CITY VOICES
HARVEY
FIRST PERSON
This Thanksgiving, setting a table for one
JANICE HARVEY
6
WORCESTERMAGAZINE.COM
N O V. 2 6 - D E C . 2 , 2 0 2 0
I
remembered all the ingredients to make my Nana’s turkey stuffing, a recipe she picked up as a waitress at Messier’s on Millbury St. and never made the same way twice. My mashed potatoes are the smoothest; sugary whole cranberries sprinkled with orange zest will bubble on the stove, while my famed asparagus soup waits for a final whisk. Arlo Guthrie will tell his story at noon as I baste the bird. It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m setting a table for one. Two family members have been exposed to the coronavirus, and out of an abundance of caution, they’re in quarantine for 14 days that include Thanksgiving. Rather than take any chances, Harveys are not gathering. 2020 is the year we’ll never forget because of everything we didn’t experience. The only upside to this surreal holiday season is that the absence of the brother we lost this summer won’t be so painfully evident if none of us are together. That’s a half-full glass of wine, if ever I sipped one. It’s so tempting to abandon what we know to be true in favor of letting our hearts rule our smarts. Who doesn’t want to see Gramps fall asleep in a recliner, watch lovable Aunt Mae get tipsy, and coo over the new baby wearing a bib embroidered with a turkey? This is the year when we’ve been denied much more than access to movie theaters and indoor dining. We’re untethered by COVID-19, kept from enjoying family and friends, drifting without oars. Wouldn’t I prefer listening to my sister and her husband squabble in their kitchen over who forgot to thaw the gravy? You know it. Wouldn’t I love to fight my brother Chris for the crispiest parts of the turkey skin, the stuff everybody knows is no damn good for you? Of course. We’ve been arm-wrestling and monkey bitepinching each other over that flap that holds the stuffing for 50 years. (I usually win because I fight dirty, hence the monkey bites.) This
year I can greedily jeopardize my health by scarfing every scrap of that terrible delight without interference. However, the satisfaction I usually enjoy while cramming my maw will be missing, that much I know. I’ve noticed that Christmas decorations are going up much earlier than usual. Facebook friends are posting photos of their living rooms fully festooned, with front porches wrapped in garland a week before Thanksgiving. As a mild-to-moderate sufferer of OCD, I have for more years than I can count decorated for Christmas on Black Friday, and every New Year’s Day I pack up the ribbons, the wrappings, the tags, the tinsel, the trimmings and the trappings Grinch-like. I never deviate from this schedule. Something bad could happen. Well, something bad already did happen, so I busted out the baubles, the beads and the lights. It occurred to me that I, along with most of America, need some comfort. We’re dragging out the holiday swag to feel good about something. If we could wrap ourselves in garland and tinsel, we would. Are we wishing away November only or all of 2020? I think the latter. We’ve created our own Operation Warp Speed, looking for a flux capacitor to shove us back to the future. We want yesterday back, tomorrow. And so I’m setting my table for one, using my best dishes, and making all my favorites. I’ll put fresh flowers in a vase and pour a glass of Massetts Cranberry from the Hardwick Vineyard and Winery. I’ll Facetime my grandkids and have pajamas on by 7 p.m. The tree will light my living room with a lovely glow. I hope “The Wizard of Oz” is on TV because honestly, Aunty Em, there really is no place like home.
‘Nature always wins’ — A cautionary tale for our time MICHAEL HAUCK
I
just recently finished reading a compelling narrative history of the Dust Bowl and the “Dirty Decade” of the 1930s — “The Worst Hard Times,” by Timothy Egan. I was aware of the Dust Bowl, at least vaguely, but Egan’s detailed account brought the hardships, the tragedies, the loss of life and livelihoods into vivid relief, blending personal accounts of individuals and specific families with the stark and sometimes sterile statistics of this immense disaster. People of all ages — babies, children and adults — died by the thousands of “Dust Pneumonia” and silicosis from so much dust in their lungs; families having to literally shovel out dirt from inside their home twice each day; static electricity in the air so strong that you didn’t dare shake hands with a friend for fear of a jolt that would send you to the ground; dust storms of thick clouds that would blot out the sun so midday seemed like midnight. Dust circulating in the air 24-7 so that you feel it on your skin, in you eyes, in your teeth constantly.
And the most tragic part of this disaster was that it was completely caused by the people — by greed, shortsightedness, and ignorance. The drought and winds that created the Dust Bowl effect had been the climate of the region for a thousand years or more — an arid land of little rainfall, constant wind, and temperature extremes — but, surviving as a healthy ecosystem of grasslands perfectly suited for these harsh conditions. It was the greed of unbridled capitalism to get rich quick in the wheat boom of the 1920s; the shortsightedness of government and business to promote large scale development; and the ignorance to willfully ignore the complex interactions of the various elements of the ecosystem that created this horrific tragedy. Despite Herculean efforts and hundreds of millions of dollars in the 1930s to restore the region, still today most of it remains an isolated, sparsely populated wasteland — never to return to a productive, healthy ecosystem. While reading the accounts and descriptions of these hardships, I could not help but see parallels to our own time and the impending
climate crisis we face. This time it is not tearing up the sod that holds the precious moisture and retains the soil. Now it is expelling thousands of tons of hydrocarbons daily into our atmosphere. This time, it is not 100 million acres in a six state area (Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Oklahoma, Kansas and Nebraska). Now it is our entire planet. And we are subject to the same greed (profits for oil, for fracking gas); the shortsightedness of government and business leadership to not realize that the sooner we begin to make the transition to non-carbonbased energy the easier, smoother, less disruptive the transition will be; and the sheer ignorance to believe that if we ignore it, if we deny it, if we ridicule and doubt the climate science, it will go away. There were many who survived it, but the Dust Bowl saga is not an uplifting story of courage and resilience in the face of adversity. It is simply survival by sheer numbers. It is a cautionary tale of the clash of our hubris with the greater forces of the natural world. And Nature always wins. Michael Hauck lives in Millbury.
