By Tom Litwin
As I concentrated on the computer screen, the news played in the background. A story about the environment got my attention, causing me to sit back and listen more carefully. I played the piece again to be sure I heard it correctly. In summer 2023, the earth experienced the hottest temperatures in recorded history. There had been months of reporting — record heat, drought, mega-fires, floods, extreme storms — so this wasn’t breaking news. What was unsettling was United Nations Secretary-General António Manuel de Oliveira Guterres’ alarming tone: “Our planet isn’t just warming, it’s boiling. We’re in the midst of a climate collapse … Climate breakdown has begun.” Career diplomats are typically staid, measured and understated. His comments were not that; he meant to be alarming.
By Katie Koerten
I’ve written in the Earth Matters column twice before about the magic of the color blue in nature. First, in “It’s not easy being blue in nature,” I wrote about how rare blue is in nature due to its relative costliness to produce. Then I described the two pigments found in bird eggs in “Cracking the mystery of how birds’ eggs are blue.” Today I want to share with you what made me fall in love with blue in the first place: chicory.
By Christine Hatch
We’ve been hearing a lot about the “unprecedented” July rainstorms that have caused so much flooding and heartache for our farmers across the region. But were they really unprecedented? I don’t mean to diminish the real impacts by asking, but I want to be clear-eyed about what we’re facing. What distinguishes the effects of the climate crisis from the weather of the moment is an examination of trends over long periods of time. In order to quantify changes in our long-term climate, we look at the historical record of weather data, calculate averages and standard deviations, and decide whether the event we saw falls far outside the historical record of events or not.
By Meghadeepa Maity
In a past column, I wrote of “a Bengali poem that I‘ve loved forever” which references several species of wildlife and plants, and “stands out for the unsaid depth of emotion — it speaks of nostalgia, grief and homesickness.” আবার আসি ব ফি রে (“Abar Ashibo Phirey”) was written in 1934 by Jibanananda Das (he/him) and published posthumously in 1957. I’d recited the poem at a bird walk once, and after requests from several attendees, I determined that a translation was necessary.
By Joel Russell
Rich valley farmlands, lush hilltown forests and dramatic mountains: These open spaces in western Massachusetts are so familiar that we easily take them for granted. Yet, it’s only through the concerted efforts of many individuals and organizations that so many of these natural areas have been protected from development. In fact, Massachusetts is the birthplace of the modern land conservation movement. For more than 130 years, the Commonwealth has been a leader in conserving its lands and waters.
By Joshua Rose
Maybe you looked into a bird’s nest and saw one egg that was a different size and color than the rest. Or you noticed a chick that was larger, louder, and more aggressive than the others. Maybe you saw a parent bird feeding a chick larger than itself, and different in color and shape. What you saw was a brood parasite, an animal that fools animals of other species into caring for its offspring, usually at the expense of the host species’ own young.
By Monya Relles
How often do you cross the Connecticut River? Do you drive across the majestic and sometimes trafficky bridges that span its banks? Do you ever walk the Norwottuck Rail Trail in Hadley, peering over the edge toward the shocking cold of the water below? Or maybe you only cross on special occasions, to visit distant friends? Do you skate across the Oxbow in the winter time, or even brave the cold for ice fishing? Over thousands of years, the Connecticut River has been many things to many people, and the roles the river has played in our conscious and unconscious lives reflect back elements of the cultures and peoples who interacted with it.
By Tom Litwin
In Henry Thoreau’s essay “Walking,” he tells us that to preserve his health and spirits he “spend(s) four hours a day… sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields.” He writes in his journal, “I wonder that I even get five miles on my way, the walk is so crowded with events and phenomena.” For most of us, spending four hours a day naturalizing is not an option, but I take his point – we can learn about our environment by paying attention to events around us. Through observation we create a baseline for what we’ve come to expect from our environment, and what might be changing. Locally, the past 12 months have provided some telling observations. In summer 2022 it was obvious that we needed rain. Meadows turned brown, streams dried up, farmers irrigated fields, and a drought was declared. In one area of our woods smaller white pines turned brown. Were they falling victim to the drought, but why in this section of woods?
By Lawrence Winship
Each spring the Connecticut River Valley is flooded with fresh colors and smells as leaves and flowers burst out of dormant buds on trees and shrubs. Green shoots push up through the last snow and over-top last year’s brown leaves, covering the ground with a new cloak of verdant shapes. Each new flower and leaf results from a distinct “choice” by the growing point of a plant to bear flowers, or to bear leaves. One or the other! Because once a growing point starts down the path of becoming a flower and ultimately a fruit, there is no going back for that particular shoot.
By David Spector
This is a nature essay that is mostly about human language, word choice and the logic of argument. I describe a few of the animal behaviors that apparently help to get an individual’s genes into the next and subsequent generations. In presenting these behaviors, I attempt to use straightforward descriptive language; I also mention some words based on human culture that have been used to label those behaviors and to project them onto discussion regarding human norms. I try to make the case that the simply descriptive language of biology has fewer pitfalls than does the emotionally charged language of our human cultural discourse.
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Hitchcock Center for the Environment
at Hampshire College
845 West Street | Amherst MA 01002 | 413.256.6006 | 413.253.2809 fax