To Till and to Tend

I just returned from an extraordinary visit to Central America.  I will long remember the region’s natural beauty, its cobblestone streets, and friendly inhabitants.  But I will also remember something that is much less idyllic – the litter.  In particular, I will remember three very striking moments on my trip.

The first occurred aboard a “chicken bus” in El Salvador.  I recoiled as a young woman threw an empty bag out the open window.  I watched as the toddler on her lap placed a near empty juice bottle to her lips.  She ran her tiny finger along the rim, trying to gather the last drops of her drink.  I waited in anticipation for two hours to see whether the child would toss the bottle out the window as her mother had done.  For two hours she clung to the bottle, periodically shaking it about to see if she could make more juice appear.  As we approached our destination, the girl’s mother grabbed the bottle – and tossed it into the street.  I thought briefly of the words of the Senegalese philosopher Baba Dioum: “In the end, we will save only what we love, we will love only what we understand, we will understand only what we are taught.”  And I longed for an opportunity to teach this young child about the beauty of her country.

Days later, I would remember this child as I walked alongside Candido Melgar, a humble and kind Honduran.  We hired him as a guide one afternoon to explore Celaque National Park.  Candido was the perfect guide: knowledgeable, patient – and $20 for the day.  Moments after we entered the park, Candido pulled a plastic bag from his pocket.  For hours, he walked along, highlighting the flora and fauna – and bending to pick up discarded water bottles and candy wrappers.  Seven hours later when we descended the mountain, three bags of trash were tied precariously to his small pack.  “I’ve noticed Americans do not litter,” Candido remarked.  “I wish we could teach Hondurans to do the same.”  Candido bemoaned the environmental ethic of his countrymen – and thought wistfully of a national park that could somehow be protected from the people it was meant to serve. 

The third memory was perhaps the most disheartening. My husband and I were hiking along the beach in Livingston, Guatemala. Ultimately, we would arrive at a series of cascading pools – the “Siete Altares.”  The destination was spectacular.  But the journey was startling: The beach was completely covered in litter.  I thought briefly of Candido and his commitment to cleaning the national park in his backyard.  Yet, the scattered debris in Parque Celaque was no match for the Guatemalan shoreline, which was covered with abandoned fishing nets, bottles, and toiletries.  I thought briefly of collecting some of the debris – but quickly realized it was no use.  In fact, occasional clusters of trashbags were decomposing in several spots along the shore – evidence of well-intentioned visitors before me who lacked either the energy or resources to see their efforts to completion.

So, where does that leave me?  Two weeks in Central America.  Three countries and three stories that will long linger in my memories.  In truth, litter is the least of the problems our world faces.  Certainly, a plastic bottle along the shoreline is less concerning than rising temperatures that will cause our oceans to destroy adjacent cities.  Yet, I don’t think we can tackle these bigger problems unless we address the litter. 

Any student of sociology has learned of the broken windows theory  — broken windows left unrepaired lead to more vandalism and crime; uncorrected, graffiti begets graffiti.  And unadressed, litter begets litter.  Conversely, if we clean our beloved places, we teach our children the importance of caring for the world around them.  If the shoreline is clean, perhaps people will demand laws to protect the fish and water that live there. 

So, by my new theory, Woodsy the Owl is a “gateway” public service announcement.  As Candido acknowledged, Americans have taken tremendous strides to address litter.  Is this a meaningless victory – or is the first step to addressing larger problems? And if I’m right, what can we do to teach those in developing countries to “give a hoot”?

Last night we surprised my son by showing up at his 25th birthday get-together, attending the Phillies-Nationals ballgame at the Nationals’ beautiful new stadium. The Phillies won big-time, so Happy Birthday Zach! It’s awesome to see the Capitol in the cityscape from the park, and they even shoot off fireworks when you get to “the rockets’ red glare”, and “bombs bursting in air” in the Star Spangled Banner. (I think they should substitute a release of peace doves for the “bombs bursting in air”, but it’s a nice feeling place all around.)
The stadium has impressively green kudos which are touted all over the stadium – urban infill, reusing a brownfield, superb metro connections and obscenely expensive parking, to discourage car use, green roofs, and an emphasis on materials from a 500-radius used in its construction, including salvaged content. Yes, it has recycling bins, a big improvement over other most public places I visit.
The food concessions present a different picture, less green by far, perhaps since they’re subcontracted. Even though the food choices are conventional,  the plastics are by Greenware, composed of biodegradable material and therefore compostable. Though there was no evidence of actual composting, it’s still great that they’re not sourced from petroleum like conventional plastic. What I found a bit of a cognitive dissonance was the lack of anything fresh. It’s true that people don’t expect or even want ballgame food to be healthy, but I was hoping for a veggie hotdog. It would match the green cred of the stadium. Non-meat eaters can find fried fish. Vegetarians can go with pizza or nachos.  Vegans will need to stick to fries, pretzels, or the kosher garlic potato knish at the Kosher kiosk on Level 4.  (Yes, the Nationals Ballpark has a Kosher concession, but that doesn’t help the planet much, serving tons of red meat requiring endless inputs.  So kosher, yes, but ecologically responsible, no.)
Good luck sneaking in a piece of fruit! And of course, no tap water allowed….

This week I could not have been in a better time or place. Spring has sprung in New York City and it is beautiful, beautiful beyond my imagination.  Daffodils, tulips, magnolias, even ornamental cherries are out in full bloom, turning the bare parks and streets (yes, many of our streets have flowering flora) into public havens.

I have been taking walks every chance I could – Wednesday in Byrant Park, Thursday in the Carl Schurz Park, Shabbat in Central Park, and today in Madison Square Park.  But the best part about each stroll was that we (my walking buddy of the  day and I) were never alone.  The parks were filled with others who craved outdoor space, fresh air and sights of spring.

Hundreds of years ago people did not lack greenery or nature – urban sprawl hadn’t yet been invented.  Still, rabbis understood that no matter how close nature is “out there,” cities need a bit of it “in here.”

“It is forbidden to live in a city that does not have a garden or greenery.” - Mishna Kiddushin 4:12

As I have referenced before, I do my best to connect with life sustaining earth, even as I live three floors from it.  Having potted gardens and backyards are wonderful for personal pleasure, but this text goes beyond.  It requires us to live in a city with a garden, not a home.  This week reminded me why.  In a city of 8 million people, I went to the parks and immediately became part of an intimate community.  Each park, a unique community, all sharing a time and place among the natural beauty.