Seeing Climate Change in Your Own Backyard

Living in Wisconsin immeasurable opportunities to escape.  When I am angry, sad, broken down mentally or physically, getting outside makes a huge difference to me.  Relief comes from equal parts seeing nature doing its thing with no regard to my concerns and my putting technology away for a few hours.

On a millennial time scale however, nature isn't as chill as it looks.  When I look closely, I can't help but notice that plants, animals, insects and even inert objects are stressing out these past few years.  Monarch butterflies I used to net and study are nowhere to be seen in the fields and parks. Eastern Bluebirds no longer frequent fence lines along roads that I walk and bike. Whitetail deer wander through my yard at all times of the day to graze on Becki's flowers, garden plants, and in winter, birdseed in her feeders.  It is late January and there has been little snow cover, daily high temperatures last week exceeded 50°F, breaking records in many parts of the state.  Precipitation has been light since last July, and water levels on Lake Michigan and the Kewaunee River have dropped more than eight inches in just the past few weeks.

Locals are talking about the changes, but you won't hear the phrase "climate change" uttered.  It is too divisive, and no one here is looking for another argument.  Instead I hear reminders that that 2024 had a wet spring that continued right through the beginning of summer (before it dried up again and has remained).  There is hope the weather will rebound, and most are happy they have not had to shovel much snow or deal with slippery commutes to Green Bay.  In fact, the only two bad driving days since Thanksgiving happened to be days I was called in to work hauling trash and recycling.  Despite my worries, the snow melted quickly and only the most impatient or inexperienced drivers ended up in the ditches.

For all talk of normal cycles and skepticism of climate science, it seems to be naive to believe what we are seeing is natural.  Climate is very complicated, but the numbers can't be denied.  We are seeing records for heat, extreme precipitation events, and drought fall year after year.  For those who cannot be swayed by data, their eyes and ears tell the same story.  Patterns are changing, and species that were commonplace when we were kids have practically disappeared.  Investing in recreation equipment that requires snow seems foolish.  Businesses that depend on snow are going under, even with state and federal disaster spending.  Politicians who have denied climate change are now calling to withhold disaster aid for areas struck by hurricanes, wildfires, and extreme heat.  

We may have already surpassed the tipping point where the warming of the Earth can be reversed.  Strategies to mitigate the impact of warmer, wetter, and wilder weather might help, but it is already clear that these projects will be aimed at saving the least economically vulnerable, ensuring their "stuff" and lifestyles will be enjoyed for their lifetimes.  Or so they think.  I can't help but consider a scenario where fresh water and milder air temperatures make the Great Lakes region the object of desire and control, and anyone who can move here will.  Much like rats paddling furiously to find high ground in a flood, will they care what or who stands in their way?

I am noticing the changes, and they make me sad.  Winter is a beautiful time of year, despite the inconveniences of having to drive in snow and ice, dress for the cold, and the long hours of darkness.  Many of my best memories with my parents, siblings, and my own children came from playing outside in wintertime.  Kids and adults required to spend weekdays inside classrooms, offices, and other workspaces without windows can find it hard to appreciate northern latitude winters.  Still, I can't help but love the extremes and feel more appreciation for spring, summer, and fall because of it.  Warmer winters leave me concerned that summer will frequently be too hot or stormy for camping, hiking, and bicycling.  It could be harder to find rivers to kayak or canoe in July and August because of low water levels.  Storms with torrential rainfall and wind blow down trees weakened by drought and disease, making running whitewater creeks too dangerous.

This week, I am dedicating time to reflect on how I can live more gently on this Earth.  Combining trips to reduce driving and carbon emissions.  Researching the cost of installing solar panels on the garage, potentially to power electric vehicles when it is time to replace the Outback and my hybrid Highlander.  Walking and biking instead of driving to appointments and meetings in town.  Maybe its time we replace our twenty-year old refrigerator with a more efficient one.  I am also considering Common Council work in the coming weeks.  Are our projects being planned with climate resilience in mind?

Many discussions lie ahead, and hopefully I will shake some of the fear of conflict or inconvenience that has sidelined earlier efforts.  If not for me, for my kids and grandkids.  And yours.