The longer now

One of my favorite ideas (though one I don't do too much about except use as a guide for selecting reading material) is the concept of the Long Now, in part as espoused by the Long Now Foundation and its adherents. A long now viewpoint thinks in centuries or even millennia rather than months and years. I'm not quite up to working towards plans that have more than a millennium as their due date, as the foundation does, but I have been talking a bit in recent weeks about hundred year plans.

One of the founding myths of the Long Now is a story of New College, Oxford. When, sometime in the 20th century, the giant oak beams running across the New College dining hall, had rotted and needed to be replaced, no sufficient wood could at first be found. The Forester of the college, manager of the college's forests when asked if any appropriate trees were available, gladly volunteered up trees that had been planted when the college had been formed, in the 14th century. New oak seedlings were planted for the next time the roof needs to be replaced, a few hundred years from now. (of course, the story isn't quite as simple as that, but it's good enough for myth)

The biggest endeavor I can be a part of that will have a positive effect 100 years from now is the raising of responsible, able, happy children. In my own decisions and use of resources, choosing where and how to live, what to consume, what to work towards, I contribute to a society that leaves to the next generation a social fabric, environment, and knowledge of the universe, but the biggest impact is the creation and forming of the people who will inhabit that generation, and their interests and abilities to form the generation after them. That said, the decisions I (we?) make now, leave a built environment and a natural environment, that is of our own design, or at least responsibility. Which, when I think too much about it, makes moving to the semi-desert of Southern California seem a little irresponsible. When I try to imagine LA in 2100, I see more apocalypses, droughts, abandoned sagebrush dusty empty streets stretching out for hundreds of miles, than I did from quiet, wintry New England. Though I can think about the prayer/lecture I heard from Andy Lipkis of Treepeople at Rosh Hashanah and of the power and sustainability of the trees that covered the region (not in forest, but among the savannahs, in groves, and in the canyons) before development and about his line on how trees and people need about the same amount of water, so that where you have trees you can have people, and calm down a little about the fragility of civilization in this semidesert. It's not a desert. It's semi. Like lots of interesting, civilized places around the world.

Yesterday's run destination: Montana Ave

Yesterday's menu:
breakfast: donuts
lunch: burritos
dinner: grilled cheese and paired beers party