The thing about grouse hunting is that I suck at it. See that adult thing? I could imagine or pretend that I’m awesome and always come home with my bag limit of birds. It wouldn’t be true. I don’t limit myself to stuff at which I’m good. I strive to improve. Sometimes that means busting my ass all day to miss a harried shot at a feathered rocket.
Also, I had a respected elder who loved grouse hunting. He’s dead. Every fall I try to make time to grouse hunt in his honor. You go to your church; I’ll go to mine.
A couple miles from the truck, I parked my ass on a fallen log and rested. I wasn’t tired from the hike. I’m tired from 2020. I was still fretting over the debate. Slowly digesting the idea that a big selling point on one side was the option to renounce personal responsibility. To be free of the cares of the world by pretending a politician is a God? It worries me. It worries me because it’s not far from taking root.
Nature is a good place to think. I thought of Pompeii. Pompeii was among the ancient Roman Republic’s richest cities. It was damn near a pinnacle of their society. In AD79, Mount Vesuvius erupted and everyone died; leaving behind famously well-preserved archaeological artifacts. The thing is, Romans weren’t idiots. They knew what volcanoes are. They lived near one anyway. The view of the Mediterranean was gorgeous; much like the Pacific as viewed from certain rich and pretty parts of California.
If you were in Rome at the time and had a solid suspicion of volcanoes, the solution was simple, don’t live in Pompeii. You didn’t need to know the eruption was going to come exactly on a certain date in AD 79. You just had to know it was a fucking volcano.
Naples Italy has a million residents, it’s about 13 miles from the base of the mountain. Yes, that mountain. It looks like a gorgeous city. Never been there. I ought to visit.
So, there’s the Pompeii risk. You can live below a damn, on the side of a volcano, near a tidal wave zone, whatever. Odds are you’ll be fine. If not, it’ll be quick.
I’m pretty cool with localized risk, particularly of the natural sort. It’s a personal choice. Want to live in a trailer park in tornado alley; that’s your call. Heck, I live where the blizzards will freeze your balls off. You place your bets and you take your chances. Anyway, I’d feel safer on the hills of Mount Vesuvius than certain areas in Chicago… and, statistically, this is wise.
Pompeii AD79 doesn’t scare me. But what about Rome in the fourth century?
A flood or a blizzard or a volcano is simply part of the earth upon which we live. With human risks it’s harder to plan. Things can get sketchy fast and people are prone to panic. If I can decide to not be there that’s what’ll happen. If Chicago, or Detroit, or Oakland, or Baltimore fucks itself to death, I’ll be somewhere else. The problem is when those places of instability multiply and expand. A volcano took out a city, people problems took out a civilization.
The Roman Republic begat the Roman Empire which begat… nothing. It faded, slow at first, then faster, then poof… gone. It wasn’t just gone on one little hillside where the rich fuckers have summer homes. It was gone everywhere. From the frontier of Britannia to Julius Caesar’s old sock drawer… the whole thing ended. Why? People!
There came a time when Romans could no longer maintain Roman civilization. So, they didn’t. I thought again of the debates with one side talking about real life and the other offering to handle our woes for us so we could be childlike and managed. Romans were badass. Then they weren’t badass. Then they weren’t Romans.
I thought of my respected elder… who is no longer with me. What would he say?
Stay tuned…
