Finding Optimism in a Pool of Pessimism
It's hard to be (too) angry at the world when there are beautiful spring blooms in front of me right now.
I’m in that phase where I cannot get enough of spring. Things are happening rapidly and I’m at the water fountain of March phenology and am lapping up whatever I can get. Ah, to be able to divide myself to go to different parts of the state as blooms begin. Or rather, maybe I just need to be independently wealthy so I can move from place to place, day to day? Either way, neither option is available to me so I drink in what I can on weekends and around my yard or locally on weekdays.
The last two weekends have been whirlwinds of hiking, to scope out a couple of key plants I was looking for and see a few areas I hadn’t been to in years, plus revisiting sites that I go to regularly.
East Texas is really cool. I don’t know if many people in Texas think of that region as being worth visiting. I’m sure most people harbor stereotypes based on that part of the state—some based on reality, others not so much. There’s a lot of remnant habitat from before the glaciers retreated that resembles the southeastern US or even areas further north, which means there are relic or endemic species lurking about in places that have been somewhat untouched by humans over the last few hundred years of colonization. Much has been lost in the last 75 years, though. I am reading through older Big Thicket books, some written in the 60s and 70s, and even they lament what was lost within the author’s own lifetimes. It all happens quickly if no one is paying attention and we’re in the midst of it again now as our urban and suburban corridors bloat.
I know I spend a lot of time here writing in a somewhat depressive state about how Texas manages its land and ecology, but I do find it hard to be optimistic. Even driving around to see some of these wonderful places, I found myself looking at every homestead or new development, pine plantation, and new Dollar General/Dollar Tree combo and wondering, why? What did those stream corridors look like before loggers came in and clear cut the virgin timber, replanted and clear cut again, replanted and clear cut yet again, and replanted to clear cut again in the future? How did it look when it was managed by the various tribes who lived in the area, burning and cultivating the land for their families? What if TxDOT didn’t obsessively mow our road right of ways—what plants that have been choked out of their former habitats by pine plantations and now find refuge in these narrow strips of land—how much better would they thrive?
There are too many questions that will never have an answer because too many don’t care or want to care. And then I think about my own footprint and all of the new data coming out about microplastics…and *insert clenched teeth emoji*.
So, to counteract the pessimism, how about I share some of the beauty I found in the last two weeks that exists in this great and troubled state?
Spring Break is next week and I’ll be taking a week off here. In the meantime I’ll be working on other essays to come out for late March and early April. I would love to know if there’s an ecology/environmental topic you’d like to see covered here. You can reply to this email and let me know or leave a comment down below if you read on the Substack app or website.
In the meantime, I’ll be looking for the positive in all of the chaos and I hope you do as well.
Misti writes regularly at Oceanic Wilderness and In the Weeds. She hosts one podcast, Orange Blaze: A Florida Trail Podcast, and recently retired The Garden Path Podcast.
Carry on in the season of spring ephemerals.
I too find it hard to be optimistic sometimes but when I read essays like this and realize there is a mighty (and growing) network of us like-minded individuals, it gives me a tad of hope. Keep on keeping on!!