“…I am holding the word ‘resilient.’ The resilience of these wetlands…” Terry Tempest Williams, in her essay “Gulf Islands National Seashore.” (The Hour of Land [Picador, 2016])
I came across the above phrase while seeking respite from this week’s media-delivered litany of disastrous news, remembrances of things lost, and doomsday predictions for what lies ahead — headlines that serve as click-bait for pop-up ads, pleas for donations, paywalls, product placement, etc. The word ‘resilient’ took me by surprise, as it comes near the end of a chapter that describes the near-term after effects of 2010’s massive Gulf of Mexico oil spill. The rest of the passage serves as context and caution, and it evokes the subject of this week’s Water Into Stone. “The resilience of these wetlands,” she wrote, “is a testament to the enduring strength of wildness. But we can’t continue to count on it.”
My region has long been defined by its proximity to places still resilient enough to be called wild, and recent conversations with friends have reminded me that friendships here are often colored more by our relationships with the land, than by traditions, religions, occupations. Over holiday meals, we’ve shared old and new stories of pleasures and adventures, learned bits of family histories, made plans for future gatherings. Most importantly, I’ve been invited to share excitement with some of our friends’ small children, who’ve not yet become jaded by the holiday season’s profit-seeking aspects, or had their hopes dashed by depictions of disaster with predictions of more to come. I’ve come away renewed and reminded of the importance of writing honestly about dryland issues — drought, water supply, climate, land use — without dimming the luster of this jewel of resilience in the face of daunting hazards and challenges.
Challenges are easy to find. I pulled the following three images from a recently launched map designed to “…help people consider their local exposure to climate-related hazards.” By clicking a link under each type of hazard on the Climate Mapping for Resilience and Adaptation website, the user can go to the source of the data, and show the extent of the hazard on the map. These are screenshots from December 31, 2022.
Hazards are easy to exploit. In recent years, an internet search for the word preppers will yield a trove of breathless predictions, ‘core prepper essentials’, various ‘survivalist’ armaments, and even a few printable ‘doomsday prepper lists’. While acknowledging the zeal and occasional utility of preparing for disaster, experience offers other survival lessons. Many years ago, I lived through a winter on the supplies of a sect of zealots, who’d followed a prophet of doom to an isolated canyon country ranch, prepared to meet the end of the world. The supplies, mostly canned goods and stale grains, beans, and flour, plus stacks of firewood rounds, had been abandoned when doomsday passed uneventfully, the ranch loan was foreclosed and ownership passed to a couple who’d made their fortune buying and selling gleaned pinon pine seeds. I was hired as caretaker, lived in the old ranch cabin heated by the firewood, and ate the preppers’ rations.
So next, I’d like to steer you a little deeper into the realm of resilience plans. Below is a projection of late-century temperatures for Phoenix, AZ — one of the fastest growing cities in North America. Note the “Climate Hazards" list on lower left, and a graph on the lower right that estimates results of lower and higher human-caused emissions scenarios. Clicking each climate hazard on the left brings up a subject-specific range of information. The upper right corner has a link to a nationwide Building Code Tracker from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, to see whether new construction is required to adapt to likely conditions. Seeing the ‘higher emissions’ estimate of 1/3 of each year with high temps over 105 degrees, I’m glad to be living far away from Phoenix. But also note the ‘lower emissions’ estimate, to see how this map creates more choices than prepping for disaster for people who do plan to live or work there.
Recognizing hazards and taking steps to survive are things we all have done to get this far, so I hope you’ll explore this information further. Here’s a search page, so you can check climate projections modeled for your specific region of interest, and scrolling down the CMRA website yields a trove of current and possible responses, including a Steps To Resilience toolkit I found particularly useful for strategizing. Wherever you and your community are on this wheel, there are resources to learn from, and much work still to be done:
Tell me what you find in a comment below, or at: bfrank.waterintostone@yahoo.com. Up next, Considering the Tangled Bank: On ecosystem resilience and “…endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful…” — until then, take care of yourself, and help somebody else out along your way.
Excellent info in here. It reminded me of a great break down I read years ago of the best places to live in an apocalyptic situation. It's standards and comparisons are intriguing. Even more so the results. I'm not a doomsdayer, but this definitely effected where I've chosen to call home. 😉
Answer to Where is the best place to live in the US during and after the apocalypse? by Ryan Bosela https://www.quora.com/Where-is-the-best-place-to-live-in-the-US-during-and-after-the-apocalypse/answer/Ryan-Bosela?ch=15&oid=124433509&share=38f1cab9&srid=tzYB&target_type=answer