Exercises in Futility: Doing Them Anyway

Grace has happened again; all members of our family, gathered from the east and west coasts of the US, have landed together in Avon, NC, the place we kind of began. Paul and I honeymooned here 41 years ago and, with possibly two exceptions, have returned each summer with whomever has been alive and available. Now our brood returns with their own. This week we total 14—Paul and I, Kelle and Dan, Kara, Tim and Deb, Kyle, Aunt Judie, Lucy, Lily, Maddie, Drew and Benny. It’s a lively group; the small house we share is filled with joy, energy, laughter—and some tears. This morning Benny, age 2, was pushing buttons on the stereo system and accidentally turned on some pretty loud tunes, scaring himself silly.

We’ve had multitudinous conversations already, among them a short one about environmental issues in which I confessed that, despite my good intentions, I had not yet biked to work this summer. As we talked we shared frustration that whatever good we try to do, we still impact the environment negatively. Our trip here to NC alone required that we drive four cars to accommodate us all. And of course the roads we travel are crammed with families doing the same thing. Carbon emissions, disposables, over-consumption is pretty much the way we live on vacation. What can we do, we wonder, besides stay home and save the fossil fuel? What good does anything we do or don’t do, really? The problems are so big and our efforts seem so small. We ask each other again if we think the materials we recycle really get recycled; if our small stabs at conserving and protecting compensate at all for the damage we ourselves do. We end the conversation as we always do—we don’t know for sure, but we have to keep trying.

Recent reports of shark attacks on the eastern seaboard seem to have changed the way we prepared for the beach this year. Most of us decided before pulling out of our driveways that we wouldn’t be dipping more than a big toe into the ocean, especially after Dan shared a video showing dozens of sharks coming ashore in a feeding frenzy, whipping their tails with such will and ferocity that those standing on dry land nervously back up further inland. Nevertheless, Tim and Kyle, despite the worried faces worn by the rest of us, ventured out to swim today. Watching for shadows in the water, Judie and I talked about the impact the movie Jaws had on our enjoyment of the water. We both agree that we haven't felt safe in the ocean for decades.

Since the grand kids for sure won’t be spending much time in the ocean this year, Kelle brought along as consolation a pool, 8 feet in diameter and 18 inches deep. Determining as best she could the point of high tide, she singlehandedly began setting the pool up. Various words of advice were given (mainly from Dan) which she basically ignored. Since the pool needs water to stand erect, it became obvious pretty quick that she couldn’t both keep the sides up and fetch the water. Kyle, Tim and I picked up sand buckets and ran down to the surf, straddling the wash, to fill them and began dumping seawater into the pool. Yes, it did take awhile for it to become apparent that there was any water in the pool at all. But who cares? What’s the hurry? We’re at the beach. What does it matter if we run back and forth with our buckets all afternoon?

To our neighbors lounging in their chairs beneath umbrellas, chatting or reading their books with cold drinks in their hands, the exercise surely seems ridiculous. Goodness, they may remark to each other, why didn’t they bring 5-gallon buckets? Had they said this to me, I would have agreed—had already asked myself why we didn’t have one of the buckets; Paul always brings a few to hold his fishing gear. At one point—probably during one run up to the pool from the water— I imagined everyone on the beach suddenly stopping to help, demonstrating once again that many hands make light work (or something like that). Given that kind of assistance, Tim, Kyle and I could have returned to our chairs, books, and naps much sooner. One bucket-load each and finished!

As I traveled back and forth from sea to pool with my little bucket I remembered a story told by Kenyan environmentalist Wangari Maathai about a humming bird that went toe to toe with a fire that was destroying her forest; how the little bird flew back and forth from the river to the forest, each time offering a drop of water from her small beak. The forest animals standing on the edge of the forest with wide, frightened eyes thought little of her small efforts and told her so. Not to be discouraged, the humming bird replied, in effect, that she was doing what she could. What might happen, she asked, if they did the same? 

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the point of the story. But it left me wondering as I toted my small amounts of water why we were doing this. I hadn't planned to spend one second in that pool. We did it of course for Kelle and for my grand kids—a small thing for the sake of a family who loves to swim but to whom the ocean doesn’t seem safely available this year. And let’s face it; most grandparents will do anything we can (yes, of course, there are caveats) for our kids and grand kids.

While it's more complicated to know how to help leave some health and beauty in the world for our kids and grand kids, I think it's safe to think that any parent or grandparent would want to do what we can for their environmental needs, present and future. And since all kids are someone's kids or grand kids, we'd want to extend our concern to all the children of the world, believing that our small efforts will be more helpful than harmful; that to conserve and protect our renewable and nonrenewable resources by recycling, reusing and reducing matters, however futile this kind of work seems.

It was fun to see the kids hop in and out of the pool yesterday afternoon-to see Kelle, flanked by her three girls, fortifying the structure against the tide and Deb playing in the pool with her two boys. At one point Benny, the youngest, got loose, and ran back and forth from the pool to me, filling his bucket with water from the pool and pouring it on my feet.

I'd do it all again.

from left to right: Kyle, Lucy, Tim, Kelle, (tiny) Maddie and Lily, observer, half of me