Animals: June 2010 Archives

How much do you know about animals in the Bible? Take Beliefnet's quiz to find out! I had a lot of fun working up this little test. And gosh, there are so many more biblical animals that we could talk about...

Meanwhile, I rescued a big painted turtle yesterday from the humiliation of canine objectification as the setter batted and danced around it. I carried the turtle down to the pond thinking surely it would take its time emerging from the security of its shell. But no! Once she caught sight of water, that turtle was off, no worse for wear...

Biologists in FL are working to preserve native species threatened by the catastrophic Gulf oil spill, and they've dubbed it "Operation Noah's Ark." Echoing that story in the biblical book of Genesis, Jack and Anne Rudlow are collecting what critters they can house in their Gulf Specimen Marine Lab to preserve and then release when the danger is past. The whole matter is so heartbreaking.

So many good people who have worked so hard over so many years to conserve, preserve, do the right thing. And then this. In a virtual instant, irresponsibility wrecks havoc on a colossal level. So many innocent creatures- -- dolphins, fish, birds, and turtles -- suffering torturous deaths because of our insatiable thirst for profit and cheap energy.

And I think of the little girl I met in Richmond some weeks ago. A beautiful child with long blond hair that fell in loose curls to her waist. In all her eight years, she had never cut it. Yet she determined that the next day she'd join whoever else showed up (at the Children's Museum, I think it was), to cut it all off -- "to help with the oil." The program is called "Matter of Trust." Her mother, wistfully running her hands through the girl's hair, explained that they'd been told that human hair has a unique capacity to sop up oil. In my mind, "obscene" was the word that pierced the sorrow. Compare her sacrifice, her concern and commitment to BP's profit, politicians' popularity, and our obstinate demand for oil.

Sorry for the downer, but there it is. Meanwhile, the sun shines its summertime heat on the green Virginia hills, storm clouds thunder through at night, and Beaver Beverly's guy Vernon has ambled up from the pond where she's busy working to have himself an afternoon snack of the maple shoots sprouting in the shade. He's within the dogs' scope and territory... if they'd just raise their big sleepy heads to look. They're all safe for now.  

Living as a nomad, it was bound to happen: I left my computer behind. Bouncing between cities (two) and offices (four) as I've done the past semester, I rely on THE LIST -- things to do before leaving the house (empty the kitchen compost, e.g.) and things to bring (er, that'd be the computer, e.g.). The list works great... if I actually use it. Last week, I didn't. The irony is, I'm finally settling in again, finally staying put  -- one city, one office, for the most part, anyway. Maybe that was it. I let my guard down, got cocky.

"Remember." The Bible is full of commands to remember. It is itself a testimony of remembrance, a witness to the power of memory, and its commands humanize with their instructions. Of hospitality and kindness, "Remember that you also were foreigners, strangers in a strange land." Of faith and community, "Do this in remembrance of me." To recognize the sacred and sanctify the ordinary, "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy."

Being without my computer, the days were different, slower. I wrote by hand, read huge chunks of books for ideas and a big-picture sensibility (rather than recording with detailed notes). Thanks to Audubon, I identified a pair of green herons and watched as Beverly, a large almost black beaver, munched the mini maples around the periphery of the pond out back. I cleared bamboo and braised local lamb shanks. I spent time with the ones I love -- two- and four-leggeds alike. 

Then it was Memorial Day. Dinner with new friends and the invitation to share gratitude. Thanks for this place, these people, the food. But thanks, too, for the ones who have gone before. Honor to their memory -- those who have sacrificed in our armed services, yes, but also to those ordinary and extraordinary individuals whose lives, vision, and selves helped shape the ideas, conditions and company I enjoy today. My great aunt Lucille, Thomas Jefferson, those who fought to ban DDT, Louis Pasteur, my boyfriend's father.

Truth is, I have a terrible memory. I want to remember that as I age so that I don't worry unnecessarily about my forgetting. But, well, you see the problem there. Maybe, though, forgetting can lead, as in the case of my computer, to different kinds of remembering. Deeper remembrances -- of our tiny-ness, of our dependence on and debts to others, of what is holy. Now where did I put those keys?