San Francisco, California

A few years ago, we put up a trellis to hide the on-demand water heater, and then we planted a potato vine (Solanum jasminoides) in a pot at the base, hoping it would eventually cover the trellis. Now this generous bloomer is the anchor of our garden, climbing two stories high. From a pot. Every few weeks we have to cut back its excess (at least what's still in reach), especially where the long tendrils force their way through the slats of our decking and threaten to bury the barbecue alive. Our potato vine blooms every day of the year, rain or shine, hot or chilly, its dainty flowers billowing out over the garden below in clouds of white. What you see here is one deceptively small strand - the tip of the iceberg as seen from above.

I've been thinking a lot about the intersection of the pandemic and the imminent threat of climate change. Already, theories are emerging that the disease may have been caused or worsened by our changing physical world (animals and humans encroaching on each other, economic refugees forcing crowded conditions, weakened lung capacity from decades of pollution, etc., etc.) and we've certainly all noticed the side effects of our internment - clearer skies and cleaner air. I'll let the scientists do the post-mortem.

What I've been counting these last few days are the things I/we have been able to give up during this extraordinary interlude - things we never thought we could, even when the experts said we'd have to eventually if we wanted to save the world. Since the first Earth Day fifty years ago, climate change has all seemed so theoretical, something we could think about tomorrow. The implied sacrifice seemed too great to contemplate. Then the threat from this wildfire of a disease has stopped us in our tracks, made us rethink everything we do, everything we have, everything we want. And, imperfect as it has been, the world has acted collectively - virtually overnight - to save ourselves. Of course, the current degree of shut-down will prove unsustainable in the long run, but are there things we can learn, we HAVE to learn about our own capacity for sacrifice and change? Are we capable of shifting our priorities and our behavior for the sake of the common good, and our own long-term viability? Are there things we've found easier to give up than we expected? Was this a useful experimental test of our capacity to solve problems collectively (in spite of our politicians)? Obviously, environmental change on a scale beyond the personal will be monumentally difficult. But I've learned some things about myself in the last few weeks that give me that little glimmer of hope.

Happy Earth Day, friends.