The Climate in Emergency

A weekly blog on science, news, and ideas related to climate change


Leave a comment

Giving Thanks

Here is my Thanksgiving post. I wrote it several years ago, but it’s still timely.

“It’s that time of the year again,” warns a cynical-sounding blogger, “when warmists try to link Thanksgiving and climate change.”

Nice rhetorical trick, isn’t it? Discrediting us by saying that we’ll even link climate change to Thanksgiving? The truth, of course, is that of course anything in human life can be linked to climate change, because everything we experience depends on climate somehow. It’s in the air we breathe, the water we drink, the wind that may be gentle or catastrophic as occasion allows. Climate is already everywhere, and as it changes, so must everything else.

We “warmists” didn’t make that pat up. It’s just physics.

But yes, tis the season to write holiday-themed posts. Most writers seem to cluster around one of two main narratives: Thanksgiving as an opportunity to talk about climate change and agriculture (as in turkeys could get more expensive as feed prices rise because of recurrent drought); and Thanksgiving as an opportunity to talk about communication (as in how to talk with your climate-skeptic relatives). These are excellent points and I’m not going to try to make them all over again.

Instead, I want to talk about gratitude. I want to talk about abundance.

Have you ever thought it strange that we give thanks by eating a lot? If anything, American Thanksgiving sometimes seems more a celebration of greed and gluttony, with a perfunctory discussion of life’s blessings thrown in among the other topics at the table. But gratitude is fundamentally a reaction, not an action–it is very difficult to be grateful without something to be grateful for. At Thanksgiving we revel in abundance in order to remind ourselves of everything we have to be grateful for.

What is abundance? An online dictionary provides the definition “a large amount of something,” but that’s not quite it. “Abundance of dirty dishes” sounds, at best, sarcastic, if not outright ludicrous. And while there might indeed be a large amount of sand in the Sahara, few people would describe it as a land of abundant sand, because, really, who cares how much sand it has?

To really count as abundant, something must be a) what we want, and b) what we aren’t worried of running out of.

The Thanksgiving table qualifies. You can eat as much as you want, no holds barred, and there will be left-overs. The Thanksgiving table is not infinite, it is not literally inexhaustible, but it has an almost magical quality of feeling that way. It is precisely that illusion that allows food to symbolize all the other good things in our lives, everything for which we might be grateful.

Of course, there is no such thing as a truly infinite resource; use enough of anything for long enough and eventually you will run out. Even “renewable” resources are only sustainable if you use them slowly enough that they can replenish themselves. We know from sad experience that it is indeed possible to run completely out of precious things that once seemed all but limitless. Passenger pigeons, for example. And in fact we are running out of pretty much everything we need for life and everything that gives life beauty and meaning. Often, the depletion is hidden by ever more efficient usage that keeps yields high even as the resource itself runs out. Fishing fleets use ever more powerful technology to find and capture every last fish. Ever-deepening wells chase falling water tables. Oil companies prospect in nearly inaccessible areas that would have been too expensive to bother with a generation ago. For the most part, we humans aren’t going without, yet–hunger is usually a distribution problem, not a supply problem; there are more overweight than underweight humans right now. But already the world is warping under the pressure of our need.

Want a visual? Check this out:

See how big we are, relative to the rest of the biosphere? Humans already use more than the entire ecological product of the entire planet. That is possible because we are, in effect, spending planetary capital, reducing Earth’s total richness a little more every year.

I’m not trying to be gloomy for the sake of gloominess, I’m talking about the physics of the environmental crisis, the details of how the planet works. I’ve gone into detail on this before, but the basic idea is that the planet has an energy budget and that when part of the planet (e.g., us) exceeds this budget, the planet as a whole destabilizes. The biosphere actually shrinks and loses energy, diversity, and stability.

We got into this mess by treating the entire planet as the thing a Thanksgiving feast is meant to simulate; literally endless bounty. And because we did that, our descendants will have a smaller, leaner table to set than our ancestors did–and the more we use now, the leaner that future table will get.

Does that mean we shouldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving? Of course not.

Real, literal feasts are never actually about unlimited consumption. They are about abundance–about the way the illusion of inexhaustibility makes us feel. The illusion of physical abundance is a needed reminder of the truth of spiritual abundance–which is the actual point of the holiday, the thing we’re supposed to be celebrating on a certain Thursday in November.

The psychological power of the illusion does not depend on vast resources, something families of limited means understand well. By saving up and looking for deals and cooking skillfully, it is possible to produce a sumptuous feast that feels abundant and actually sticks within a fairly modest budget. The spiritual value is accomplished.

We can do the same thing as a species. We have to find a way to live within our ecological means–the first step is to get off fossil fuel–but we can work with what we have so skillfully that what we have feels like more than enough. By staying within a budget we can stop worrying about running out, and thus achieve a true, if paradoxical, abundance. Then the planet will have a chance to heal. The biosphere will grow again. And it is possible, just possible, that our descendants will live to see a more bountiful feast than we will.

And that will truly be something to be thankful for.

Advertisements


Leave a comment

Falling

I was going to write about solar ovens in Africa this week, but I’m still waiting for an interviewee to get back to me. So instead I’m going to talk about… leaves.

Here in Maryland, the forests still look surprisingly green. Now that we’ve had a few cold nights, some of the trees are “trying to turn,” as my husband puts it, but it doesn’t really look like fall, yet. The Weather Channel confirms that the delayed color is both regional and weather-related. That is, it’s not just my autumn that has been delayed, and the delay in foliage is, indeed, because of the extended warm weather.

But I’ve noticed that the leaves are falling.

They’re not falling heavily, yet, though at this point in the year they wouldn’t be. It’s just a few dead leaves accumulating on the sides of the roads and the edges of the sidewalk. But the funny thing is, the fallen leaves are mostly green. The trees they are falling from are also mostly green, but it is a strange green, an altered hue. I wonder–have the leaves changed after all?

“Brown-down,” the technical term for it, is a multifaceted process initiated when shortening day-length triggers the growth of the “abscission layer,” a corky section in the leaf petiole (its stem) that interferes with the flow of water and nutrients. Eventually, the cork gets thick enough to cut off the leaf entirely so it dies, and the petiole breaks neatly at the abscission layer. The leaf falls off. But before all that happens, before the cut-off is complete, the leaf continues to function. But chlorophyll breaks down as it’s used. It has to be continually replaced. With the leaf partly cut off, the chlorophyll can’t be replaced. The green fades from the leaf, revealing yellow and sometimes red pigments. Eventually, those pigments, too, break down, and the color fades.

Temperature changes help determine the speed and intensity of the color changes, even though the growth of the abscission layer itself is governed by day length.

Does this sound familiar?

Years ago, I wrote a post about spring, and how different aspects of spring (leaf-out, hatching of caterpillars, arrival of migratory songbirds) are cued by different factors. As climate change speeds up some of those factors but not others, the entire progression of spring gets out of sync. I’m wondering if the same thing is happening with fall.

If leaf-fall is triggered by day length, and the color change is triggered by temperature, then as climate change shifts the seasonal cooling later and later–and the timing of shortening days can’t change–it stands to reason autumn should get out of wack. Specifically, the leaves will fall more or less on time, but there will be little to no fall color.

Is that what we’re seeing?

I’m engaging in speculation, here, but it seems plausible. The ecological cost of climate change, and ultimately most important (that includes human ecology, FYI), but there’s a psychological cost, too. Personally, I find the weirdness of this non-fall very disturbing.


2 Comments

Update on Hurricanes

Some years ago, I wrote that although global warming seems like it should make hurricanes worse, we can’t really say that it has. Until just a few decades ago, if a hurricane happened not to pass over human observers or equipment, we might not know it existed. It’s not that we have no data before that, it’s just not a complete picture. How can we compare “before” and “after” when we don’t have a full “before”? There are other complications, too.

Of course, as I pointed out, all that applies only if “worse” is taken to mean more frequent or with higher wind-speeds. Since the most dangerous part of a hurricane is always its storm-surge, which is unambiguously worsened by sea-level rise, another answer to the question is that yes, global warming does make hurricanes worse and is going to keep doing so as long as the seas keep rising.

In any case, I didn’t expect any of that to change any time soon–but it might have just done so.

The problem of inadequate “before” data is still there, but a team from Stony Brook University has just modeled Hurricane Florence as it would have been without anthropogenic climate change–essentially, they used the models used to forecast hurricane behavior, but altered the model so as to simulate an un-warmed world. Because the same computer system was used to forecast both the real-world hurricane and the counterfactual one, the reliability of the system can be checked simply by comparing the real-world forecast with the actual behavior of Hurricane Florence–the forecast was pretty good, as it turned out.

So, all of you who were under Hurricane Florence? It’s official. Those of you who saw the heaviest rainfall–you saw 50% more of it because of climate change. And if you live on the coast, the storm was about 50 miles wider when it made landfall than it would have been, so at least some of you were hit by a storm surge that would otherwise have passed you by.

Now, when I say “it’s official,” I don’t actually know whether there is any controversy around this approach. I don’t have an inside view of either climatology or meteorology, though I do have friends I may be able to ask. So we may have to wait a while to see how this is received, but so far it seems legit to me.

While we’re discussing new hurricane research, it seems there are two more variables to how “bad” a hurricane can be, and climate change looks to be making them both worse.

One is the speed at which storms travel. The slower a hurricane is moving, the longer it takes to pass over your house and the more hurricane you get. That was part of the problem with Harvey, which simply stayed put over Houston and rained for way too long. A study just published in the journal, Nature suggests that storms are, on average, getting slower, apparently because climate change is causing weakening of the air currents that move hurricanes along.

The other variable is how fast storms intensify. We’re used to tropical systems strengthening gradually over a period of days, so that if a tropical storm (wind speed no greater than 74 mph) is pointed at you and about a day away, you can go ahead and prepare for a tropical storm, or possibly a category 1 hurricane. But occasionally a storm will undergo “rapid intensification” and you can go to bed prepared for that tropical storm and wake up to find a cat 4 bearing down on you. Scary, no?

And while nobody is actually sure yet how rapid intensification works, it does seem to be happening more and more often. A recent computer simulation shows that climate change does indeed result in more of the most severe hurricanes (categories 4 and 5) and does so specifically by making rapid intensification more frequent.

So, there you have it, folks. While I’m sure more research needs to be done (doesn’t it always?) and the picture will get clearer and more sure as we learn more, climate change is making hurricanes worse. That means worse in the future and it means worse already.

So when I say we all need to vote for climate-sane candidates willing to re-instate Paris? This is why.


Leave a comment

How Does This Read?

I have spent the last few days reworking a series of short essays intended as a kind of post-script to a novel I have just about completed. The following is one of those essays. I have covered much of the same ground in this blog before, though with a slightly different focus, but I want to try out this piece and see how it reads. Feel free to comment with any feedback.

The Post-Petroleum World

Ecological Memory depicts a world of both ox-carts and robotic exoskeletons. Some readers might ask why. Yes, this is a world without fossil fuel, but it’s clearly a technologically advanced society, so why are they stuck using ox-carts? Why not use renewable energy?

The short answer is that they can and do, but if they used enough renewable energy to fully replace fossil fuels, they’d just wreck the world again. Where energy comes from is less important than how much is used.

We’re used to telling the story of technological progress in terms of innovation; cars are more advanced than ox-carts, so they go faster. But the other side of the same story is energy. A car than ran on just a few bales of hay couldn’t go much faster than an ox, no matter how advanced it was. Greater technology has allowed us to use more and more energy and that, not innovation alone, gives us our unprecedented power.

Fossil fuel made possible our energy increases. Fossil fuel use has also caused climate change and ocean acidification, and it indirectly causes several other ills, such as biodiversity loss. The mechanisms involved should be roughly familiar to most readers. The surprise is that drawing the same amount of energy from some other source would likely cause similar problems. Only the mechanisms would be different. To understand why, we need to take a dive into complex systems science.

“Complex,” here, has a specific, technical meaning. A system is complex if it has certain properties, such as self-organization and “nestedness,” meaning a system can have smaller complex systems inside it. I am a complex system and so are you. So are cells, ecosystems, and biospheres, among other examples. Whole books have been written on these systems, and those books are worth a read, but the important thing to know is that systems science is all about the flow of energy.

Complex systems can fight entropy and win. Entropy, readers may remember, is the tendency for everything to gradually run down as energy dissipates. Complex systems also lose energy to dissipation, but they don’t run down because they can actively draw more energy in from outside. If a system is drawing in more energy than it loses, it is anti-entropic. Think of a baby, eating and eating, and turning all those calories to growth and development, or a young forest, rapidly increasing in both biomass and biodiversity. Eventually, the system reaches a point of equilibrium where energy inputs equal losses, and growth stops. That’s maturity. From the standpoint of systems science, individual humans remain mature very briefly. Almost as soon as we reach full size, our metabolisms slow and we start losing energy, what’s called the entropic phase. More colloquially, it’s called aging. If something speeds up the entropy, or causes entropy before maturity, that’s illness or injury. A system that stays entropic long enough will cease being complex. That’s death.

All complex systems go through these phases, though not all automatically become entropic at a certain age. Forests, for example, don’t get old. They can become entropic, though. A forest on fire is entropic, for example. If the fire isn’t too severe, the forest will survive and become anti-entropic again for a while as it re-grows. As Andy explains in the story, size, complexity, and stability increase and decrease together. Adults aren’t just bigger than babies, they are also smarter and more resistant to disease. And there’s a reason we sometimes call the latter part of our entropic phase the second childhood.

All this energy has to come from somewhere, and complex systems often draw energy from the larger systems they are nested within. My cells draw energy from me. I draw energy from my society (mostly by working for a living), and my society draws energy from the biosphere. The catch is that if the smaller system draws too much energy, it will force the larger system into the entropic phase.

Think about why cancer kills if it isn’t successfully treated. Think about a forest being logged at an unsustainable rate. Think about the rapid burning of fossil fuel.

The biosphere, too, is a complex system, and it, too, had an anti-entropic phase when it was actively growing and becoming more complex and more stable—we know it was growing because the carbon dioxide concentration in the air was falling. Remember that plants store solar energy in carbon compounds built out of carbon dioxide and water. Free, breathable oxygen is the byproduct. Those carbon compounds then become the biomas and energy source of the entire living world. As the biosphere grew, the supply of carbon in the atmosphere shrank. The carbon dioxide/oxygen ratio eventually stabilized as the biosphere entered maturity. In recent decades, the carbon concentration has been rising again as the Earth entered an entropic phase.

Let me repeat that; the biosphere is currently entropic because of us.

The loss of stability and complexity and size always go with the loss of mass and energy as a complex system starts to die. Erratic weather, a changing climate, and widespread biodiversity loss are simply what these familiar symptoms look like on a large scale.

That burning fossil fuel should trigger an entropic phase isn’t surprising, given that the whole point of fossil fuel use is to access a lot of energy. The biosphere provides us with an annual energy budget of less than the total solar energy we receive, solar energy that builds plant tissue, drives winds, and moves waters. Were we to stay within that energy budget, living on sustainable forestry and agriculture, plus wind, water, and solar, most of the power we take for granted today would simply be out of our reach. Fossil fuel makes it all possible, and does so by giving us energy at a higher rate than what the biosphere actually receives. Biospheric entropy is the inevitable result.

To be clear, if we stop using so much energy, the biosphere will re-enter an anti-entropic phase and recover, though it will take a very long time for full recovery, possibly millions of years. There is hope, though time is getting short.

Giving up fossil fuel entirely is probably a necessary step towards sustainability. What’s the alternative, some complicated global carbon rationing system? Who could administer such a thing? But the end of the Age of Oil alone will not protect us. Should we ever find and use an alternative energy source to again draw more energy from the biosphere than the biosphere actually has to spare, we’ll be back in the same entropic muddle we’re in now. It would be like replacing a cancerous tumor with a six-mile-long tape-worm. The patient would still die, the only difference would be the mechanism.

Energy is energy. Using too much has consequences.

We will return to an energy budget similar to what the world had prior to the Industrial Revolution. One way or another, we will have to. And that change will impose real limitations on what we can do and how we can do it.

But an energy budget is not a time machine. We will not lose the scientific and cultural advances we have made, nor will we cease advancing. We won’t return to pre-Industrial Revolution life. We will build something new. What that something might be, I can’t say. Exoskeletons and oxcarts are simply part of my guess as to one possibility.


Leave a comment

Climate Change and Cancer

Cancer has been on my mind rather more than I’d like, so this week it occurred to me to check out the links between climate change and cancer. I figured there probably would be some. Horsemen of the Apocalypse tend to roam in packs.

It didn’t take me long online to find out that yes, there are links. There’s even a whole chapter on the subject in a report published by the National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences. Except where otherwise noted, this information in this article comes from that chapter.

Climate Change and Cancers

“Cancer” is not a single disease but rather a whole category of diseases. All cancers have some things in common, but causes and effective treatments both vary. It’s even possible to have two different cancers at the same time, in which case the two need to be treated separately, because what works for one won’t necessarily work for the other. So it’s not good enough to ask whether climate change causes or exacerbates “cancer.” We have to look at which (if any) cancers are involved.

We also have to be clear about what we mean by “involved.” I have not found anyone claiming that being too hot, too dry, too wet, or too wind-blown can actually cause any cancer (though these cause plenty of other health problems!), but there are indeed cancers that would be more rare if we weren’t heating the planet.

Some skin cancers are caused by exposure to UV light, and the thinning of the ozone layer caused more exposure. The main ozone-depleting gasses are also greenhouse gasses. Had those gasses not been released, there would be less climate change and less skin cancer. Higher temperatures also tempt people to expose more skin to damaging UV rays.

The other big climate-related cancer is lung cancer, which can be caused by air pollution. Many common air pollutants are also greenhouse gasses. Wood smoke, as in what comes off of all these wildfires we have these days, may also cause lung cancer.

So, it’s official; more climate change means more lung cancer and skin cancer.

A less direct source of risk is that climate change can make it easier for people to contact certain pollutants. For example, floods caused by the more extreme weather we’re getting often sweep up some very serious pollutants. Exposure to floodwater, or drinking water or soil contaminated by floodwater, could therefore involve exposure to various carcinogens. Higher temperatures make some pollutants more volatile, driving them out of soil or water and into the air. When the pollutants in question are carcinogens, that translates into more cancer, or more cancer risk in places that used to be relatively healthy.

Complicating Factors

You knew there would be complicating factors, didn’t you? One source of complication is that there’s a lot we don’t know about what causes various cancers or how the causal connection works. There are a lot of pollutants that might be carcinogenic, but we don’t know, or we know they cause cancer, but not how dosage relates to risk. Will one swim in contaminated flood water do it? We don’t know.

Another major source of complication is that a lot of the processes being advanced to lessen anthropogenic climate change could also carry increased risk of cancer. Nuclear power is one obvious example. Less obvious is that cadmium is used in the manufacture of solar cells, and cadmium is a known carcinogen. Hydrogen fuel cells could pose a problem if the cells leak, since hydrogen is an ozone-thinning gas and thus an indirect skin cancer risk. Even biodiesel could be a threat, since the chemical profile of its exhaust is different than from petrodiesel, and we really don’t know what breathing in that exhaust might do.

It’s not that we’re damned if we do, damned if we don’t–it’s that the picture is complex and we don’t understand it very well, yet.

What we do know is that using less energy from any source is the best bet for reducing anthropogenic climate change without causing secondary problems. But we knew that already. And using less energy isn’t a popular option.

Specific Pros vs. Vague Cons

While cancer is probably not the worst thing that anthropogenic climate change is doing, it’s definitely on the menu. If you have been touched by cancer in some way, you know how awful the malady is. It’s like a war zone breaks out inside your family and no one else can see or hear the bombs going off, the infrastructure breaking. We know, now, that the further anthropogenic climate change goes without somebody doing something about it, the more cancer there will be.

The problem is that not only don’t we know who is going to get cancer, we also have no way of knowing which cancers are climate-change related. That’s what increased risk means. We might know how many more cancer diagnoses there are, but we won’t know which of those people would have gotten cancer anyway. It’s hard to get emotionally involved with a statistic. You can always convince yourself that it applies to somebody else.

Contrast that with the concrete, obvious benefits of using fossil fuel–if you drive to the store for a loaf of bread, you know perfectly well who got that loaf of bread. If you own a petrochemical company, you know perfectly well who made a very comfortable living. You don’t know who got cancer from that same tank of burnt gas.

The same problem occurs with any cost/benefit analysis of fossil fuel use. If we’re going to get ahead of this thing, we’re going to have to make those unpredictable cancer cases seem just as real as that loaf of bread, that comfortable living.

 

 

 


Leave a comment

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick

When I was little, the appearance of a tick itself was reason for alarm.

“So-and-so found a tick the other day!” Mom would announce. “Be careful!” I think I had one on me–just one–my entire childhood. I’m not sure whether there were really so few ticks, or if we were simply bad at finding them. I do know that when I moved to Maryland, I didn’t have to be good at finding the little parasites. Huge numbers of them found me.

Seriously, go for a walk in my neighborhood in the summer, and you’re likely to pull off ten or twenty just while you’re walking. When you get back to the house, strip off your clothes and find a dozen more. They won’t have had time to embed, yet, so it’s not a big deal. You just get in the habit of routine regular tick checks.

Incidentally, I don’t find the standard advice of long pants and so forth very useful. Sure, fewer ticks will make it to skin that way, but some will, and they’ll be impossible to find without taking your pants off, which the neighbors tend to frown on. So the ticks get more time in which the crawl into someplace inaccessible and bite.

My advice?

  • Wear as little clothing as possible and then investigate every tickle and itch immediately–it might be a tick.
  • Do a thorough tick check and take a shower immediately upon returning home.
  • If you walk through a tick-hatch and get zillions of the tiny things on you, don’t panic. They can’t give you any diseases because they’re babies and don’t have any diseases yet. Remove them as best you can, stick them on a length of tape so they can’t escape and bite you again, then invest in a large supply of anti-itch cream.
  • Don’t bother learning to identify different species of tick. They can all give you SOMETHING, so just avoid getting bitten by any of them, and if you get sick, go see your doctor.
  • Look up the proper way to remove an embedded tick. NEVER put anything on the tick to make it let go, because that makes the tick vomit into you first and then you’ll definitely have whatever it was was carrying.

I’m not a doctor, this is just my personal approach to the problem.

The reason I bring all this up is to make clear I am personally familiar with the density of the tick population in the mid-Atlantic region of the United States, and I am equally aware that New England has fewer of them. Don’t get me wrong, New England does have ticks–Lyme disease is named after a town in Connecticut, after all–but the problem is simply not on the same scale.

That could be changing.

There are reasons other than climate change. Tick population dynamics and the epidemiology of tick-borne illnesses are complex, inter-related topics with a lot of variables. For example, modern land-use practices, which has converted vast areas of the United States into mosaics of tiny forested patches with houses mixed in, favors white-footed mice, which are the primary hosts of deer ticks–which transmit Lyme disease. The mice, after all, can use tiny habitat patches (and houses) just fine, but their predators can’t. No foxes, no bobcats, no black snakes, no owls, etc., all adds up to oodles of mice and oodles of ticks. So, some kinds of ticks would be a bigger problem than they used to be, even without climate change.

But yes, the climate is helping.

The story is a complex one, because not only do factors other than climate influence tick populations, but the response of ticks to climate is not straight-forward. For example, ticks of the same species may become active at different temperatures in different parts of their range. All these different variables working together mean that predictions of what climate change will do to different species of ticks can disagree with each other widely. But some increases in tick-borne illnesses have been traced to climate change–so we don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but in the present, the ticks are worse in some places already because of climate.

For example, the two species responsible for infecting people I actually know, deer ticks and lone star ticks, are both expanding their range because of climate change. Both can transmit multiple illnesses. Lone stars, named for the white spot on their backs, can give you a (possibly life-long) allergy to red meat. Without giving away any individual’s medical history, I can say I’ve seen this one, it’s quite real. And lone stars are now in all New England states, though they didn’t used to be.

(By the way, the article that I’ve linked to above describes lone stars as “hunting in packs.” I’ve seen the behavior the article is describing, and the phrase is misleading. The ticks aren’t acting cooperatively, like mini-wolves. But, unlike deer ticks, they can and do walk towards potential hosts. In my neighborhood, population densities are often high enough that half a dozen might be near enough to notice the same person, and if you stay still for a few minutes they’ll converge on you. They’re easy to avoid or remove, but it’s creepy to watch.)

And then there’s the winter ticks, which have always been in New England, but warming climates are letting their numbers surge so high that they’re literally bleeding moose calves to death.

All of which is to say that if you head north in the summer, as we do, and you notice more ticks on yourself and your pets than you used to, as we have, it’s not your imagination.


Leave a comment

A Break for Puffins

“How’ve you been liking the hot weather?”

I turn around and spot the man sitting on the rock at the edge of the parking lot. He works at the restaurant across the way and he comes here to take his smoke breaks. We say hi to each other every time he does. He’s one of those strangers who’s almost a friend.

“I don’t like it, much,” I say, of the weather. I’ve been either under- or over-dressed all day.

“Yeah, it’s funny,” he says, “yesterday it was warm in Bar Harbor, but cold here. Today, it’s hot here, but it’ll be cold in Bar Harbor.”

Bar Harbor, I should add, is not that far away, yet he could be right. I’ve known it to rain in town but stay dry just three miles away.

“You know, I’ve heard the Gulf of Maine is 11 degrees warmer this year than normal?”

“Yeah, I know,” he tells me.

“It’ll be a bad year for puffins,” I add.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, when the warm water comes in, so do warm-water fish, which are a little bigger and rounder. The adult puffins can catch the warm-water fish just fine, but the chicks can’t swallow them. So, in years when warm-water fish species predominate in the Gulf, every puffin chick in Maine starves to death.”

“That’s really sad.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“That’s really sad.” He seems to really feel for these puffin chicks. “But there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

“Well, stop global warming.”

“Yeah, but we can’t do that,” he protests.

“Yes, we can,” I counter. “Not immediately, because of atmospheric lag, but you know, nothing is so bad that it can’t get worse? By the same token, nothing is so bad that we can’t keep it from getting worse.”

“Yeah. I like puffins. I have paintings of puffins hanging in my bathroom. I tell people, these are real birds. They’re not made-up! I’ve only ever seen a couple of them.”

“I’ve never seen even one,” I admit. “Where did you see them?”

“It was last year. They took us on a cruise—among the islands.”

“Neat.”

“Yeah. You know, I’ve seen another Maine bird? I can’t remember what it’s called, but I can remember the sound it made, at night, in the water….It sounded like a frog, you know—a, a, bullfrog? Where I’m from, we have another frog that makes weird sounds, it’s called something else. It sounded like a frog, but my friend said, no, that’s a bird.”

“Can you imitate the sound?”

“No, but I can hear it in my head. I saw it, and it was a bird. It was dark, and sort of duck-like….”

“A loon?”

“Yes! That’s it! A loon!”

“They winter with us, in Maryland,”I told him. “They’re here in the summer and with us for the winter. They do make lots of sounds.”

“Cool! Well, I gotta go. It’s been nice talking to you.”

“Nice talking to you,” I tell him, and mean it, and I watch him head back into the restaurant through the back door.