Justin Dallaire | Fulcrum Contributor
Hey Mother Nature,
What’s the deal? Is it not the month of August? Correct me if I’m wrong, but according to our contract, you’re supposed to be mighty chipper these days. Summer is the most beautiful time of the year, provided you hold up your end of the bargain and bestow us with a little sunshine now and again, and perhaps a breeze to keep us cool by the pool. Unfortunately, it seems as if you have bailed on our deal—and this, my friend, is a huge mistake.
Our agreement dates back a long time. Our ancestors applauded your grandeur and gave you the title of mother. The Greeks and Romans made you a creature of myth and worshipped you like a goddess. Even ancient hieroglyphic stickmen pay homage to your ability to grow a few crops, but as we’ve evolved, we’ve left you in our dust.
Simply put, you can be quite the wretch. This summer we’ve endured days of record-breaking temperatures and others that can be best described as a taste of autumn in July. We’ve been through earthquakes and tornadoes in the same week, and let’s not forget you’ve left people stranded without homes because of your catastrophic floods. So don’t blame me if I find it appropriate to call you villainous, monstrous, and even menopausal.
To be fair, some of us have failed you over the years. We’ve dragged you through the dirt with our idling automobiles, our obsession with waste, and our virtually non-existent environmental policies. But is this really your excuse? Aren’t mothers supposed to be forgiving? I recycle, I oppose Big Oil, and I even sat through An Inconvenient Truth—so what about me? If you think I’ll accept being collateral damage in your vindictive scheme, you’re wrong.
The way I see it, you have a month—maybe a little longer—to make it up to us. Provide us with the weather we so desperately need: the heat that redeems you for your godforsaken winters. Spare us the earthquakes, flash floods, and tornadoes, so that we may get back to our bikes, our kites, and our surfboards. And please, oh please, crack the clouds, so that we may crack our beers.
Essentially, I am proposing that we return to the original terms of our agreement: a little sunshine from you, and a little respect from us.
If not, the next time I aim for the garbage, I might just miss.
