On Thursday afternoon, the city council engaged in a robust discussion on whether or not to include the phrase “climate resilient” into a statement about Corvallis being a safe city. (It’s not in there yet.) You can watch the debate online: we began around 5:15, when I had a problem with the fact that, in all of our statements of priorities for the city, climate change was not mentioned. Arguments went from: seven people are running on climate concerns for council this year and it is the key issue for most people under fifty to it’s not the city’s job to address climate change mitigation or adaptation at the community level. Such work is best left to the federal government (because that has worked so well for the last 40 years). When we engage in these discussions, I hold my students close and try to convey the level of concern, anxiety, and panic our lack of action on climate change creates every day. I promised them to do my utmost to mitigate this loaming disaster, to leave them with not quite as large a mess to clean up when I am gone. Sometimes, that thread of the argument works.
After the meeting, I went home to pack for a camping trip. Mark and I drove over the mountains to the Metolius River and Camp Sherman, where we had managed to reserve the best campsite on the river for the weekend. We have been visiting this magical place in the early fall for 20 odd years now. We have seen how some restoration work has taken hold and how other places need a little more love. We have watched cabins fall into disrepair and then be brought back to life with a new generation. We have been there in pouring rain, bright autumn sunshine and, this year, a smoky haze. As we stood o the bridge last night, watching a dipper dance on a branch in the cold, cold river, I wondered: why would you not do everything you can to preserve this beautiful, intricate, and damaged planet? It is our home. Why destroy our home?
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