07 Aug The Shadow Side of Sunshine
“Isn’t it lovely?” My neighbour asks on my return from a glorious walk in the park in my sun hat and shades. I’m experiencing cognitive dissonance. While I may enjoy the sunshine, the consequences are far from lovely.
In the UK we have a temporate climate, and have so far been insulated from many of the more extreme weather that impacts other places on the front line of climate chaos. In the park and gardens, plants are crisping, leaves are coming down ahead of their scheduled drop. The grass in the park is bleached blonde with bald patches where footballs have scuffed the surface. A hose pipe ban is imminent.
In my life so far, the benchmark for drought was the summer of 1976. We were living in a forester’s cottage in a pine forest. Instead of a wolf, there was a Cairn Terrier. My family were sitting eating Sunday lunch when a piece of ash blew in through the open window. My father jumped up and ran out to see a wildfire leaping towards our house.
There were no fire engines available as they were all already out. My father sent me to run down the road to find a fire engine stationed at a nearby fire, and let them know we needed help. The feet that I would eventually grow into flapped along the road, and I carried out my mission with urgency.
While forty-foot flames lapped at the garage, my Dad said I could choose one precious thing. I grabbed Panda (who ironically, I would later betray by burning). Dad drove our Mini onto the lawn. The way to the road was already aflame. His most precious things were the portraits of my Great, Great, Great grandparents, which he shoved in the backseat of the car hoping they would be safe. (They’re hanging in the house I live in now, so survived the ordeal).
The house was doused with water and escaped the fire, but much of the forest burned. A team of soldiers camped in the garden for the next week to stamp out fires which sprang up having burned along tree roots like detonation cords. I was whisked out of the way to have my tonsils out, and returned to a charred landscape.
I remember the water saving measures that included sharing baths with no more than 2” of water, avoiding flushing the toilet, washing up water watering plants, and brushing my teeth in just a splash of water. I remain acutely aware of wasted water. So, I am conscious that drought is the shadow of sunshine.
If the climate is worrying you, Grief Tending can be a place where it’s possible to express ‘unloveliness’. It’s not a strategy to change what’s happening, but it can be a way to let off steam, and help stay engaged enough to continue working for change.
You can find our next Grief Tending events and links to book them here.
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