One thing I’ve always loved about Minnesota is the fresh, clean air here. But lately, there’s been a problem: Canadian wildfires. As they devour the wilderness of Ontario, the smoke from their devastation drifts south with the wind, blanketing the upper Midwest in a choking smog.
Yesterday, I’d planned a 25-mile ride on my Trek road bike. When I stepped out of the house and saw the pall hanging over the city, I made a different plan. I decided to take my e-bike instead. I figured if I began to have problems breathing, I could let my reliable Vado do the heavy work of getting me home. As it turned out, I didn’t have any problem. Still, the view from one of my favorite spots was disturbing. I’m sharing two photos taken from atop Mounds Park, which overlooks the Mississippi River and downtown St. Paul. One was taken quite a while back on a beautifully clear day. The other was taken yesterday. The difference in the quality of the air is striking and disturbing.
They’re telling us now that, with drier conditions becoming the norm as a result of global warming, we’ll be experiencing wildfires in Canada and the U.S. more and more frequently, and the air we all breathe will continue to be choking at times. I try to do what I can to reduce my own carbon footprint, but I find myself despairing. I wish we were handing our children and grandchildren a world full of clean air and clean water.
I usually try to end my posts on a positive note. Maybe this is it: I’ll still bike because it doesn’t pollute, and my lungs so far are still good, and even if the sky is sometimes a disturbing gray, my soul always feels better after a good ride.
If you wear a N95 mask when outside during the worst days (air quality above 150), that would help.
I wonder if, in the distant future and in an unnamed galaxy, there will be cautionary tales told about a species that once inhabited a green and life-giving planet far, far away. Impelled by greed for profit and power, the stories will go, this species ruthlessly depleted the gifts it had been given by the Creator, found ways to slaughter its members, and–in a surprisingly short amount of time–brought about its own demise. On some nights, the stories will conclude, an ancient moon illuminates the planet’s cold and barren landscape.
Tellers of such tales will sigh and murmur, “They knew what they had to do. And they chose not to do it.”
I live in the pacific northwest where we have encountered the dusty air from the Oregon and Washington fires. My fear is we are attempting to do what is right for the beautiful world we inherited however, other countries are not diligent or caring.