A GOOD STORY?

A hundred years ago, a reporter asked John Rockefeller a question about his feelings about wealth and finance: “How much is enough?”

At the time, Rockefeller, in terms of money, was the richest man on our planet. He was an oil tycoon, among other things, and his answer tells me a great deal about his value system.

“Just a little bit more.” Rockefeller replied, with a smirk.

Translation: It’s never enough. Nothing is ever enough. Happiness is always just out of reach. If I just had a little more cash. If I just had a little bit more time. If I just had a little bit more luck. If I get that car, that phone, that house, that furniture, that job. Let me have a little bit more food, a little bit more sex, a little bit more land, a little bit more peace, and a little bit more clothing. A little bit more Amazon, a few more “likes”, and just a little bit more sleep, then I will be happy. I need to have a little more “me” time, a little more company, and a little more adventure and then my life will be just a little more……more what? Easy? Satisfying? Able to justify to yourself and others that you are worthy of existing in the first place? Ahh. Maybe everything will become just a little bit more convenient. Maybe a story will make you a little bit more content…

I sit in the backyard at the base of a small incline. Roughly 50 yards uphill, there are 100’s of beautiful trees. I see Red Oak, Sugar Maple, Paper Birch, Eastern White Pine, and I see dying Ash trees (infected by the Ash Borer Beatle, most of the Ash trees in the United States will be dead in the next 5-10 years.) Some of the trees stand 80 feet tall, while others fight for sunlight in a battle over nature’s canopy. I think about the fact that nature is at its best when humans do nothing to it, but our species has long forgotten to understand that. We hack down forests that may contain the cure for my disease, and many others, like it’s our destiny. We drain, dam, irrigate, eradicate, and relocate species that we believe to be inferior because WE are the dominant species on the planet. For now. As the last rays of sun hit my skin to bring an end to a beautiful summer day, my brain thinks:

I own 12 acres of mostly forested land in the Lake Sunapee region of New Hampshire, where I am currently sitting. My extended family owns another 23 acres on the other side of the dirt road in a small town of less than 4,500 residents. We vacation here. A Moeschen has held a title to part of this land since 1933, and I have added a little bit more since 2015. I look around and think about the Rockefeller question. How much is enough? If I had more money and more land was for sale, I would probably keep going. I laugh to myself as I fall into the Rockefeller trap. How much IS enough?

My sons will be the 4th generations of Moeschen to (hopefully) take care of the land. Until yesterday, I was self-taught about what kinds of species grow in my little chunk of forest. There is a splendid red oak tree, at least 80 years old and it is in bad shape. Before cutting it, I contacted a professional arborist who offered to take a look. He also offered me 2 hours of his time so that we could walk the property and he could teach me about what trees are growing on the land, their health, and what I need to know in order to keep this precious ecosystem healthy. If I gain just a little bit more knowledge, I can be a better steward of nature.

The arborist was very friendly and extremely knowledgable. We spent hours walking around (I use this chair for that) and he taught me how to name trees from bark, leaves, dead leaves on the ground, as well as how to identify plants, shrubs, flowers. It opened my eyes to a whole new way to see the land. It’s full of birth, growth, death and decay all at once. Truly a world that can be well balanced by nature simply being left alone.

Sadly, the land is also under attack, mostly from the dominant species right now. Us. We have allowed too much cutting, too many chemicals, and have managed to unleash all kinds of invasive pests that are killing things at an alarming rate. This guy helped me locate one Ash tree at the edge of the woods that I am now looking at that has not been destroyed by the beetle that is all over the eastern United States and Canada. The arborist explained that there is an injection that can be given every few years that will save the tree. A vaccine for trees? Sign me up. Just a little bit more conservation.

It’s getting dark at the edge of the woods. It’s a warm summer evening made perfect by the light breeze and the lack of mosquitos out to feed on me. Cool air seeps from the forest and smells like fresh moist dirt. This is my perfect time of day. I quiet my body, and mind, while I try to be present in the moment. I inhale, and slow my breathing. I begin to count slowly. In my state of rest, I promise myself to bottle all the life around me for storage in my pores, senses and vision exactly the way I experience it right now in living color: the smell of the woods, the chirping of evening birds, the feel of the warm gentle breeze on my face, arms, and legs. Nature has wrapped me in her blanket at sunset and light is fading with each passing moment. I count to 3 before my concentration is broken by a bat that has come out of nowhere and is flitting around looking for breakfast. I try again and do not make it past the number 1 as a deer appears up the hill. The animal raises its head and stares at me from 5o yards away. Another appears through the trees, and another, and another. I stay still as they stare at me for several seconds. Now they lose interest in me and continue up the hill into the forest. Did the deer just gain a little more knowledge about the human? No way to tell.

Now I feel mosquitos landing on me, and I hear the telltale buzz of one little dude in my right ear. I can’t reach up to swat him, but I read somewhere that these little guys can smell carbon dioxide and they hone in on where we are every time we exhale. I hold my breath. It doesn’t work, although I try my quiet counting game one last time. I can’t concentrate due to a number of mosquitos feasting on my arm. The first guy must have signaled his buddies, or I just smell lovely to a fleet of these guys. They have come for a little more blood, although to them it is likely instinct instead of choice. Therein lies the secret: instinct over choice. Humans are the only species that can choose to want a little more.

As if to test my little choice theory, I hold out for just a little more time. Having reduced mobility and almost no arm strength left, I brush my left hand over my right to shoo the ‘skeeters away, but they quickly become wise to my game. They simply take flight, hover, circle and land again. I give up and let a few feed. I watch their underbellies fill up with the color of my blood and it dawns on me that if I wasn’t sitting here right now, I wouldn’t be providing life for them as the air, trees, and atmosphere provide for me.

Looking up, I see the first visible star in the summer sky, which, at my latitude of roughly 43 degrees north of the equator, is called Arcturus. This star is the guardian of the bear, or, as most people call it “The Big Dipper.” In the summer sky, you can ‘arc to Arcturus’ by moving your eyes down and to the west of the last handle star of the Dipper.

Being a star junkie, I know that Arcturus is about 36 light years from where I sit, which means the light I am looking at left the star 36 years ago and is reaching my eyes right now. The speed of light is 186,000 miles per second. That’s fast, which makes Arcturus dizzyingly far away. It’s also about the same size as our sun, but it is further along in its lifespan. This means that it has used up most of the hot fuel at its core and the star is now expanding, while growing brighter. This is why Arcturus is such a bright point of light in our sky. The same thing will happen when our sun burns up the fuel in its core. Don’t worry though, as our sun is only about halfway through middle age and it’s not going empty for at least another 5 billion years. This number, like the speed of light, is too much for me to wrap my head around, but it does make me feel insignificant at the moment.

Besides those lovely facts, the mosquitos are now on me like moths to the flame, which unlocks thousands of years of human survival instinct that tells me to go inside, or anywhere away from these little blood sucking insects, who have now been joined by two more bats and several lightning bugs in the darkening sky. The temperature has also dropped just a little more in the last twenty minutes and I am becoming uncomfortable.

All at once I am struck by an overwhelming sense of connection: the land, trees, deer, mosquitos, bats, fireflies, air, clouds, stars and humans are all connected. The cycle rises and falls over eons of what we have invented called time. How do we know that we want a little more from life?

Maybe it’s not about what we want from life, but what life wants from us.

On nights like this one, I think that life wants us to listen. It wants us to realize that humans are one part of the bigger picture, but certainly not the only thing, and not nearly the most important. As we all strive for just a little more meaning in our lives, we are no longer bothering to look, listen and answer for our existence. Maybe “life” wants us to answer……just a little more.

It has been said that facts don’t change minds, but good stories do. Was this a good story? Maybe you want a little bit more. A little more listening and a little less yelling about who is right and who gets to run over who. In the big, connected picture, we aren’t going to be here very long. Why does our dominant species insist on a little more? It doesn’t matter.

Stay safe, stay awesome and stay tuned.