I’ve been traveling across the Midwest to visit my mother and father in Ohio. From Texas to Arkansas, from Missouri to Illinois, from Indiana to Ohio, miles and miles of drought. Shrivelled corn, skrawny soybeans whiz past the windows. Looking at the distressed trees and the dusty fields, I am aware of what an urban person I am. Living in my air conditioned cocoon, I think myself inured from the effects of global warming and the desparate longing for rain. I would be wrong.
The ranchers and farmers whose lands I pass, are connected to me not only economically, but spiritually. What happens to the land literally and metaphorically touches my soul.
As urban people, we are often shut off from the seasons, let alone the rainfall. This climate calamity calls us to recall our interconnection with the earth and one another. I will certainly be more observant of the weather and more sympathetic to those who work the land on my behalf.