By Mike VanBuren
From the Late December 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
Back in August of 1999, I was part of a small writer’s group studying creative nonfiction during a conference at Goucher College in Baltimore.
It was the second time I had been to the gathering and that year my study group was led by acclaimed nature writer and conservationist Terry Tempest Williams. Eight years earlier, Williams had published a fine nonfiction work called Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place.
The book interweaves memoir and natural history, explores Williams’ complicated relationship to Mormonism and recounts her mother’s diagnosis with ovarian cancer—along with the concurrent flooding of the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge, a place special to the author since childhood.
A profoundly moving piece of work, the book’s widely anthologized epilogue, “The Clan of One-Breasted Women,” explores whether a high incidence of cancer in her family might be due to living downwind during the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission’s above-ground nuclear testing in the 1950s and 1960s.
As a record of loss, healing grace and the search for a human place in nature’s design, Refuge has become somewhat of a classic essay on mortality and grieving.
Sadly, I am grieving myself today, having come to know the heart-wrenching pain of losing my mother 14 days before Christmas. She’s now on a migratory path of her own, thanks to complications of age, dementia and biological infection that took her down sooner than we expected, and stole her ability to walk, talk, eat and—ultimately—live.
About a week before she drew her last breath at the Rose Arbor Hospice Care Residence in Kalamazoo, she was an in-patient at a local hospital and only slightly better able to communicate than she was at the end. A woman of lifelong quiet faith, she said through nods and facial expressions that she was ready to transition into the presence of God and claim the promises of eternal life.
I believe she was.
It seems she knew she was dying long before I and other family members caught on. We thought she was merely ill and that prayers, encouragement and modern medicine could somehow resurrect her in a form similar to the person we previously knew and loved. But God had other plans for her.
Looking back, the telltale signs of impending death were there even before she left home for the final time more than three weeks earlier. She had lost interest in food and would soon reject water and other fluids. She slept almost continually and efforts to communicate with us became fewer and farther between.
She saw things that we couldn’t see and had no way to adequately describe them—images and celestial beings of various sizes in the high corners of the rooms; mysterious threads on the table, floors and walls; and sometimes people from her distant past beckoning her to come forth. At times she attempted to rise and follow those calls—only to be stopped in her tracks by a concerned care giver asking where she was going, or by malfunctioning legs that would routinely collapse and fall.
Like any good mother, she never stopped listening to me, even when she couldn’t verbally respond to questions or statements. Instead, she briefly opened her eyes, raised her eyebrows, made a face, or simply smiled.
The day before she died, I saw a hawk perched on a pole outside her room. I wondered whether it was some kind of a sign. Early the next afternoon, a similar raptor—perhaps the same one—flew repeatedly into the window and tarried for a while in the bushes outside.
A mere hour-and-a-half later—as a layer of newly fallen lake-effect snow cloaked the ground in pure white—my mother awoke, opened her eyes and tried in vain to say something to those of us gathered at her bedside.
I think it was simply, “I love you.”
Then it was over. Like someone had flipped a power switch. No struggle or after effects. Just complete stillness.
Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, I was searching for my own refuge—a haven from the disrupting loss of her gentle spirit, from the frustration that we couldn’t save her and from the haunting fear that somehow we hadn’t been effective medical advocates when she needed us most.
The family did the best it could, but to no avail. Now all we can do, I suppose, is cling to her memory and to each other, and trust in the promise that we will one day be reunited.
Looking back nearly 15 years to Goucher College, I remember the simple and poetic inscription Terry Tempest Williams wrote in my personal copy of Refuge:
“For you, Mike.
In the name of shared days in search of stories.
Refuge.
In the land.
In each other.
Blessings.”
My mother’s life was a constant blessing to me and many others. Her love never failed and her faith in God never wavered.
In the days following her death, I have come across many things that I wanted to tell her. But we’re no longer connected in that way.
Yet I think she sees me from her exalted position on high and continues to bless me with her prayers.
I cherish that thought and will think of her each time I see freshly fallen snow, or a soaring hawk against a bright blue sky.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Friday, November 29, 2013
Isle Royale wolves and moose
Editorial from the early December 2013 North Woods Call
There’s a classic struggle for survival on Isle Royale.
As previously reported in The North Woods Call, the wolves and moose living on the remote Lake Superior wilderness island are dependent on each other and both are threatened by a variety of factors.
The wolf population has been in decline and may eventually die-out—due largely to reproductive challenges, disease, and a lack of genetic diversity caused by decades of inbreeding. Moose, meanwhile, may be faced with a similar fate—not only on Isle Royale, but across North America. There have been preferential food shortages and a warmer climate in recent years has produced more parasites—especially ticks, which consume the flesh of animals and make them more susceptible to anemia and infections. Ticks also bite off the hair of moose, exposing them to hypothermia in cold weather.
On Isle Royale, wolves and moose have a unique predator-prey relationship. Wolves are the only predator of the moose and the moose are almost exclusively the only prey for wolves. It is essential to keep their respective populations in balance for a healthy ecosystem.
Consequently, a debate currently rages over whether humans should intervene in this natural cycle and, if so, what the results might be.
As one of our readers recently pointed out, the conundrum is this: If you artificially boost the wolf population and their main diet—moose—are dying out, the wolves will starve to death. If, however, the wolves die out, moose will—for a short time, at least—grow in numbers. Then they will overeat the fauna, devastate the island ecosystem and either die out by starvation, or succumb to the tick infestation.
What’s the National Park Service to do? Though we prefer to let nature govern itself, the agency will probably have to err on the side of intervention.
Population biologist John Vucetich and wildlife ecologist Rolf Peterson, who have studied Isle Royale’s wolves and moose, say a healthy ecosystem depends on the presence of top predators like wolves when large herbivores such as moose are present.
Without this balance, prey tend to become overabundant and decimate plants and trees that many species of birds, mammals and insects depend upon. Top predators also maintain the diversity of rare plants and insects that depend on those plants.
In addition, the loss of top predators may disturb the nutrient cycling of entire ecosystems, according to Vucetich and Peterson. And wolves are a boon to foxes, eagles, ravens and other species that scavenge from carcasses that wolves provide, they said.
Although wilderness is typically viewed as a place where nature should be allowed to take its course free from human interference, we lean toward the experts who say the ecology of Isle Royale would best be served if the National Park Service initiates a genetic rescue by introducing new wolves to the island.
After all, Vucetich and Peterson said in a New York Times op-ed piece, “there’s no place on the planet that is untouched by humans. We have already altered nature’s course everywhere. Our future relationship with nature will be more complicated. Stepping in will sometimes be wise, but not always. ... Navigating that complexity without hubris will be a great challenge.”
There’s a classic struggle for survival on Isle Royale.
As previously reported in The North Woods Call, the wolves and moose living on the remote Lake Superior wilderness island are dependent on each other and both are threatened by a variety of factors.
The wolf population has been in decline and may eventually die-out—due largely to reproductive challenges, disease, and a lack of genetic diversity caused by decades of inbreeding. Moose, meanwhile, may be faced with a similar fate—not only on Isle Royale, but across North America. There have been preferential food shortages and a warmer climate in recent years has produced more parasites—especially ticks, which consume the flesh of animals and make them more susceptible to anemia and infections. Ticks also bite off the hair of moose, exposing them to hypothermia in cold weather.
On Isle Royale, wolves and moose have a unique predator-prey relationship. Wolves are the only predator of the moose and the moose are almost exclusively the only prey for wolves. It is essential to keep their respective populations in balance for a healthy ecosystem.
Consequently, a debate currently rages over whether humans should intervene in this natural cycle and, if so, what the results might be.
As one of our readers recently pointed out, the conundrum is this: If you artificially boost the wolf population and their main diet—moose—are dying out, the wolves will starve to death. If, however, the wolves die out, moose will—for a short time, at least—grow in numbers. Then they will overeat the fauna, devastate the island ecosystem and either die out by starvation, or succumb to the tick infestation.
What’s the National Park Service to do? Though we prefer to let nature govern itself, the agency will probably have to err on the side of intervention.
Population biologist John Vucetich and wildlife ecologist Rolf Peterson, who have studied Isle Royale’s wolves and moose, say a healthy ecosystem depends on the presence of top predators like wolves when large herbivores such as moose are present.
Without this balance, prey tend to become overabundant and decimate plants and trees that many species of birds, mammals and insects depend upon. Top predators also maintain the diversity of rare plants and insects that depend on those plants.
In addition, the loss of top predators may disturb the nutrient cycling of entire ecosystems, according to Vucetich and Peterson. And wolves are a boon to foxes, eagles, ravens and other species that scavenge from carcasses that wolves provide, they said.
Although wilderness is typically viewed as a place where nature should be allowed to take its course free from human interference, we lean toward the experts who say the ecology of Isle Royale would best be served if the National Park Service initiates a genetic rescue by introducing new wolves to the island.
After all, Vucetich and Peterson said in a New York Times op-ed piece, “there’s no place on the planet that is untouched by humans. We have already altered nature’s course everywhere. Our future relationship with nature will be more complicated. Stepping in will sometimes be wise, but not always. ... Navigating that complexity without hubris will be a great challenge.”
Healthy truth in advertising
Editorial from the early December 2013 North Woods Call
Now we all know.
The nation’s controversial “Affordable Health Care Act” is apparently not so affordable.
Not only are individual and family insurance policies going to be much more expensive to purchase, but millions of Americans are already losing the coverage that they wanted to keep.
This, despite assurances by proponents of the legislation that coverage would be less expensive and “if you like your current plan, you can keep it.”
Turns out these assurances were bald-faced lies, told repeatedly to deceive the voting public.
That’s the problem with unchecked bureaucratic socialism and power-hungry demagogues who insist on having their way despite the heavy costs to society and freedom.
At least two things now need to happen.
We should insist that this poorly conceived law be repealed and demand that those who perpetrated this wanton fraud on the American people be held accountable.
Only then can we hope to find workable solutions to society’s problems—whether in health care or natural resources conservation—and foster the truth in advertising that we deserve from those in public office.
If this kind of thing happened in the private sector, criminal charges would already have been filed.
Now we all know.
The nation’s controversial “Affordable Health Care Act” is apparently not so affordable.
Not only are individual and family insurance policies going to be much more expensive to purchase, but millions of Americans are already losing the coverage that they wanted to keep.
This, despite assurances by proponents of the legislation that coverage would be less expensive and “if you like your current plan, you can keep it.”
Turns out these assurances were bald-faced lies, told repeatedly to deceive the voting public.
That’s the problem with unchecked bureaucratic socialism and power-hungry demagogues who insist on having their way despite the heavy costs to society and freedom.
At least two things now need to happen.
We should insist that this poorly conceived law be repealed and demand that those who perpetrated this wanton fraud on the American people be held accountable.
Only then can we hope to find workable solutions to society’s problems—whether in health care or natural resources conservation—and foster the truth in advertising that we deserve from those in public office.
If this kind of thing happened in the private sector, criminal charges would already have been filed.
Belle Isle 1947: Days of youth and romance
By Mike VanBuren
From the early December 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
I’ve been thinking lately about Detroit’s historic Belle Isle Park—and not for the reason many others are.
Management of the 982-acre island in the Detroit River between the United States and Canada was officially transferred to the State of Michigan on November 12, after nearly 120 years as the largest city-owned island park in the United States.
At 1,534 square miles, Belle Isle is bigger than New York City’s Central Park, and includes a nature center, inland lakes, lagoons, canal system, wooded areas and a half-mile of swimming beach. With the management transfer, it becomes Michigan’s 102nd state park.
Yet that’s not really why it has my attention today.
In May of 1947—six years before I was born—my parents visited Belle Isle on their honeymoon and captured the occasion in several black-and-white photographs that have been displayed in family photo albums ever since.
I have looked at those pictures my entire life and marveled at the youthfulness of this young couple that I have always known simply as “Mom and Dad.”
Those were happy days for them—filled with promises and dreams—a time of life that in the minds of young people will surely last forever.
But it never does.
Sixty-six years after those photographs were taken, following many decades of robust health and independence, my mother has been stricken with a debilitating illness that—for now, at least—has stolen her ability to walk, bathe, feed herself and participate in all but the simplest of conversations.
Along with her personal suffering, the lives of her husband and family members have been thrown into raging turmoil—each immersed in his or her our own not-so-private nightmare—as we struggle to cope with the ravages of memory loss and physical incapacitation.
Those who have been through such difficulties and found themselves in the unexpected role of sudden care givers know that none of this is easy to handle. It’s as if some sort of awful latter-day penalty awaits those who live too long and too well.
When I was a boy of about five-years-old, my parents revisited Belle Isle with some relatives, and took my sister and me along. On the way to the park, we stopped at a local service station where a big, ugly gorilla—or some guy dressed like one—greeted us as part of some attention-grabbing business promotion.
The adults in our party laughed and posed for pictures with the hairy beast, but to a youngster unschooled in the ways of the marketing world, the creature looked mean and life threatening. So I did what any self-respecting kid would do. I freaked out and ran for Mama.
I was quickly sheltered from the clear and present danger and, as I recall, the entire family escaped without injury that day. But I still remember the encounter whenever I see a real or costumed gorilla. Where’s legendary zoologist Dian Fossey when you need her, anyway?
Nowadays—as my parents face gorillas in the mist of advanced age, with me following closely behind—there doesn’t seem to be anyone to whom we can run and hide. Nor can the family and I effectively shelter them—or ourselves—from the horrors of declining health.
Frankly, that’s something about nature that I hate and can’t fully understand.
Be that as it may, there are many decisions that will need to be made in the coming days and many responsibilities that will need to be carried out in the face of daunting challenges. And, no matter how much we know about the frailty of the human condition, we’re never quite prepared for what it all means.
Tough questions abound. Why did this happen? What can we do? How much will it cost? How much time will it take? And—not insignificantly—what impact will all this have on a mom-and-pop operation like The North Woods Call when the sole proprietor is regularly called away to meet other pressing obligations?
I don’t yet know the answers to those questions, but I’ll have to find them soon, whether I like it or not.
Still, I’d much rather retreat to a sunny spring day in 1947 when colorful flowers were in bloom, and a freshly minted couple was walking hand-in-hand around the Belle Isle Conservatory and creating Kodak memories at the nearby James Scott Memorial Fountain.
If that were only possible.
For now. I can only hope and pray that better days lie ahead—in this world and beyond—when youthful loves and memories can be rekindled in a land that knows no sickness and sorrow.
From the early December 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
I’ve been thinking lately about Detroit’s historic Belle Isle Park—and not for the reason many others are.
Management of the 982-acre island in the Detroit River between the United States and Canada was officially transferred to the State of Michigan on November 12, after nearly 120 years as the largest city-owned island park in the United States.
At 1,534 square miles, Belle Isle is bigger than New York City’s Central Park, and includes a nature center, inland lakes, lagoons, canal system, wooded areas and a half-mile of swimming beach. With the management transfer, it becomes Michigan’s 102nd state park.
Yet that’s not really why it has my attention today.
In May of 1947—six years before I was born—my parents visited Belle Isle on their honeymoon and captured the occasion in several black-and-white photographs that have been displayed in family photo albums ever since.
I have looked at those pictures my entire life and marveled at the youthfulness of this young couple that I have always known simply as “Mom and Dad.”
Those were happy days for them—filled with promises and dreams—a time of life that in the minds of young people will surely last forever.
But it never does.
Sixty-six years after those photographs were taken, following many decades of robust health and independence, my mother has been stricken with a debilitating illness that—for now, at least—has stolen her ability to walk, bathe, feed herself and participate in all but the simplest of conversations.
Along with her personal suffering, the lives of her husband and family members have been thrown into raging turmoil—each immersed in his or her our own not-so-private nightmare—as we struggle to cope with the ravages of memory loss and physical incapacitation.
Those who have been through such difficulties and found themselves in the unexpected role of sudden care givers know that none of this is easy to handle. It’s as if some sort of awful latter-day penalty awaits those who live too long and too well.
When I was a boy of about five-years-old, my parents revisited Belle Isle with some relatives, and took my sister and me along. On the way to the park, we stopped at a local service station where a big, ugly gorilla—or some guy dressed like one—greeted us as part of some attention-grabbing business promotion.
The adults in our party laughed and posed for pictures with the hairy beast, but to a youngster unschooled in the ways of the marketing world, the creature looked mean and life threatening. So I did what any self-respecting kid would do. I freaked out and ran for Mama.
I was quickly sheltered from the clear and present danger and, as I recall, the entire family escaped without injury that day. But I still remember the encounter whenever I see a real or costumed gorilla. Where’s legendary zoologist Dian Fossey when you need her, anyway?
Nowadays—as my parents face gorillas in the mist of advanced age, with me following closely behind—there doesn’t seem to be anyone to whom we can run and hide. Nor can the family and I effectively shelter them—or ourselves—from the horrors of declining health.
Frankly, that’s something about nature that I hate and can’t fully understand.
Be that as it may, there are many decisions that will need to be made in the coming days and many responsibilities that will need to be carried out in the face of daunting challenges. And, no matter how much we know about the frailty of the human condition, we’re never quite prepared for what it all means.
Tough questions abound. Why did this happen? What can we do? How much will it cost? How much time will it take? And—not insignificantly—what impact will all this have on a mom-and-pop operation like The North Woods Call when the sole proprietor is regularly called away to meet other pressing obligations?
I don’t yet know the answers to those questions, but I’ll have to find them soon, whether I like it or not.
Still, I’d much rather retreat to a sunny spring day in 1947 when colorful flowers were in bloom, and a freshly minted couple was walking hand-in-hand around the Belle Isle Conservatory and creating Kodak memories at the nearby James Scott Memorial Fountain.
If that were only possible.
For now. I can only hope and pray that better days lie ahead—in this world and beyond—when youthful loves and memories can be rekindled in a land that knows no sickness and sorrow.
Old friends, stormy nights & "robber barons"
By Mike VanBuren
From the late November 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
We should have known that the rain wouldn’t stop.
All the weather reports said it wouldn’t. And the deep gray clouds that hung over most of Michigan that October day had already been spitting water for the better part of 24 hours.
But on we drove—a former college roommate and I—from the sand-covered eastern shore of Lake Michigan to the northern forests of Roscommon County.
We thought we could escape the precipitation if we traveled far enough—past the blanket of drizzle and into the bright sunshine of a cool autumn day. But the daylight came and went, and we were left without a dry place to pitch our tents and build a campfire.
There was a time when it wouldn’t have mattered. We would have taken to the woods, anyway, and toughed it out on a soggy campsite with the hope of a better day tomorrow. But we’re older now—less inclined toward voluntary suffering—and much prefer to hear raindrops falling on the roof of a dry shelter than dripping into our tents and pooling like unwelcome ponds beneath our sleeping bags.
So we rented a tiny tourist cabin on the western shore of Houghton Lake and dialed up the gas furnace. The quaint log structure—built in the 1950s—featured a small kitchenette, bathroom, dining table, sitting area and two cozy bedrooms.
It was more than we needed, but at least we were out of the nasty weather.
My friend and I have been making these annual pilgrimages for at least 38 years now and many times have attempted to solve the world’s intransigent problems over late night fires. Our animated conversations have typically lasted well into the early morning hours—sometimes past daybreak.
This time was no exception, except we lacked the calming influence of dancing flames and smoldering wood coals. That may be where we went wrong.
In days gone by, we seemed to agree on potential solutions much more than we disagreed. But not so much anymore.
My friend took a sharp left turn somewhere along the way and ended up in places I don’t fully appreciate. He would probably say the same about me, albeit our philosophical destinations vary.
A cold, rainy night in northern Michigan only seemed to exacerbate the differences in our viewpoints.
Still, I have great respect for this political opponent—a smart and articulate observer who can speak intelligently about many subjects. He is good-hearted and courteous to other people. And he has been a major encourager and supporter over the years.
Friends like that are hard to come by and something to be treasured. So it’s particularly troubling when we butt heads like a couple of stubborn bighorn rams on a steep mountainside.
Our disagreement over domestic affairs has seldom been as contentious as it was during this outing. I blame a malfunctioning and extra-constitutional government for many of our nation’s problems—along with deceitful, propaganda-spewing demagogues of all stripes. He says I’m much too harsh in my criticism and should have more respect for public office holders.
Perhaps, but they must earn that respect.
My friend seems blissfully satisfied that our elected and appointed public servants are honorable individuals with good intentions and sufficient integrity. He points to corporate and banking interests as the real culprits.
But that’s not what this tale is really about. The point to be made, as we have often said, is that opposing viewpoints offer new perspectives and opportunities to learn.
Such debates certainly have made my intellectual gears turn on occasion and now I’m told that “a little socialism” is better than “unbridled capitalism.”
Hmmm. Liberty seems to be an increasingly tough sell in the land of the free. But the underlying point is well-taken. Not all business leaders have been models of ethical behavior. Then again, neither have government officials.
Regardless—from what I’ve seen—government doesn’t create wealth. It only consumes and “redistributes” it. Like it or not, free enterprise (within reasonable boundaries that protect the rights of individuals) is what pays the bills, creates jobs and generates tax revenue.
And, despite a handful of so-called “robber barons” that may have operated from time-to-time throughout our history, most businesses and industries have made overwhelmingly positive contributions to society.
Among other things, they have provided employment, helped build personal security, funded schools and hospitals, and supported numerous other institutions and programs that benefit each of us. And they’re responsible for many of the recreation programs and public park lands that we now enjoy.
In Michigan alone, much of the state’s philanthropic history is tied to the land. Many of our state parks—including Hartwick Pines, Brimley, P.H. Hoeft and Warren Dunes—exist because of gifts from private philanthropists. The same is true for national parks and historic sites, such as Acadia in Maine, Grand Teton in Wyoming and the Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee.
Other private donations have contributed significantly to park planning, development, management and interpretation.
But there’s no need to debate these points here—nearly a month after our Houghton Lake confab ended and tempers cooled.
By the following morning, the rain had mostly stopped, so we traveled back across the state to the Nordhouse Dunes Wilderness Area in the Manistee National Forest. There we finally pitched our tents, had a blazing campfire and engaged in a far more amiable conversation.
We’ll probably always argue the fine points of self-government, but hopefully we’ll each learn something from these exchanges and embrace the truth where we find it.
While a little rain may fall on us from time-to-time, we can’t let the storms of life wash our common sense—or friendships—away.
From the late November 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
We should have known that the rain wouldn’t stop.
All the weather reports said it wouldn’t. And the deep gray clouds that hung over most of Michigan that October day had already been spitting water for the better part of 24 hours.
But on we drove—a former college roommate and I—from the sand-covered eastern shore of Lake Michigan to the northern forests of Roscommon County.
We thought we could escape the precipitation if we traveled far enough—past the blanket of drizzle and into the bright sunshine of a cool autumn day. But the daylight came and went, and we were left without a dry place to pitch our tents and build a campfire.
There was a time when it wouldn’t have mattered. We would have taken to the woods, anyway, and toughed it out on a soggy campsite with the hope of a better day tomorrow. But we’re older now—less inclined toward voluntary suffering—and much prefer to hear raindrops falling on the roof of a dry shelter than dripping into our tents and pooling like unwelcome ponds beneath our sleeping bags.
So we rented a tiny tourist cabin on the western shore of Houghton Lake and dialed up the gas furnace. The quaint log structure—built in the 1950s—featured a small kitchenette, bathroom, dining table, sitting area and two cozy bedrooms.
It was more than we needed, but at least we were out of the nasty weather.
My friend and I have been making these annual pilgrimages for at least 38 years now and many times have attempted to solve the world’s intransigent problems over late night fires. Our animated conversations have typically lasted well into the early morning hours—sometimes past daybreak.
This time was no exception, except we lacked the calming influence of dancing flames and smoldering wood coals. That may be where we went wrong.
In days gone by, we seemed to agree on potential solutions much more than we disagreed. But not so much anymore.
My friend took a sharp left turn somewhere along the way and ended up in places I don’t fully appreciate. He would probably say the same about me, albeit our philosophical destinations vary.
A cold, rainy night in northern Michigan only seemed to exacerbate the differences in our viewpoints.
Still, I have great respect for this political opponent—a smart and articulate observer who can speak intelligently about many subjects. He is good-hearted and courteous to other people. And he has been a major encourager and supporter over the years.
Friends like that are hard to come by and something to be treasured. So it’s particularly troubling when we butt heads like a couple of stubborn bighorn rams on a steep mountainside.
Our disagreement over domestic affairs has seldom been as contentious as it was during this outing. I blame a malfunctioning and extra-constitutional government for many of our nation’s problems—along with deceitful, propaganda-spewing demagogues of all stripes. He says I’m much too harsh in my criticism and should have more respect for public office holders.
Perhaps, but they must earn that respect.
My friend seems blissfully satisfied that our elected and appointed public servants are honorable individuals with good intentions and sufficient integrity. He points to corporate and banking interests as the real culprits.
But that’s not what this tale is really about. The point to be made, as we have often said, is that opposing viewpoints offer new perspectives and opportunities to learn.
Such debates certainly have made my intellectual gears turn on occasion and now I’m told that “a little socialism” is better than “unbridled capitalism.”
Hmmm. Liberty seems to be an increasingly tough sell in the land of the free. But the underlying point is well-taken. Not all business leaders have been models of ethical behavior. Then again, neither have government officials.
Regardless—from what I’ve seen—government doesn’t create wealth. It only consumes and “redistributes” it. Like it or not, free enterprise (within reasonable boundaries that protect the rights of individuals) is what pays the bills, creates jobs and generates tax revenue.
And, despite a handful of so-called “robber barons” that may have operated from time-to-time throughout our history, most businesses and industries have made overwhelmingly positive contributions to society.
Among other things, they have provided employment, helped build personal security, funded schools and hospitals, and supported numerous other institutions and programs that benefit each of us. And they’re responsible for many of the recreation programs and public park lands that we now enjoy.
In Michigan alone, much of the state’s philanthropic history is tied to the land. Many of our state parks—including Hartwick Pines, Brimley, P.H. Hoeft and Warren Dunes—exist because of gifts from private philanthropists. The same is true for national parks and historic sites, such as Acadia in Maine, Grand Teton in Wyoming and the Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee.
Other private donations have contributed significantly to park planning, development, management and interpretation.
But there’s no need to debate these points here—nearly a month after our Houghton Lake confab ended and tempers cooled.
By the following morning, the rain had mostly stopped, so we traveled back across the state to the Nordhouse Dunes Wilderness Area in the Manistee National Forest. There we finally pitched our tents, had a blazing campfire and engaged in a far more amiable conversation.
We’ll probably always argue the fine points of self-government, but hopefully we’ll each learn something from these exchanges and embrace the truth where we find it.
While a little rain may fall on us from time-to-time, we can’t let the storms of life wash our common sense—or friendships—away.
Woodstock musings
By Mike VanBuren
From the early November 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
There’s a sign along Hurd Road leading north from Bethel, New York, that says, “Drive Peacefully.”
It’s a nice thought to contemplate, although one wonders if we have it in us to drive—or live—in harmony with our fellow travelers.
My wife and I are in the Empire State to visit our new granddaughter in Harriman, but we have a few extra hours this morning and decided to take a drive into the country.
We have discovered many wonderful natural areas since we arrived two days ago and I’m starting to re-think my image of New York—and the entire East Coast, for that matter—as uninhabitable urban areas filled with congested roadways, crowded commuter trains and ant-like human beings scurrying back and forth between their homes and office cubicles.
There is some of that, to be sure, but large sections of the state have picturesque rural areas that rival the best of northern Michigan. There are even two of the world’s largest freshwater lakes—Ontario and Erie—on the north and west borders.
So much for my midwestern superiority complex.
Just 35 miles northwest of our hotel, the landscape on Max Yasgur’s fabled farm is drenched by a warm October sun. The gently rolling hills, green pastures and colorful woodlots are as beautiful as any rural America has to offer.
Nearly 45 years ago, this was the gathering spot for more than 400,000 peaceniks, flower children and back-to-nature types who thought they could change the world by partying, rejecting the values of their parents, and attempting to “self-actualize” through a host of less-than-honorable pursuits.
They succeeded in shocking the Norman Rockwell in us, clinging like zebra mussels on a Great Lakes freighter to numerous things that were supposed to be “free,” but came with a heavy price—sex, drugs and rock-n-roll.
The Woodstock Music and Art Fair was held on the Yasgur farm Aug. 15-18, 1969, during a rain-soaked weekend of muddy misery billed as “three days of peace and music.” The whole affair was messy and disorganized, but it became a cultural watershed that featured landmark performances by the likes of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Carlos Santana, Melanie Safka, Canned Heat, The Who, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, Sly & the Family Stone, The Band, Joan Baez, Joe Cocker, Sha Na Na, Arlo Guthrie, John Sebastian, Richie Havens, Johnny Winter, and Crosby, Stills & Nash.
It was probably the largest mass camp-out in the history of the nation—and an interesting study in human ecology and behavior.
I was a bit too young and unhip to attend the “aquarian exposition,” but most who did seemed to embrace the many rebellious pop philosophies of the day. Make love, not war, and all that stuff.
Unfortunately, the long-term reality of those ideas didn’t quite fulfill the promise and dream. Turns out the younger generation was just as foolish, corrupt and dishonest as any previous ones they reviled—maybe more so.
In little more than a year, Hendrix and Joplin would be dead from drug overdoses, and the systematic breakdown of the family and civil society was racing ahead at full throttle.
The party was over, so to speak, despite efforts to “build the world a home and furnish it with love.” It seems real love, responsible stewardship of resources and selfless giving was in short supply, as it has been throughout human history. Now, thanks in part to the somewhat confused Woodstock generation, our future seems more precarious than ever.
We say we want to live peacefully, save the planet from ecological disaster and care for the poor—as long as we don’t have to sacrifice much ourselves, particularly our relentless lust for personal pleasure.
Even in 1969, when we were in the thick of anti-war sentiment and laying the groundwork for the modern environmental movement, Woodstock revelers showed little concern for the neighboring crops and personal property that was destroyed during the event, the piles of trash they left behind when it was over, and even the attempted admission fee at the gate.
It is particularly amusing—to me, at least—that rebellious Baby Boomers espoused all manner self-centered freedom, eschewed government control of their lives and encouraged everyone to “question authority.” Yet many have grown up to support the same liberty-squashing policies that they protested against during their younger years.
Today, the musical counterculture heroes of 1969—as well as Max Yasgur himself—have largely moved on, although several have returned to Woodstock over the years for concerts and other events at the festival site. And the ashes of Richie Havens were ceremoniously scattered over the Woodstock grounds after the singer died earlier this year.
Capitalist entrepreneurs purchased the property in 1996 and built the $100 million Bethel Woods Center for the Arts—a beautiful campus complete with a 1960s museum, multiple concert and performance venues, a cafe, educational classrooms, paved parking lots and flush toilets.
Further up Hurd Road, several decidedly upscale homes have been constructed along the small lake where the nation’s mud-covered future leaders once shed their inhibitions and peasant clothing to bathe nude in the refreshing water.
“It’s your thing; do what you want to do,” the old song goes. We’re just getting back to (human) nature.
I really hope my infant granddaughter’s generation will have some better ideas on how to change the world and preserve our natural resources.
Until then, peace.
Oh—and party on.
From the early November 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
There’s a sign along Hurd Road leading north from Bethel, New York, that says, “Drive Peacefully.”
It’s a nice thought to contemplate, although one wonders if we have it in us to drive—or live—in harmony with our fellow travelers.
My wife and I are in the Empire State to visit our new granddaughter in Harriman, but we have a few extra hours this morning and decided to take a drive into the country.
We have discovered many wonderful natural areas since we arrived two days ago and I’m starting to re-think my image of New York—and the entire East Coast, for that matter—as uninhabitable urban areas filled with congested roadways, crowded commuter trains and ant-like human beings scurrying back and forth between their homes and office cubicles.
There is some of that, to be sure, but large sections of the state have picturesque rural areas that rival the best of northern Michigan. There are even two of the world’s largest freshwater lakes—Ontario and Erie—on the north and west borders.
So much for my midwestern superiority complex.
Just 35 miles northwest of our hotel, the landscape on Max Yasgur’s fabled farm is drenched by a warm October sun. The gently rolling hills, green pastures and colorful woodlots are as beautiful as any rural America has to offer.
Nearly 45 years ago, this was the gathering spot for more than 400,000 peaceniks, flower children and back-to-nature types who thought they could change the world by partying, rejecting the values of their parents, and attempting to “self-actualize” through a host of less-than-honorable pursuits.
They succeeded in shocking the Norman Rockwell in us, clinging like zebra mussels on a Great Lakes freighter to numerous things that were supposed to be “free,” but came with a heavy price—sex, drugs and rock-n-roll.
The Woodstock Music and Art Fair was held on the Yasgur farm Aug. 15-18, 1969, during a rain-soaked weekend of muddy misery billed as “three days of peace and music.” The whole affair was messy and disorganized, but it became a cultural watershed that featured landmark performances by the likes of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Carlos Santana, Melanie Safka, Canned Heat, The Who, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, Sly & the Family Stone, The Band, Joan Baez, Joe Cocker, Sha Na Na, Arlo Guthrie, John Sebastian, Richie Havens, Johnny Winter, and Crosby, Stills & Nash.
It was probably the largest mass camp-out in the history of the nation—and an interesting study in human ecology and behavior.
I was a bit too young and unhip to attend the “aquarian exposition,” but most who did seemed to embrace the many rebellious pop philosophies of the day. Make love, not war, and all that stuff.
Unfortunately, the long-term reality of those ideas didn’t quite fulfill the promise and dream. Turns out the younger generation was just as foolish, corrupt and dishonest as any previous ones they reviled—maybe more so.
In little more than a year, Hendrix and Joplin would be dead from drug overdoses, and the systematic breakdown of the family and civil society was racing ahead at full throttle.
The party was over, so to speak, despite efforts to “build the world a home and furnish it with love.” It seems real love, responsible stewardship of resources and selfless giving was in short supply, as it has been throughout human history. Now, thanks in part to the somewhat confused Woodstock generation, our future seems more precarious than ever.
We say we want to live peacefully, save the planet from ecological disaster and care for the poor—as long as we don’t have to sacrifice much ourselves, particularly our relentless lust for personal pleasure.
Even in 1969, when we were in the thick of anti-war sentiment and laying the groundwork for the modern environmental movement, Woodstock revelers showed little concern for the neighboring crops and personal property that was destroyed during the event, the piles of trash they left behind when it was over, and even the attempted admission fee at the gate.
It is particularly amusing—to me, at least—that rebellious Baby Boomers espoused all manner self-centered freedom, eschewed government control of their lives and encouraged everyone to “question authority.” Yet many have grown up to support the same liberty-squashing policies that they protested against during their younger years.
Today, the musical counterculture heroes of 1969—as well as Max Yasgur himself—have largely moved on, although several have returned to Woodstock over the years for concerts and other events at the festival site. And the ashes of Richie Havens were ceremoniously scattered over the Woodstock grounds after the singer died earlier this year.
Capitalist entrepreneurs purchased the property in 1996 and built the $100 million Bethel Woods Center for the Arts—a beautiful campus complete with a 1960s museum, multiple concert and performance venues, a cafe, educational classrooms, paved parking lots and flush toilets.
Further up Hurd Road, several decidedly upscale homes have been constructed along the small lake where the nation’s mud-covered future leaders once shed their inhibitions and peasant clothing to bathe nude in the refreshing water.
“It’s your thing; do what you want to do,” the old song goes. We’re just getting back to (human) nature.
I really hope my infant granddaughter’s generation will have some better ideas on how to change the world and preserve our natural resources.
Until then, peace.
Oh—and party on.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Oil prices & the open road
By Mike VanBuren
From the Late October 2013 North Woods Call
Among the most heartbreaking aspects of escalating energy costs —for me, at least—are the negative impacts that higher gasoline prices have on the average person’s ability to travel.
This is pretty much a uniquely American worry, I know, and one that presents quite a conundrum for the conservationist in me.
On one hand, I want to cut pollution and save fossil fuels. On the other, there is nothing that brings me greater joy and experiential learning than climbing behind the wheel of a motor vehicle and wandering down America’s back roads. I suppose I could do this on foot, or bicycle, but it wouldn’t be the same.
Maybe I’m just spoiled by the fleeting opportunities of the past and need to plan less-distant travel in the future. But that’s not something I can easily accept. It seems too much like an assault on the personal liberty to which I have grown accustomed.
As Texas songwriter Billy Joe Shaver so aptly declared: “Movin’ is the closest thing to being free.”
Right or wrong, this has been one of the guiding philosophies in my own life, and something ingrained in the America psyche since the nation’s founding and westward movement of the first European settlers. Gasoline-powered cars and trucks have routinely taken me places I would never have gone and shown me things I would never have seen in any other way.
Ah, sweet freedom.
My parents first introduced me to the American road during the summer of 1963 with a journey down Route 66 to Arizona. From there we drove north to Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Tetons, then back to Michigan—all in a tiny turquoise-colored Volkswagen beetle with no air conditioning.
Ever since that trip, the wonders of two-lane blacktop and the fascinating discoveries one can make along the road have captured my imagination like sticky fly paper.
It was, of course, a time when gasoline sold for 20 to 30 cents per gallon and you could drive all the way across the country for not much more than it costs now for a single fill-up. In fact, for much of my adult life—until fairly recently—road trips remained affordable vacation alternatives.
So down the road I went. From the dense forests of the Great Lakes region to the Saguaro National Monument in Arizona ... from Big Sur on the rugged California coast to picturesque Bar Harbor in Maine ... from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia to Banff and Jasper National Parks in the Canadian Rockies ... from Mt. Ranier in Washington State to the Everglades in the Seminole country of southern Florida ... across the mighty Mississippi, Missouri and Columbia rivers ... from New York City to Los Angeles and Chicago to New Orleans ... and from the border towns of Texas and Mexico to the quiet farm communities of Indiana and Ohio.
And, sorry to say, I’ve loved every gas-guzzling minute of it.
At first, I traveled in an old Plymouth Valiant with a slant-six engine. Then it was a 1967 Rambler Rebel with soft and comfortable reclining seats. Later, I graduated to a series of Ford pickup trucks and Econoline vans, which made it possible to sleep undisturbed in roadside rest areas and assorted parking lots, thus avoiding the costs of hotels and motels.
Those were the glory days of cheap travel and nonstop adventure, which fed my writer’s muse like nothing else before or since.
But now such travel has become a major—and often unaffordable—investment for a penny-pinching adventurer who remembers much less painful visits to the gas pump.
Jet-setting elites still have affordable options and seem to be traveling as much as ever. But what about the common man? Have we forever lost a treasured piece of liberty we once took for granted? Will we again see a time when we can take to the highway without breaking the bank?
Maybe not, but I remain hopeful. There are still a lot of things I want to see in this great land—things I’m sure to miss if I’m forced by economics, resource concerns, or government bureaucrats to stay at home.
It’s interesting to note that when cars were first introduced into American cities in significant numbers, they were seen as the solution to an urban pollution problem—horses. During the latter part of the 19th Century, horses in New York City alone dropped an estimated 800,000 to 1.3 million pounds of manure every day—much of it onto the city streets, according to information gleaned from The Henry Ford Museum’s popular exhibit, “The Automobile in American Life.”
Add to that the urine and remains of animals that died from disease or exhaustion and were often left where they fell, and the nation’s cities were dirty, foul-smelling and fly-ridden places, particularly in hot weather.
It’s no small wonder many urban residents hailed the coming of “horseless carriages.”
But with today’s exponential population growth, and millions more cars and trucks on the world’s roadways, we’re once again forced to look for innovative transportation solutions.
I just hope whatever we come up with will include energy efficient personal vehicles that are affordable to purchase and operate—and useful for long-distance travel, camping, trailer hauling, and all those other traditional automotive activities that modern lightweight and electric-powered cracker boxes so far haven’t been able to handle.
Of course, that will do little to address other automobile-related troubles such as congestion, urban sprawl, and accidental injury or death.
To borrow another phrase from Billy Joe Shaver, unfettered travel on the nation’s back roads and interstate highways may be a “low-down freedom” in light of dwindling resources, corporate greed and modern environmental politics, but it’s freedom nonetheless.
It would unfortunate—at least for those of us who love the road and all it represents—to see such opportunities to roam fade away like yesterday’s horse and buggy.
From the Late October 2013 North Woods Call
Among the most heartbreaking aspects of escalating energy costs —for me, at least—are the negative impacts that higher gasoline prices have on the average person’s ability to travel.
This is pretty much a uniquely American worry, I know, and one that presents quite a conundrum for the conservationist in me.
On one hand, I want to cut pollution and save fossil fuels. On the other, there is nothing that brings me greater joy and experiential learning than climbing behind the wheel of a motor vehicle and wandering down America’s back roads. I suppose I could do this on foot, or bicycle, but it wouldn’t be the same.
Maybe I’m just spoiled by the fleeting opportunities of the past and need to plan less-distant travel in the future. But that’s not something I can easily accept. It seems too much like an assault on the personal liberty to which I have grown accustomed.
As Texas songwriter Billy Joe Shaver so aptly declared: “Movin’ is the closest thing to being free.”
Right or wrong, this has been one of the guiding philosophies in my own life, and something ingrained in the America psyche since the nation’s founding and westward movement of the first European settlers. Gasoline-powered cars and trucks have routinely taken me places I would never have gone and shown me things I would never have seen in any other way.
Ah, sweet freedom.
My parents first introduced me to the American road during the summer of 1963 with a journey down Route 66 to Arizona. From there we drove north to Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Tetons, then back to Michigan—all in a tiny turquoise-colored Volkswagen beetle with no air conditioning.
Ever since that trip, the wonders of two-lane blacktop and the fascinating discoveries one can make along the road have captured my imagination like sticky fly paper.
It was, of course, a time when gasoline sold for 20 to 30 cents per gallon and you could drive all the way across the country for not much more than it costs now for a single fill-up. In fact, for much of my adult life—until fairly recently—road trips remained affordable vacation alternatives.
So down the road I went. From the dense forests of the Great Lakes region to the Saguaro National Monument in Arizona ... from Big Sur on the rugged California coast to picturesque Bar Harbor in Maine ... from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia to Banff and Jasper National Parks in the Canadian Rockies ... from Mt. Ranier in Washington State to the Everglades in the Seminole country of southern Florida ... across the mighty Mississippi, Missouri and Columbia rivers ... from New York City to Los Angeles and Chicago to New Orleans ... and from the border towns of Texas and Mexico to the quiet farm communities of Indiana and Ohio.
And, sorry to say, I’ve loved every gas-guzzling minute of it.
At first, I traveled in an old Plymouth Valiant with a slant-six engine. Then it was a 1967 Rambler Rebel with soft and comfortable reclining seats. Later, I graduated to a series of Ford pickup trucks and Econoline vans, which made it possible to sleep undisturbed in roadside rest areas and assorted parking lots, thus avoiding the costs of hotels and motels.
Those were the glory days of cheap travel and nonstop adventure, which fed my writer’s muse like nothing else before or since.
But now such travel has become a major—and often unaffordable—investment for a penny-pinching adventurer who remembers much less painful visits to the gas pump.
Jet-setting elites still have affordable options and seem to be traveling as much as ever. But what about the common man? Have we forever lost a treasured piece of liberty we once took for granted? Will we again see a time when we can take to the highway without breaking the bank?
Maybe not, but I remain hopeful. There are still a lot of things I want to see in this great land—things I’m sure to miss if I’m forced by economics, resource concerns, or government bureaucrats to stay at home.
It’s interesting to note that when cars were first introduced into American cities in significant numbers, they were seen as the solution to an urban pollution problem—horses. During the latter part of the 19th Century, horses in New York City alone dropped an estimated 800,000 to 1.3 million pounds of manure every day—much of it onto the city streets, according to information gleaned from The Henry Ford Museum’s popular exhibit, “The Automobile in American Life.”
Add to that the urine and remains of animals that died from disease or exhaustion and were often left where they fell, and the nation’s cities were dirty, foul-smelling and fly-ridden places, particularly in hot weather.
It’s no small wonder many urban residents hailed the coming of “horseless carriages.”
But with today’s exponential population growth, and millions more cars and trucks on the world’s roadways, we’re once again forced to look for innovative transportation solutions.
I just hope whatever we come up with will include energy efficient personal vehicles that are affordable to purchase and operate—and useful for long-distance travel, camping, trailer hauling, and all those other traditional automotive activities that modern lightweight and electric-powered cracker boxes so far haven’t been able to handle.
Of course, that will do little to address other automobile-related troubles such as congestion, urban sprawl, and accidental injury or death.
To borrow another phrase from Billy Joe Shaver, unfettered travel on the nation’s back roads and interstate highways may be a “low-down freedom” in light of dwindling resources, corporate greed and modern environmental politics, but it’s freedom nonetheless.
It would unfortunate—at least for those of us who love the road and all it represents—to see such opportunities to roam fade away like yesterday’s horse and buggy.
A matter of perspective
An editorial from the Late October 2013 North Woods Call
One day we received this anonymous note in the mail:
“We are not interested in your reprints of Fox News and Tea Party positions in edition-after-edition. The North Woods Call is a lost cause. Shep would be so disappointed. We will not be renewing our subscription.”
On the same day, we got two other notes—both signed.
“Keep up the good work,” said one. “Truly enjoy every issue.”
“Well done,” said the other. “Shep would be happy.”
Apparently, it’s all a matter of perspective.
Since we seldom watch Fox News and aren’t involved in any Tea Party activities. it is difficult to know which of our opinions parallel theirs. We are governed by our own observations, education and life experiences.
But none of that really matters. The important thing is to encourage a free and open discussion in the marketplace of ideas. To that end, this newspaper is obligated to call things as it sees them and we welcome the comments of readers who wish to do likewise.
Just remember, our nation was founded on the principles of limited government, personal liberty and the constitutional rule of law. Those ideals have served us well. Why any citizen wouldn’t cherish and defend these things is a mystery to us.
One day we received this anonymous note in the mail:
“We are not interested in your reprints of Fox News and Tea Party positions in edition-after-edition. The North Woods Call is a lost cause. Shep would be so disappointed. We will not be renewing our subscription.”
On the same day, we got two other notes—both signed.
“Keep up the good work,” said one. “Truly enjoy every issue.”
“Well done,” said the other. “Shep would be happy.”
Apparently, it’s all a matter of perspective.
Since we seldom watch Fox News and aren’t involved in any Tea Party activities. it is difficult to know which of our opinions parallel theirs. We are governed by our own observations, education and life experiences.
But none of that really matters. The important thing is to encourage a free and open discussion in the marketplace of ideas. To that end, this newspaper is obligated to call things as it sees them and we welcome the comments of readers who wish to do likewise.
Just remember, our nation was founded on the principles of limited government, personal liberty and the constitutional rule of law. Those ideals have served us well. Why any citizen wouldn’t cherish and defend these things is a mystery to us.
Power plant emissions
An editorial from the Late October 2013 North Woods Call
Now that the Obama administration is moving ahead with the first federal carbon limits on the nation’s power companies, we’re wondering what “unintended consequences” this action might have for consumers.
While limiting industrial emissions always seems like a good idea—even if one doesn’t fully subscribe to the theory of man-made climate change—it’s unclear how willing people are to pay more for their electricity.
In a move to bypass the legislative process via executive action, the president authorized the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency to limit new gas-fired power plants to 1,000 pounds of carbon dioxide emissions per megawatt hour and new coal plants to 1,100 pounds of carbon dioxide, administration officials said. The average advanced coal plant is currently emitting about 1,800 pounds of carbon dioxide per megawatt hour, according to industry estimates.
While environmental groups see the new rules as an important step in targeting the largest source of greenhouse gas emissions in the country, opponents fear it could raise utility rates, inhibit the production of reliable energy and wipe out jobs—particularly in coal-dependent states.
Intense lobbying on both sides is expected in the coming months, as well as possible court challenges, before the new rules are supposed to be finalized in the fall of 2014.
We applaud efforts to develop more sustainable energy supplies, but remain uncomfortable with end-runs around Congress and the absence of any comprehensive national energy policy that considers economic realities along with the environment.
We’d prefer to see an open civic debate about these issues—one aimed at revealing all pertinent facts and finding the best, most affordable, solutions to our energy problems.
Not only are American citizens currently embroiled in huge financial struggles—brought on, in part, by short-sighted government policies and bureaucratic rule-making—but we’re increasingly double-minded about resource management and conservation.
We say that we want to reduce energy consumption and phase out the use of fossil fuels, while at the same time embracing technological and lifestyle choices that only increase our energy dependence. We have, for example, a seemingly insatiable appetite for electronic appliances, games and gadgets, while simultaneously ignoring the energy resources needed to power them.
It’s unclear whether there are even enough green energy options available to us to meet these—and other—demands.
Isn’t it time we get serious about addressing these problems over the long-term and move beyond the temporary stop-gap measures that never quite seem to get the job done?
Now that the Obama administration is moving ahead with the first federal carbon limits on the nation’s power companies, we’re wondering what “unintended consequences” this action might have for consumers.
While limiting industrial emissions always seems like a good idea—even if one doesn’t fully subscribe to the theory of man-made climate change—it’s unclear how willing people are to pay more for their electricity.
In a move to bypass the legislative process via executive action, the president authorized the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency to limit new gas-fired power plants to 1,000 pounds of carbon dioxide emissions per megawatt hour and new coal plants to 1,100 pounds of carbon dioxide, administration officials said. The average advanced coal plant is currently emitting about 1,800 pounds of carbon dioxide per megawatt hour, according to industry estimates.
While environmental groups see the new rules as an important step in targeting the largest source of greenhouse gas emissions in the country, opponents fear it could raise utility rates, inhibit the production of reliable energy and wipe out jobs—particularly in coal-dependent states.
Intense lobbying on both sides is expected in the coming months, as well as possible court challenges, before the new rules are supposed to be finalized in the fall of 2014.
We applaud efforts to develop more sustainable energy supplies, but remain uncomfortable with end-runs around Congress and the absence of any comprehensive national energy policy that considers economic realities along with the environment.
We’d prefer to see an open civic debate about these issues—one aimed at revealing all pertinent facts and finding the best, most affordable, solutions to our energy problems.
Not only are American citizens currently embroiled in huge financial struggles—brought on, in part, by short-sighted government policies and bureaucratic rule-making—but we’re increasingly double-minded about resource management and conservation.
We say that we want to reduce energy consumption and phase out the use of fossil fuels, while at the same time embracing technological and lifestyle choices that only increase our energy dependence. We have, for example, a seemingly insatiable appetite for electronic appliances, games and gadgets, while simultaneously ignoring the energy resources needed to power them.
It’s unclear whether there are even enough green energy options available to us to meet these—and other—demands.
Isn’t it time we get serious about addressing these problems over the long-term and move beyond the temporary stop-gap measures that never quite seem to get the job done?
Transportation planning
An editorial from the Late October 2013 North Woods Call
A number of wonderful bicycle and walking paths are springing up in various locations around the north country. For those healthy enough to engage in such activities, these paths are welcome additions to our transportation network.
But most of them seem to be targeted toward recreational use —summer strolls, campground connections, fall color tours and the like—rather than general transportation needs. That’s all well and good, but we’d like to see a more concentrated effort to build such thoroughfares to destinations where people need to go on a daily basis.
That way, we could more easily pedal or walk from home to our jobs, the grocery store, doctor’s office, or local retail outlets—without traveling along dangerous roadways shared with speeding cars and trucks that are too often operated by drivers who are texting, talking on cell phones, or engaged in numerous other distracting and unsafe practices.
Whenever new roads are built, or old ones refurbished, wouldn’t it be a simple matter to also include bicycle and pedestrian pathways separated from the traffic lanes? Maybe road crews could even construct new right-of-ways dedicated solely to foot-powered traffic and connect them to the favored destinations of average working Americans.
Such accommodations would allow short- and medium-distance transportation that doesn’t burn fossil fuels and provides health benefits to those who choose to travel this way. Some users would probably even want to go longer distances when time allows—not just to the beach, or through a local park, but to places they need to visit during normal daily activities.
We don’t know about you, but this would make us much more inclined to dust off our bicycles, or take a walk into town to pick up a few things from the store.
A number of wonderful bicycle and walking paths are springing up in various locations around the north country. For those healthy enough to engage in such activities, these paths are welcome additions to our transportation network.
But most of them seem to be targeted toward recreational use —summer strolls, campground connections, fall color tours and the like—rather than general transportation needs. That’s all well and good, but we’d like to see a more concentrated effort to build such thoroughfares to destinations where people need to go on a daily basis.
That way, we could more easily pedal or walk from home to our jobs, the grocery store, doctor’s office, or local retail outlets—without traveling along dangerous roadways shared with speeding cars and trucks that are too often operated by drivers who are texting, talking on cell phones, or engaged in numerous other distracting and unsafe practices.
Whenever new roads are built, or old ones refurbished, wouldn’t it be a simple matter to also include bicycle and pedestrian pathways separated from the traffic lanes? Maybe road crews could even construct new right-of-ways dedicated solely to foot-powered traffic and connect them to the favored destinations of average working Americans.
Such accommodations would allow short- and medium-distance transportation that doesn’t burn fossil fuels and provides health benefits to those who choose to travel this way. Some users would probably even want to go longer distances when time allows—not just to the beach, or through a local park, but to places they need to visit during normal daily activities.
We don’t know about you, but this would make us much more inclined to dust off our bicycles, or take a walk into town to pick up a few things from the store.
"The geography of nowhere"
By Mike VanBuren
From the Late September 2013 North Woods Call
Many years ago—before I ever lived in northern Michigan—my predecessor at The Antrim County News wrote a column about urban sprawl and development in Traverse City.
The area around Grand Traverse Bay, he concluded, was a beautiful place “until the white man came.”
He was, as I recall, talking about the heavy traffic and view-blocking construction along U.S. 31 in the mid-1970s. Today, of course, these problems are exponentially worse.
Northern Michigan—Traverse City and Petoskey, in particular—are drawing visitors and new residents like steel nails to some kind of powerful urban magnet.
Recent national attention as great places to live and vacation have only increased the number of people and automobiles flocking to these areas.
Each time I venture into either of those communities, I’m struck by the additional clutter and increased difficulty I have driving my own vehicle through the mind-numbing congestion.
I’m sure city officials are doing their best to cope with all the changes, but I wonder if they’re doing enough. As population figures escalate, little seems to relieve the growing pressure. Even building new and wider roads does not eliminate traffic congestion. The new roads just fill up with cars and additional businesses that attract more activity.
These problems are by no means confined to northern Michigan. Unplanned growth and urban sprawl have become huge problems in many locations.
Some folks in my hometown of Richland—a generally peaceful, well-used community in lower Michigan—worry about this, too.
It’s not that they mind the increased commerce and higher tax base that come with more people and more development. They just hate having lost the quaint, small-town atmosphere that once was the village.
Yet they should have thought about that years ago—back when they first began to welcome the houses, apartments, businesses and industries that now surround the one-time farm community.
These days, cars and trucks crawl around the shady village square like ants on molasses. They fill parking lots, clog roadways, and snake out in all directions across the cluttered landscape. And people are everywhere—crowding local schools and forcing higher taxes on us all.
It’s an ongoing challenge faced by cities and villages throughout the Great Lakes region—and beyond. From Buffalo to Chicago and Cleveland to Marquette, sprawl is increasing air and water pollution, devouring forests and wetlands, and saddling communities with the social and economic costs of unplanned growth.
Many people in Richland seem to think they can stop this hungry monster with feeble efforts to preserve local heritage. They’ve had the village designated a historic district, and have declined to let the streets be widened to accommodate the thickening traffic.
But I think it’s too little, too late. They shouldn’t have allowed it to get this way in the first place. Even now, little is being done to stop the runaway development that hugs the outskirts of the village—turning it into what writer James Howard Kuntsler calls “the geography of nowhere.”
Still, I find myself hoping there’s a way out of this mess. Some claim there is—if we have the wisdom and will to correct our mistakes. Urban, suburban and rural communities should try to manage growth and sprawl with what the Sierra Club says are “smart-growth solutions.” These include setting boundaries for urban growth, preserving farmland and green space, and building neighborhoods that are easy on pedestrians.
We need better transportation choices, too—such as bike paths, commuter trains and buses. And we should do away with government programs and tax policies that help create sprawl. More importantly, we should insist that decaying urban areas be revitalized before new development is allowed on open rural land.
People move away from cities because they’re looking in part for better schools, safer streets, and cleaner air. They also want a sense of community and a connection to nature. If we could address these issues in existing urban areas, there might not be a need, or a desire, for so many people to flee to places like Richland, or rural communities further to the north.
The answer lies in making all communities “user-friendly” and livable—regardless of their size. That way, everyone can enjoy the benefits of a healthy environment.
And we wouldn’t have to destroy our farmland, forests and rural villages in the name of modern homesteading.
From the Late September 2013 North Woods Call
Many years ago—before I ever lived in northern Michigan—my predecessor at The Antrim County News wrote a column about urban sprawl and development in Traverse City.
The area around Grand Traverse Bay, he concluded, was a beautiful place “until the white man came.”
He was, as I recall, talking about the heavy traffic and view-blocking construction along U.S. 31 in the mid-1970s. Today, of course, these problems are exponentially worse.
Northern Michigan—Traverse City and Petoskey, in particular—are drawing visitors and new residents like steel nails to some kind of powerful urban magnet.
Recent national attention as great places to live and vacation have only increased the number of people and automobiles flocking to these areas.
Each time I venture into either of those communities, I’m struck by the additional clutter and increased difficulty I have driving my own vehicle through the mind-numbing congestion.
I’m sure city officials are doing their best to cope with all the changes, but I wonder if they’re doing enough. As population figures escalate, little seems to relieve the growing pressure. Even building new and wider roads does not eliminate traffic congestion. The new roads just fill up with cars and additional businesses that attract more activity.
These problems are by no means confined to northern Michigan. Unplanned growth and urban sprawl have become huge problems in many locations.
Some folks in my hometown of Richland—a generally peaceful, well-used community in lower Michigan—worry about this, too.
It’s not that they mind the increased commerce and higher tax base that come with more people and more development. They just hate having lost the quaint, small-town atmosphere that once was the village.
Yet they should have thought about that years ago—back when they first began to welcome the houses, apartments, businesses and industries that now surround the one-time farm community.
These days, cars and trucks crawl around the shady village square like ants on molasses. They fill parking lots, clog roadways, and snake out in all directions across the cluttered landscape. And people are everywhere—crowding local schools and forcing higher taxes on us all.
It’s an ongoing challenge faced by cities and villages throughout the Great Lakes region—and beyond. From Buffalo to Chicago and Cleveland to Marquette, sprawl is increasing air and water pollution, devouring forests and wetlands, and saddling communities with the social and economic costs of unplanned growth.
Many people in Richland seem to think they can stop this hungry monster with feeble efforts to preserve local heritage. They’ve had the village designated a historic district, and have declined to let the streets be widened to accommodate the thickening traffic.
But I think it’s too little, too late. They shouldn’t have allowed it to get this way in the first place. Even now, little is being done to stop the runaway development that hugs the outskirts of the village—turning it into what writer James Howard Kuntsler calls “the geography of nowhere.”
Still, I find myself hoping there’s a way out of this mess. Some claim there is—if we have the wisdom and will to correct our mistakes. Urban, suburban and rural communities should try to manage growth and sprawl with what the Sierra Club says are “smart-growth solutions.” These include setting boundaries for urban growth, preserving farmland and green space, and building neighborhoods that are easy on pedestrians.
We need better transportation choices, too—such as bike paths, commuter trains and buses. And we should do away with government programs and tax policies that help create sprawl. More importantly, we should insist that decaying urban areas be revitalized before new development is allowed on open rural land.
People move away from cities because they’re looking in part for better schools, safer streets, and cleaner air. They also want a sense of community and a connection to nature. If we could address these issues in existing urban areas, there might not be a need, or a desire, for so many people to flee to places like Richland, or rural communities further to the north.
The answer lies in making all communities “user-friendly” and livable—regardless of their size. That way, everyone can enjoy the benefits of a healthy environment.
And we wouldn’t have to destroy our farmland, forests and rural villages in the name of modern homesteading.
An ecological prophet of doom
An editorial from the Late September 2013 North Woods Call
A couple of people have asked why we haven’t swallowed the notion of man-made climate change like a hungry fish—hook, line and sinker.
There are several reasons we aren’t doing more than nibbling at the bait. And one of them can be summed up in two words:
Al Gore.
The former U.S. vice president turned carbon credit profiteer has said a lot of outrageous things over the years—and not just about the “inconvenient truth” of global warming. His demagoguery seems to know no bounds.
Now he has reportedly compared “climate change deniers” with “an alcoholic father who flies into a rage every time a subject is mentioned.” And he likened them to the perpetrators of history’s most egregious events, including racism, apartheid, and slavery.
None of this is really surprising, of course, because he is following the same playbook that most so-called “progressives” use to push their often dubious desires on a confused and ill-informed world. Such tactics are not only dishonest, but patently offensive, and we long ago stopped listening to anyone who uses them.
Simply put, personal smears and the wholesale demonization of others are non-starters that poison civic debate, and keep us from collectively reaching concensus on issues as complex and politically charged as climate change.
We deserve a more genuine discussion about such consequential matters when we engage in the public square. And it’s up to each of us to make sure we have it.
Snake oil salesmen and self-absorbed prophets of global ecological disaster should be rejected in favor of clear thinking and verifiable facts—even if we’re tempted to bite hard on the frightening theory of man-made climate change.
When we allow ourselves to be manipulated by modern-day Elmer Gantrys, it’s truth and civility—more than the earth—that hang in the balance.
A couple of people have asked why we haven’t swallowed the notion of man-made climate change like a hungry fish—hook, line and sinker.
There are several reasons we aren’t doing more than nibbling at the bait. And one of them can be summed up in two words:
Al Gore.
The former U.S. vice president turned carbon credit profiteer has said a lot of outrageous things over the years—and not just about the “inconvenient truth” of global warming. His demagoguery seems to know no bounds.
Now he has reportedly compared “climate change deniers” with “an alcoholic father who flies into a rage every time a subject is mentioned.” And he likened them to the perpetrators of history’s most egregious events, including racism, apartheid, and slavery.
None of this is really surprising, of course, because he is following the same playbook that most so-called “progressives” use to push their often dubious desires on a confused and ill-informed world. Such tactics are not only dishonest, but patently offensive, and we long ago stopped listening to anyone who uses them.
Simply put, personal smears and the wholesale demonization of others are non-starters that poison civic debate, and keep us from collectively reaching concensus on issues as complex and politically charged as climate change.
We deserve a more genuine discussion about such consequential matters when we engage in the public square. And it’s up to each of us to make sure we have it.
Snake oil salesmen and self-absorbed prophets of global ecological disaster should be rejected in favor of clear thinking and verifiable facts—even if we’re tempted to bite hard on the frightening theory of man-made climate change.
When we allow ourselves to be manipulated by modern-day Elmer Gantrys, it’s truth and civility—more than the earth—that hang in the balance.
James Oliver Curwood & Michigan conservation
By Mike VanBuren
From the Early September 2013 North Woods Call
I’ve never been sure what medieval-style castles have to do with conservation and north woods action-adventure stories.
But it’s something I puzzle over whenever I pass through the lower Michigan community of Owosso and see the unusual writing studio built by early 20th Century novelist James Oliver Curwood on the banks of the Shiawassee River.
Curwood was famous for his lifelong interest in the outdoors and the riveting stories he penned about nature, romance and the struggles of fictional heroes and heroines living in the far north. He was among the best-selling American novelists of his era—certainly the highest paid—with his literary creations appearing in magazines, books, stage productions and early motion pictures.
Yet, in 1922—while seeking a quiet retreat to do his writing and meet with business associates—Curwood constructed what is now known as the “Curwood Castle,” a fairy tale bit of architecture more reminiscent of the European Middle Ages than the harsh wilds of North America.
Go figure.
Maybe Curwood wanted to stand out among his Shiawassee County neighbors, or—as some have said—fulfill his romantic notions of an inspiring place to write his stories. He was far from commonplace himself and may have longed for something unique to match his personality.
Regardless of the reason, the castle is somewhat symbolic of Curwood’s crusade for the conservation of Michigan’s wildlife, forests, lakes and streams. Among other things, he was suspicious of the Michigan Department of Conservation’s ability to manage natural resources, and believed that political patronage was interfering with effective enforcement of the state’s game and fish laws.
Simply put, he didn’t think that the Michigan Conservation Commission and the bureaucrats hired to protect the resources were doing their jobs. You might even say that Curwood saw the state’s conservation system as a kind of contemporary feudalism where political favors were given to special interests in exchange for their loyalty to politicians.
The Department of Conservation, he said, was being diverted from its original purpose into a political machine, which had for its aim the spending of money where it would do the most good—for politicians.
Sound familiar?
The Curwood Castle—actually a replica of a Norman chateau—was built rather late in the author’s life, just four years before he died in 1927 at the age of 49 from an infection related to what is believed to have been a spider bite. Likewise, Curwood’s zealous dedication to conservation—capped by his own appointment to the Conservation Commission in 1926—blossomed during the last decade of his life.
Prior to that, by his own admission, he was a wanton killer of animals and had numerous big-game trophies hanging on the walls of his Owosso home to prove it. All that changed, however, during a hunting trip to the Canadian Rockies, where he stalked a large grizzly bear he named Thor. Curwood reportedly tried to kill the animal three times in three weeks—seriously wounding it—until Thor approached him one day on a rocky ledge high on the side of a cliff and Curwood slipped and fell, breaking his gun.
The bear reared up on its hind legs, as if it were going to attack the terrified hunter, then turned and walked away with a low growl. Curwood couldn’t believe he had escaped near certain death and returned home committed to the conservation of wildlife, rather than to its destruction.
Of course, he wrote a story about the incident—published in 1916 as “The Grizzly King”—in which he said, “Thor was not, like man, a murderer.”
Going forward, Curwood began to campaign publicly about the virtues of conservation.
“I have ceased to be a destroyer, as I once destroyed,” he said, “and my ruling passion is to help wild things to live, from flowers and trees and birds and beasts to man himself, rather than to indulge further in the dominant sport of my species—extermination.”
Curwood spent much time enjoying Michigan’s outdoor resources and owned several cabins, including one along the Au Sable River near Roscommon that was later expanded into a lodge said to have once hosted the likes of California newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst.
Under the administration of then Michigan Gov. Fred Green, Curwood saw some notable successes in his campaign for conservation, although neither the governor nor fellow Conservation Commission members were ready for all of the major reforms he proposed.
His legacies include pushing through the commission a resolution supporting the purchase of a stand of virgin white and Norway pine near Grayling, which later became the showpiece of Hartwick Pines State Park. Perhaps more importantly, Curwood significantly moved public debate toward the conservation of Michigan’s natural resources and built support for many related policies and programs that followed.
He wanted to limit, or even close, certain hunting seasons, and he was interested in stocking streams and game preserves, as well as reforestation.
“Conservation is not simply a matter for the hunter and fisherman,” he said. “Our very lives and future prosperity depend on it.”
In a letter to noted Michigan conservationist P.S. Lovejoy, Curwood said, “We must save what we already have and then look ahead to what we can achieve in the next 50 or 100 years.”
Unfortunately, after his death, many of the things Curwood fought for—especially when it comes to separating partisan politics from conservation—have been routinely sidestepped.
For the crusading author, however, it was largely a spiritual quest that can only be ignored at our peril.
“Nature is my religion,” he said, “The great goal I want to achieve is to take my readers with me into the heart of this nature. I love it and I feel that they must love it—if I can only get the two acquainted.”
From the Early September 2013 North Woods Call
I’ve never been sure what medieval-style castles have to do with conservation and north woods action-adventure stories.
But it’s something I puzzle over whenever I pass through the lower Michigan community of Owosso and see the unusual writing studio built by early 20th Century novelist James Oliver Curwood on the banks of the Shiawassee River.
Curwood was famous for his lifelong interest in the outdoors and the riveting stories he penned about nature, romance and the struggles of fictional heroes and heroines living in the far north. He was among the best-selling American novelists of his era—certainly the highest paid—with his literary creations appearing in magazines, books, stage productions and early motion pictures.
Yet, in 1922—while seeking a quiet retreat to do his writing and meet with business associates—Curwood constructed what is now known as the “Curwood Castle,” a fairy tale bit of architecture more reminiscent of the European Middle Ages than the harsh wilds of North America.
Go figure.
Maybe Curwood wanted to stand out among his Shiawassee County neighbors, or—as some have said—fulfill his romantic notions of an inspiring place to write his stories. He was far from commonplace himself and may have longed for something unique to match his personality.
Regardless of the reason, the castle is somewhat symbolic of Curwood’s crusade for the conservation of Michigan’s wildlife, forests, lakes and streams. Among other things, he was suspicious of the Michigan Department of Conservation’s ability to manage natural resources, and believed that political patronage was interfering with effective enforcement of the state’s game and fish laws.
Simply put, he didn’t think that the Michigan Conservation Commission and the bureaucrats hired to protect the resources were doing their jobs. You might even say that Curwood saw the state’s conservation system as a kind of contemporary feudalism where political favors were given to special interests in exchange for their loyalty to politicians.
The Department of Conservation, he said, was being diverted from its original purpose into a political machine, which had for its aim the spending of money where it would do the most good—for politicians.
Sound familiar?
The Curwood Castle—actually a replica of a Norman chateau—was built rather late in the author’s life, just four years before he died in 1927 at the age of 49 from an infection related to what is believed to have been a spider bite. Likewise, Curwood’s zealous dedication to conservation—capped by his own appointment to the Conservation Commission in 1926—blossomed during the last decade of his life.
Prior to that, by his own admission, he was a wanton killer of animals and had numerous big-game trophies hanging on the walls of his Owosso home to prove it. All that changed, however, during a hunting trip to the Canadian Rockies, where he stalked a large grizzly bear he named Thor. Curwood reportedly tried to kill the animal three times in three weeks—seriously wounding it—until Thor approached him one day on a rocky ledge high on the side of a cliff and Curwood slipped and fell, breaking his gun.
The bear reared up on its hind legs, as if it were going to attack the terrified hunter, then turned and walked away with a low growl. Curwood couldn’t believe he had escaped near certain death and returned home committed to the conservation of wildlife, rather than to its destruction.
Of course, he wrote a story about the incident—published in 1916 as “The Grizzly King”—in which he said, “Thor was not, like man, a murderer.”
Going forward, Curwood began to campaign publicly about the virtues of conservation.
“I have ceased to be a destroyer, as I once destroyed,” he said, “and my ruling passion is to help wild things to live, from flowers and trees and birds and beasts to man himself, rather than to indulge further in the dominant sport of my species—extermination.”
Curwood spent much time enjoying Michigan’s outdoor resources and owned several cabins, including one along the Au Sable River near Roscommon that was later expanded into a lodge said to have once hosted the likes of California newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst.
Under the administration of then Michigan Gov. Fred Green, Curwood saw some notable successes in his campaign for conservation, although neither the governor nor fellow Conservation Commission members were ready for all of the major reforms he proposed.
His legacies include pushing through the commission a resolution supporting the purchase of a stand of virgin white and Norway pine near Grayling, which later became the showpiece of Hartwick Pines State Park. Perhaps more importantly, Curwood significantly moved public debate toward the conservation of Michigan’s natural resources and built support for many related policies and programs that followed.
He wanted to limit, or even close, certain hunting seasons, and he was interested in stocking streams and game preserves, as well as reforestation.
“Conservation is not simply a matter for the hunter and fisherman,” he said. “Our very lives and future prosperity depend on it.”
In a letter to noted Michigan conservationist P.S. Lovejoy, Curwood said, “We must save what we already have and then look ahead to what we can achieve in the next 50 or 100 years.”
Unfortunately, after his death, many of the things Curwood fought for—especially when it comes to separating partisan politics from conservation—have been routinely sidestepped.
For the crusading author, however, it was largely a spiritual quest that can only be ignored at our peril.
“Nature is my religion,” he said, “The great goal I want to achieve is to take my readers with me into the heart of this nature. I love it and I feel that they must love it—if I can only get the two acquainted.”
When man collides with nature
An editorial from the Early September 2013 North Woods Call
It has been said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Nowhere does that seem more true than in the relationship between people and nature.
And conflicts with wildlife may be at the top of the list.
The struggle with Canada geese has raged for some time in grassy backyards, at public parks and on lakeshore beaches, and the squishy messes they leave behind can turn even the most docile animal lover into a raging waterfowl exterminator.
Then there are mute swans, on which the Michigan Department of Natural Resources has declared war—in Barry County, among other places—planning to kill thousands over the next five years to reduce their numbers in the state. The birds are an invasive species, they say, and have a destructive impact on vegetation.
Now comes a Bellvue-area farmer, who tells us about the damage sand hill cranes are doing to his crops. He says he’s able to legally shoot them as nuisances, when necessary, but complains that state law does not allow him to harvest and eat them. “That’s stupid, he says.
It doesn’t seem to matter whether we’re talking about wolves, wild hogs, deer, raccoons, or any other species that have found themselves at cross purposes with humans. Some folks want them protected, while others insist they can’t be eliminated quickly enough.
Workable solutions to these dilemmas do not come easily—particularly in this day-and-age when we can’t seem to sit down with others and discuss anything rationally.
In a weird sense, it’s biodiversity run amok.
It has been said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Nowhere does that seem more true than in the relationship between people and nature.
And conflicts with wildlife may be at the top of the list.
The struggle with Canada geese has raged for some time in grassy backyards, at public parks and on lakeshore beaches, and the squishy messes they leave behind can turn even the most docile animal lover into a raging waterfowl exterminator.
Then there are mute swans, on which the Michigan Department of Natural Resources has declared war—in Barry County, among other places—planning to kill thousands over the next five years to reduce their numbers in the state. The birds are an invasive species, they say, and have a destructive impact on vegetation.
Now comes a Bellvue-area farmer, who tells us about the damage sand hill cranes are doing to his crops. He says he’s able to legally shoot them as nuisances, when necessary, but complains that state law does not allow him to harvest and eat them. “That’s stupid, he says.
It doesn’t seem to matter whether we’re talking about wolves, wild hogs, deer, raccoons, or any other species that have found themselves at cross purposes with humans. Some folks want them protected, while others insist they can’t be eliminated quickly enough.
Workable solutions to these dilemmas do not come easily—particularly in this day-and-age when we can’t seem to sit down with others and discuss anything rationally.
In a weird sense, it’s biodiversity run amok.
Feral cats: Pets gone wild
An editorial from the Early September 2013 North Woods Call
The three cats that reside in our home are warm, cuddly creatures that snuggle, purr and carefully groom themselves to demonstrate that they are lovable and well-behaved domestic sweethearts.
Let them outside, however, and they immediately turn into vicious serial killers that get perverse pleasure out of maiming more vulnerable animals—then proudly leaving the mangled leftovers of mice, chipmunks, birds, rabbits and squirrels on our doorstep.
We don’t like it—although we appreciate the general absence of trouble-making mice around our home—but we’re not sure what to do about the slaughter. Like us, our cats are outdoor-lovers and would go stir-crazy if we imprisoned them in the house.
According to a Smithsonian Institute study, free-ranging cats like ours are the top threat to wildlife in the United States, killing up to 3.7 billion birds and 20.7 billion mammals each year. Yet there is no real concensus about whether this is acceptable.
Cat lovers say their pets are simply part of nature’s sometimes unpleasant eat-or-be-eaten network and are hard-wired to do what they do. Those less enamored with prowling renegades, however, say something must be done about these mass murderers and have even proposed the hunting of feral and stray cats—those once adorable human companions that have returned to the wild.
That may be OK for often unhealthy felines that are truly undomesticated—living outdoors without any human contact or care—but how would hunters tell the difference between one of those and a free-ranging domestic cat?
Would they be allowed to profile, or ask for a government-approved identification card, before aiming and firing?
The three cats that reside in our home are warm, cuddly creatures that snuggle, purr and carefully groom themselves to demonstrate that they are lovable and well-behaved domestic sweethearts.
Let them outside, however, and they immediately turn into vicious serial killers that get perverse pleasure out of maiming more vulnerable animals—then proudly leaving the mangled leftovers of mice, chipmunks, birds, rabbits and squirrels on our doorstep.
We don’t like it—although we appreciate the general absence of trouble-making mice around our home—but we’re not sure what to do about the slaughter. Like us, our cats are outdoor-lovers and would go stir-crazy if we imprisoned them in the house.
According to a Smithsonian Institute study, free-ranging cats like ours are the top threat to wildlife in the United States, killing up to 3.7 billion birds and 20.7 billion mammals each year. Yet there is no real concensus about whether this is acceptable.
Cat lovers say their pets are simply part of nature’s sometimes unpleasant eat-or-be-eaten network and are hard-wired to do what they do. Those less enamored with prowling renegades, however, say something must be done about these mass murderers and have even proposed the hunting of feral and stray cats—those once adorable human companions that have returned to the wild.
That may be OK for often unhealthy felines that are truly undomesticated—living outdoors without any human contact or care—but how would hunters tell the difference between one of those and a free-ranging domestic cat?
Would they be allowed to profile, or ask for a government-approved identification card, before aiming and firing?
The "singing wilderness"
By Mike VanBuren
From the Late August 2013 North Woods Call
The spirit of the north woods lives in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area of northern Minnesota and the Algoma Country of northern Ontario.
I haven’t actually seen the Boundary Waters—they’re on my list of things to do—but I’ve read about them often in the writings of Sigurd Olson and others.
Olson, a back country guide for more than 30 years and tireless advocate for protection of the wilderness, was influential in saving the Boundary Waters and helped draft the Wilderness Act of 1964. President of The Wilderness Society from 1963 to 1971, he helped establish Voyageurs National Park in Minnesota, the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in Alaska and Point Reyes National Seashore in California.
Olson called the Quetico-Superior country northwest of Lake Superior “The Singing Wilderness.” It has to do, he said, with the calling of the loons, northern lights and the great silences of the land. “It is concerned with the simple joys, the timelessness and perspective found in a way of life that is close to the past,” he wrote—noting that he has “heard the singing in many places.”
I heard it for the first time myself nearly 40 summers ago when I accompanied three high school friends on a journey into the wilds north of Sault Ste. Marie. It was supposed to be a quiet week-long canoe outing, but we found a bit more adventure than we had anticipated.
To begin with, the drive north became somewhat less than melodious when the large Oldsmobile 88 in which we were riding flew over an embankment and into a stand of small trees at a dark, fog-shrouded T-intersection less than 50 miles from home. We managed to extricate the car—with the help of a nearby resident and his tractor—and reattach the two canoes on top. But the trip appeared doomed 20 miles later when all the motor oil had leaked out and the V-8 engine seized up.
Not to be deterred, two of my companions hitch-hiked home to get other vehicles and we were again on our way several hours later. We finally crossed the International Bridge into Canada and reached the Algoma Central Railroad station early the next morning.
Although none of us were expert canoeists—me in particular—my friends wanted to challenge the Batchawana River, which in Ojibwe means “turbulent waters.” Fortunately, I read about the dangers that the Batchawana posed to inexperienced canoeists and talked them into the more serene Sand River—which is a good thing, given what came later.
We loaded our canoes into a baggage car and settled in for the 140-mile train ride to Sand Lake. Within a few hours, we launched the canoes into the large lake several yards from the railroad tracks.
Ah, peace at last.
We paddled effortlessly across the calm water in search of Sand River, but didn’t find it that afternoon. Instead, we camped on a small rock formation—which someone had dubbed “Whiskey Island”—one of several such havens dotting the pristine lake.
That’s when the wilderness began to sing, even though it was difficult to detect any audible sounds. There was music in the silence itself, punctuated by the occasional call of a loon, splash of a fish, or unnatural cannonballs of four weary compadres jumping into the cool, fresh water.
The next several days were like that—lots of silence, occasional banter between occupants of the two canoes, welcome physical activity and the indignant snorts of moose that were surprised by human invaders while foraging along the Sand River.
In many ways, it seemed like heaven on earth. Plenty of time to paddle, portage, fish and fry up the day’s catch over an open fire. Time to reflect on life, absorb the relaxing sounds of nature and scribble notes about things I wanted to remember.
Sadly, the time came for my canoe mate and me to return to Central Michigan University for the start of fall classes, so we bid adieu our traveling companions, who had decided they wanted to follow the Sand River all the way to Lake Superior. We paddled back upstream, across Sand Lake and flagged down the next train that passed by on the tracks to Sault Ste. Marie.
Our erstwhile friends, meanwhile, pointed their canoe toward Gitchee Gumee. But instead of portaging around some of the dangerous whitewater further downstream, they decided to shoot the rapids, bending the aluminum Grumman around a large boulder and stranding themselves in the singing wilderness. If not for a Canadian Forest Service helicopter happening by and discovering their plight, they might still be there today.
But all is well that ends well and our search for the music goes on. It may be in the soft guttering of an open fire, Olson said, or in the beat of rain on a tent.
“It seems to be part of a hunger we all have for a time when we were closer to lakes and rivers—to mountains and meadows and forests—than we are today,” he wrote, “Because of our almost forgotten past, there is a restlessness within us, an impatience with things as they are, which modern life with its comforts and distractions does not seem to satisfy.”
From the Late August 2013 North Woods Call
The spirit of the north woods lives in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area of northern Minnesota and the Algoma Country of northern Ontario.
I haven’t actually seen the Boundary Waters—they’re on my list of things to do—but I’ve read about them often in the writings of Sigurd Olson and others.
Olson, a back country guide for more than 30 years and tireless advocate for protection of the wilderness, was influential in saving the Boundary Waters and helped draft the Wilderness Act of 1964. President of The Wilderness Society from 1963 to 1971, he helped establish Voyageurs National Park in Minnesota, the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in Alaska and Point Reyes National Seashore in California.
Olson called the Quetico-Superior country northwest of Lake Superior “The Singing Wilderness.” It has to do, he said, with the calling of the loons, northern lights and the great silences of the land. “It is concerned with the simple joys, the timelessness and perspective found in a way of life that is close to the past,” he wrote—noting that he has “heard the singing in many places.”
I heard it for the first time myself nearly 40 summers ago when I accompanied three high school friends on a journey into the wilds north of Sault Ste. Marie. It was supposed to be a quiet week-long canoe outing, but we found a bit more adventure than we had anticipated.
To begin with, the drive north became somewhat less than melodious when the large Oldsmobile 88 in which we were riding flew over an embankment and into a stand of small trees at a dark, fog-shrouded T-intersection less than 50 miles from home. We managed to extricate the car—with the help of a nearby resident and his tractor—and reattach the two canoes on top. But the trip appeared doomed 20 miles later when all the motor oil had leaked out and the V-8 engine seized up.
Not to be deterred, two of my companions hitch-hiked home to get other vehicles and we were again on our way several hours later. We finally crossed the International Bridge into Canada and reached the Algoma Central Railroad station early the next morning.
Although none of us were expert canoeists—me in particular—my friends wanted to challenge the Batchawana River, which in Ojibwe means “turbulent waters.” Fortunately, I read about the dangers that the Batchawana posed to inexperienced canoeists and talked them into the more serene Sand River—which is a good thing, given what came later.
We loaded our canoes into a baggage car and settled in for the 140-mile train ride to Sand Lake. Within a few hours, we launched the canoes into the large lake several yards from the railroad tracks.
Ah, peace at last.
We paddled effortlessly across the calm water in search of Sand River, but didn’t find it that afternoon. Instead, we camped on a small rock formation—which someone had dubbed “Whiskey Island”—one of several such havens dotting the pristine lake.
That’s when the wilderness began to sing, even though it was difficult to detect any audible sounds. There was music in the silence itself, punctuated by the occasional call of a loon, splash of a fish, or unnatural cannonballs of four weary compadres jumping into the cool, fresh water.
The next several days were like that—lots of silence, occasional banter between occupants of the two canoes, welcome physical activity and the indignant snorts of moose that were surprised by human invaders while foraging along the Sand River.
In many ways, it seemed like heaven on earth. Plenty of time to paddle, portage, fish and fry up the day’s catch over an open fire. Time to reflect on life, absorb the relaxing sounds of nature and scribble notes about things I wanted to remember.
Sadly, the time came for my canoe mate and me to return to Central Michigan University for the start of fall classes, so we bid adieu our traveling companions, who had decided they wanted to follow the Sand River all the way to Lake Superior. We paddled back upstream, across Sand Lake and flagged down the next train that passed by on the tracks to Sault Ste. Marie.
Our erstwhile friends, meanwhile, pointed their canoe toward Gitchee Gumee. But instead of portaging around some of the dangerous whitewater further downstream, they decided to shoot the rapids, bending the aluminum Grumman around a large boulder and stranding themselves in the singing wilderness. If not for a Canadian Forest Service helicopter happening by and discovering their plight, they might still be there today.
But all is well that ends well and our search for the music goes on. It may be in the soft guttering of an open fire, Olson said, or in the beat of rain on a tent.
“It seems to be part of a hunger we all have for a time when we were closer to lakes and rivers—to mountains and meadows and forests—than we are today,” he wrote, “Because of our almost forgotten past, there is a restlessness within us, an impatience with things as they are, which modern life with its comforts and distractions does not seem to satisfy.”
Smart environmental policy
An editorial from the Late August 2013 North Woods Call:
A friend of ours once wrote a song based on the old saying, “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”
We feel that way about many so-called “progressive” environmental policies that often seem to cause more harm than good.
After all, what did the “Cash for Clunkers” program really accomplish, other than waste taxpayer dollars, remove from the market vehicles that a considerable amount of energy was expended to make, drive up the prices of used cars and deprive low-income people of access to affordable transportation?
What good does it do to spend billions funding “green energy” companies with no viable customer base that will be bankrupt in a few months when there are no buyers for their far-too-expensive products?
And why try to destroy the fossil fuel industry before we have the appropriate technology to replace it with something equally effective at powering the nation’s economy?
Then there are those new-fangled light bulbs—the ones that cost many times what we have spent on Thomas Edison’s old incandescent variety, but aren’t nearly as bright and contain hazardous mercury that can’t be disposed by conventional means.
We’re all for innovation and finding new and more energy-efficient ways to do things. And we agree that ongoing research and development into these areas is necessary and appropriate.
But there must be a more efficient and cost-effective way to go about it. Far too much money is going into the pockets of politicians and their business cronies (ie. financial donors) under the guise of protecting the environment, and far too little into legitimate pursuit of technologies and products that will better serve the needs of mankind at prices we can afford.
We want a cleaner, safer environment as much as anyone and concede that some past environmental policies have helped bring that about. But we could do much better if we kept the greedy bandits away from our public treasury and let market forces play a more substantial role in solving our energy problems.
A lot of viable solutions are probably being overlooked because the short-sighted power brokers in control of the money can’t figure out how to enrich themselves and still find cheaper and better sources of energy.
We need solid answers that benefit us all—not just those with enough green in their pockets to buy the American dream.
A friend of ours once wrote a song based on the old saying, “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”
We feel that way about many so-called “progressive” environmental policies that often seem to cause more harm than good.
After all, what did the “Cash for Clunkers” program really accomplish, other than waste taxpayer dollars, remove from the market vehicles that a considerable amount of energy was expended to make, drive up the prices of used cars and deprive low-income people of access to affordable transportation?
What good does it do to spend billions funding “green energy” companies with no viable customer base that will be bankrupt in a few months when there are no buyers for their far-too-expensive products?
And why try to destroy the fossil fuel industry before we have the appropriate technology to replace it with something equally effective at powering the nation’s economy?
Then there are those new-fangled light bulbs—the ones that cost many times what we have spent on Thomas Edison’s old incandescent variety, but aren’t nearly as bright and contain hazardous mercury that can’t be disposed by conventional means.
We’re all for innovation and finding new and more energy-efficient ways to do things. And we agree that ongoing research and development into these areas is necessary and appropriate.
But there must be a more efficient and cost-effective way to go about it. Far too much money is going into the pockets of politicians and their business cronies (ie. financial donors) under the guise of protecting the environment, and far too little into legitimate pursuit of technologies and products that will better serve the needs of mankind at prices we can afford.
We want a cleaner, safer environment as much as anyone and concede that some past environmental policies have helped bring that about. But we could do much better if we kept the greedy bandits away from our public treasury and let market forces play a more substantial role in solving our energy problems.
A lot of viable solutions are probably being overlooked because the short-sighted power brokers in control of the money can’t figure out how to enrich themselves and still find cheaper and better sources of energy.
We need solid answers that benefit us all—not just those with enough green in their pockets to buy the American dream.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Pigeon River lessons
By Mike VanBuren
From the Early August 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
I returned to school in mid-July, but it wasn’t the typical classroom setting with textbooks and a course syllabus.
This was experiential learning and hands-on tutoring in the Pigeon River Country, located near Vanderbilt in Michigan’s northern Lower Peninsula.
The “professor” was Gaylord-area resident Doug Mummert, a seasoned woodsman, hunter and fisherman. Doug and his wife Judy had invited me to their home to talk natural resources conservation—a subject about which they are as passionate as anybody I’ve ever known.
The discussion began as soon as I arrived Thursday afternoon at their secluded home southeast of town. It continued over dinner and well into the evening, then resumed early the following morning during a hearty breakfast that Judy had prepared.
There was much to learn about the Pigeon River Country—one of the more remote areas in the Lower Peninsula—and the Mummerts generously shared their knowledge and wisdom until I reluctantly drove away at 4:30 p.m. Friday to return home.
The highlight of this crash course in all things Pigeon was a day-long tour of the state forest known as “The Big Wild”—nearly 100,000 acres of trees, wetlands, hills, meadows, rivers, streams, lakes, trails, wildlife and solitude set aside for preservation and the public benefit.
Home to some of author Ernest Hemingway’s favorite Michigan rivers—the Sturgeon, the Black and the Pigeon—the area has been Doug Mummert’s “sandbox” and all-season playground for some 60 years, he said. Since the early 1950s—when Mummert first visited as a teen-ager—he has hunted, fished, snowshoed, canoed, hiked, ran hound dogs, communed with “Ma Nature,” and generally absorbed the quiet and healthy spirit of the land.
That’s precisely why he is determined to see it protected from developers, big oil interests, politicians, bureaucrats and others who would exploit the resource for temporary and short-term advantage.
The threats have been many and varied over the years and Mummert has been among those in the trenches who have fought long and hard against exploitation.
One of the biggest threats came during the 1970s, when fuel shortages were causing long lines at gas pumps, and oil companies were eager to tap huge reserves of oil and natural gas under the forest. Opponents claimed that oil drilling activity would harm the Pigeon River Country’s abundant wildlife—particularly the only substantial wild elk herd east of the Mississippi River.
For nearly 10 years, the two sides engaged in a series of lawsuits, consent orders, legislation and compromises until a 1979 landmark Michigan Supreme Court case offered guidance on the type of harm that would justify relief under the Michigan Environmental Protection Act and led to an agreement between the state government, oil industry and environmental groups. The ruling allowed tightly regulated drilling in the southern one-third of the forest under the watchful eye of the Pigeon River Advisory Council and set standards for future oil drilling in Michigan.
Today, the forest is a special management unit in parts of four counties that is administered by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources (DNR) under a unique “Concept of Management” that carefully outlines what is allowed and what is not. Given that, the Pigeon River Country should be a model for resource conservation.
But there are still many threats, Mummert said, including conflicts among user groups, ongoing pressure to commercialize state natural resources and the continued deterioration of Michigan’s once-vaunted “conservation system” in favor of political interests.
“We’re losing our conservation system,” Mummert said. “It seems like the legislature wants to run it, rather than the DNR, and they’re catering to special and commercial interests.”
Pure water will soon be our most precious natural resource, Mummert said, if it isn’t already. Northern Michigan and the Pigeon River Country are great examples of that, he said, and act as somewhat of a “sponge” to collect and filter fresh water.
“Everyone should agree that it’s proper to have pure water,” Mummert said, and no activities should be allowed that threaten that—including the quest for more oil and gas resources.
In addition, wildlife is an indicator of a healthy environment. “If we manage for the most sensitive creatures out there, everything else will benefit, too,” Mummert said.
That means you can’t be all things to all people, he said. Some user activities—dirt bikes, four-wheelers, snowmobiles and other “fast movers”—have much greater impact on the resource than others. They need to be carefully managed—even prohibited—because smaller individual footprints mean better and more long-term resource protection.
Viewing the forest panorama from Inspiration Point above the old Civilian Conservation Corps camp in the Pigeon River Country, Mummert quietly reflected on past efforts to save the forest.
“What we’re looking at now is here because of what we did before,” he said.
A DNR official once told Mummert that he had destroyed his credibility by saying “no to everything.” Yet, Mummert doesn’t consider himself to be a “preservationist,” and even chaffs at the label “environmentalist.”
“I’m a traditionalist,” he said, “and a conservationist. You have to believe in something and center your life around it. Otherwise, you won’t do it.”
That’s a good lesson for us all.
From the Early August 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
I returned to school in mid-July, but it wasn’t the typical classroom setting with textbooks and a course syllabus.
This was experiential learning and hands-on tutoring in the Pigeon River Country, located near Vanderbilt in Michigan’s northern Lower Peninsula.
The “professor” was Gaylord-area resident Doug Mummert, a seasoned woodsman, hunter and fisherman. Doug and his wife Judy had invited me to their home to talk natural resources conservation—a subject about which they are as passionate as anybody I’ve ever known.
The discussion began as soon as I arrived Thursday afternoon at their secluded home southeast of town. It continued over dinner and well into the evening, then resumed early the following morning during a hearty breakfast that Judy had prepared.
There was much to learn about the Pigeon River Country—one of the more remote areas in the Lower Peninsula—and the Mummerts generously shared their knowledge and wisdom until I reluctantly drove away at 4:30 p.m. Friday to return home.
The highlight of this crash course in all things Pigeon was a day-long tour of the state forest known as “The Big Wild”—nearly 100,000 acres of trees, wetlands, hills, meadows, rivers, streams, lakes, trails, wildlife and solitude set aside for preservation and the public benefit.
Home to some of author Ernest Hemingway’s favorite Michigan rivers—the Sturgeon, the Black and the Pigeon—the area has been Doug Mummert’s “sandbox” and all-season playground for some 60 years, he said. Since the early 1950s—when Mummert first visited as a teen-ager—he has hunted, fished, snowshoed, canoed, hiked, ran hound dogs, communed with “Ma Nature,” and generally absorbed the quiet and healthy spirit of the land.
That’s precisely why he is determined to see it protected from developers, big oil interests, politicians, bureaucrats and others who would exploit the resource for temporary and short-term advantage.
The threats have been many and varied over the years and Mummert has been among those in the trenches who have fought long and hard against exploitation.
One of the biggest threats came during the 1970s, when fuel shortages were causing long lines at gas pumps, and oil companies were eager to tap huge reserves of oil and natural gas under the forest. Opponents claimed that oil drilling activity would harm the Pigeon River Country’s abundant wildlife—particularly the only substantial wild elk herd east of the Mississippi River.
For nearly 10 years, the two sides engaged in a series of lawsuits, consent orders, legislation and compromises until a 1979 landmark Michigan Supreme Court case offered guidance on the type of harm that would justify relief under the Michigan Environmental Protection Act and led to an agreement between the state government, oil industry and environmental groups. The ruling allowed tightly regulated drilling in the southern one-third of the forest under the watchful eye of the Pigeon River Advisory Council and set standards for future oil drilling in Michigan.
Today, the forest is a special management unit in parts of four counties that is administered by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources (DNR) under a unique “Concept of Management” that carefully outlines what is allowed and what is not. Given that, the Pigeon River Country should be a model for resource conservation.
But there are still many threats, Mummert said, including conflicts among user groups, ongoing pressure to commercialize state natural resources and the continued deterioration of Michigan’s once-vaunted “conservation system” in favor of political interests.
“We’re losing our conservation system,” Mummert said. “It seems like the legislature wants to run it, rather than the DNR, and they’re catering to special and commercial interests.”
Pure water will soon be our most precious natural resource, Mummert said, if it isn’t already. Northern Michigan and the Pigeon River Country are great examples of that, he said, and act as somewhat of a “sponge” to collect and filter fresh water.
“Everyone should agree that it’s proper to have pure water,” Mummert said, and no activities should be allowed that threaten that—including the quest for more oil and gas resources.
In addition, wildlife is an indicator of a healthy environment. “If we manage for the most sensitive creatures out there, everything else will benefit, too,” Mummert said.
That means you can’t be all things to all people, he said. Some user activities—dirt bikes, four-wheelers, snowmobiles and other “fast movers”—have much greater impact on the resource than others. They need to be carefully managed—even prohibited—because smaller individual footprints mean better and more long-term resource protection.
Viewing the forest panorama from Inspiration Point above the old Civilian Conservation Corps camp in the Pigeon River Country, Mummert quietly reflected on past efforts to save the forest.
“What we’re looking at now is here because of what we did before,” he said.
A DNR official once told Mummert that he had destroyed his credibility by saying “no to everything.” Yet, Mummert doesn’t consider himself to be a “preservationist,” and even chaffs at the label “environmentalist.”
“I’m a traditionalist,” he said, “and a conservationist. You have to believe in something and center your life around it. Otherwise, you won’t do it.”
That’s a good lesson for us all.
A learning opportunity
An observation from the Early June 2013 North Woods Call
Everyone seems to have an opinion these days and, naturally, most people think their own ideas are correct. Unfortunately, modern notions blow like tumbleweeds in the political winds and few people can hear other voices above the atmospheric roar.
As a result, we tend to make life-changing decisions based on misinformation spewed by self-serving demagogues—skilled at manipulating the masses—rather than on our own knowledge of the facts. And, too often, we filter everything through whatever political philosophy captures our personal fancy, thumbing our noses at alternative ideas and philosophies.
Because few of us have ever been—or ever will be—politicians, we think it would be useful if Americans stopped viewing every discussion as “political”—worthy of attention if it comes from “our side” and contemptible if it comes from the other. Why not begin looking at the thoughts of our fellow citizens as simply ideas worth considering? After all, we supposedly all love liberty and justice, and want to hand the best nation possible down to our children and grandchildren.
Most of us would probably agree that understanding our collective history and having accurate information on which to base our civic debate is vital to a free society. Without it, we can’t make the best decisions going forward.
Hillsdale College in southern Michigan is attempting to address this need by offering free online courses in American history and the U.S. Constitution. We currently are participating in some of these courses, and are impressed by the thoroughness and relative objectivity with which the information is presented.
There are video lectures, supplemental readings, question-and-answer sessions and quizzes to test your knowledge. And it’s all free of charge.
College officials say they want to help citizens understand the differences between the constitutional republic bequeathed to us by our founders and the now-dominant administrative bureaucracy that has come from 100-plus years of so-called “progressive” thought and policy.
“We’re living right now in one of the key moments of American history—one of the pivots,” said Hillsdale College President Larry Arnn. “We’re going to go one way, or the other. [Abraham] Lincoln said that a house divided against itself cannot stand. We’ve got a house that can’t continue being organized in two different ways. It won’t stand.”
The key to good decision-making, he said, is knowing what’s true, as well as the consequences and alternatives to our actions.
“How are you going to figure out what the right way is?” Arnn asked. “The answer is, learn the story of the country, and learn the principles and institutions that have guided that story, and emerge from it. That’s a critical thing for people in America to be doing right now, because, if they’re going to exercise choice over what becomes of them, they’re going to need to know.”
We couldn’t agree more and encourage others to explore this wonderful learning opportunity from one of the premier private liberal arts colleges in the country. All it takes is an open mind, a desire to learn and a little time.
Each of us has a duty to be an informed citizen and these Hillsdale College courses are well worth the minimal investment required. (For information: www.online.hillsdale.edu)..
Everyone seems to have an opinion these days and, naturally, most people think their own ideas are correct. Unfortunately, modern notions blow like tumbleweeds in the political winds and few people can hear other voices above the atmospheric roar.
As a result, we tend to make life-changing decisions based on misinformation spewed by self-serving demagogues—skilled at manipulating the masses—rather than on our own knowledge of the facts. And, too often, we filter everything through whatever political philosophy captures our personal fancy, thumbing our noses at alternative ideas and philosophies.
Because few of us have ever been—or ever will be—politicians, we think it would be useful if Americans stopped viewing every discussion as “political”—worthy of attention if it comes from “our side” and contemptible if it comes from the other. Why not begin looking at the thoughts of our fellow citizens as simply ideas worth considering? After all, we supposedly all love liberty and justice, and want to hand the best nation possible down to our children and grandchildren.
Most of us would probably agree that understanding our collective history and having accurate information on which to base our civic debate is vital to a free society. Without it, we can’t make the best decisions going forward.
Hillsdale College in southern Michigan is attempting to address this need by offering free online courses in American history and the U.S. Constitution. We currently are participating in some of these courses, and are impressed by the thoroughness and relative objectivity with which the information is presented.
There are video lectures, supplemental readings, question-and-answer sessions and quizzes to test your knowledge. And it’s all free of charge.
College officials say they want to help citizens understand the differences between the constitutional republic bequeathed to us by our founders and the now-dominant administrative bureaucracy that has come from 100-plus years of so-called “progressive” thought and policy.
“We’re living right now in one of the key moments of American history—one of the pivots,” said Hillsdale College President Larry Arnn. “We’re going to go one way, or the other. [Abraham] Lincoln said that a house divided against itself cannot stand. We’ve got a house that can’t continue being organized in two different ways. It won’t stand.”
The key to good decision-making, he said, is knowing what’s true, as well as the consequences and alternatives to our actions.
“How are you going to figure out what the right way is?” Arnn asked. “The answer is, learn the story of the country, and learn the principles and institutions that have guided that story, and emerge from it. That’s a critical thing for people in America to be doing right now, because, if they’re going to exercise choice over what becomes of them, they’re going to need to know.”
We couldn’t agree more and encourage others to explore this wonderful learning opportunity from one of the premier private liberal arts colleges in the country. All it takes is an open mind, a desire to learn and a little time.
Each of us has a duty to be an informed citizen and these Hillsdale College courses are well worth the minimal investment required. (For information: www.online.hillsdale.edu)..
Dune protection
An editorial from the Early June 2013 North Woods Call
With recent changes to Michigan’s 1989 Sand Dune Protection and Management Act that has many developers salivating for more lakeshore construction, the state’s fragile dune ecology is under attack.
It’s imperative that conservation-minded citizens insist that these important natural areas be protected.
Dune habitats feature highly specialized plants and animals, including numerous rare species, and some that are endangered.
In addition to the general beauty of the dune landscape, these areas also play an important role in protecting the land against potential ravages by storm waves from the Great Lakes.
While they may seem barren to the casual observer, dunes support a vibrant ecosystem, where plants interact with blowing sand to create sand formations and to stabilize them. Sometimes the stabilization is only temporary, as the dunes often shift, migrate and re-form over time.
The widespread expansion of human population has resulted in dune destruction through land development and recreational uses, as well as from alteration to prevent the encroachment of sand onto inhabited areas.
If you’ve spent any time in the dunes along the coast of west Michigan, or walked over the amazing formations at the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in the northern Lower Peninsula, you can appreciate the value that these geographic land forms represent.
We need to stand behind the citizens and communities currently fighting against the plans of developers who threaten their dunes.
With recent changes to Michigan’s 1989 Sand Dune Protection and Management Act that has many developers salivating for more lakeshore construction, the state’s fragile dune ecology is under attack.
It’s imperative that conservation-minded citizens insist that these important natural areas be protected.
Dune habitats feature highly specialized plants and animals, including numerous rare species, and some that are endangered.
In addition to the general beauty of the dune landscape, these areas also play an important role in protecting the land against potential ravages by storm waves from the Great Lakes.
While they may seem barren to the casual observer, dunes support a vibrant ecosystem, where plants interact with blowing sand to create sand formations and to stabilize them. Sometimes the stabilization is only temporary, as the dunes often shift, migrate and re-form over time.
The widespread expansion of human population has resulted in dune destruction through land development and recreational uses, as well as from alteration to prevent the encroachment of sand onto inhabited areas.
If you’ve spent any time in the dunes along the coast of west Michigan, or walked over the amazing formations at the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in the northern Lower Peninsula, you can appreciate the value that these geographic land forms represent.
We need to stand behind the citizens and communities currently fighting against the plans of developers who threaten their dunes.
"Expert" rule vs. the people
An editorial from the Early June 2013 North Woods Call
We’ve mentioned this before and don’t want to beat a dead wolf over it, but we’re still uncomfortable with a state government that doesn’t think voters are smart enough to make informed choices over policy issues.
Michigan’s Public Act 21 of 2013—which empowers bureacrats to designate game species regardless of whether a majority of voters were to oppose such a designation in a proposed statewide referendum—is just the latest example of this.
We respect state wildlife managers and believe they have the expertise to make sound judgements about wolf hunts and other such activities, but we don’t like to see intentional end-runs around Michigan citizens who are exercising their constitutional rights to place an issue on the general election ballot.
It’s true that few of us are expert wildlife biologists, or schooled in other disciplines affecting the scientific stewardship of our natural resources. We should always consult such experts when these decisions are to be made. However, in a representative republic, the people’s voice is sacrosanct and should be heard.
After all, do the “experts” always make the right decisions?
Just ask the “anti-fracking” opponents of ongoing oil & gas lease sales—particularly in state parks, recreation areas and other publicly owned natural areas—for an answer to that one.
We’ve mentioned this before and don’t want to beat a dead wolf over it, but we’re still uncomfortable with a state government that doesn’t think voters are smart enough to make informed choices over policy issues.
Michigan’s Public Act 21 of 2013—which empowers bureacrats to designate game species regardless of whether a majority of voters were to oppose such a designation in a proposed statewide referendum—is just the latest example of this.
We respect state wildlife managers and believe they have the expertise to make sound judgements about wolf hunts and other such activities, but we don’t like to see intentional end-runs around Michigan citizens who are exercising their constitutional rights to place an issue on the general election ballot.
It’s true that few of us are expert wildlife biologists, or schooled in other disciplines affecting the scientific stewardship of our natural resources. We should always consult such experts when these decisions are to be made. However, in a representative republic, the people’s voice is sacrosanct and should be heard.
After all, do the “experts” always make the right decisions?
Just ask the “anti-fracking” opponents of ongoing oil & gas lease sales—particularly in state parks, recreation areas and other publicly owned natural areas—for an answer to that one.
National Rifle Association
An editorial from the Late June 2013 North Woods Call
We continue to scratch our heads over the antipathy we hear from some readers toward the National Rifle Association (NRA).
Although we are not and have never been members of that organization—and are naturally wary of the money fueled power exercised by these types of lobbying groups—it seems to us that the NRA is legitimately representing the interests of hundreds of thousands of its members—and perhaps the general interests of a free society, as well.
If not for the battle being waged by the NRA, there would likely be many more restraints on gun ownership than we have already seen—liberty suppressing regulations that do not honor the Second Amendment, or the U.S. Constitution.
Argue if you must about the “craziness” of semi-automatic weapons in the hands of average citizens. Our predecessor, Glen Sheppard, reportedly had little use for the NRA himself and would probably agree that prohibitions are necessary.
But we believe the issue runs much deeper than that. If we only could trust dishonest politicians and the cynical intentions of those agenda-driven special interests that are lobbying every bit as vehemently against gun ownership, we might have more sympathy for such arguments.
As it is, we’re glad to see somebody standing up for these basic rights, however contentious they may be.
Most gun owners—no matter what kind of weapons they possess—have never so much as entertained the idea of using them for ill-intent. And we don’t believe that removing guns from the hands of law-abiding citizens will keep them, or some other equally effective killing device, out of the hands of those who wish to damage lives and create mayhem.
The underlying moral conditions and mental health issues surrounding such actions are the real culprits, along with a general spiritual breakdown that didn’t plague earlier generations.
Demonizing the NRA, or myriad other responsible gun owners who handle their weapons with care, will not lead us out of the dark and frightening place into which society has descended.
We continue to scratch our heads over the antipathy we hear from some readers toward the National Rifle Association (NRA).
Although we are not and have never been members of that organization—and are naturally wary of the money fueled power exercised by these types of lobbying groups—it seems to us that the NRA is legitimately representing the interests of hundreds of thousands of its members—and perhaps the general interests of a free society, as well.
If not for the battle being waged by the NRA, there would likely be many more restraints on gun ownership than we have already seen—liberty suppressing regulations that do not honor the Second Amendment, or the U.S. Constitution.
Argue if you must about the “craziness” of semi-automatic weapons in the hands of average citizens. Our predecessor, Glen Sheppard, reportedly had little use for the NRA himself and would probably agree that prohibitions are necessary.
But we believe the issue runs much deeper than that. If we only could trust dishonest politicians and the cynical intentions of those agenda-driven special interests that are lobbying every bit as vehemently against gun ownership, we might have more sympathy for such arguments.
As it is, we’re glad to see somebody standing up for these basic rights, however contentious they may be.
Most gun owners—no matter what kind of weapons they possess—have never so much as entertained the idea of using them for ill-intent. And we don’t believe that removing guns from the hands of law-abiding citizens will keep them, or some other equally effective killing device, out of the hands of those who wish to damage lives and create mayhem.
The underlying moral conditions and mental health issues surrounding such actions are the real culprits, along with a general spiritual breakdown that didn’t plague earlier generations.
Demonizing the NRA, or myriad other responsible gun owners who handle their weapons with care, will not lead us out of the dark and frightening place into which society has descended.
Population & immigration
An editorial from the Late June 2013 North Woods Call
Here’s a conundrum—for us, at least.
Why do so many of our staunch “environmentalist” friends seem to support decidedly liberal immigration policies? These same people are quick to say that they’re concerned with the pressures that too many human beings put on our natural resources. In fact, they often want to block the use of these resources when such population pressures demand more of the earth’s bounty.
Yet they seem curiously unconcerned about porous borders and political maneuverings aimed at loosening immigration restrictions. Why is that?
Now, this is not an anti-immigration rant. Indeed, hard-working immigrants have long been a major strength of our nation. But don’t we need sensible policies that welcome those who believe in our founding principles, and want to support the laws and institutions that have made the nation what it is? And shouldn’t we factor in the impact on natural resources when considering how many people to let into our country each year?
Anything less than that seems foolhardy.
Those of us who have been around a while have seen the dramatic changes brought to our communities and the natural world by increasing numbers of people—heavy traffic, urban sprawl and pressure on natural areas among them.
Some of these changes are inevitable, of course, given the exponentially increasing population all over the world. But does that mean we shouldn’t better manage these impacts?
It’s getting harder to find places we can go to shut out the din of modern civilization. Many of the places we remember from childhood have long since been swallowed by the ever-advancing tide of development. We grieve the loss of these places, yet mostly seem powerless to prevent it—despite the good work being done by land conservancies, environmental groups and assorted conservation-minded citizens.
Almost everywhere we look, the battle is being lost. Yet the nation is poised to extend the welcome mat to millions more individuals who didn’t see fit—for whatever reason—to abide by existing immigration laws and help us better manage our nation’s resources.
One can’t necessarily blame this problem on those who are seeking better opportunities for themselves and their families. We would probably do the same. But we still need to protect this nation’s resources through thoughtful policies and enforcement.
Maybe if their own governments weren’t so corrupt, this flood of immigrants—both legal and illegal—could find greater opportunity at home and not feel the need to search for it here.
Here’s a conundrum—for us, at least.
Why do so many of our staunch “environmentalist” friends seem to support decidedly liberal immigration policies? These same people are quick to say that they’re concerned with the pressures that too many human beings put on our natural resources. In fact, they often want to block the use of these resources when such population pressures demand more of the earth’s bounty.
Yet they seem curiously unconcerned about porous borders and political maneuverings aimed at loosening immigration restrictions. Why is that?
Now, this is not an anti-immigration rant. Indeed, hard-working immigrants have long been a major strength of our nation. But don’t we need sensible policies that welcome those who believe in our founding principles, and want to support the laws and institutions that have made the nation what it is? And shouldn’t we factor in the impact on natural resources when considering how many people to let into our country each year?
Anything less than that seems foolhardy.
Those of us who have been around a while have seen the dramatic changes brought to our communities and the natural world by increasing numbers of people—heavy traffic, urban sprawl and pressure on natural areas among them.
Some of these changes are inevitable, of course, given the exponentially increasing population all over the world. But does that mean we shouldn’t better manage these impacts?
It’s getting harder to find places we can go to shut out the din of modern civilization. Many of the places we remember from childhood have long since been swallowed by the ever-advancing tide of development. We grieve the loss of these places, yet mostly seem powerless to prevent it—despite the good work being done by land conservancies, environmental groups and assorted conservation-minded citizens.
Almost everywhere we look, the battle is being lost. Yet the nation is poised to extend the welcome mat to millions more individuals who didn’t see fit—for whatever reason—to abide by existing immigration laws and help us better manage our nation’s resources.
One can’t necessarily blame this problem on those who are seeking better opportunities for themselves and their families. We would probably do the same. But we still need to protect this nation’s resources through thoughtful policies and enforcement.
Maybe if their own governments weren’t so corrupt, this flood of immigrants—both legal and illegal—could find greater opportunity at home and not feel the need to search for it here.
Fighting the good fight
An editorial from the Early July 2013 North Woods Call
We got a slightly uncomfortable feeling in our gut a few weeks ago while driving from Mackinaw City to Glen Sheppard’s former home near Charlevoix.
As we passed through Petoskey and saw all the relatively new development along U.S. 31 south of town, we recalled Shep’s many efforts to protect the Lake Michigan shoreline from such landscape-gulping activities.
Yet, there it was, despite numerous angry news stories and pointed editorials. As usual, the money interests and pressures of modern civilization seem to have won out.
Shep had successes, of course, and we know we must keep fighting the good fight—as he did with his North Woods Call—but from time-to-time it can be a bit discouraging just the same.
We got a slightly uncomfortable feeling in our gut a few weeks ago while driving from Mackinaw City to Glen Sheppard’s former home near Charlevoix.
As we passed through Petoskey and saw all the relatively new development along U.S. 31 south of town, we recalled Shep’s many efforts to protect the Lake Michigan shoreline from such landscape-gulping activities.
Yet, there it was, despite numerous angry news stories and pointed editorials. As usual, the money interests and pressures of modern civilization seem to have won out.
Shep had successes, of course, and we know we must keep fighting the good fight—as he did with his North Woods Call—but from time-to-time it can be a bit discouraging just the same.
Tilting at windmills
An editorial from the Early July 2013 North Woods Call
Passing through Mackinaw City recently, we noticed a couple of new windmills that we hadn’t seen before towering above the trees on the outskirts of town.
We’re all for clean energy, but we don’t think these rotating behemoths do anything to beautify the landscape—in the Straits area or elsewhere—and we’re beginning to wonder just who really benefits from these investments.
We know a lot of the windmills we see sprouting up around the countryside are the result of crony capitalism, where tax dollars are used to subsidize the activities of politically chosen investors. There’s probably good money in constructing them if you can get the state and federal grants. But has anyone found that their electricity bills have gone down as a result of theoretically free wind energy?
Ours haven’t—yet, at least.
We’re just guessing here, but it seems like the billions of dollars spent on windmill farms and other “energy smart” alternatives to fossil fuels might better be spent retrofitting individual homes and businesses with wind and solar devices so that actual taxpaying citizens could directly benefit from cheap energy and not be billed monthly for it by some utility company.
Call us impractical—and maybe we are—but an awful lot of money is being tossed into the wind under the guise of energy independence—even while many government-subsidized green energy companies go belly up due to poor management and lack of sustainable markets.
Despite all this activity, few people that we know feel any more energy independent now than they did a few years ago. In fact, it’s just the opposite.
If only we did more careful thinking about such schemes before implementing them, we might all be better off.
Passing through Mackinaw City recently, we noticed a couple of new windmills that we hadn’t seen before towering above the trees on the outskirts of town.
We’re all for clean energy, but we don’t think these rotating behemoths do anything to beautify the landscape—in the Straits area or elsewhere—and we’re beginning to wonder just who really benefits from these investments.
We know a lot of the windmills we see sprouting up around the countryside are the result of crony capitalism, where tax dollars are used to subsidize the activities of politically chosen investors. There’s probably good money in constructing them if you can get the state and federal grants. But has anyone found that their electricity bills have gone down as a result of theoretically free wind energy?
Ours haven’t—yet, at least.
We’re just guessing here, but it seems like the billions of dollars spent on windmill farms and other “energy smart” alternatives to fossil fuels might better be spent retrofitting individual homes and businesses with wind and solar devices so that actual taxpaying citizens could directly benefit from cheap energy and not be billed monthly for it by some utility company.
Call us impractical—and maybe we are—but an awful lot of money is being tossed into the wind under the guise of energy independence—even while many government-subsidized green energy companies go belly up due to poor management and lack of sustainable markets.
Despite all this activity, few people that we know feel any more energy independent now than they did a few years ago. In fact, it’s just the opposite.
If only we did more careful thinking about such schemes before implementing them, we might all be better off.
Born to be ... loud?
An editorial from the Early July 2013 North Woods Call
As summer kicks into high gear and outdoor temperatures escalate—along with gasoline prices—garage doors roll open and increasing numbers of would-be wild ones emerge on their two-wheeled cruising machines.
They clutch the chrome handlebars, twist the throttle and roar off down the open road in search of freedom and camaraderie. There’s nothing quite like the joy of acceleration and the feel of a warm wind in your face. We get that.
What we don’t understand, is why so many motorcycles—particularly, it seems, Harley Davidsons—have to be so doggone noisy. After all, aren’t there ordinances in most communities that prevent any person or group of people from disturbing the peace?
Yet, we’ve often been walking along a quiet roadway contemplating pleasant thoughts when one or more of these vibrating vehicles come sailing by, breathing fire from their lungs and bellowing like medieval dragons on steroids.
What’s that all about? We’d likely get a ticket from some irritated neighborhood constable if we did something similar with our automobile.
Don’t get us wrong. We like the whole idea of motorcycles—their “stick it in the man’s eye” independence, fuel efficiency and most everything else they represent. In the often spirit-crushing culture in which we live, we need something to help us get in touch with our rebel souls.
So go to it easy riders. Feel free to get your motors running, head out on the highway and look for adventure—whatever comes your way. Some days we wish we could throw on a brightly colored bandanna, tight leather jacket and pair of stout boots, and climb aboard for the ride.
But is it too much to ask that you add an effective muffler to your list of essential gear?
As summer kicks into high gear and outdoor temperatures escalate—along with gasoline prices—garage doors roll open and increasing numbers of would-be wild ones emerge on their two-wheeled cruising machines.
They clutch the chrome handlebars, twist the throttle and roar off down the open road in search of freedom and camaraderie. There’s nothing quite like the joy of acceleration and the feel of a warm wind in your face. We get that.
What we don’t understand, is why so many motorcycles—particularly, it seems, Harley Davidsons—have to be so doggone noisy. After all, aren’t there ordinances in most communities that prevent any person or group of people from disturbing the peace?
Yet, we’ve often been walking along a quiet roadway contemplating pleasant thoughts when one or more of these vibrating vehicles come sailing by, breathing fire from their lungs and bellowing like medieval dragons on steroids.
What’s that all about? We’d likely get a ticket from some irritated neighborhood constable if we did something similar with our automobile.
Don’t get us wrong. We like the whole idea of motorcycles—their “stick it in the man’s eye” independence, fuel efficiency and most everything else they represent. In the often spirit-crushing culture in which we live, we need something to help us get in touch with our rebel souls.
So go to it easy riders. Feel free to get your motors running, head out on the highway and look for adventure—whatever comes your way. Some days we wish we could throw on a brightly colored bandanna, tight leather jacket and pair of stout boots, and climb aboard for the ride.
But is it too much to ask that you add an effective muffler to your list of essential gear?
Powering up sans fossil fuels
An editorial from the Early August 2013 North Woods Call
As the world debates climate change and contemplates ways to reduce the use of fossil fuels, President Obama says he wants to spend $7 billion to bring electrical power to rural Africa.
The president, of course, is not talking about coal-fired power plants, but rather developing new sources of clean energy to benefit those who currently live off the power grid.
This is a worthy goal, although one wonders if we yet have the technology—or money—to accomplish it without fossil fuels.
Energy use has jumped exponentially around the world as people everywhere plug in, turn on, and demand even more of the electronic devices and 21st Century conveniences that eat energy like hungry wolves. The world’s population has grown by leaps and bounds. Air and automobile travel are at record levels. And consumer goods and agricultural projects are being shipped to even more distant markets.
One idea that has been floated by the president’s team is a soccer ball that generates electricity when kids kick it around, storing up energy for later uses, such as powering home light bulbs, or charging phones. Ideas like this may be a testament to mankind’s ingenuity, but are we really going to electrify the world and meet our growing energy needs with such inventions?
Excuse our skepticism, but maybe this is just one more way to launder U.S. tax dollars for other purposes—such as special-interest payoffs and perpetual political campaigns.
Whatever the motivation—noble or otherwise—we probably have a long way to go before we solve the fossil fuel problem.
As the world debates climate change and contemplates ways to reduce the use of fossil fuels, President Obama says he wants to spend $7 billion to bring electrical power to rural Africa.
The president, of course, is not talking about coal-fired power plants, but rather developing new sources of clean energy to benefit those who currently live off the power grid.
This is a worthy goal, although one wonders if we yet have the technology—or money—to accomplish it without fossil fuels.
Energy use has jumped exponentially around the world as people everywhere plug in, turn on, and demand even more of the electronic devices and 21st Century conveniences that eat energy like hungry wolves. The world’s population has grown by leaps and bounds. Air and automobile travel are at record levels. And consumer goods and agricultural projects are being shipped to even more distant markets.
One idea that has been floated by the president’s team is a soccer ball that generates electricity when kids kick it around, storing up energy for later uses, such as powering home light bulbs, or charging phones. Ideas like this may be a testament to mankind’s ingenuity, but are we really going to electrify the world and meet our growing energy needs with such inventions?
Excuse our skepticism, but maybe this is just one more way to launder U.S. tax dollars for other purposes—such as special-interest payoffs and perpetual political campaigns.
Whatever the motivation—noble or otherwise—we probably have a long way to go before we solve the fossil fuel problem.
Of people and climate change
An editorial from the Early August 2013 North Woods Call
Here’s something sure to irritate those who swoon over carbon taxes and plead for ever more U.S. Environmental Protection Agency regulations. But it has to be said.
The President of the United States recently declared war on climate change—especially coal-fired power plants—and signaled that he would prosecute that war with executive orders and bureaucratic decrees. To heck with Congress, or anyone else who belongs to the “Flat Earth Society” and isn’t smart enough to know that human activity is the primary cause of this “crisis.”
The simple fact that many politicians, scientists and environmentalists know this “inconvenient truth” is apparently enough for them to force even the most draconian and costly actions on society to correct the problem.
Never mind that some other scientists disagree with these conclusions, and that a large portion of the population isn’t yet “enlightened” enough to understand that fossil fuels and industrial activities will soon render the earth uninhabitable.
And never mind that the nation is broke, or that many of its hard-working citizens are unemployed and financially stressed.
More taxes, more spending and more government mandates are the remedies for all our woes, they seem to believe.
We’ve said before that we don’t know how to sort through all the conflicting testimony in this matter. If the climate is indeed changing—and there’s some short-term evidence, at least, that suggests it may be—what is the real cause?
The president and Al Gore, among others, tell us unequivocally that it’s our fault. We drive too much, manufacture too much and generally live beyond what a finite earth can sustain. Maybe so.
But why should we believe THEM? After all, they’re politicians and they’ve demonstrated repeatedly that they routinely lie about almost everything.
If this is such an urgent matter that requires the emergency subversion of our representative republic to correct, why does the president seem to be in the air more than he is on the ground—burning hundreds of thousands of gallons of high-octane jet fuel during never-ending campaign and vacation trips? Why doesn’t he and other advocates of global warming and climate change model the behavior they demand that we adopt?
The same question might be posed to members of often left-leaning and self-righteous environmental groups, who seem to drive, fly and consume fossil fuels as much as anyone else.
We don’t claim to be Nobel Prize-winning climatologists. Nor do we claim—as so many others do—to know the absolute truth about this contentious issue. But we think it deserves a more honest, serious and much less politically influenced conversation.
The way forward, in our opinion, is for those who embrace the notion of man-made climate change to offer clear and easily understandable arguments—backed by verifiable science—that will convince the naysayers of the validity of their position.
As it is today, there’s way too much mocking and demonizing of those who prefer a more careful examination of such evidence—pro and con—before agreeing to further line the pockets of politicians, crony capitalists and bureaucrats who seem to be much more interested in themselves than in saving the world.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Trapping tourists
By Mike VanBuren
From the early July 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
Summer has officially arrived in northern Michigan, along with the annual influx of tourists looking for recreation and quality outdoor experiences.
Summer has officially arrived in northern Michigan, along with the annual influx of tourists looking for recreation and quality outdoor experiences.
The
vacationers have been greeted, once again—as they have for many decades—by legions of
gargantuan figures that stand solemn guard over many state highways. These figures are easy to spot, posing
rigidly along the roadways while waiting to accept star billing in somebody’s
photo album, home video, or slide show.
Inevitably, a road-tripping family from Flint, Detroit, or Grand Rapids
will come along, careen off the blacktop in their mini-van and slide to a dusty
halt amidst flying gravel. The
kids will jump from the car and race to strike a giddy pose for Dad, who will peer through the
viewfinder of his camera and capture the special moment for posterity.
Then they’ll all head for the gift shop—there’s usually one close by—in
search of fake Indian-bead belts, tiny birch bark canoes, or some other cheap
and inauthentic trinket from Asia to help them remember the occasion.
As for me, I
generally turn away in callous indifference and keep driving. I’m too old to get excited about
incredible hulks of hardened plaster spread over wood and chicken wire
frames. Besides, if I want,
I can always visit them on the way back.
The elephantine forms will certainly be there for a while, waiting
patiently for the next carload of money-toting tourists to come whizzing by.
These herculean dust collectors range from bearded folk heroes to
domestic and wild animals. They
are often brightly colored and magnified many times by dimensionally challenged
craftsmen. If I didn’t know
better, I’d think an army of jumbo knickknacks had invaded the north country.
Without a doubt, one of the most popular northern creations is Paul
Bunyan—an overgrown, ax-wielding lumberjack who can sometimes be seen standing
next to his beloved companion, Babe the Blue Ox. A cute couple, to be sure, and one that I confess posing
alongside a time or two when I was a child traveling between state parks with
my parents and sister.
Large
inanimate bears and moose are also popular among the prodigious artisans who
build these towering monuments to the north woods. Throw in some antique
automobiles, and perhaps some stuffed deer hunter mannequins, and you have a
recipe for upper Michigan intrigue.
Back when I worked in Kalkaska during the late 1970s and early 1980s,
the village seemed to be rich in candidates for the yet-to-be-established
Monster Statue Hall of Fame.
Anyone who drove through the village in those days was greeted by a rich
variety of cyclopean replicas.
There was a chicken, a jumping trout, a pink hippopotamus and a foraging
bear—not to mention the obese toddler balancing a double-deck hamburger at the
southern end of town.
Further north, about halfway to Mancelona, an entire colony of
mastodonic critters has resided for years in the forest along U.S. 131. Last time I checked, there was an
elephant, an eight-foot-tall rabbit, and a host of other stiff and hollow
mammals. Tucked away in the trees,
as I recall, was even a small replica of Noah’s Ark, which I suspect the
animals use whenever it rains.
Mt. Mancelona may not be as majestic as Mt. Ararat, but nobody seems
quite sure where Noah’s floating zoo actually came to rest. I think I know.
At one
time, I thought that Kalkaska County—once known for lumber and more recently
for crude oil—might attempt to become the nation’s leading producer of Goliath
souvenirs, designed for and, of course, sold to money-oozing tourists from
Brobdingnag and beyond.
It would have been the natural next chapter to the local development
story. With badly twisted logic
caused by attending too many Economic Development Corporation meetings, I
figured the county could well emerge as the only community anywhere in the
world to manufacture northern Michigan souvenirs for visiting giants—beings
long associated with abnormal growth.
And there I was in the middle of it all, never having taken a ceramics
class.
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