Breathless in July

And here we are, within reach of July 4, fireworks, picnics, swimsuits, ice cream dripping down our chins. At least, that’s the summer image many of us come up with once July arrives. I tend more toward languor, slow movement for warmer days, time to linger near blooms full of bees or water lapping at a shore, family members nearby, shared drinks and stories as the sun slides down the western sky.

But this summer has not been typical in Minnesota and I’m not spending as much time outside as I’d like. The nearly 500 Canadian wildfires now active are sending carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, fine particulate matter, and other not-great ingredients into the atmosphere, affecting the breathing of millions of people as weather patterns carry smoke well beyond its point of origin. Most of my family members are having breathing troubles, asthma flare-ups, scratchy throats, and an overall yucky feeling. Here in the Twin Cities, we average one or two days of poor air quality by this point in the summer. This year, we’ve had more than 20 days of air quality warnings, with more to come in this summer of smoke. The entire past week smelled like an old camp fire. And we’re still better off than New York City was on the recent days when their air turned orange.

Given the crappy air, I’m surprised that so many local municipalities are going ahead with fireworks for the Fourth of July. Minneapolis is doing a laser light show instead, which seems like a great idea. Fourth of July festivities aside, it’s terribly sad that our summer days are nose-wrinkling, phlegm-producing events. And I’m quite sure there will be more fires on both sides of the international border as we experience another abnormally dry season. Grass on nearby ballfields is brown, our garden is struggling, lakes are low.

I’ve been waking up a lot in the middle of the night, breath a bit short, a little headachy. That’s when I worry uncontrollably about my granddaughters and what their futures will feel like. Will they be able to breathe without assistance? Will anyone? What will be left of our air, our water, our food supply? What will summer mean then?

Later, in the now-hazy light of day, my thoughts are reined in a little, but the question remains: What to do? Tread as lightly as possible, I think. Consider what it is we each do that contributes to the climate change now driving these dry, fiery summers, whether it’s our use of fossil fuel or our tendency to eat food that has to be trucked to us from somewhere far away or an addiction to conveniences wrapped in plastic. All of it matters.

All of it.

Fireworks photo courtesy of Jill Wellington at Pixabay.com. Ice cream at the beach photo courtesy of Alexas_Fotos at Pixabay.com