Before Airdlin Croft there was Cairnleith Croft, where Ellen, myself and co-conspirator Paul set up a back-to-the-land commune from which, amongst other things, we produced a periodical that, as its cover page hinted, discussed Ecology, Survival and Alternatives. In that magazine, fifty years ago, we suggested that oil should be left in the ground.
Back then, idealistic university drop-outs had infinitely more opportunity to do their own thing than their 21st century counterparts. ‘OK boomer’ is a perfectly understandable reaction to the generation that ‘never had it so good’. And I wouldn’t expect much sympathy for our current identity as boomers in dystopia. Maybe we could have done more. Nevertheless, anthropogenic climate change had been recognised as a phenomenon as early as the late 19th century; and annual measurements of rising global CO2 levels were initiated in the 1950s.
In the ‘80s, Exxon researchers acknowledged that burning fossil fuels was the principal cause of global warming – which didn’t stop that company or their competitors from spending millions on disinformation that fed into our seemingly unstoppable addiction to the black stuff. Their disingenuous argument centred on the uncertainty of climate predictions – forecasts that continue to demonstrate considerable variability simply because the interaction of tipping points and feedback loops is an unknown dynamic. We haven’t been here before.
Back in the hippie haydaze – when the burning of dried grass made little difference to the accumulation of greenhouse gases – the mantra ‘Be Here Now’ seemed central to our utopian dream. It was also the title of an influential book written by Richard Alpert, formerly a colleague of acid guru Timothy Leary. Alpert changed his name to Ram Dass, reflecting his journey into Indian mythology, a trip made more famously by George
Harrison, who wrote a song with the same title. (Oasis recorded an album similarly named, though perhaps for different reasons).
At Cairnleith we remained in the Leary camp, though played music from diverse sources, including the very flowery Incredible String Band, who sang: ‘This moment is different from any before it, this moment is different, is now.’
Being here, now, would seem to be an essential attribute of the naturalist. Observation of the non-human world requires patient, real-time attention. But such attention, over time, inevitably notices dynamic change that predicts future consequences. For example, when goldfinches first appeared at our feeders in the ‘80s, it seemed likely that this northward drift of a Mediterranean species implied a change in climate. Since then a number of southerners previously unknown to British birders have become regular UK breeders – little egret, marsh harrier, common crane, to name but a few.
It has been suggested that living in the present is an evolutionary characteristic of Homo sapiens – one that served us well until relatively recently, hardwired into a species no longer regulated by Darwinian imperatives. This may explain why we can’t get to grips with climate change; with limits to growth; with an ever expanding population. (Back in the ‘70s we marched down Union Street, Aberdeen, on World Population Day – today it appears to be politically incorrect to suggest limiting family size). And what generally goes unnoticed is that the previous 10,000 years – which more or less coincides with what we call civilisation – was a period of unusual climatic stability.
We are literally unable to get our heads around the idea of an uninhabitable planet. Both organically and culturally our evolution engenders denial. Ten thousand years is a long time, but the 2.5 billion years of life on this planet is almost beyond comprehension. During that period there have been five major extinction events, some of which were caused by climate change. 99% of all lifeforms are extinct, apparently.
Our species, around for the last quarter of a million years, is responsible for the sixth great extinction, which probably began about 50,000 years ago and is predicted to eliminate half of all existing species by the end of this century. For the first time in the history of this planet, the authors of apocalypse can see it coming. This moment is different, is now. And yet the mantra of our globalised, planet-gobbling society would appear to read ‘Be Here Yesterday’.
For many of us who would like our grandchildren to be here tomorrow we rely on hopefulness rather than optimism. Some take the view that individual action, like reducing personal carbon footprint, is of little value in the grand scheme of things, where concerted
international political solidarity would seem to be vital in achieving a check on the deepening climate/biodiversity crisis. Democratic governments, though, do at times respond to public pressure, which can be generated by peer pressure. It may be that in this age of the online petition our laptops are more powerful than the ballot box. Hope springs eternal.
Airdlin Croft still welcomes visitors, though we have not renewed our link with Scotland’s Gardens Scheme, in part because we would like all receipts from entry fees and plant sales to promote environmental action. To that end we continue to support Fauna and Flora.
Returning visitors will notice a few changes. Recent storms have been quite destructive though at the same time have provided new planting opportunities. Hostaphiles might be disappointed to discover that the polytunnel that housed the containerised collection has been more or less given over to tree propagation and food production. But there are still around 250 Hosta cultivars in the garden.
We continue to plant trees here. The area formerly preserved as a car park for SGS open days is shrinking in size, but the majority of the trees that we are growing are either being donated to community gardens in Aberdeen, or to neighbours, or reserved for our sales table to boost funds for F&F. (Hostas are also available). The bird tally, recorded over the forty years of our occupation, remains stubbornly at 101, and certainly does not include little egret, marsh harrier or crane; but might, in the future.
That prospect, amongst others, strengthens our continued commitment to be here now.