Sometimes when the latest Audubon arrives in the post I dread reading it. Unsustainable logging in old growth forests in Oregon threatens the marbled murrelet. Ground water depletion by development in the San Pedro watershed (the major undammed river corridor in the entire intermountain West) may destroy twenty years of conservation gains. American eel populations have declined ninety percent in the past four decades because of obstructing dams in Eastern rivers.
Does it ever seem to you that we humans just can’t get along with the other species on this planet? The neighbors cats have eaten most of “my” house finches. Just one careless chicken farmer upstream on the Big Elkin Creek is enough to silt up what could have been a decent trout stream. Last week we had to replace about forty yards of sewer line on the steep ridge behind our house, plowing under at least a tenth of an acre of prime wild red raspberries.
I walked along the scraped red clay and exposed roots under the power lines down to the manhole where our sewer ties into the city. Given the previously impenetrable briars, it was a new perspective on our little four-acre plot in the woods. I hadn’t realized how massive that sentinel white oak had become in the thirty years we’ve lived here. It has a Virginia Creeper hanging from it as thick as my arm. And since the backhoe has knocked down a dozen or so gangly box elders, there’s enough sunlight seeping into our backyard that I’ve sown a pound of wildflower seed . . . after my daughter Margaret and I had picked about a pint of raspberries from canes we’d never been able to reach before.
In New England, a naturalist named Chris Bowser has set up a citizen stewardship program using net-filled PVC pipe to lift eels above the dams and enable them to complete their migration. My friend Bill Blackley and a local crew are building hiking trails and restoring Big Elkin Creek to make it trout-worthy. Virginia letter-carrier Rita Shultz has installed a hundred and ten bluebird houses along her route (in her time off) to prevent the birds from nesting in newspaper boxes, and prevent people from tossing out the nests, eggs, chicks and all. And since February loggerhead turtles, piping plovers, least terns – and dozens of other nesting species – have a safer home on Hatteras Island: the National Park Service issued a new rule that allows off-road vehicles on 28 miles of shoreline, preserving the other 39 miles for wildness.
We might just get to go on living next door to critters. We might just be able to pump from our hearts enough compassion for critters to make a place for them to go on living next door to us.
. . . . .
Bubble
The heat hunkers trenchant, loud.
Lilies are budding on the lake.
Calf-high grass quivers.
He has wanted this moment to exist:
the insect flares blue on a sticky branch,
opening and closing, the size of his hands.
He heart pumps a bubble over the world:
it holds.
Mark Smith-Soto
© 1990 by Trans Verse Press.
. . . . .
Mark Smith-Soto is professor of Spanish at UNC Greensboro and has been chairman of the Department of Romance Languages. His poems appear frequently in the monthly magazine Sun. He has served as editor or associate-editor of International Poetry Review since 1992. His first full-length book of poetry, Our Lives Are Rivers , was published by Florida University Press in the summer of 2003. Born in Washington, D.C., Mark grew up in his mother’s native Costa Rica.
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The photo of Jordan’s red-cheeked salamander (Plethodon jordani) was taken near Clingman’s Dome along the Appalachian Trail in 2003. The cute little Appalachian cottontail (Sylvilagus obscurus) eating jewelweed beneath the stand of bee balm was at Cosby Knob Shelter on the AT (also GSMNP) in 2007.
V E R S E and I M A G E 
Thank you, Friend, and I'd love for you to post the details of that reading as it draws closer. ---B