3 months ago
Watching the end of winter. And it's got me contemplating the other ends that may await us.
The end of the ice. (Here on the Great Lakes, up in the Arctic, and down in the Antarctic.) The end of all seasons. (At least the kinds of seasons that we can expect to be wet or dry, cold or hot, rather than reliably erratic, perpetually volatile.) The end of entire cities. The end of primeval forests. The end of many, many species. The end of us.
The scientists say it's likely Midwestern lakes (and European lakes and Japanese lakes) will no longer freeze in the coming decades. The waters will warm. Oxygen levels will drop. Toxic algae will bloom. Fish will die off. And yet, as we all know, this forecast is among the less terrifying climate-change predictions.
Perhaps locked in a bout of denial, I asked for ice-fishing gear this Christmas. Dutifully, my mom and stepdad got me a hand-powered auger, a bright-red skimmer, and a couple of rods.
At this late date, the end of the ice is probably inevitable. But why not make a pact to finally do something about our world-destructive anthropogenic activities, because I'd really like to plan a big shanty party for all of us on a frozen Black Lake, in Cheboygan, Michigan, on Saturday, February 2, 2041.