We’re losing the wondrous forms of nature
A couple of years ago, about this time of year, I wrote a column titled “Of daffodils and sunny Sundays.” It was an ode to spring, and my dear mother’s green thumb.
When I wrote the piece, I had been inspired by the march of the daffodils out my front stoop.
Last week, one early morning on my way out the door to teach my English 102 class, I glanced over at the same flowerbed. The daffodils weren’t marching anymore. They lay scattered and sprawled like the poor French at Waterloo.
This year, already, has been if not a testament to climate change, at least a testament to climate strange. First, we had April in February. Then we had February in March. The daffodils, the crocuses, scores of other plants, were massacred in the process.
Last week, The New York Times carried this cheery headline: “Cold snap kills half the cherry blossoms in Washington.”
It’s not that the warmer than usual February or that the deep freeze in mid-March are that unusual, it’s that taken with greater data, and the research of the supermajority of climate scientists, the earth and its seawaters are getting warmer, and the weather is getting more unpredictable, and humankind is partly responsible for it.
It’s hardly surprising that President Donald Trump has placed climate change skeptic Scott Pruitt in charge of the Environmental Protection Agency. Or that his “budget blueprint” includes a hatchet job on the EPA, not to mention an elimination in funding for climate change research.