After Words: A Reflection on the Fourth of July by Sara Wright

This morning, hummingbirds, hummingbird moths, honeybees with a thousand eyes, brilliant orange fritillaries are capturing nectar from my wild bee balm, butterfly weed, and milkweed. Bee balm stalks are almost as tall as the five-and-a-half-foot Guardian cedar – the latter only planted four years ago.

Early this morning on my daily walk I noted with pleasure the conversation between Yellowthroat and Indigo Bunting (yes they communicate across species) so absentee birds are once again singing after a week of diminishing song which began the morning after the first night of mindless explosions that split the night into fragmented shards of metal, raining down deadly particulate matter and adding even more pollution leaving our air choking with poisons. This kind of noise pollution damages all human cells. This is but one example of an early ‘celebratory’ 4^th of July bombing, machine gun fire, and were there fireworks too? I have no idea. The dogs and I left immediately. I always keep the car ready for instant evacuation for us even if I am at camp. A comfortable puff and pillow offer us a bed and netting stretched across the back of the open car making it comfortable to sleep no matter how hot the night is or wherever we end up.

It must be said that setting off fireworks doesn’t have to be so deadly. Some places do put on stunning displays, and there are many people who love the colors, others have fond memories. A long time ago, I did too.

I remember as a child running after my father through my grandparents’ field with a pail of water in my hand as he pinpointed the drop making sure that the Roman Candles that fell to earth were completely cool, and not a fire threat to tall grasses. I was proud to be the water carrier. As we grew older my little brother and I were also allowed to have sparklers – two children dancing around in joy and abandon under starry nights under adult supervision. What we didn’t have was ear splitting noise. One-inch firecrackers (which only my father set off) were the noise makers. They popped! Such innocence.

 This morning not only were the birds singing but the baby turkeys were chortling though they are still in hiding. ‘Fear the human’ all non-human species cry out though no person is listening. With ears so sensitive to human induced noise all I can do is to hope that they can cope. What the animals and birds do is to disappear into protected forests and hunker down – I do the same… a survival tactic for all of us.

 The first blossoming Bee balm used to remind me of summer fire. Now when I see the sprays of these beautiful scarlet flowers. I imagine explosions.

I just got off the phone with a close friend who lives elsewhere who was wondering why he was subjected to machine gun fire as part of celebrating – well what? This holiday, supposedly a ‘tradition’ to honor American independence from foreign tyranny has been twisted into an opportunity to create misery for ? Tradition? It’s nothing but an excuse.

When I brought up the fact that celebrating this country ‘s ‘independence’ from anything seemed absurd in light of a country now held hostage by four or five corporate institutions that own and control everything from the internet to food production, my friend sagely remarked that rage and the powerlessness of so many made poor bedmates. FEAR dominates the people who need to use machine guns as weapons to create the worst noise pollution of all just to feel POWERFUL. These men – (I call them baby men) are boys of any age who are totally out of control with fear and terror and a probable need for revenge that continues to drive on spurious actions.

That the increasingly destructive reign of Patriarchy is behind this insanity is probably obvious to anyone that reads this article – women and decent men alike.

Protectors like the ganders of the large goose and duck families that I visit at the pond remind me that other species far older and wiser than humans don’t behave this way.

There are two male geese, one more dominant than the other, but both protect not only their blended families but the bevy of black ducks and mallards that gather in the reeds in an otherwise human overpopulated pond, full of speed boats, kayaks, and yes, a big fourth of July celebration complete with loud music and fireworks for all. I visit these geese on a regular basis, and the Protector, the one I call Papa, comes to me when I call his name. I marvel at this demonstration of genuine community with something akin to awe.

No one likes the geese on this pond except me (to my knowledge) and they are not welcomed by any pond dweller most of whom have lawns, so they congregate in the marshy places at the too shallow ree clogged end of the pond. I have been publicly chastised for feeding them by a woman who needed to mind her own business and doesn’t even live here (women are patriarchs too). Although it is true that occasionally I leave a few tidbits most of the time I am simply photographing.

One sad irony here is that the people who do live on the pond adore their eagles, anxiously awaiting arrivals in the spring, monitoring nesting, photographing the families and verbally demonstrating affection for these top predators* while apparently neglecting the birds during their big July 4th bash. Don’t they realize that eagles like all birds have incredibly sensitive hearing and may be adversely affected by this human display of noise?

The point that I am making by bringing in the eagles is that all too often humans profess love for their non -human relatives especially if they are top predators and don’t follow through with their actions.

Is there a message here worth untangling?

So much for the 4^th of July.

*** Re eagles: not the finest examples of predator birds in my way of thinking – these birds will eat anything, bully mercilessly, steal food from others, attack any young birds etc.