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Bucking Trump … kindred spirits: golf and trash … oceans under assault …

A lot – a whole lot – has been said about Pres. Trump thumbing his nose at the impact of man-influenced climate change. Of course, he’s wrong and virtually every scientist and scientific agency of note is right.

But filling the vacuum of the Airhead-in-Chief are local and state governments that have, on their own accord, pledged to do their part to reduce civic impacts on global warming and sea level rise.


So it’s of interest that companies, rather than governments, are signing on to do their part to lower carbon emissions, too. Indeed, leaders of 900 businesses that represent $1.4 trillion in annual revenue signed a joint letter to “take forceful action” to ensure the U.S. is the global leader in reducing harmful emissions. This according to a Charlotte Observer news report.

Here in Charlotte, that includes Sealed Air and Ingersoll Rand (those pesky, damned scientists at those firms). Such action, said Sealed Air (which produces bubble wrap) is “… great for the environment and our business.”

As for Ingersoll Rand, the firm said “We believe climate change is a global issue – one to which our customers around the world are demanding solutions, regardless of policy or regulation.”

That goes for political party affiliation. Republicans need to dump their illogic party-first, isolationist stance and start to do something for the betterment of the U.S. and the rest of world.

Get hopping, guys.


One of the beautiful (and maddening) things about golf is a two foot putt counts toward your score the same as a 300 yard drive. Not that I know about 300 yard drives, but I know short putts all too well, especially the ones I miss with stunning regularity.

There is a parallel to picking up litter, too. A small chunk of polystyrene counts the same as a rumpled Coke bottle. It’s all about the piece-count of what’s removed from the environment, not just the volume itself.

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There’s about a dozen different pieces of junk here (it was a light trash day) but it’s high time there was an audit of what is picked up. That audit begins this week.

It’s in this vein that I issue you an invitation: send me your litter counts (and photos). Beginning on Monday and for the rest of the week, for the first time ever I will count every single piece in my bag that is unceremoniously dumped on the driveway. Some days it could be a lot, some days it won’t be so much. I’m really interested in what a daily average might be in the span of a week.

 

This ‘trash audit’ dovetails into a persistent thought I’ve had over the years: how many chunks of plastic, how many flattened water bottles and how many tooth floss thingies am I picking up?

It’s time for the audit. Send me your results at david.bradley@yahoo.com


There was a saddening, horrid sight last Tuesday as I paddled in my fishing kayak along the salt creeks near Charleston.

Lodged in the tall sea grass was a roughly 3′ x 4′ slab of flat blue polystyrene, the sort used to insulate building walls. It was a sickening sight. Worse still, there was no real way for me to corral such a large, unwieldy object in my little boat. (I’ll see if the vile material is still present next Tuesday when I return. Maybe by then I’ll figure out a way to do something about it.)

It amounted to localized, anecdotal evidence that we are choking our oceans with trash.

Indeed, the United Nations has convened a first-ever U.N. conference on oceans, and the U.N. Secretary-General, Antonio Guterres, told delegates the seas “are under threat as never before.”

Yet as with climate change, there are competing interests that stifle efforts to clean up the oceans. According to the Associated Press (real news) report, competing territorial and natural resources interests block any real efforts to clean up the waters that cover two-thirds of the earth’s surface.

 

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

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