Turning Despair Into Hope:
Why Earth Day Should Be About Random Joy and Volunteering
By John F. Wasik
I was standing in my driveway about 30 years ago looking at the majestic cottonwood tree in my front yard. It was so big and old, you could walk inside a vestibule that lightning cleaved out of it some time ago.
Then a red-headed bird with a wingspan of a glider alighted in front of me. I was stunned. I had never seen a sandhill crane before. A beguiling voice in my mind suggested you have a celestial visitor. At the time, sandhill cranes were rare and endangered. They had been nearly hunted to extinction; their resplendent plumage was harvested for ladies’ hats. Yet here was one of these magnificent creatures right in front of me. What was the message?
That was my road to Damascus. From that point on, I worked to refine my knowledge and active sense of preserving and restoring nature. I began to see my role in terms of Metropolitan Ecology. That’s my worldview on individuals being at the center of climate action whether we live in cities, suburbs or rural areas.
So I learned everything I could about cranes, even visiting the International Crane Foundation on the site of Aldo Leopold’s farm in Southern Wisconsin. Then I became involved in crane counting nearly every spring as a citizen scientist/volunteer.
I would stand out in the middle of wetlands looking for the birds before dawn in the wet and cold of what passes for a Midwestern spring. Years went by. Not a single, crane overhead. Then, roughly a decade ago, they started to come roaring back, their trumpeting filling the skies like a symphonic brass section.
What happened? Habitat all over the country was being restored. The birds were being protected. Ecologists teamed up with engineers to convince public officials that “green infrastructure” was a great way to restore wetlands, which can absorb storm water, fertilizers and lots of carbon. One acre of wetlands surprisingly can soak up more than a million gallons of storm water. These natural carbon sinks are also good for birds and hundreds of other species.
Better yet, the even-rarer whooping crane population is slowly rebounding in the Midwest. The Crane Foundation estimates there are 72 of these birds, most of them hatched in the wild. Some 50 of them are in Wisconsin with at least two of these hardy souls seen in Illinois.
I became emboldened and educated, but it was a gradual process that took decades. As an environmental volunteer, I expanded and refined my skills in restoration ecology by learning how to burn prairies to rid them of invasive plants (that don’t store much carbon) and eradicated European ornamental pests like buckthorn, which crowds out native species. I also yanked or cut other invasives such as sweet white clover and ragweed, which can take over open spaces like fly dumpers.
The most gratifying aspect of all of this is seeing the progress every spring and summer when newer native plants establish themselves. I am now planting oak acorns, which will replenish the natural oak savanna ecosystem that once thrived in Northern Illinois. Oaks support hundreds of species of birds and insects and can live up to 300 years. That’s a lot of carbon and water absorbed. Talk about carbon sequestration: These trees are real champs.
As a Forest Preserve commissioner over the past five years or so, I am constantly learning and advocating to plant more trees and restore more wetlands, streams, prairies and forests. I am still a volunteer; one of thousands who are trying to restore and replenish our planet.
Like millions, though, I am an anxious activist now. There is a whole list of things that need to be done from decarbonizing agriculture to reaping clean electrons from the grid. All major changes, though, start with one person working in community. Metropolitan Ecology is catching on because entire generations are getting engaged with their neighbors, children and grandchildren. We are torching despair with our actions.
For me, one bird was a sentinel. I am still trying to process and act upon that message. Yet the birds (sandhill cranes in particular) are more than winged messengers. They are harbingers of hope — and now fill the skies.
This essay was not produced by AI. I am a sentient writer, journalist, author, environmentalist, speaker, musician and elected public official who’s written 19 books and contributed to The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Forbes, Bloomberg and Reuters. All experiences, opinions, insights, joys and grief are my own. To contact me about speaking and writing: johnwasik@gmail.com
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