APRIL 15, 2025 – This morning when I woke to another day, I checked on the world beyond my immediate horizons. I was soon reminded that our country is looking like a dirigible engulfed in flames and fast losing altitude. Whether it turns into a bomb or swan remains to be seen, though the swan scenario seems quite unlikely.
Most people I know are rattled by the chaos and uncertainty. After full-throated acknowledgment, I’ll say, “But name a period when uncertainty hasn’t been constant.” What’s different about the current stretch of uncertainty, however, is that none of us has lived through an American regime hellbent on a total takedown of the federal government, and with it, people and institutions the regime doesn’t like—rules and rule of law be damned. Sure, we had the Civil War, the biggest disruption in our history, but that was precipitated by a group of states wanting to leave the Union, not the Union striving to dismantle itself and thus far, doing a superb job of it.
We’ve lived through other cataclysms—depressions, epidemics, international wars, terrorist attacks—and survived; or at least the nation survived them, even though a lot of the nation’s citizens didn’t. In the case of crises that preceded us, their impact is more a matter of historical interest than of personal pain and suffering. Crises that have occurred during our lifetime, however, are a different matter. If we experienced their adverse effects directly, we will never forget them. If we experienced them only from a distance and vicariously—on TV, the newspaper, our iPhones—we are more likely to toss them to the back of the memory closet. The Cuban Missile Crisis, the JFK, MLK, RFK Assassinations, Vietnam, urban unrest, 9-11, the Endless Wars, the Great Recession, the Covid Pandemic—all of these have receded as we now worry about the bust-up of the Land of the Free, Home of the Brave—at least as we thought we knew the Land.
I feel a chronic need to speak up and speak out; to write about the greased banana peel on which we find ourselves. Yet, at the same time, I ask myself, What can I add other than more hammer blows among all the other hammer blows by people filled with shock, fear, sadness, despair, outrage, disappointment?
On the other hand . . . as I expressed to a friend yesterday, slammin’ the hammer entails a greater purpose than quixotic attempts to nail your 95 theses to the door[1]. Pounding away at the same old, still valid criticisms of President Trump helps those of us with a common opinion to stick together and above all, to remind ourselves that we’re not alone and hardly “the powerless few.”
Nevertheless, in times such as these, one must maintain perspective—by spending more time in nature.
Late this morning I departed for the Northwoods to begin preparations for spring planting and if conditions permit, to install our two docks. My aim is to spread the work out enough to reduce the strain on my aging body. If rains occur, as forecast, I’ll work on my gnome home project.
For the first hour of my drive, I listened to a discussion on public radio about the evisceration of the IRS. Experts described numerous unintended consequences—except, likely they’re fully intended, as part of a chaotic plan to destroy government—and the predictable “waste, fraud, and abuse” that ironically will ensue from those consequences. Ultimately, I turned the radio off. Why put storm clouds into the sunny sky over my route? I needed to run from, not toward, the burning dirigible.
Once at my destination, I devoted the rest of the day to my projects. Except for a small plane that puttered along overhead late this afternoon, I neither saw nor heard any sign of human activity. I had the woods and lacustrine views entirely to myself.
The legions of pine in the tree garden are poised to burst forth any day now. I’d wanted to start removing the 800 bud caps that I’d stapled on the terminal leaders in protection against browsing deer but decided to hold back until the end of the week to give other vegetation a chance to feed the deer.
After concluding the work I’d planned for today, I took a leisurely hike along the lakeshore path. By that time the sun had reached its optimal angle for picture-taking. There was no dearth of opportunities. The more scenes I framed with my lens, the more remote the country’s troubles seemed to be.
Before the sun touched the horizon, I was treated to a wildlife menagerie. First appeared the deer—four of them. I watched furtively from inside the cabin. They saw me, though, through the windows and standing motionless, gave me a long visual inspection. I outwaited them, and eventually they moved on. I continued to watch them, however, as they receded westward. I wanted to see what they foraged—and if there’s enough yet to distract them from the white pine. (This seemed to be the case.)
Soon after the forest cows disappeared, I saw eight migrating ducks, all silhouetted, swim past the opening in the shoreline berm. They were wisely keeping their distance from shore, and good thing too—for their sake: just then I was lucky enough to see a healthy fox trot along the shoreline trail, no doubt in search of dinner.
After nightfall, I stepped outside to see a gazillion stars in the formation of a timeless clock. I made my wish. They sparkled back
Here in nature’s cathedral is my respite. Here, life, people, stuff—good and bad—keep going just as inexorably as the planet itself maintains its spin and pace ‘round the sun, as the sun swings.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
[1]A reference to Martin Luther’s launch of the Reformation when he nailed his 95 Theses (arguments against the sale of indulgences) to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg.
