The Wild World Outside

Never forget that the world outside is wild.  Turn off your electronics, unplug, and sit quietly by a window on a blustery evening.  Feel the wind shake the panes.  Hear it as it whistles around your home, around the homes near yours, around the carefully planted trees.  Hear how the rain wants to come inside.  Feel how it pounds relentlessly against the wood, brick, glass, metal and remember that without constant vigilance, it will get in.  The wild world and weather will eventually get in and tear your home apart.  The shingles will fail.  The wood will rot.  The masonry will crumble.  Your belongings will rot with repeated wetting, freezing, thawing, gnawing, dragging, blowing.  The traveling earth swirls the winds so you can feel the speed of the rotation and the revolution.  Your comforts will be rended by these winds, pulling apart all that you know.  Even the wild world outside is comforting and familiar when you expand your imagination to see how your world is also hurtling through the empty, airless, limitless space.

Tending Garden

Evie preferred the hands-and-knees method of garden tending rather than letting the automatic systems take over.  The robotic systems never managed to get out all the weeds and always managed to take out some of the veggies.

The dirt smelled rich and natural, and when Evie closed her eyes, she thought of the worms in their tunnel homes, full, fat, and happy, warm and safe in the dark.  She looked around, but no other gardeners had been assigned near her area, so she stretched herself out flat between the rows of spinach plants and laid down right on the path, her nose to the dark brown earth.  Evie felt a nauseating fluttering in her stomach and her hands went flat, as if grabbing the path might hold her safe.  It was nearly always in the garden where she could forget they were on a star ship, until, of course, a change of direction or power fluctuation brought her back to the limits of the world.

Wilson on Erie

The sea of grasses stretched out to the real sea, invisible beyond the line of curving trees, but sensed with sound, and smell, and taste.  The grasses mimicked the sea waves without the finishing roar on rocks, crushing them into sand.  A gull cried above the hissing rushes and circled away.  Lena watched him disappear.  She watched the grasses undulate.  She stood as still as one of the grave statues behind her.

What is one mistake made by the current generation that you would like to make sure that your generation does not repeat?

Only a few days before she died, my grandmother described to me the sound of crickets.  The idea of them, however, terrified me, and my mother scolded my grandmother for telling me stories.  Grandma was Buddha, and smiled, knowing.  I knew, too.

Pageant Question: What is your message to young people today? Why?

When the world swung wild it reeked with the dead.  Bodies washed to sea, buried in mud, ripped, smashed, torn, or simply gone.  We did it.  We ruined ourselves.  This is the mantra we were taught and it has become a part of our genome.  We tell the story of our own destruction in a thousand different ways so we do not forget.  Never forget.  It was the flood, that in back times was called the Flood.  Not a literal flood everywhere, but a washing away of humanity nonetheless.  And it was good.

Good for the world.  This we also have been taught so we do not forget.  The Great Unburdening helped the Earth as it destroyed humans.  Humans are destruction.  Humans needed to be destroyed.  Not completely, though.  Here we are, after all.  We live on, but we remember.

Pageant Question 28: How have you been active in protecting the environment?

Albert Einstein was wrong.  When the honey bee population died out, humans did not go extinct.  At least, we haven't yet.  Life did become infinitely more difficult, however.  Of all the disaster scenarios predicted by climatologists and anthropologists and sociologists and any group that conservatives would have called "tree huggers", none contained the mass extinction of so-called lesser animals in so short a time period.  None contained the scenario that other animals and insects that normally wouldn't be problems would suddenly surge in population and become deadly to humans.

Pageant Question 26: Tell me what I'm going to eat today. Begin with breakfast and end with dinner.

I recently saw a picture of what the people of the 1960s thought life would look like on Mars.  I laughed when Professor showed me because I thought he was pulling a joke.  It seemed extra funny because Professor never pulled jokes; he never laughed; he never broke his programming.  Professor was relentless in teaching me, and I was just as relentless in my quest to get him to break protocol and have fun.  I thought, irrational as it may seem, that he had finally busted loose.

"What is amusing you, Tetra?" he asked in his politely modulated voice.

"You're serious?  This is how people used to think they'd live on another planet?  Like this?"

"The photo-realistic drawing was created in 1961 by an unknown artist.  Space exploration was becoming very important in the 1960s for several reasons.  Can you tell me why?"

Professor turned every moment into a Teachable Moment, but I wasn't in the mood.  "Professor, you're saying that people in the 1960s predicted that there would be life on Mars, and that they would be living in these pods and growing all their food in hydroponic bays?  Like this picture shows?"

The program paused for a moment, and I knew he was searching the data banks for a more in-depth explanation, which is what he thought I wanted, but what I really wanted to know was how those people of the past predicted what life would be like on Earth, and why they didn't see it coming.

"Professor," I interrupted, "show me actual photographs of the outdoors, decade 1960."

He thought for another moment, and I could practically hear him deciding whether or not I was wasting time again or if I really wanted to see to enhance this Teachable Moment.  When I wanted to drift away and imagine, I would often ask Professor to show me photographs of the outdoors from the past.  He knew they fascinated me, but he had a schedule and he stuck to it.  I guess he decided that if I was interested, I'd be more likely to learn, so a great file of photos appeared that I could swipe through as he spoke.


Side Note:
If you are interested to know you would go about actually answering this pageant question (or any of them!) please send me a message or post a comment.  Pageant Question #26 is deceptively simple and most people's first instinct would result in a too-short and uninteresting answer.

341

The sun over the ocean was white-bright.  The waves, even at a distance, made a calming sound, not unlike breathing, as it washed inexorably up and retreated down the sandy beach.  The breathing water was punctuated by an even more distant heavy sigh against the heavy, black rocks.  In, and out, it breathed, a living force contrasting the changeable and unpredictable lives of the humans on the shore.

300

Chara and Boyd basked in the glory of northern summer as they hiked the nearly hidden paths of the Great North Woods.  They had been traveling together for nearly ten years, though the first two were simply as friends in a Gathering.  That particular Gathering had many problems, and Chara in particular had been feeling increasingly troubled.

Gatherings were meant to keep people safe, and there were many that shifted and morphed and quite often disappeared.  There were some that had been around for so many years that they had come up with rules and titles within their Gatherings and often became exclusive, self-important, and sometimes downright dangerous.  Chara was sensing that from the Rhee Gathering, of which she had been a member for a decade before Boyd joined.

Boyd was in his own, very small Gathering, but it was not affording the kind of protection or quality that he needed, so he left for the much larger Rhee.  Chara and Boyd found each other there and formed a quick bond sensed by the leader of the Rhee who was, unfortunately, Chara's betrothed.

Now, Chara and Boyd travelled alone.  Dangerous, but undeniably their best decision yet.

291

Not for the first time and not for the last time, Della looked at the back of Jeral's head, grey curls bobbing as he loped along the forest path ahead of her, and wondered what he was thinking.  It was getting on toward dusk, and the last light was draining the colors away.  The stars would wink on in the sky and the black would spread until she felt blindfolded by the dark.  Della hoped Jeral had a plan, and not asking him about it meant she could at least pretend he did.

289

Dry, multi-colored leaves swirled on the wind, like an invisible hand had tossed the entire pile into the air.  Overhead, also in formation, was a cloud of black birds, swooping and turning, its edges swelling and compressing.  The whole world seemed to be in movement, unlike Jon, who stood as still as possible, arms extended, pretending he was the one orchestrating the leaves and the birds and the wind itself.

281

The cave was cool and dry in the front.  In the back, it began to get damp with water trickling down the stone wall and flowing away deeper, under and between to places only water could reach, but it only made the place more perfect as the water was drinkable.

It was a slight climb to get in, over tumbled boulders, but those provided shelter, too, especially since trees had rooted among them, their branches meeting to form a shield.  While in the woods, even a fire wouldn't be seen.  Only from further away might fire smoke be spotted, but the exact location would be difficult to pinpoint, and the tree branches helped dissipate a concentrated plume.

Water, shelter, warmth.  The forest itself could provide food, if you knew where to look, or even cultivate.

269

Most of the beach by the city's waterfront was disgusting.  You first notice the human debris, like plastic and broken glass and ripped shopping bags tangled in weeds.  The larger human debris is completely disheartening, like tires and bicycle parts and dumped appliances.  The industrial debris is more disturbing and harder to pinpoint, usually, but in most locations, it has been causing algae blooms, petroleum smells, and even black goo to wash repeatedly up on the shore and muck up the water.  The natural debris, while natural, still assaults the senses, especially the dead fish, rats, and sometimes even larger animals.  You could argue that it is not really natural debris because they were killed by the industrial debris, but, still, they break down eventually.

There is, however, a secret beach, where the currents seem to circulate independently of the polluted water from the city.  No smell, no garbage, no black goo.  Occasionally a dead fish, but not often.  The sand is soft and still safe to walk on with bare feet.  The water is very shallow and warms up faster than most other parts along the lake shore.  It is as perfect as it can get along this particular body of water.

265

Dee heard crickets and leaves rustled by the wind.  Traffic, always.  The computer's laboring mechanics, always.  The fluorescent lights, always.  But crickets and leaves and birds, too.

She opened her eyes and tried to really see, but that was more difficult.  All Dee saw was MESS and UNDONE and IF ONLY.  Dee sighed and closed her eyes again.  Crickets, wind blowing softer and harder and softer, a bird.

253

What haunted Miranda at every step was a one-word question: Why?  Her worn hiking boots crunched on the frozen leaves and snapped twigs.  Right foot: Why?  Left foot: Why?  Right foot: Why am I here?  Left foot: Why am I still here?  Right foot: Why am I so stupid?  Left foot: Why did I agree?  Right foot: Why don't I just stop?  Left foot: Why am I still walking?

Miranda hoisted her pack higher and tightened the straps again, all the while taking one step after the other.

242

The trailer was hot, which made the carpet smell and the trash smell and the bathroom reek.  Sheila stepped inside only long enough to fill a tumbler with iced tea and go back out to the lawn chair overlooking the low rolling desert towards the hills.  The paperback romance she had been reading lay splayed open under the metal and nylon chair, but Sheila didn't reach for it.  She watched the clouds move slowly across the blue sky before she watched the sun lower itself to the hills before disappearing in a brilliant red display of light.  She watched the stars come out and she shivered as the cool night stole away the heat of the day.

228

A warm evening wind rustled the tall grasses of the empty lots in the city.  The streets on the East Side were as quiet as the country, crickets chirping to herald the dark.  The crumbling sidewalks were absorbed into the scrubby weeds long ago as had any foundation and driveway remnants.  Only one in twenty houses still stood for blocks in any direction.  The city had become the country by neglect.

A few homesteaders had been able to take advantage of the urban blight.  Initially mocked by friends and family, they now owned huge swaths of land and often very nice houses.  Once such homesteader had a quirky, rather than "green", streak, and bought up three separate houses, two next door and one on the street behind, as well as acres of empty lots.

209

The silence of the warm evening after driving for so long ran in their ears, and the natural cacophony of crickets and frogs slowly became discernible, as did the clarity of the night once the lights from the car went dark.  Soon, the lightning bugs were the brightest points in the dark.  The stars above shining brighter and brighter as their eyes adjusted.  They picked their way carefully into the field, he tucking the car keys carefully into his jeans pocket; she carrying the picnic blanket.  Silently, they agreed upon the spot, and helped each other lay the blanket over the tall grasses.  Their bodies flattened the blanket into a square room, walled and roofed by nature.

194

The forest had always seemed untouched by humanity to Veena, though the fact there was a path through it should have told her otherwise, until she found the cemetery.  Billa had told her it would be there, and he swore it as the truth upon his sword.  She followed his instructions, and the path, until she saw the dead oak tree, smooth and white, having dropped its bark in great scales now buried among the ferns.  Billa had said to step off the path after the tree and go ten paces into the forest.  Veena hated it when her brother was right.

189

Stone and moss lay cool against her check, the tears warm from her eyes.  Despite the tears, Maggie still thought rationally, and she knew that this frustration was only making it worse.  The magic wouldn't come and thinking about how the magic wouldn't come bound up her magic even more.  Maggie turned her forehead into the dustiness of the dry leaves and pounded her fist into the ground with a vaguely satisfying thump, again and again, until the thumping sound was what mattered.  Thump and a slight crunch of leaves.  Dull thump that vibrated the packed earth just a little bit.  Her fist's thump that carried up her arm and smudged her pinky finger with dirt.  Thump, thump, thump, until the tears stopped and Maggie didn't notice because her mind was on the thump, thump, thump and the sound and the feel that it made.  Thump, thump, thump, like her heart and the world and the life and suddenly the magic was back because Maggie finally stopped thinking about magic and only thought about the rhythm of her fist and the earth.