grasshopper jumping
Walking my dog Dusty through the scrub behind our house I am struck by how quiet it can be at 9am on a weekday. The only sounds I can hear are the rather loud drumming of grasshoppers and the panting of Dusty after careening through the tall buffel grass.
When I flew back to Alice Springs at the end of January I was struck by just how green the land was as the plane circled and came in to land in this desert town, located at our country’s navel. Big storms had swept through, the skies opened, and the dry desert earth became saturated overnight. Creek beds, usually dry, began to trickle and fill. The basins of gorges filled and eager swimmers pulled out their kayaks and inflatable flamingo and unicorn floaties. I know because I saw the posts on social media.
Following the rain is usually a time of wildflowers, but sadly large tracts of land are now smothered by buffel – an introduced grass taking over the land in parts and leaving no real estate for the native grasses and wildflowers to survive. Studies have shown the devastating impact this is having on local wildlife and humans also. As I find some shade to stand in, attempting to record the chorus of grasshoppers, the hairs on my limbs stand up. I start to sneeze – something about the blanketing fabric of the buffel makes me feel itchy all over.
Something whizzes by my head and I hear the fluttering sound of grasshopper wings as the insect rockets up into the sky before diving back down into the sea of buffel. Giving up on my audio recording as Dusty returns with his heavy panting, I resume walking and think about friends who have a block of land that they keep buffel-free. Their place would be alive with native grasses and wildflowers right now, and in turn the birds and wildlife would be thriving among the native flora. Thankfully studies have also shown that when this noxious weed is removed, native wildlife does quickly return.
My song this week is about more than buffel and grasshoppers. It begins to peel back a layer of eco anxiety as I wonder how we humans can hold onto a sense of hope even in times of feeling we’re like the buffel, smothering the very earth we live on. I am learning that having open and honest conversations about our feelings of eco anxiety is part of what is needed if we are to help people move beyond feeling stuck or isolated in inaction, and instead toward feeling connected with others in a hopeful way of moving forward together. So that, hopefully, we can sing like that grasshopper rising up above the noxious weed. So that we may rise above it all to breathe.
Long grass, grasshoppers jumping
Long grass, grasshoppers leaping
Long grass, grasshoppers flying
Up to meet the sky
When the world is closing in
It’s taken over
By a hungry, thirsty weed
That covers the earth’s skin
When you find it hard to breathe
You’re feeling smothered
Reach up to meet the sky
