I listen to National Public Radio most mornings as I drive to work. I enjoy catching up on the local news, and I appreciate NPR's in-depth aural portraits of soldiers fighting the war in Iraq, of survivors of Hurricane Katrina in its continuing aftermath, of Palouse farmers concerned over the price of wheat in Washington state, and of politicians whose peccadilloes have finally caught up with them. (I have great admiration for many of our country's leaders, but I'm not above listening to the more insufferable among them as they try to spin the unspinnable.) What I don't enjoy – and, I must admit, what I usually turn down or off – are the stories about the environment and what we humans are doing to it.
Every day, it seems, there's another warning about melting icecaps, disappearing species, polluted drinking water, or some other environmental horror. I can't listen to any more stories about birds trapped in the goo left behind by an oil tanker in once-pristine waters. I can't bear the tales of deformed frogs and dying fish and denuded hillsides and cities choking on their own emissions – and a future in which my granddaughters' grandchildren (or maybe my granddaughters' children) will face a planet devastated by the greed and thoughtlessness of people just like me.
I admit it: I talk a good ecological game, but sometimes I'm a no-show. I find it difficult to cut my gasoline consumption (though I have cut it, by about 10 percent, in part because every time I look at my odometer and see that I've gone 100 miles, I think, "Well, there's another $15 down the drain"). I'm trying to keep my house at 65 degrees when I'm at home this winter and to toss a few extra blankets on the bed at night for my dogs and me so that I can turn the furnace all the way off until I awaken in my still-dark, frigid house at 5:45 a.m. But I'll admit that occasionally I set the thermostat at 70 degrees in the evening and make believe I'm in Tucson for an hour or so. I'm also working on recycling and avoiding the use of pesticides and herbicides in my yard and trying not to buy things in blister packs, though I have to admit that's as much because they confound and irritate me as it is because I'm doing my best for dear old Mother Earth.
The fact is, most of us don't want to change our lives if we don't have to. And when we decide that we do have to, we want to know how to begin – how to ease into a routine that doesn't tax the world's resources so egregiously, but that allows for a modicum of comfort, efficient transport, occasional recreation, a four-season climate (rather than the desolation of endless summer) and a happy future for those who follow us.
In this issue, you'll see how Whitworth is addressing the ecological future of its campus, its region, and our world. You'll read what a leading evangelical and Whitworth alum thinks about creation care. You'll marvel, I hope, at some of the innovations that make it possible for the university to be a part of the green movement while serving the needs of more than 2,500 students and employing a faculty and staff of nearly 500 people. And I hope that even those of us who are sometimes "ecologied out" will read these stories and interviews and ask ourselves, "How can I begin to make a difference?" I know that my grandchildren – and all of the children to come – will appreciate it.
Twas the night before deadline, and the Whitworth Men's Chorus stopped by magazine headquarters in Hawthorne Hall to serenade the hardworking Whitworth Today staff with festive Christmas carols. Thanks, guys! |
In last spring's "Hidden Treasures" feature on the Act Six Program, Whitworth Today erroneously placed a photo of Jeremiah Sataraka, '09, where we had planned to use a photo of Holy Chea, '07. We very much regret the error, and we appreciate both Holy's and Jeremiah's forbearance. Above, a photo of the real Holy Chea. |
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