Sun rises over Bay of Green Bay as seen from Suamico, WI on Thursday, Jun 8 2023. American White Pelicans can be seen gathering
for early morning fishing excursions on the Lake Michigan waters. - (photo by Jeff Pieterick)

"Is this the new normal?" I asked of myself. It is a reasonable question. 

It was my pleasure to return to The Barkhausen Waterfowl Preserve in Suamico on Thursday, although the beauty of another sunrise in this favorite spot of mine was compromised as a result of events occurring hundreds of miles north of here. This day was greeted by a tortured red sun lifting into the sky, its light piercing the haze of smoke drifting in from Canada. The wildfires in the north have apparently been extreme, and the air quality hereabouts has reportedly been as poor as any seen in recent history. At times I could smell the smoke. I could feel it in my lungs. Even my eyes watered and were irritated.

The sun appeared starkly red and confined, as if burning a hole in the sky. On most mornings here, I am accustomed to the sun rising quickly, yet gracefully, increasingly sharing its light with the world around me. Wispy clouds (when offered) reflect pinks and oranges and magentas and all manner of warm light gifted by the sun, whereas an overcast sky will brighten into white while exposing shadows and contours not seen earlier.

This sunrise was different. The sun was surrounded and it's light confined tightly by a strange corona. The palette on this day was limited to include little more than shades of crimson and grey. The sky itself thus reflected a red and grey opaqueness that is different than the common overcast cloud layer being carried aloft. The promise of being refreshed by and restored by the rain that falls from such skies has always made it a welcome part of the outdoor experience. This felt more threatening than promising, almost other-worldly. Martian, perhaps? 

"Is this the new normal?" I asked of myself. It is a reasonable question. 

I am aware that fire is an elemental tool used by Nature to accomplish all manner of "house cleaning." Our forests and prairies rely upon fire as a means to clean up debris and to promote new growth. Yet, this feels different. These incidents of smoky skies and tortured sunrises come more frequently and they are increasingly more intense. Reports of resultant "air quality advisories" now occur regularly in areas far more distant from the source of these smoky trails than before.

Science tells us that this increase in fire activity and its consequences are a result of Global Climate Change; that man's disruption of Earth’s natural processes via pollution and misuse of our natural resources causes droughts and other climate changes that result in more intense and devastating consequences. Lakes dry up while other areas suffer floods from "misdirected" precipitation. Forests and grasslands become tinderboxes. Air temperatures range to unprecedented extremes. All of it happening as a result of our industrial society continually releasing carbon dioxide (and other toxins) into the atmosphere.

The irony, of course, lies in Nature’s response to these insults. Suffering from this increased threat to the Earth’s health, it seems to have peevishly released and then pumped skyward its own excess of carbon dioxide to raise the level of threat to us all.

But what if this seemingly foolish pique is something altogether different; something more deliberate and calculatedly sinister? What if this can be explained in terms of a host organism (Earth/Nature) defensively “turning up the heat” (a “fever,” if you will) as an immune response at this critical point in its diseased state, determined to eliminate we infectious organisms that threaten to ultimately kill the host if allowed to carry on our unabated assault upon the Earth’s life-supporting resources?

As with any science fiction tale, this premise holds enough science and logic to make of it a plausible tale of horror. As I stood this morning at The Barkhausen – looking at a blood-red Martian Moon where the sun should be – I pondered the possibility of such an epochal story unfolding in our time, one that would show the Earth ultimately going forward sans human habitation after these disease organisms had been vanquished. My thoughts turned to all the birds and animals and insects and other creatures that would suffer and/or be eliminated along with us before this “fever” would break and Earth would at last make its recovery from this existential disease. I was saddened to understand that many of them, too, would suffer extinction of their species alongside us, even though they have been innocent bystanders in this assault upon the health of our host, Earth.

Yet, the birds sang on this morning as lively as ever beginning with the chorus of Robins chirping happily from their nests. So closely tied are they to Nature that they sing out in happiness to be included in the tapestry of life on this dynamic planet. There is an assurance in those voices – and, perhaps, a warning as well – that Earth will indeed prevail in its present struggles. Nature WILL recover from the insults it now endures and life will go on. The only question to remain is how completely will it have to eliminate we infectious agents to remove the threat we uniquely pose at present to the health of our Host, this Earth we live on.

Life is resilient. It also commands respect. That is a lesson we ignore at our peril as we stand under a Martian sky, gasping for air that is being withheld from us while rubbing our eyes in an attempt to see clearly.

- Jeff Pieterick

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