Oklahoma in the rearview mirror

After 15 days in Oklahoma, we’re in Hot Springs, Arkansas on Day 51 of our American history sabbatical. Grant Foreman’s The Five Civilized Tribes describes Choctaw hardships after relocation to what’s now Oklahoma. They weren’t prepared for Arkansas River floods that wiped out entire Choctaw villages. We camped by Keystone Lake, north of Tulsa. The lake’s size and the dam’s height reveal the Arkansas River’s powerful flow, now harnessed by the good work of the US Army Corps of Engineers.

Foreman describes government injustices in the Trail of Tears era, and government efforts to help the tribes adjust to the new land. This included access to technology from Europe and/or developed in America, desired by Native folk (plows, anvils, saws, spinning wheels, firearms, etc.). Foreman describes how Immigrant America learned from Native America. Continuing Monday’s “We” theme, we (immigrant folk) could have learned more. They were not them. They were us. It’s just us.

The Hot Springs National Park is a federal facility that (during the “shutdown”) is being kept open by volunteers and area governments. In 1832, Hot Springs was the first property to be reserved by the federal government for public use, forty years before Yellowstone became the first National Park in 1872. This sabbatical has given me new respect for federal workers and volunteers who maintain and improve public lands such as national parks and Corps of Engineers campgrounds.

The coolest camper we’ve encountered goes to Dusty and Tina, who completely renovated a 31-foot 1976 Airstream, pulled in the 1970s by a prior owner’s Oldsmobile sedan. We met them at Belle Starr Corps of Engineers Campground on Lake Eufaula in Oklahoma. (Left-to-right: Cathey, Friar, Dusty and Tina.) If you look closely, you can see the photographer. The curve of the Airstream’s mirror-like finish takes pounds off everyone’s reflection. I’m the stick figure holding the camera amid the trees.

Perspective: ecology

My first encounter with the word “ecology” was on a poster stapled to a utility pole when I was a college sophomore. Since then, climate change has been at the epicenter of ecological conversation, an inconvenient truth for the current rendition of the Know-Nothing Party.

Ecology enriches theology by connecting us to all things, an inter-relatedness rooted in a more unitive consciousness. Last week in Michigan at the Muskegon State Park, we saw 9 inches of rain in 24 hours. It was memorable, but nothing compared to those in the wake of Hurricane Helene.

At the Petoskey and Straits State Parks, we had idyllic fall weather. But, winters are rugged. In January, the average high is 27°F and the average low is 14°F, with 37 inches of snow. As I grow older, theology, cosmology and ecology are more tightly woven together.

The Universe is 13.7 billion years old (give or take 200 hundred million). Earth is 4.5 billion years old (plus or minus 50 million). Those numbers were on my mind as Friar, Cathey and I enjoyed a Petoskey sunset. Two days later, in downtown Petoskey, we heard, “Friar!” A young woman we met that sundown snapped this picture as she left the platform overlooking the beach. She said, “Let me send you a photo.” It was one moment of ecological grace among many during in the past 13.7 billion years.