Channeling Change
May 7, 2014
In the ubiquitous discourse about global warming and rising seas, one school of thought follows this thread: (1) global warming’s fundamental cause is beyond human behavior; but (2) changing human behaviors could slow the rate of warming; and (3) these changed behaviors would improve the environment and the quality of existence for all the globe’s life forms and therefore should be promoted even if they cannot affect the ultimate warming of the planet.
Among those who admit to the inevitability that the planet will continue to warm regardless of humans’ best efforts are those who believe we should be planning for elevated sea levels now, not by working on ways to keep the rising waters out, but on innovative means of letting the water in.
With the Dutch, for example, among models, it is suggested that coastal communities begin today to build networks of canals that allow water to flow inland along planned routes that people can use and enjoy, and that the seawater be directed to places desperate for hydropower or where this seawater can be made free of unwanted species and fresh for human use and agriculture.
Rather than building walls to keep the water out, build canals to let water in to be cleansed and used for our betterment.
This caused me to wonder if this kind of thinking would help us in school sports to reframe discussion on problems that seem too large for us to solve. Like the negative influence of non-school sports on interscholastic athletics and rules that limit out-of-season coaching of students by school coaches.
Out-of-season coaching is one of the focus topics for the MHSAA during the second half of 2014, and this image in response to global warming is one of several we may use to reframe discussion before we attempt to rewrite the rules. Are there ways to channel negative situations toward positive results . . . without the threat of introducing invasive species?
In An Instant
August 4, 2015
The icebergs that enter the harbors along Newfoundland’s north shore started to form thousands of years ago. They broke from ice flows 10 times their size and then got caught in a current that carried them on a 1,000-mile, two-year journey to “Iceberg Alley.” Some of them drift into harbors and, with seven-eighths of their mass below the surface, they get grounded. Eventually they break apart and disappear.
My wife and I “discovered” one of these grounded ‘bergs near the shore of cozy little Coffee Cove. After a 15-minute hike, we got closer to this sparkling monster than third base is to home plate. We each snapped dozens of pictures.
Just as we were turning to begin our hike back to “civilization,” we heard what we thought was a loud gunshot. But what actually occurred was a portion of the iceberg breaking off and falling into the water.
What we had taken pictures of moments earlier no longer existed as it had at that time. In an instant, the iceberg had changed, without respect for the thousands of years in the making and the hundreds of miles of traveling.
A few days after we returned to Michigan, Rich Tompkins died, apparently healthy, just after waterskiing. Death came without respect for the miles Rich had traveled to serve student-athletes and coaches, and without regard to all the victories his teams had earned and MHSAA championships they had won.
I last saw Rich on Valentine’s Day at the first-ever Fremont High School Hall of Fame induction banquet where Rich and many of his athletes were honored. The pictures taken that night are of people and circumstances that can never be reassembled.
We need to more fully appreciate the miracle of such moments. They can be gone in an instant.