I asked how he responded.
He smiled. “The ones who ask the question are from North America and Europe,” he said. “The ones who consider themselves rich—who think they won’t be impacted by global change.”
“Do they have a point?” I asked.
He sighed. “Rich is relative. There is monetary capital, and there is biological treasure. You understand the difference?”
I thought about this. Money after all, did put food on my table. But then again, so did biology. I stared at my fork. A piece of tomato was stuck to a lettuce leaf.
“Tomatoes,” I said, “are native to Peru, the lettuce originally from Iran.” I took another look at my salad. “The cucumbers came from Armenia, the radish from China.”
I have been a scientist with the U.S. Department of Agriculture for almost twenty years. I know that if you could look beyond the shelves of the supermarket to see the evolution of food, you would be amazed.
I know too that 75 percent of the world’s calories comes from only a dozen crops: barley, maize, millet, oats, rice, sorghum, sugar cane, wheat, white potatoes, sweet potatoes, cassava, and soybeans. None of these crops (except for an ancestor of corn) are indigenous to North America or Europe, the “rich” continents.
If humankind is to find itself in the face of global climate change, we must find varieties of these crops in their native lands that can adapt to extreme temperatures, drought, new weeds, pests, and diseases. Only in biological diversity, the treasure of the “poor” countries, are we likely to find ways to feed the one billion additional people expected to be born in the next decade.
Yet this very treasure is at risk from climate change. The wealth of developing countries lies not in their commercial banks but in their land—land that supports most of the globe’s biological diversity, treasure that will be sold to offset the economic cost of coping with climate change. And it isn’t just food. Flowers, herbs, fungi, medicines—all are at risk.
Did I understand the difference between money and wealth?
“I get it,” I said, putting down my fork. “But what do you actually say to them?”
“I tell them that if they just fend for themselves, all of us will be the poorer for it.”
Lewis Ziska is a plant physiologist with the USDA’s Agricultural Research Service in Beltsville, Maryland. He is investigating the role of increasing carbon dioxide and changing climate on food security, invasive species, and aerobiology.
Peddling Solutions to Climate Change
David Kroodsma
My colleague Bill and I pedaled five thousand miles across the country, peddling solutions to climate change. We made fifty presentations at schools, businesses, and community centers and gave dozens of radio, TV, and newspaper interviews. One student we talked to led a fight against a coal-fired power plant in her community. Others found ways to become more energy efficient, such as by changing their light bulbs or bicycling to work.
David Kroodsma, an expert on the carbon cycle, has worked at the Carnegie Institution for Science. The founder of Ride for Climate, a bicycle-based climate education project, he lives in Oakland, California.
David Kroodsma at a wind farm in South Dakota. Photo by Bill Bradlee.
Counting Cranes
John F. Wasik
EVERY APRIL I COUNT CRANES—SANDHILL CRANES,
to be precise, which have red heads, elegant necks, and majestic wingspans. They were once endangered because their wetland habitats were drained and they were hunted for their plumes. They are my personal indicator species for the health of the environment. As the birds return to their local wetlands in ever-greater numbers in the spring, I try to transform my personal habitat into a more environmentally friendly place.
My family of four and I have always been conscious about environmentally sound living. Since I work mostly at home and live in a conservation-minded community, my local-transportation carbon footprint is almost nil. Yet there’s so much more we need to do as we become increasingly alarmed about melting icecaps and polar bears struggling to survive.
Making pledges and listing action items keeps us on the path of climate-change awareness, but as an amateur naturalist, I wanted to measure how our family was doing. When I ran our basic lifestyle through the EarthLab carbon calculator, I found that while we were pouring somewhat less carbon dioxide into the atmosphere than the average Illinois or U.S. resident, we were still producing 13.4 tons annually! I didn’t feel good about that, and I suspect the lion’s share was generated by the tens of thousands of miles I spent in an airplane last year.
The little steps we were taking were certainly helpful but not dramatic in the bigger scheme of carbon-dioxide release: turning off lights, eating locally, taking shorter showers, using cloth napkins (and washing them for reuse), composting kitchen waste, using leftover plastic shopping bags for garbage (and bringing our own bags to the grocery store), buying biodegradable cleaning products, washing clothes in cold or warm water, and taking public transportation.
I’m pledging to grow more food in my back yard and buy more locally grown meat and produce. I can use my own compost and mulch on the gardens and freeze what we don’t eat, as I usually do with our tomato crop. I’m adding to our winter stores by growing potatoes, Swiss chard, and Brussels sprouts. I’m going to monitor our energy use and try to do low-tech things like hanging clothes outside to dry and getting old-fashioned window shades for the south windows in our family room. We are replacing the 65-watt can lights in the basement with 16-watt dimmable compact fluorescent bulbs. Nothing my family does, though, will amount to much unless all vehicles, homes, factories, and offices are built or rehabbed to be energy efficient. So I will urge my elected representatives to extend and increase tax credits for energy-efficient and energy-producing buildings and transportation. We must have mandatory national energy standards.
Lobbying may be themost effective wayto help the earth. It’s virtually carbon neutral and will get our industrious nation to come up with a comprehensive plan. Before you can fly, you need to flap your wings a lot.
John F. Wasik is an author, journalist, speaker, teacher, and activist. His neighborhood in Prairie Crossing, Illinois, has open space, an organic farm, restored wetlands, prairies, and trails.
View from the
Yakama Nation
Moses D. Squeochs, as told to Rebecca Hawk
I AM A FULL-BLOODED YAKAMA INDIAN, AND I PRACTICE the traditional ways of our people: fishing, hunting, and gathering roots and berries. The Almighty placed our people in the Pacific Northwest region of this continent, along with everything else that is here to sustain us—the flora, fauna, aquatic life, waterways, and land. Our rights to inhabit our reservation lands and ceded territory—a mere remnant of our original homelands—and utilize the resources within it are based in a fundamental, solemn treaty agreement with the United States.
Since time immemorial we have survived on this continent, but in the last four hundred years we have suffered greatly from the influx of immigrants who have a different relationship to the earth. They brought our people to our knees through wars, disease, and dislocation, and in my own generation, they sent us, as young men, away to boarding schools. The goal was to “kill the Indian but save the man.” As they attempted to kill the Indianness in us and make us more like them, they taught us the Manifest Destiny doctrine: a God-given right to do what one wants with the land for one’s own benefit, with little or no regard to the sustainability of anything or anybody, even oneself. For a time, some of us contributed to the living out of this doctrine and the careless misuse of resources. But our elders taught us to honor the land and water, so we were not completely converted to the way of thinking that was imposed upon us.
Today most of our people live in stick houses. We drive vehicles and use cell phones. We live within and enjoy the benefits of a modern society, but we also suffer from new threats to our health and well-being. Our people are dying of cancers and other diseases at rates
higher than those of the general population because we still live close to the land and water, which are now polluted.
The rapidly warming climate is putting stress on our fish, animals, plants, and berries, and these resources are all diminishing. As we lose our healthy food supply, we have nowhere to go to sustain ourselves. But we now see in our young people a determination to honor our traditional cultural and spiritual ways of life and to stay connected to the land. As elders, we are trying to carry ourselves in such a manner that the young people of the next generation will live with respect for this place.
Moses Dick Squeochs is the general council chairman of the Confederated Tribes and Bands of the Yakama Nation.
Rebecca Hawk is the regional air-quality coordinator for the Yakama Nation.
Stewards of
the Earth
Ray Trimble
MY MOTHER WAS A DEEPLY RELIGIOUS WOMAN
with an intense social consciousness. She spent her life helping people less fortunate than herself, while also maintaining an abiding concern for those yet to be born. She often emphasized the biblical injunction that we must be stewards of our God-given earth.
When she died, my mother left a modest inheritance that my wife and I decided to invest in the future of our planet. We replaced our two cars with hybrids and purchased forty-five solar electric panels for the roof of our home.
It is with some embarrassment that I confess we use far more electricity than we should. We are a large extended family living under one roof, and we use our electric dryer heavily. We have an electric range in the kitchen and an air conditioner that runs for long hours during our hot summers. Before installing the panels in late 2006, we were purchasing about 50 kilowatt hours (kWh) a day, averaged over the year, from our utility. Our total usage increased slightly in 2007, but more than 60 percent of that was free, from our own roof. Our utility had to generate less than 23 kWh/day for us. In 2008 we did even better, buying an average of less than 16 kWh/day.
I have no idea how long it will take for the investment to pay off on an accrued-interest basis or whatever it is the accountants like to talk about. That is not the point as far as I am concerned. The point is that we have significantly reduced our carbon footprint. To put it in my mother’s terminology, we are now better stewards of the earth, doing at least a small part to provide a more livable planet for generations to come.
Ray Trimble spent most of his career as a computer programmer at IBM. Now retired, he lives in Morgan Hill, California, with his family.
A Teachable Moment
Frank Schwing
Human history becomes more and more a race
between education and catastrophe.
—H. G. Wells
AS AN OCEANOGRAPHER AND CLIMATE SCIENTIST,
I have had the opportunity to witness and play a part in the research that has built an overwhelming case for human-caused climate change. The science community has the responsibility to inform the public about the rapid changes occurring in our climate, to foster a scientifically literate electorate, and to educate tomorrow’s citizens and leaders about the perils of not acting swiftly and comprehensively to reverse the forces driving global warming.
I have given dozens of public presentations and lectures, many of which our son and daughter attended. Even in grade school they could explain the mechanisms of global warming. At a beach party they were able to study the waves and warn us all that the rising tide would sweep away our fire (yes, it really happened!). My wife and I have taken advantage of numerous “teachable moments” to talk about climate change, such that it has become a running family joke; “Science Talk with Frank Schwing,” our kids would proclaim whenever I began telling some story about science in the everyday world.
As I approach the later stages of my scientific career, I could define my legacy in a number of ways. I’ve been fortunate to serve as a researcher and manager in a federal agency dedicated to understanding climate change and guiding our nation’s efforts to address its effects. With a cadre of talented colleagues, I’ve published scientific papers, helped plan our national climate-change research program, and reviewed international climate assessments. My family has two hybrid cars, and this year we installed a solar-power generating system for our house.
But my greatest legacy is a living one. Eye-rolling and joking aside, our children, now young adults, recognize—as do many others I’ve encountered—that the consequences of climate change will be their unfortunate inheritance. They also understand that dealing with and solving this global problem will be theirs. My wife and I share a great pride, not only in what they have learned, but in the joy with which they pursue scientific truth and their appreciation of the urgency of creating a scientifically literate public.
Our children will carry on the fight to slow and ultimately reverse global climate change because no one else can do so; there is no other option. I look at their young, confident faces, and I, too, am confident that they will succeed.
Frank Schwing is an oceanographer with the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and director of the Environmental Research Division of the NOAA Fisheries Service. A native of West Virginia, Frank resides in Monterey, California.
The Burns Homestead
Andrea Burns
Our home is a piece of art and a work in progress. Designed and built by my husband, Jeff, it includes straw-bale walls, solar electricity, passive solar heating and cooling, superefficient appliances, natural roofing (living plants and cedar), local nontoxic materials, radiant floor heating, water heated by a wood stove, plenty of daylight, insulated curtains, an indoor greenhouse, and a garden that feeds us for much of the year.
Andrea Burns lives in Sanbornton, New Hampshire, where she and her husband grow much of their own food and homeschool their kids. She enjoys hiking, swimming, and playing music.
The Burns homestead in Sanbornton, New Hampshire. Photo by Andrea Burns.
One Professor in a Classroom
Melanie Szulczewski
WHEN YOU HEAR THE SOUND OF SNORING IN YOUR
classroom as you discuss the causes and implications of global warming, it is easy to become discouraged. And when a skeptical student asks, “Can one person really make a difference?” sometimes all I can do is sigh and wearily think, I’m trying to.
As I observe my students drive to campus in their SUVs and balk at taking the subway for a group trip to a science museum, clamoring instead for the gas-guzzling vans other professors use, I can’t help but consider the nature of my role as an environmental science professor. Should I limit myself to explaining the facts behind the greenhouse effect and the consequences to the earth’s ecosystems from climate change? Perhaps I shouldn’t try to persuade students to become stewards of their environment by showing graphs of carbon-dioxide emissions from various sources and then displaying images of fuel-efficient cars and compact fluorescent light bulbs and the cumulative effects of using them. I even try appealing to their wallets by having them calculate the savings to their electricity bills and fuel-pump expenses if they changed to a more sustainable lifestyle. One student raises his hand to ask, “Will that formula be on the test?” Sigh.
Then, at the end of the semester, a student shows up with a newspaper and a bulging plastic bag. She waves the paper enthusiastically and says, “There’s a sale on compact fluorescent light bulbs—I just bought two packs!” Another student asks for directions to the store and explains that she convinced her mother to buy a front-loading washing machine. As the students chatter about their ideas for reducing their carbon footprints and for passing on information to their families, I realize that they have been listening to me. But, more importantly, their new knowledge has motivated many of them to take action to reduce their carbon-dioxide emissions and even persuade others to do so too. I feel rejuvenated as I conclude that no matter what some experts say, one professor in a classroom really can make a difference.
Melanie Szulczewski is an assistant p
rofessor of earth and environmental sciences at the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, Virginia.
Passing It On
Gillian Zaharias Miller
Summer 1984, Iowa. My sister and I are stepping carefully through tall, marshy reeds along the shore of Little Spirit Lake. Leopard frogs are tricky to catch, much faster than docile toads. Our mother points out the local creatures in a field guide. I am eight years old, blissfully innocent of the connection between my amphibian friends’ survival and the planetary warming caused by my own species’ dependence on fossil fuels.
Earth Day 1990, Iowa. I am fourteen, proudly wearing a T-shirt admonishing “Cool It!” across a picture of the earth. I am an earnest member of the World Wildlife Fund, which graciously accepts my periodic gifts of five dollars.
July 2006, California. I am admiring a snow bank dripping rhythmically into the glassiest of lakes. My vantage point is a tiny inflatable boat that my husband has packed in for our trek into the Sierra Nevada. We set up camp by Heather Lake, cradled by granite peaks and wind-contorted pines. It occurs to me that this very snow is a vital water source for people all over the state. It feeds lakes, streams, and reservoirs. Yet the Sierra snow pack is already diminishing because of climate change. In a few generations, I wonder, will these mountains be dry?
August 2007, Iowa. I am five months pregnant and need to make a grocery run. After several years in the hectic San Francisco area, we have returned to our home state, close to family. I think back to the life we fashioned in California, where I biked to work, took the train to Sierra Club meetings, and walked to the farmers’ market. At present, it is 95 degrees and oppressively humid. The thought of a thirty-minute walk to the store is too miserable to contemplate, so I get into the car. My low-impact habits will need some adjusting.
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