphasis on human experiences were not without consequences for the plants and animals displaced and/or killed so we could party all week.

The festival took place on private land surrounded by public National Forest land. Months before the event took place, the rancher who owns Big Summit Prairie, Craig Woodward, was quoted in an article in the Bakersfield Herald as saying that what happens on his land is nobody’s business but his. While this argument falls flat in a number of ways I will not pursue today (i.e. “his” land was stolen from Native Americans and is not really “his” at all; also, this man should not be allowed to decide the fate of every autonomous plant and animal living in the prairie) I would like to focus on the fact that he allowed more than 30,000 people to enter “his” private land, making what happensin that area suddenly the business of, well, more than 30,000 people.

So, what happened in that area? I can’t find much information on exactly how the prairie was “prepped” for the festival, but after having seen the less disturbed land surrounding the festival in comparison to the actual festival area, here are my guesses:

–       Vegetation (mostly grass and sagebrush) was killed and showed no signs of growing back. Many scraggly, dead tufts of brush were scattered along the ground everywhere we went. They had not been uprooted but, rather, were dead in the ground. I’d like to know if herbicides were used and which ones.

–       The soil was severely compacted, leaving the ground everywhere hard and barren. We tried to stake down tents in multiple spots and were unable to even drive the stakes through the ground, though some of this was due to rocks.

–       The removal of vegetation and compaction of soil, in combination with trampling from tens of thousands of people each day, contributed to severe soil loss and erosion. A h

ealthier soil profile consists of some layer of organic matter (i.e. leaf litter, twigs, fungi, other things that decompose), a layer of topsoil that is the partially decomposed matter, a layer for water filtration, and subsequent layers containing insects, worms, and eventually bedrock. It was clear that the first few soil layers were gone from the festival site as the dust in the air increased each day, and I began to sympathize with those who lived during the infamous Dust Bowl.

–       I suspected some trees were cut down, and my suspicions were confirmed when we left the festival and saw a pile of branches and trees alongside the road.

In addition to all of that, the festival itself brought with it two other major concerns for the Big Summit Prairie ecosystem:

–       Light pollution is a true disruptor for wildlife. Think of bats and other critters who hunt at night and how their sense might be affected if nighttime never seems to come. The constant flashing of colorful lights from all the stages throughout the night and into the dawn (really, they never stopped) was admittedly exciting and beautiful, but that is coming from a narrow human perspective. I urge you all to ponder how this must have disturbed the birds, deer, bats, rodents, and others likely fleeing the festival area that was once their home.

–       Noise pollution rages hard at music festivals, so you can only imagine the environmental consequences of a festival that lasts all week. There were seven large stages at Oregon Eclipse, and I went to sleep every night with a bass beat vibrating in my chest – only to awakethe next day to the same sensation. I heard rumors that the music did stop some nights, maybe between 4 and 6AM, but some bands on the program were scheduled to go into those early hours of the dawn. Human hearing is pretty dull in comparison to that of other animals, so if I needed earplugs to sleep, I can only imagine how far some animals had to flee before the sound was bearable.

Here are a few more observations I made throughout the week that raised some ecological red flags:

–       I never saw a single chipmunk or squirrel, even though there was plenty of food to be pilfered. We spotted evidence of one scared little ground squirrel the first day we arrived, before the festival had officially started. She was kicking soil out of her hole in the ground. After that, I never saw a single furry critter. Our food, sometimes left out overnight, was eerily safe in our camp.

–       The birds were not singing, making the prairie a likely setting for Rachel Carson’s “A Fable for Tomorrow.”

Now, I also can’t find any consistent information about the “restoration” efforts that are taking place in the wake of the festival. The news article I mentioned earlier said there would be a weeklong cleanup effort, but I am certain it will have to be longer. People I spoke with at the festival were saying a month. The agreement, supposedly, is to leave the prairie better than it was before the festival, though I would like to know how exactly “better” is being defined and how such a goal can account for the plants that were already lost, the animals who may have suffered trauma or even death due to hearing impairment and loss, disrupted eating and sleeping patterns due to light and noise, and habitat disruption and destruction.

Totality. Photo credit: Shane Scaggs.
What time is it? Soil erosion time! Photo credit: Lucia Hadella.

Contrary to how it may seem, I didn’t write this long post to make festival-goers feel terrible for attending the event at Big Summit Prairie. I wrote it because the wonderful people I met at the festival, as well as the many thousands I did not meet, have a right to understand the consequences of their uplifting week of art and music, especially if they ventured to the festival in order to learn how to live more at peace with one another, live gently on the Earth, be more connected to themselves and the planet, and the many other reasons I heard people cite for coming to the Oregon Eclipse Festival.

I don’t have any jaw-dropping solutions here. The festival was fun and at many times encouraging. All I can say is that if that many people can come together and create a fun, freeing experience for themselves and others, all the while fostering empathy and understanding, they can be receptive to the message that the festival they enjoyed was not as harmless as they may have thought – and then they can use this revelation as a reminder to ponder the consequences their actions may have on the plants, animals, air, water, etc. that they may never actually see.

This post is from my True Nature Filter blog – a photography/ nature blog where I encourage people to take a closer look at their pretty #nature photos. Follow me on Instagram: @true_nature_filter .

“Energy moves in cycles, circles, spirals, vortexes, whirls, pulsations, waves, and rhythms—rarely if ever in simple straight lines.”  — Starhawk; American writer, activist, pagan, ecofeminist.

When the sun is finally out in Corvallis after a pitiless winter, sometimes you just have to ramble. That’s what I told myself when my alarm sounded at 7:45 AM on Saturday, April 29th. Maybe if you’re used to an 8-5 work schedule then that doesn’t sound too early, but for a grad student who is on her last legs by Friday of each week, a 7:45 AM wakeup call on a Saturday is a true commitment.

And I had committed. I was registered for the Spring Campus Ramble hosted by fellow EAH student Jill Sisson and her partner Cub Kahn, and I planned to show up. This was the 7th ramble for Jill and Cub, but it was my first.  The Ramble is a morning of walking to different locations on campus and observing our surroundings through writing, photography, or both. The rambles are conducted seasonally as a way to welcome the changes taking place in our valley. The theme for this ramble was “spiral,” though we were free to let our minds wander in and out of that lens.

We met our group at the Beanery at 9:00 and then headed out for our ramble. Our group was small, though we were told that it was a lovely size for a ramble. My companions for the morning were Dorothy, Kent, Jill, Cub, and Paul and Charlotte (my parents, visiting for the weekend).

I have to admit that I can be a little snobby when it comes to campus “tours.” This is my fifth year at OSU, and (in a past life, it seems) I was once a tour guide for new students and other campus visitors. I was expecting to look at campus through a new lens on the Ramble, but I didn’t think I’d also be rambling to spots where I had never been.

Right away, I realized I was wrong. Our first stop was outside the Hallie E. Ford Center, where a reflective metal sculpture stands, smoothly twisted. At each stop one of us took a piece of paper from Jill’s hand and read a spiral-related quote. At our first stop, my dad plucked from the mix and read:

“The spiral is a spiritualized circle. In the spiral form, the circle, uncoiled, has ceased to be vicious; it has been set free.” 
 — Vladimir Nabokov (1899-1977), Russian-American novelist and entomologist.

Then we were set free to ramble around the spiral sculpture and linger in the vicinity of building, observing the many plants and human-made structures surrounding us. We could hear birds, and on a few occasions during our morning, flocks of geese flew overhead.

I prefer, usually, to sit on the ground. So I hunkered down on the cement in front of the playground, and I saw this:

And then I wrote this:

I’m following the sun spots (this time of year you have to), and I swear I can hear the birds better when I’m sitting in the sun. Tiny handprints are pressed into the cold morning cement next to the playground, just outside the gate. It’s as if five children practiced their handstands one day as they waited for a tall person with keys to unlock the gate.

This fence. It’s short, because I’m an adult, and it’s linked together in spirals that hint at what’s inside: a playground of twisted metal. That corkscrew thing that some playground designer made when the fire pole got boring. Curvy springs holding up a bouncy-disc-thing that doesn’t look very safe (but boy does it look fun!), and I picture the five handstand children, their palms gray and glistening with gritty cement, dancing about in circles around the playground the moment that gate swings open.

It’s funny how I’ve fixated on the ugly wire fence with the gate when all the while in my sunspot there were also two other fences: the rhododendrons and the roses. They run parallel to the ugly fence and form a much more convincing barrier. Rows of thorns and pink, soft flowers that only a monster would dare to trample.

And yet someone felt a wire fence was imperative, as if the roses and the rhodies could not be trusted. “We better build a fence,” someone must have said. “For good measure. To cover our bases. To keep the kids in. To keep the kids out.”

And now I will summarize the remainder of our ramble with a few photos…

The azaleas near the Women’s Building were putting on quite a show as we walked to our next stop. Photo by Lucia Hadella.
My dad had seen a baseball game at Goss Stadium the night before (Beavs won!), and he got a kick out of photographing images around the stadium. When a pitcher winds up and releases, is that a spiral? Photo by Paul Hadella.
Can you imagine carrying the weight of the moon on your shoulders? These statues stand in the green sapce near the INTO building on the south side of campus. Photo by Lucia Hadella.
Electric fungi in the INTO courtyard. Photo by Lucia Hadella.
Have you seen these peculiar figures in the Snell Hall courtyard?I hadn’t! Photo by Lucia Hadella.
This giant sequoia just keeps spiraling on and on. Photo by Lucia Hadella.
Although we left the Ramble a little early to head to the Saturday Market, my parents and I could not stop taking pictures of the beauty surrounding us, and we were seeing spirals for the rest of the day. Photo by Lucia Hadella.

I saw Disney’s new rendition of Beauty and the Beast the other day in a crowded theater with smelly seats. Despite the undesirable ambiance, I was enchanted. I laughed, I gasped, I cried. And for about a week now after seeing the moving, I have been pondering good and evil, trying to grapple with this dichotomy and its implications about who we are as humans. All the while I’ve been hoping that some revelation would also help me understand what irked me about a book talk I saw earlier this term by Benjamin Hale on his new book The Wild and the Wicked. I think I’m beginning to understand.

So first, let’s start with Disney…

Throughout most of the movie, I felt as though each main character had been created in order to fit into a polarized ideal of either virtuous or vengeful – altruistic, or a narcissist to the core. Belle, of course, is saintly. She is smart, fearless, and empathetic. She sees the beauty in a beast who does not see it in himself. Gaston – the broad-chested buffoon who makes the townswomen swoon – is the stereotypical brute and ultimately the embodiment of evil. Besides his boastfulness and penchant for drawing swords and firing his musket, Gaston also commits unforgiveable acts such as punching an old man (Belle’s father), tying him to a tree and leaving him for the wolves, and shooting the Beast multiple times in the back after the duel was supposed to be over. (What a jerk!)

So, Belle and Gaston are moral polar opposites, and the Beast is pretty awful too. In his earlier years (pre horns, claws, and lion/buffalo head), he threw extravagant parties for his own pleasure and arrogantly strutted about the dance floor, examining and judging the pretty women. When an old woman shows up at his door in the middle of one of these gaudy parties, asking for food and shelter, the prince turns her away. Unfortunately for him, she’s actually a witch, and she damns him to a life of self-loathing and pariah status until he can learn unconditional love. (Spoiler alert: he succeeds.)Yet I realized that the Beast is actually not evil. He’s also not as virtuous as Belle. In fact, he is probably the most morally realistic character in the movie precisely because he is flawed (as humans are flawed), and because he embodies the true complexities of humanity that are less easily grouped into Team Good and Team Evil.

What does this have to do with Ben Hale?

In a way, Ben Hale pushes against similar dichotomies of good and bad as they are applied to nature. He argues that humans should not have to love nature in order to respect and protect it. He also argues that it’s alright not to love nature – not only because not everyone enjoys camping and hiking, but also because, let’s face it, nature can be cruel… Right?

Well I’ve realized, as I pondered Beauty and the Beast, that it’s this last part of Hale’s argument that irks me. As humans, we have written a moral code for our species that helps us identify if an act is good or bad. As problematic as this dichotomy can be (evidence: the Beast is good and bad, so which one is he?!), it seems to be how we understand ourselves, and it’s the way we teach our children not to steal or punch or worse. But I am a firm believer that human-made moral constructs should remain within the realm by which they were constructed. In other words, “nature” never asked to be called good or wicked, so who are we to impose these human notions onto anything nonhuman?

Perhaps Hale would argue that, regardless of whether or not we should impose moral standards on nature, we do. His book is written for a broader audience than ethicists and philosophers, so in some ways I think he’s just trying to operate within the framework his readers will most likely understand. I’m all for making theories accessible to the general public, but I have to say that I’m still bothered by Hale’s argument. I can’t let it go.

So, here’s one last thought on what I think is bugging me so much about Hale’s talk

He began the afternoon by showing a series of photos. At one point, he showed pictures that were supposed to illustrate the many “bad” things nature has done. As a group, we cringed at the sight of dead bodies washed up from Tsunamis, dead bodies washed up from Hurricane Katrina, and more dead bodies from other “natural disasters.” The understanding, as Hale showed these images, was that nature was sometimes cruel, and nature was sometimes wicked.

Yet, I think about Hurricane Katrina. I think about a paper I read recently in my EAH Perspectives class written by Ashley Dawson. One section in the paper is titled: “There Is No Such Thing as a Natural Disaster.” Dawson writes specifically about Hurricane Katrina, calling out then-President George W. Bush for referring to Katrina as an “act of God.” Here, Bush places the blame on fate. Hale, it seems, places the blame on Nature. Yet Dawson points out that the devastation of Hurricane Katrina was in fact a human problem, with humans to blame.

New Orleans was not prepared for the storm and the flooding, because, as Dawson points out, “repeated calls to stem wetlands erosion and to fix the failing levee system that protects the city were met with blank indifference by a federal administration more interested in tax cuts for the wealthy and imperial escapades in Iraq than in the South’s sole blue state.” As a consequence, New Orleans flooded. Those who suffered the most, on the whole, were poor and Black. They lived in the cheapest, most flood-prone parts of the area, because systemic racism and oppression had made it so. (Read Dawson’s paper if you’re interested in learning more.)

To blame fate or Nature is to remove responsibility from the abhorrent (evil?) collective and individual actions and inactions that led to so many deaths and displacements during and in the years following the storm.

Perhaps, then, evil and wickedness lurk amongst the seams of the complicated patchwork that is humanity. Perhaps good, too, is woven into our collective fabric. We are humans, so I suppose we can decide to use the terms “good,” “evil,” and “wicked” to describe ourselves. However, I would not extend those human moral constructs to nature, Nature, or “nature,”* and I suggest caution to those people who may feel inclined to do so.

*Along with my grappling with morality, I grapple too, more and more, with the concepts of “nature” and the “environment.” My inconsistency throughout this post in how I present the word “nature” is intentionally fluid to mimic the fluidity of a human-constructed concept.

This post is a reflection on the book reading by local Corvallis writer and environmental activist Carla A. Wise. She read at Grass Roots Books & Music from her new book, Awake on Earth: Facing Climate Change with Sanity and Grace.

Carla A. Wise's book on display. Photo by Samm Newton
Carla A. Wise’s book on display. Photo by Samm Newton

It has taken me a little while to write about the reading on Monday evening (9/26), because Carla A. Wise gave me so much to contemplate. Even as she spoke to us at that small, friendly gathering amidst shelves and shelves of books, our nation’s two leading presidential candidates were debating on a fluorescent stage, watched by millions. As Wise introduced her first book, Awake on Earth: Facing Climate Change with Sanity and Grace, one of the presidential candidates on the national stage was proudly denying the existence of climate change.

The hour I spent in Grass Roots Books & Music was at times somber and at others hopeful. Compared to the audience watching the debate, our numbers were miniscule, yet we were focused on a single cause. Wise’s motives were altruistic, her fears supported by sound science and ecological facts. She wrote her book in order to lay out the realities of climate change, as well as to coax concerned citizens off the edge of environmental despair, and it turns out the latter cause is perhaps the most important in the movement toward addressing global crisis.

I say this because it’s time to give up on climate deniers. Let the delusional, the irresponsible, and the insane continue along in a state of blissful ignorance. We can do without them, and we must. As concerned citizens, it is time to turn our precious, limited mental energy primarily inward, giving concerned citizens the tools to make the changes they so desperately want to see in the world. Wise explained to us that studies indicate a successful movement really only requires active support from 5-10% of the population. That’s great news! That is what I want to be told by X,Y, and Z environmental organizations when I check my emails or scroll through my Facebook feed. I want to be told that I can help (and not just by giving money), and I want a list of actions I can take. Inform me on how to write to my senator. Tell me which products to try and boycott. Inform me about upcoming ballot measures that could make a difference on environmental issues. Connect me to local protests and other gatherings. I could go on and on.

I already know about melting glaciers, dying forests, and cracking deserts. I know about dead bees, extinct amphibians, and bleaching coral reefs. I’ve heard the projections about receding coastlines, heard tell of flooding oceanfront properties, and I am aware of monster hurricanes, tornadoes, and fires. What I really need right now is to know that somewhere, progress has been made. I need to hear the good news, even if it may pale in comparison to the challenges we face. Knowing the good news gives me hope, and that hope battles despair. It battles inaction.

Don’t get me wrong – we need the the bad news too. It’s the whole reason why I and so many other people feel compelled to act. My undergraduate education is in Natural Resources, and I will tell you, I learned some depressing stuff. What I do with that knowledge – run away in panic, or stand my ground and fight – is dependent on how the information was presented to me. Despite bouts of despair, I have decided to fight. As Wise recommended, I have made climate change my Number One Issue, and I am not alone. We may have been a humble gathering at Grass Roots on Monday night, but humble gatherings such as that are taking place around the globe, and they are gatherings of people who care deeply and are taking action in their own ways. That has to count for something.

Carla A. Wise signs her book. Photo by Samm Newton.
Carla A. Wise signing her book. Photo by Samm Newton.