Riding a Bike, Train, or Bus: Can it Be Cool?

The other day, while I was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes, I heard an interview on Marketplace with Stephen Dubner.  His conversation with Kai Ryssdal focused on "conspicuous convservation," in which people particiate in eco-friendly activities in order to show off how much they care about the environment. 

One thing Dubner said in particular caught my attention:

The Prius is the king of the hybrids. Now it's not necessarily because it's better than other hybrids; according to the Sextons, it's because the Prius has this unique shape which screams "hybrid," which screams "I love the earth more than you love the earth." Now, if you live in a community that cares a lot about the environment -- somewhere like Boulder, Colo. -- that's worth something.

Well, I started wondering about that.  In a place like Boulder, hybrids have a special "coolness" factor, and so a car that "screams" that it's a hybrid is going to do better than a car that is just as good - and just as eco-friendly - but looks more like any other car.

In other words, the Prius sells better because it has a coolness factor that other hybrids don't have.

The Marketplace conversation seemed to paint this negatively, emphasizing that some people make earth-friendly decisions only because it's cool; or, in the business language of Marketplace, because it's "worth something."

My wandering mind then started wondering about how that applies to my own mode of transportation.  When Stephen Dubner asked Kai Ryssdal what kind of car he drove, I thought of the kind of car I drove.  And actually, the "car" I drive most often is my bike. 

Here in Long Beach, bikes are starting to acquire some measure of "coolness" among the general population.  At a community meeting I attended recently, Long Beach City Manager Pat West talked about the city's master plan for bikes, a plan which is helping to make Long Beach "the most bike-friendly city in America."  West made frequent references to the fact that bicycling in Long Beach is for everyone, not just "guys in tight black shorts." 

Make of that what you will.  It does seem to me, however, that perhaps cycling is on its way to reaching a critical level of "coolness" in Long Beach, and when it does, everyone will ride a bike at least some of the time, not because they care about the environment or their health or the cost of gas, but simply because they want to be seen as "cool."

That, in my opinion, won't be such a bad thing.

Earlier this year a local NPR station - on its facebook page - invited folks to offer suggestions that would make public transportation in LA County better.  I left my own comment, suggesting that Metro work to make riding its buses and trains more fun.  Perhaps what I meant to say was "more cool."  At Disneyland, people ride the monorail not just to get from one place to another, but simply because it's fun and cool.  Why is a round trip on the Disneyland monorail cool, while a trip to downtown L.A. on the Blue Line isn't?  Seems to me that a ride on the Blue Line could be made to be fun, with not a whole lot of effort, and the costs of making the trains cool and fun to ride would be offset by the increase in riders.

Maybe someday riding public transportation will be cool enough that it will be "worth something" to people to be seen riding public transportation.  They'll ride buses and trains and ride their bikes simply because doing so screams "I love the earth more than you love the earth." And those who are stuck in freeway traffic will wish they were riding a bus or train, instead of the other way around.

Where many of my trips begin.

Quality of Life

Over the years, when faced with a decision about how I want to live or how I want to raise my family, I have learned to ask myself a question.  The question I ask myself gives me clarity and helps me choose which option is the best. 

The question is:  "Will this choice add to my/our quality of life?"

This was a question I asked when my family first moved to the Long Beach area three years ago.  When we began looking for a place to live, it was important to me that it be within walking distance of where I worked.

In southern California, the conventional wisdom is that you work where the work is, and you live where you can get the best deal on a home.  (The "best deal" is defined as the most property, square-footage, and amenities that your money can buy.)  If you have to commute an hour a day between work and home, so be it.  That's the price one pays.

Well, it's not a price I was willing to pay.  It didn't seem worth it to me to have the nicest home and the best job possible if that meant spending an hour a day (245 hours per year) in traffic.  A commute like that costs $1,500 in gas per year at four dollars per gallon, which is the current cost for gas here and, coincidentally, the cost when I moved here three years ago.  That cost does not include the cost of insurance and maintenance, both of which would be substantially higher given the extra driving miles, not to mention the aggravation of dealing with traffic every day.  It also does not include the cost that we all pay by having more auto exhaust and pollution in our skies and in our lungs

For me, quality of life is also improved when I work and live in the same community.  It makes it easier to get to know one's neighbors.  Also, with two kids in school, it's so nice to be just a few blocks away from them during the day.  I can't imagine how much more complicated it would be to, say, pick up a sick kid from school or arrange for a parent/teacher conference if I wasn't so close.

We are a one-car family.  There are days when having a second car would be helpful, especially now that my wife is enrolled in a master's degree program at a school that is not walking distance, taking evening classes.  However, the cost of the car, not to mention the extra insurance, registratin, maintenance, and four dollar gas, isn't worth it to me.  It is also not worth it to me that our country sends servicemen and servicewomen into harm's way just so I can have a steady supply of cheap gasoline.  The obscene amount of resources our nation spends on the military comes at the expense of other programs and services.  Our military is increasingly being used to protect our economy but not necessarily our security.  This also does not add to my quality of life.

With only one car, we find ourselves walking and riding our bikes more.  Although my kids complain when I pick them up from school without a car, our walks home provide the best conversation of our day.  Often they are our only real conversations of the day.  How much quality of life would I be sacrificing if I drove them home, only to see them disappear into their video games (after finishing their homework, of course)?

Speaking of video games:  I guess no one is perfect.  A little over a year ago, against my better judgment, we got a Wii.  With proper limits, video games are fine, but have you ever tried setting limits for a thirteen year-old?  An endless refrain of "That's not fair!" reverberates off the walls and out into the streets.  And yet, when this same thirteen year-old plays outside, sits on the floor with his Legos, or reads a good book, he is just as happy - and often happier - then he is playing video games that are almost always designed in such a way that winning is nearly impossible.  This only adds to a teenager's sense of frustration and low self-esteem.

What big decisions are you facing right now?  A major purchase, a decision about where to live/work, or a choice about how to use your time?  Are you able to toss conventional wisdom aside, and see which choice will bring lasting happiness?  Can you determine which choice will add to - rather than subtract from - your quality of life?

Bicycle-friendly Communities

The City of Los Angeles has just approved a new master bike plan, to make the city known for it's traffic congestion more bike-friendly.  Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa says that the plan features thousands of miles of new bike lanes and a new emphasis on bike safety.

Meanwhile, here in Long Beach, the self-proclaimed "most bicycle-friendly city in the nation," I got a call from my councilmember last month asking me if my church would like a bike rack installed in front on the sidewalk.  I had planned on looking into this, and was surprised that someone called me before I could call them!  I even got to choose the design of the bike rack.  There were three pages of designs to choose from; I choose one that looks like a fish.

I bike to church every day (except Sunday, when I walk there and ride home in the car with the family after worship).  In the evenings, folks coming to church for scouts or karate lessons (kids, mostly) often ride their bikes, and line them up in the hallway.  It makes sense to have a bike rack installed in front of the church, especially if the city is paying for it.  Since most people enter the church from the back (where the parking lot is), it would make sense for us to get a bike rack there as well, although the church would probably need to pay for that one.

Yesterday I rode my bike to visit a member who had been in the hospital, and is now in a nursing home/rehabilitation center that, according to their website, is the "closest skilled nursing facility to the ocean in Long Beach."  Being close to the ocean means that it isn't exactly close to church; round trip ended up being about fifteen miles, although I didn't exactly take the short way home.

The weather forecast included a 10-20% chance of rain.  I left home at 7:00 and headed to Portfolio's Coffee Shop, which I had never been to before.  I often spend Wednesday mornings at a coffee shop near the church, drinking green tea and reading and/or sermon-writing, but decided to try a new place since it was near the nursing facility. 

There are no bike routes that would take me directly to where I wanted to go.  I guess Long Beach still has a ways to go to be bike-friendly.  However, Walnut Avenue is wide and has less traffic than other streets, so I used that for most of the 4.5 miles to the coffee shop.  The sky was mostly clear and the air was not as cold as it had been the previous few mornings, so it was a nice ride.  And drivers were, for the most part, curteous.

When I left Portfolio's, the sky was overcast, but the clouds did not appear too dark.  It was only a few blocks to the nursing facility, although on my way I did pass a gas station and noticed that the price of gas was now almost four dollars per gallon. 

I had a nice visit with a member who was recovering from a broken hip.  After visiting with her, I grabbed a bite to eat at a nearby Taco Bell, then bought some loose-leaf green tea for home from a store a block away. 

Going home, I had two options.  I could go back the way I came, which was more direct but included many stop signs and a climb up and over Signal Hill; or, I could go to the beach, and take the bike route that went along the beach and up the L.A. River, a route almost twice as long, but which had almost no stop signs and, well, was along the beach. 

I chose the beach route.  I rode past the grandstands that are being erected for next month's Grand Prix race, and pedaled my way past the Aquarium of the Pacific.  As I did, I felt two drops of rain, but that was it.  Then I followed the bike path up the L.A. River and back home.

How long was I on my bike?  Maybe 90 minutes total.  If I had driven, I probably would have been in the car 40 minutes total, a good 15 of those minutes just looking for a place to park, given that I made four stops.  But bike riding is healthy.  It's cheap.  It's good for the environment.  It takes you places cars can't go (like along the beach).  And it's fun.

I hope Long Beach and Los Angeles continue to become more bicycle-friendly.  There is still work to be done.  Some motorists have no patience for cyclists, and many cyclists either don't know or ignore laws and safe cycling practices.  Actually, despite what some cycling advocates say, I find that most motorists are actually quite curteous in regards to cyclists (although there is still that minority who are more hostile).  Given how often some cyclists ride on the wrong side of the street or dart back and forth between sidewalks and roadways, I certainly can't complain about the treatment I get from motorists. 

With more bicycles there will be less traffic congestion, less pollution, less reliance on fossil fuels, and healthier communities.  What's not to like?

Mine! Mine! Mine!

Over the weekend, the weather was phenomenal, and I rode my bike along the L.A. River bike path to the Dominguez Gap Wetlands.  I was hoping to see some wildlife, but this was ridiculous -- and a little scary.

Beach Cleanup

Litter from all over L.A. County washes down gutters, into storm drains, down the L.A. River, and ends up on the beaches of Long Beach.  On Saturday, Tristan and I donned plastic gloves and joined over 100 other people to pick up trash (and admire the ladybugs) near the Belmont Pier. 

Wasting the Gift

It's a pet peeve of mine when natural resources are wasted. I don't mind so much when they are used wisely, but far too often they are just wasted.

Yesterday morning, I was walking my kids to school, when we passed a house where the sprinklers were on, watering a lawn that had just received a large amount of rain the evening before: well over half an inch, more than enough to quench any lawn's thirst. Under cloudy skies that signaled the possibility of more showers yet to come, my kids and I just stared at the water, running across the already saturated lawn and flowing into the street, and contemplated the absurdity of it.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so absurd if we had water to spare, but we don't. If you look back at the photos I post on this blog (and keep in mind that I frequently choose photos that were taken near water or in the rainy season) you will quickly realize that this is a dry climate. Much of the water we use in our homes and on our lawns is imported from hundreds of miles away, from places like the Owens Valley (there used to be a lake there), Lake Mead (where the water level is at an all-time low) and the California Delta (which is one earthquake away from falling apart).

I will try not to judge the residents of that house too harshly. As a friend of mine said to me, it's likely that their gardener sets the sprinkler timer, and they don't even know how to operate it. Although we've had some days with drizzle and sprinkles, this is the first significant rain we've received here in Long Beach this year, so they certainly deserve some grace. The rainy season is just beginning.

A number of the houses we walk by in our community have gotten rid of their lawns, and replaced them with gardens of native plants, something I've mentioned here before. Over the past several months, my sons and I have noticed several houses that have covered their lawns with black plastic in an effort to kill the grass and weeds, which is often the first step to planting a native garden. What a wise way to preserve that precious resource, water! And it comes with the visual beauty of poppies and other native flowers, as well as the aroma of sage, one of the most wonderful scents on the planet.

One of those houses removed their black plastic this week, and we anxiously awaited to see what would happen next. Today we noticed that they had planted ... grass. My son's reaction: "Well, that sucks!" (This is the same son who, when he was just a toddler riding in a shopping cart at WalMart, asked in a loud voice: "Daddy, is this the 'yucky W' store?" I've got him trained well!)

Water is a precious gift from God, especially here in southern California. To waste it is an act of ingratitude toward God. Wasting water, letting it run into the street and down the storm drain, is like receiving a gift of precious pearls, then walking down the street, tossing the pearls into the gutter one by one. I can't imagine what the giver of that gift thinks about how the gift is wasted.

Photo of Lake Mead taken from Pacific Swell, the environmental blog of southern California Public Radio.

Blog Action Day: Water

Today is Blog Action Day, a day when thousands of bloggers blog about one single topic.  This year's topic is water.

Thirteen inches.  That's how much precipitation falls here in Long Beach.  Most of it comes during the months of November-March.  Very little rain falls the rest of the year.  Case in point:  this past May 18, 0.05 inches of rain fell; it was a record amount of precipitation for that date.  And it hasn't rained much since.

So whether or not folks around here pay attention to water, they should. While some water comes from underground aquifers, a large percentage of it comes from the Sierra Nevada, the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta, or the Colorado River, all of which are hundreds of miles away.

We are fortunate in that our society has the resources to bring water to us.  Many people around the world are not so lucky.  I've mentioned on this blog before that several million children die each year because they do not have access to clean drinking water.  That's one child every fifteen seconds.  Probably two or three have died just in the time it's taken you to read to this point on my blog.

One dollar will provide drinking water to one child for one year.  One dollar can save a life.  (My church's Global Ministries digs wells and welcomes donations, if you are interested. Also, you are invited to sign a petition for clean water by clicking the button to the right.)

In this dry land that I live in, many residents are converting their front lawns into gardens of drought-tolerant native plants.  Personally, I think these gardens are beautiful.  I'm tempted to take pictures of them, but it feels weird to stand in front of a stranger's home and snap photos.  So I've included pictures I've taken elsewhere in southern California, showcasing some of the beautiful native plants we have; plants that require very little water.

It seems to me to be only a matter of time before lush green lawns become obsolete in southern California.  Already, most communities limit watering to two or three days per week. (If you have a lawn in southern California, you have to water it.)  Using that much water will eventually become unsustainable for the 20 million-plus people who live in southern California.

And why should we spend so much money on massive water projects to satiate our thirsty front lawns when people are dying for lack of a cup of water?

How cool it would be if we all planted native gardens.  Then, when the savings show up on our water bills, we can easily send a dollar to an organization that provides water for children in developing countries.

El Dorado Nature Center

After living in the Long Beach area for over two years, I finally made it to El Dorado Nature Center last week. Because I take frequent hikes in the San Gabriel and Santa Monica Mountains, and am used to wilderness areas, I wasn't expecting much in the way of wilderness at El Dorado. After all, it's located here in a city of half a million people, next to the freeway, surrounded on all sides by urban development.

So I was surprised to find several miles of nature trails through a natural area that is almost wild.  It's not perfect; one can never completely avoid the sounds of the 605 freeway; and what were all those colored pipes I saw sticking up throughout the preserve: sprinklers? 

However, the traffic noise is muted, and never loud enough to interfere with hearing the songs of the many birds in the park. 

There are several options for hikers:  a one-mile trail, a two-mile trail, and a 1/4 mile trail.  The 1/4 mile trail is paved with a handrail, making it accessible to people with various disabilities.  On the day I was there, the morning sky was overcast, which kept the temperature nice and cool.  The turtles were not out yet as I crossed the bridge that led from the visitor center to the trails. 

Despite my initial reservations and the distant sounds of the freeway, a walk through the nature center succeeded in taking me out of the city.  Unlike the constant roar that I would experience at Disneyland the following day, a stroll here truly is calm and peaceful.  As I continue to read through the biography of John Muir, I understand his belief that all people have a instinctive draw to nature, which is good for one's soul. And after spending 3 hours driving round trip to Altadena yesterday for a meeting, stuck in terrible traffic both ways, I realize just how dehumanizing modern life can be.  In nature, I find that humanity is restored.   After a couple of hours walking (and sitting) in nature, I feel rejuvenated -- which, I must say, was not how I felt after a fun but exhausting day at Disneyland. 

Before I left, I found a bench near one of the ponds, where I sat and watched what was going on.  Hidden in a shrub in front of me, a heron moved in slow motion next to the water, then stood perfectly still.  A couple of dragonflies hovered around, including one that was the color of fire.  Small groups of people walked back and forth on the trail.  A few of them noticed the dragonflies, but none of them noticed the heron.  Apparently, at least one of the dragonflies (not the fire-red one) didn't notice the heron either.  In an instant, that dragonfly became the heron's lunch.

When it was time to leave, I crossed the bridge back to civilization, and noticed that the turtles were now visible, sunbathing in the emerging sunlight.  As soon as I left the nature center and passed into the parking lot (where I could see the traffic lights at Spring Avenue), I felt a longing to turn around and retreat back into nature.

Walk in the Mountains

Another picture from church camp.  I'll probably return to posting essays next week.

Of all my pictures from church camp, I think I chose to post this one because I've been reading a biography of John Muir (which my friend David recommended to me).  It's interesting to read about how Muir connected nature to God, about his Disciples roots, and how his theology evolved over time.  Perhaps I'll write a review (or at least a summary) when I finish reading the book.

Upper Twin Lake

A special Saturday post....

With lots of pictures from last week's backpacking trip, I have quite a few to share here. I took this particular photo early in the morning, while everyone else was still asleep in their tents. The lake is perfectly smooth in the morning, and the light is amazing. I took this photo and several others while sitting on a ridge beneath an old juniper tree (below). Then I put the camera away, pulled out a pencil and paper, and began writing down some ideas for a sermon.

Changing the Way We Live

This week, an NPR story reported that a growing number of people are "cutting the cord," choosing to have no landline telephone and no cable TV service.  Also, a small but growing number of mostly young people have never had a landline telephone; perfectly content with the cell phone service they had as teenagers, they see no reason to change.  Today, 25% of households have no landline telephone service.

The story caught my attention because not too long ago, I convinced my wife that we should get rid of our landline.  We hardly ever made calls from it, and when it rang, we hardly ever answered it, because more often than not the incoming calls were sales calls.

(Incidentally, I was not able to convince her that we didn't need cable; we now have the most basic level of cable, which doesn't include much more than we were getting with our rabbit ears and digital converter.)

Nevertheless, the NPR story made me think of other ways people are bucking conventional wisdom and redefining the way we live.

The most noticeable, to me at least, is the growing number of people, even here in L.A. County, who are choosing to live without a car;  people who have decided that the cost and hassle of car ownership just isn't worth it.  These are people who believe life is enriched by not having to deal with issues of ownership, registration, maintenance, parking, fuel costs, and traffic.  They also find it more meaningful and satisfying to know they are helping reduce pollution and our addiction to fossil fuels.

This addiction to fossil fuels has always been costly, much more costly than the posted price at the local gas station.  Most of those costs have been hidden from public view, but in recent weeks, some of them have come into the spotlight.  Catastrophic oil spills and deadly mining tragedies have allowed many to see just how high the costs are.  Some are even beginning to make the connection between their own energy consumption and these terrible events.

Once that connection is made, then one realizes that those who use energy, and especially those who insist that they have an abundant supply of cheap energy, are just as responsible for those deadly tragedies as are the mining and petroleum companies.

Energy companies are, generally speaking, the biggest corporations on earth.  They spend ungodly sums of money convincing the world that cheap energy is our right and that our current lifestyle demands that we have cheap energy.  They work hard to hide the real costs of our energy addiction - global warming, pollution, and deadly accidents and spills - and when those costs come into public awareness, they insist that they are minor anamolies that are insignificant compared to the benefits.

That's the conventional wisdom that we've been taught to believe, and it has led to a way of living that is not good for us, and certainly not good for the earth.  But a new way of living is possible. 

The time is right for a re-imagining of the way we live.  The time is right for a re-imagining of our communities and our society.  We can change the way we live, so that we can be friendlier to our planet, our communities, and ourselves.  Going car-free may not be the answer for everyone, but we can find ways to reduce our addiction to fossil fuels.  As a small but growing number of people are discovering, it is far more meaningful and satisfying than we had imagined.

Saved from Bitterness and Anger

Sometimes, I wonder how it is possible to keep a positive outlook on things, or even to keep sane in this crazy world. I realize that I can't speak for other pastors, or even other humans. I can only speak for myself. Yet, as I consider the state of the world, I wonder how we've let it get to this point.

The U.S. has 5,113 nuclear warheads. Just 5,113? That's a lot fewer than we used to have. And yet, each one is capable of death on a massive scale. It's 5,113 too many.

We suffer from an addiction to fossil fuels. The lives of coal miners in West Virginia, an ecological catastrophe (and more lost lives) in the Gulf of Mexico, and explosions at refineries are the cost of our addiction, not to mention smog-choked valleys and stressful, traffic-clogged freeways.

Two blocks from my home, people without homes sleep in the bushes next to a freeway onramp, where people drive by in their air-conditioned luxury cars and SUVs, talking on their bluetooths.

Shall I go on? As a follower of Jesus, and as a person called to help others follow Jesus, it is a challenge to not become discouraged and lose hope in this world. And yet, I know people who have lost hope. Their bitterness and sadness, present in sermons and status updates, only adds to the despair.

There is also, of course, personal stress: lying awake at night, praying that my son's blood sugars are normal, and that we can afford the next round of medicine co-pays; lamenting the strengthening grip of electronic media on my family; struggling to uphold the commitments I've made despite challenges of time and money; wondering what more I can do for the church I pastor, and worrying about whether or not it will be able to afford a full-time pastor next year.

One after another, the thoughts fill my mind. Worries and anxieties abound. Save me, O God, from bitterness and anger. Save me from hopelessness. Show me some comfort, something to sing and laugh about.

And then...

Then I walk past a garden filled with beauty -- just for me, it seems -- and my heart leaps in joy and gratitude for the wonderful display that delights my senses, a gift from God and gardeners...

Then I see two friends greet one another with a hug, and I think back to my own friends and loved ones, and remember that companions make the journey possible, bearable, worthwhile, and even enjoyable...

Then I hear a melody sung by a bird, a choir, or a child getting ready for school, filling my ears with a sound of delight that lasts all day long.

I know that the ancient prophets lamented the state of their world, which seemed to them so at odds with God's intentions. This discrepancy gnawed at them until they found life almost unbearable.

I wonder if they were able to see the beauty and the joy that existed side-by-side with the injustice that tormented them. I think they must have. How else could they have written their critiques of society in such beautiful poetry?

It is a spiritual practice, to take care to notice the many blessings and sights of beauty in our world, a practice that is essential for me and for anyone who works to bring wholeness to a fragmented world. The gardens, the hugs, the songs ... these are the things that keep us sane. These are the things that keep us joyful.

These passings resurrect
A joy without defect,
The life that steps and sings in ways of death.
--Wendell Berry

Coastal Wildlife

A picture I took two years ago at Sycamore Beach/Point Mugu State Park.  I post it today in recognition of the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.  Having never been there, I don't know if they have seagulls like this along the Gulf Coast, but my heart goes out to all the wildlife affected, not to mention the human lives and livelihoods.

Nature Walk

Earth Day is Thursday; be sure to take time to notice this beautiful world in which we live!

Photo taken April 10, 2010. La Jolla Valley, Pt. Mugu State Park.

Getting Intimate With Nature

A year or two ago, sitting on the beach, watching the children play in the waves, I picked up a couple of small rocks and tried to stack them on top of each other.  I didn't think much of it.  It was just something to do with my hands while watching the kids and the surf.

I looked at the rocks I had stacked - three rocks, each about one or two inches round - and wondered if I could stack more rocks on top of them, or if I could do it with bigger rocks.  I began experimenting with larger rocks and higher towers.  Eventually I ended up with a tower of some eighteen rocks which stood over four feet tall.  Looking at my tower, I had to laugh.  It looked so absurd!

However, other people I was with began building their own towers.  By the time we were done, we had a number of towers, which were admired by both humans and seagulls.

So I was not surprised last week when I arrived at the beach where my sister and her family were camping, and saw a rock tower.  I soon found myself once again building my own tower.  That night we camped on the beach, and the next day, several more towers were built.  Some towers were built for height.  Some were built for creativity.  And some were built, hoping that people would look at them and say, "How in the world are those rocks balancing like that?"

To me, it seemed like a fun, playful activity; no big deal, really.  But then a woman came walking down the beach at sunset, and began taking pictures of our towers.  I wondered what she saw in them.  It was just something we did for fun, really.  A part of me felt a little goofy stacking these rocks, like it was something children do, not grown adults.  I felt a little embarrassed at having other people look at something that I felt was so silly.  In fact, I feel a little embarrassed writing about it now.  The voices I hear in my mind keep saying:  "You did what?  Stacked rocks?  How ridiculous!"

I wondered what the woman taking pictures saw in our rock towers.  In her mind, were these oddities, or works of art?  Or, more importantly: were the creators of these towers oddballs, or artists?

I didn't ask her, so I don't know.  But after she left, I got out my own camera, and took a couple of pictures myself.

One thing I do know:  in stacking and balancing these rocks, I got to know these rocks in a way that I wouldn't have otherwise.  This "knowing" is similar to the way I "know" certain trees.  I began to notice the slight irregularities on the surface of the rocks, the dents and crevices that can make a rock good or not good for balancing.  Some rocks, it seemed, didn't want to balance at all, so I left them alone.  Others surprised me with their willingness to be a part of a tower, since at first glance they didn't look like they would balance at all.

I remember an activity that I learned once, to help children experience nature.  All the children are told to find a small rock, one that could easily fit in the palm of their hand, and then to come together and sit in a circle.  Next, they are told to study their rock carefully.  The leader then collects all the rocks, mixes them up, and begins passing them around the circle, one at a time.  The children are told that when they recognize "their" rock, they are to hold on to it.  When each child has his or her rock, the children are then told that they will play this game again, except that this time, they will play it with their eyes closed.  This time, they must recognize their rock by touch.

I remember being excited about such a simple activity that helps children (and adults) get to know their world on such an intimate level.... This week, I agreed to spend another week counseling children at camp, which I will do in July.  I have some ideas about helping the kids get to know the trees and rocks at camp ... and one day, there might even be some rock towers lining the stream.

Time Among Trees

Hiking through the forests of Santa Anita Canyon, I passed through groves of different types of trees.  Most of the trees that grew in the moist soil of the shady canyon I didn't know well:  oaks, willows, dogwoods (I think those are dogwoods in the photo), and something that my friend David called a bay leaf tree.  I wondered if it had other names.  I'd heard of bay laurel trees.  Was that a different name for the same tree, or a different species or variety?  I didn't know.

Four miles into the hike, we came to Spruce Grove campground, and as I looked through the forest of oak trees, I saw some taller evergreens that I assumed were the namesake Spruce.  However, I do not know spruce trees very well, so I couldn't be sure.

A few days earlier, I had read a description of the trail that mentioned one area on a dry hill above the canyon, where jeffrey pines grew.  I was looking forward to seeing the jeffrey pines.  I know jeffrey pines.  I also know ponderosas, red firs, incense cedars, white firs, lodgepole pines, joshua trees, chinese elm, japanese zelkova, and fruitless mulberry.  I even remember when and where it was that I first got to know each of these trees.

I first met jeffrey pines at a campground near Green Valley Lake in the San Bernardino mountains, where my family went camping several times when I was young.  It was there that I first stuck my nose into the ridges of its bark and smelled its sweet sap.  It was there that I first noticed how the bark broke off into little jigsaw puzzle-shaped pieces.

I got to know Jeffrey pines a little better at Bethany Pines, a church camp I attended for three summers while I was in elementary school.  At Bethany Pines, I noticed how incredibly long the needles are on a Jeffrey pine -- about ten inches long -- and how they always grew in bundles of three.

I was looking forward to seeing jeffrey pines in Santa Anita Canyon because meeting a jeffrey pine is like meeting an old friend.

When I arrived on the ridge where the jeffrey pines were supposed to be, I looked for them, but all I saw were tall, dark trees with short needles.  They didn't have long needles in bundles of three.  They didn't have jagged, jigsaw puzzle bark.  They didn't have that sweet jeffrey pine smell.  In fact, they looked a lot like the spruce trees I had seen earlier.

They were very beautiful, but they weren't the trees I knew.

For a long time, I have recognized the fact that it is difficult for me to remember the names of people I meet.  However, my hike among the spruce trees made me think that it is probably more accurate to say that, as an introvert in a fast-paced world, it is hard for me to find the time to get to know people.  Once I take the time to know someone, I don't forget their name, in the same way that I can't forget the name of a tree that I've gotten to know. 

But that's the thing, isn't it?  Who among us has the time for such things?  In her book An Altar in the World, Barbara Brown Taylor writes:  "No one has time to lie on the deck watching stars, or to wonder how one's hand came to be, or to see the soul of a stranger walking by.  Small wonder we are short on reverence."  Barbara Brown Taylor then quotes the artist Georgia O'Keefe, who explained her success in painting flowers by saying, "In a way, nobody sees a flower, really, it is so small, we haven't time -- and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time."

Near the end of the hike, I sat on a rock and ate a snack that I had brought along.  Suddenly, a tree on the hillside across the stream caught my eye.  It was a young evergreen that was unlike any other in the canyon, with shaggy red bark covering its long, slender trunk that wasn't much thicker than a light pole.

"Hey, I know that tree!" I said out loud.  However, I doubted, because the location didn't match.  Seeing this tree here, I felt like a child who runs into his kindergarten teacher at the grocery store.  "What are you doing here?"

I climbed down from my rock, crossed the stream, and scrambled about ten feet up the hill on the opposite side to get a closer look.  Sure enough, it was a redwood -- the only redwood in the forest.  "It is you!" I thought to myself.

I got to know redwoods at several church camps I worked at in northern California.  They can get much taller than this particular tree, of course.  I figured that someone must have planted this tree here, probably a resident of one of the historic cabins that line this canyon.

After greeting this redwood, I finished my hike, grateful for the opportunity to see at least one arboreal old friend, and thankful for the opportunities I've had to spend some time getting to know at least some of the trees I've met in the world.

Clouds and Sun

Last weekend, I spent 24 hours at Dana Point with my family and another family that we are friends with. We camped in tents at Doheny State Beach, despite the uncertain weather forecast.  We experienced clouds, then sun, then more clouds, but (aside from a few sprinkles) it didn't start raining until we were in the car, heading home.

Highway in the Sky

I was sitting in the chair by the window, reading, when a movement outside caught my eye. I turned my head and looked out, and up. The movement came from within the large Chinese elm that grows next to the street.

I followed the large, twisting branches with my eyes. They were easy to follow. Last year, the city pruned the trees on our street, which opened them up considerably. In addition, this particular tree has shed about half its leaves, as Chinese elms often do in areas where winters are relatively mild. Half the leaves remain, as if in expectation of the warm sunny days southern California is known for, even in winter; days like today, in fact, although I must admit that last week, it was cold and rainy.

It took only a moment to find the source of the movement: a squirrel. Scampering about, it seemed to be trying to decide (like the tree) whether or not winter preparations were necessary.

Watching the squirrel, I became entranced. Where did it sleep at night? I wondered. Was its life disrupted much when the trees were cut back? Was there a whole community of squirrels living in the branches, mostly unseen by we who dwell just thirty feet below? Or perhaps an entire world of different yet interrelated species, a world that is both foreign to and at home in the city?

The squirrel ran toward the end of one of the larger branches. I held my breath as it jumped a distance of about three body lengths, landing perfectly on a cable that ran across the street. The squirrel ran along the cable, and disappeared from sight.

I've always hated the sight of cables and electric lines strung across urban and rural landscapes. They've always seemed ugly to me. Today, however, I didn't really see cables. I saw something else. I saw a system of roads and highways for squirrels and other animals.

Updates

1. Yesterday, I got a call from the Press-Telegram. They wanted me to subscribe. I explained (politely, because I know what it's like to be a telemarketer) about my ongoing problem with the newspaper (which I've chronicled here, here, here, and here). I was told that my balance would be waived if I subscribe. I replied by insisting that I don't want to subscribe. It was then suggested to me that I call customer service "one more time." How many times does it take?

2. The plastic bag is still stuck in the tree behind my house, despite this week's strong winds.

Blog Action Day: Climate Change

Every glacier in the world is smaller than it once was. All the world is growing warmer. John Muir, 1894.

The recent spotlight on climate change seems to suggest that it is a rather new phenomenon. However, climate change has been occurring throughout earth's history, as cold spells gradually give way to periods of warmer temperatures, and vice versa.

Yet the climate change that the planet is experiencing now is anything but gradual. Before John Muir's time, few believed that the earth's climate was changing, or that glaciers were responsible for the massive rock formations in Yosemite and elsewhere. That's because the changes that were taking place were too subtle to witness in one's lifetime.

Now, for the first time in earth's history, the changes are occurring so rapidly that they can easily be observed within the span of a generation. Alaskan villages are having to be relocated because rising sea levels and thawing ground are making it too dangerous to remain. The polar ice caps are melting at rates that can easily be measured from one season to the next. Patterns of precipitation are changing all over the globe.

It is clear that humanity is at least partially responsible for the accelerated change. There are, of course, those who still insist that this is not true. There are also those who told Muir that glaciers had nothing to do with Yosemite, and there are those who insist that Iraq really did have nuclear weapons in 2002. And the moon landing took place on a Hollywood sound stage. Whatever. Some people just have trouble adjusting to a new world.

And it is a new world in which we live in. A world in which we must care about more than just ourselves, and more than just our own little corner of the world. It's a new world, but it's not exactly a new idea.

The prophet Ezekiel spoke against those who would pollute the earth, making it harder for others to live.

Is it not enough for you to feed on the good pasture, but you must tread down with your feet the rest of your pasture? When you drink of clear water, must you foul the rest with your feet? And must my sheep eat what you have trodden with your feet, and drink what you have fouled with your feet? Ezekiel 34:17-19.

Is it such a big deal that I use an excess of electricity if I can afford it? Is it such a big deal that I overwater my lush lawn here in arid southern California?

I can afford the water, but what about my neighbor who can't? As water becomes more scarce and the price goes higher, it becomes more difficult for him. My excessive use contributes to the shortage, making it more difficult for him.

If the wind blows the exhaust from my car away, is that OK? 25% of southern California's pollution comes across the ocean from China. China. So where does the pollution California produces end up? Denver? D.C.? Denmark?

Therefore the land mourns, and all who live in it languish; together with the wild animals and the birds of the air, even the fish of the sea are perishing. Hosea 3:4

Among the wild animals who are perishing are the polar bears. I mention this because a few weeks ago, my eight year-old son and I were watching a documentary on TV about some paleontologists searching for dinosaur bones in Alaska. At the end of the show, my son said to me, "When I grow up and the polar bears are extinct, I want to be a scientist so I can study polar bear fossils."

He loves polar bears. Hopefully there will be more than just bones for him to study when he grows up.

Photo by Norwegian photographer Arne Nævra.
This post is part of Blog Action Day. 7,000 9,000 13,000 blogs, all discussing a single topic. find out more at blogactionday.org.