While you probably have more reading material than you know what to do with, I want to share with you these few pieces because your desire for justice, heart for the people, and interest in current events has become evident to me. I do not know if this particular story will interest you, but I was surprised by the passion this issue evoked within my spirit.
I've meant for quite some time now to share this with you, and I don't believe I yet have done so...
The installment of an irresponsible Canadian oil pipeline in the States causes many discrepancies and produces many reactions. The response held by The Hermitage, a Mennonite-orchestrated retreat center in Southwestern Michigan seems most appropriate...
There's this link which is an article about how the oil line will effect (or is it affect?) the land belonging to the retreat center and what the owners/directors intend to do about it (which I find to be a very wise response):
Then there's this link which speaks more about the response given by the hermitage and surrounding community:
If you chose to peruse the second link you'd probably discover this poem written by the directors of the retreat center, but since I do not know if you have the time to do so I'll include it here. What impacts me about this poem is that while it addresses the sorrow we may have over the destruction of land and trees and wildlife it also acknowledges our role in this destruction, and isn't that recognition what will bring about healthy change, if anything will?"
The Earth Speaks
by Naomi R. Wenger and David Wenger
(found at: Catapult Magazine)
Giving voice to the earth is a monumental task, but one that we feel keenly as we anticipate the loss of what is here and its replacement with a hidden harbinger of what is more dangerous than terrorism, more insidious than pollution, and almost as ubiquitous and purposed as the air we breathe.
How massive the equipment that bears down upon me, obliterating all that springs forth from within:
oaks, cherries, hickories, sumac, beech groves to come, sassafras for tea, apple trees, dogwood, broom sedge, bouncing bet, butterfly weed, wild asters, Queen Anne’s Lace, yarrow, goldenrod, black berries, black raspberries, wild grapes mushrooms and even poison ivy;
ensnaring, crushing and displacing all that finds a resting place upon me:
box turtles, snapping turtles, turkeys, wrens, evening grosbeaks, pileated woodpeckers, flickers, downy woodpeckers, dragonflies, dung beetles, butterflies, sow bugs, striped beetles, ground hogs, chipmunks, rabbits, gophers, squirrels, deer, raccoons, coyotes, hog snakes, black racers and garden snakes.
How violent the scoops that cut me open,
deep wounds bleeding mound upon mound of soil,
digging down, down, down;
reversing infertile dirt and top soil so that I am left scarred and barren.
How repulsive the implant of metal veins
coursing black tar from sandy deposits through me
to be refined and then used against me to power more machines that ravish and kill.
Oh, to be caressed with soft footfalls and tender scratching,
to be gentled into producing that which gives life to all,
to be without the pain of more, bigger, faster.
How long ?
How much is enough?
|AROUND MY BACK YARD|