So, I have been reading a book of essays by Wendell Berry called "The Way of Ignorance," which has been at some times challenging, some times encouraging, and a few times has even been boring. I can only read so long on the topic of agricultural sustanibility. I am in complete favor of it, but I am at a big loss as to how we replace our topsoil. I think it is because I begin to see just how completely and totally we have screwed up the world, and that makes me a bit depressed, for it takes more imagination than I have to figure out how we turn it around and peacefully co-exist with the world we have been abusing for so long. I guess I don't have enough faith in humankind's ability to deny itself pleasure for a greater good. For that is what would be required of everyone in order to truly restore the environment. Confession that we have indeed caused problems in the world is not enough- we need true repentance.
I was reminded also, of just how far removed we are from the natural world in a couple of instances this week. It seems that part of the Easley community, located in a fairly rural county to our west, was experiencing a wretched stench this week. Several people called in to complain to authorities of this rotting, putrid and acrid smell that some supposed might be a sewer leak, and still others thought could be a chemical spill somewhere. The local authorities set to the task of finding the source of the smell, and for a brief time thought they had located it in a festering dumpster behind some institution. But, that was not the source. After a day or two, they finally tracked it to a nearby farm, where a farmer, in preparation for spring growing, had begun to spread a load of chicken manure. 50 tons of it to be exact. That's a lot of chicken poop. It didn't surprise me that it would whip up quite an odor, and that that odor would drift a mile or two around. What did surprise me though, was that noone was able to identify that this would be the time of year farmers spread manure, nor were they able to identify the smell as manure- since so few of us are ever around it anymore. We could much more readily identify the smell of chlorine, or perhaps that odor they put in natural gas. But not good old black gold fertilizer that used to be used on every farm in every town. Did I mention this took place in a fairly rural community?
The second thing that has caught my attention is the Bradford Pear trees. They are all blooming like crazy and they are a welcome sign of spring with their almost lollipop shaped white popcorn clusters of blooms. The thing of it is, though, is that you know they aren't a native tree, because native trees know better than to bloom just yet. They are for sure getting ready to pop, but the Bradford pears beat the dogwoods, peaches, apples and such by a good 2 weeks or more. That makes them much more likely to succumb to a late season frost or ice event, which is not unheard of in these parts (like last year's killing frost on April 15th). As I reflected on the Bradford pears, a few things struck me. Bradfords are an ornamental, they were originally bred as sterile trees- they don't produce pears. At least, not what you would call pears. A few have found their evolutionary way around that and now produce these marble sized brown fruits each year. Their blossoms also really stink- I mean badly! Of course, that won't bother you from inside your climate controlled car or house. (I seriously wonder if car makers would have stopped making car windows that roll down if it weren't for fast food drive-thrus or toll booths.) Lastly, the way Bradfords have been bred makes them ill suited for regular wildlife. Their limbs all come from one point in the trunk, giving it an upside down umbrella sort of structure- which looks cool, but doesn't invite birds to make their nests since the v's in the branches are all at one point, and all too low to the ground for protection for nests. They were also originally crossbred with a thorny tree, and now as they've evolved, many come equipped with sharp thorns along the branches. Lastly, their structure is open to the wind, and when ice storms come around here, the tree splits right down the middle due to its construction. Oh, and while they grow rapidly and provide a nice row of trees to line a highway, they only live for about 15 years (which is short in tree-time) so they will have to be replaced quicker than other trees. All of this makes them a poster-child of modern times- a fruit tree that doesn't provide fruit; that looks great when blooming even if it smells horrid; provides no windbreak for houses or housing for birds; and only lasts about half the distance of your mortgage. Don't we all want pretty trees that don't do the things trees are supposed to do- ones that can be chopped down and replaced when we get bored with them?
So there you have it- we have come a long way from an agricultural society where people knew the smell of manure and understood the value of a good native tree species. This distance is what makes me fearful for our ability to repent and turn away from our current course- to return to what we should know as caretakers of this garden. This is, I guess, the distance of progress.
