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Global Warning - Jan 15, 2006 - Printable Version
- Hey You, Keep Yer Butt in de Car!
by Robin Buckallew
Fire. One of the most awesome forces known to man. Fire, wind and water are probably the most powerful forces in nature's arsenal. Fire, wind and water, which can destroy, but also rejuvenate. Although they leave behind a swath of total destruction in their wake, soon enough, new life will rise from the wreckage, and generate new communities, new ecosystems, and new vitality. From the earliest beginnings of humankind, man has regarded fire with wonder, awe, superstition, dread and respect. Every ancient religion has fire stories, fire rituals, and fire symbolism. The Olympic Games begin with a fire known as the eternal flame. Fire is one of our most perfect paradoxes - the heat that we treasure can become the all devouring flame that destroys us. Much of the power we utilize is centered around fire, from the wood-burning stove and the coal-fired power plant to the internal combustion engine. Much of the food that we eat would be indigestible to us without fire. Our language pays frequent homage to fire, with such adages as "Once burned, twice shy" or "Out of the frying pan into the fire". Even the fossil remains of long dead human civilizations speak to the power of fire. Much of what we know of primitive culture has been derived by archaeological examinations of ancient fires. Indeed, fire itself is the force that has put humans in the driver's seat of resource use. Ancient caves yield piles of ancient bones. In one such cave, a pile of bones tells a powerful story. At the bottom of the pile of bones, the gnawed remains are primarily those of humans. Humans who were providing the food source for other carnivorous mammals. Suddenly, there is evidence of the harnessing of fire, and the pile of bones shifts in composition. Suddenly, it is no longer the bones that are human, but the teeth marks. Fire enabled man to shift from being the hunted to being the hunter. Recently, fire has been on my mind. Extended drought conditions, coupled with high winds have made many regions of the country particularly vulnerable to fire. One of those regions is the state in which I live, Oklahoma. Today's column will focus on Oklahoma, but it is not relevant only to Oklahoma. The lessons of the Oklahoma wildfires are lessons that are pertinent no matter where on this blue ball you call home.
For the past two months, Oklahoma has been on fire. Since Thanksgiving, nearly half a million acres of the state have burned, and several hundred homes have succumbed. Human lives are lost, and valuable resources are consumed. Our nation's first responders are being stretched to the limits to cope with the rampaging wildfires that are sweeping the country. As an ecologist, I experience a great ambivalence about fire. You see, as mentioned above, in ecology, fire is often a positive thing. It is the greatest force known for rejuvenation of native prairie, and reclamation of scrub land from the invading shrubby species that eventually devour the prairie in the absence of fire. Fires clear forests, creating gaps in the dense canopy that allow new growth in the understory. Fires recycle nutrients that have been locked up in living tissue or in the leaf litter that remains undecomposed on the forest floor. Some tree species, such as the lodgepole pine, require fire to open their cones and allow them to reproduce. Fire, therefore, is a life-sustaining force even as it destroys. For too long, the policy of all ecosystem managers was fire suppression. As decades of fire suppression took their toll, the forest floors grew heavy with flammable leaf litter. Old, dead trees were not cleared out quickly. Lodgepole pines did not open their cones, and did not reproduce in great numbers. Native prairies were taken over with scrub forests. Around the middle of the 20th century, ecology finally awakened to the important role of fire, and the fire suppression policies slowly began to shift toward allowing natural fires to burn, as long as they were in wild areas and no threat to human habitation. In fact, in many prairies, fires are being deliberately set to mimic the natural fire regimes that we had for so long diligently suppressed.
Now we come to the subject of my ambivalence. You see, most of these fires are not going to rejuvenate prairies. They're not going to rejuvenate anything. They have, for the most part, occurred in areas of human habitation, taking the property of people who were forced to stand helplessly by while their entire life went up in smoke, to stand gaping sadly at the blackened ruin that was once their home. This should come as no great surprise, since this state, like so many others, has few remaining natural areas, and human civilization has encroached upon nearly every inch of habitable land in one way or another. As an advocate for stopping the ceaseless march of suburban sprawl, I should on the one hand be delighted as the fires clear the way for rejuvenation and much more planned development that would make room for humans to more peacefully coexist with a natural system. And I would be, if I thought that would occur. But the reality is much bleaker. The rebuilding will take place in the same places as the loss and will occur in much the same manner. There will be no rethinking of our way of living, of the structures we design. Instead, we will focus simply on getting folks back into a home as quickly and painlessly as possible, and we will once again build giant sprawling suburbs over the ruined remains of giant sprawling suburbs. In fact, if recent history is to be any guide, it is possible that it will only be worse, as the human thirst for control takes over, and we vow to build it bigger, higher, and more sprawly just so we don't "let the fires win". This is, of course, the wrong response, but it is the expected response. The affected cities are not going to sit down and say to someone who has just lost everything, "We're trying to rethink our resource use and our manner of growth that has in the past been unchecked by any realistic limitations and has proceeded in a haphazard, unplanned manner. Therefore, we're going to help you rebuild your life, but we're going to proceed a little differently. We're going to build you a house that is in harmony with the natural system. We're going to provide you with solar panels and gray water systems. We're going to put rainwater collectors in, and help you start a compost heap. We're going to build your house with fewer impervious surfaces, and we're going to find ways to restore the land around you to a more natural system, rather than the current manicured lawn of exotic grasses and shrubs that you were once so proud of. In short, we're going to make your home a model of what could be". No, the cities aren't going to say this, or even think it. They will rebuild in much the same manner that was built before. Once more, an opportunity has been lost to turn a natural tragedy into a strategic device for reestablishing humankind's contact with the rest of the world.
As a result, I would have to say that I regard these fires as a net negative. Most of these fires began on the roadsides. Yesterday, as I drove to Texas, it was quite a sight to see the massive burned patches that lined I-35. None of these fires will have served a regenerative purpose. They have only devoured energy and resources. Most of these fires were the result of, in the oh so delicate euphemism of TV newscasts, "careless use of combustibles". It has long been a source of wonder for me that so many people are so careless with their "combustibles". Not only are they a source of litter (yes, cigarette butts are litter, even if you don't give a second thought to them while you're pitching them out the window), but they pose a grave danger to your fellow man. Who would throw a flame thrower out the window, or a lighted match? Cigarettes are on fire. So, if you are a smoker, and if you smoke in your car, I would like you to do all of us a favor. Look around the car carefully, particularly in the dashboard region. You should find somewhere a little handle. Tug on it. That little drawer that appears isn't there to collect your change. It isn't there for candy wrappers (well, it actually works rather well for that, especially for non-smokers). That little tray has been designed as a place for holding the smoldering remains of your tar and nicotine laced friend. So, for me, I would ask you once again, "Please keep yer butt in de car".
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