{"id":963,"date":"2022-02-22T18:03:51","date_gmt":"2022-02-22T18:03:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/?page_id=963"},"modified":"2022-02-22T18:04:55","modified_gmt":"2022-02-22T18:04:55","slug":"dread-and-contemplation-an-open-letter-to-the-sky","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/past-issues\/2021-edition\/dread-and-contemplation-an-open-letter-to-the-sky\/","title":{"rendered":"Dread and Contemplation: An Open Letter to the Sky"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Garrett Christensen<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

To the sky,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You\u2019re back, finally, but for how long I wonder. A few days? A few weeks? Forever maybe? Actually, if memory is anything to go by, then I\u2019m just being naive. You\u2019ll be gone again soon enough; the forests are still burning up and down the West Coast. Washington, California, and yes, Oregon, have turned into one great, big, broken smoker. And it\u2019s odd, but I can\u2019t quite remember when you first left, nor can I remember if this is the first time you\u2019ve tried to come back since the fires started. Maybe you\u2019ve been back longer than I thought, or maybe you\u2019re already gone again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No, wait, I can see you out there. You are back now, and that\u2019s all that matters I suppose. You\u2019re just as I remember you, if a bit dirty. All bright and blue, extending endlessly over the horizon. Always there, the background for life itself and the pinnacle of happy summer days. Though, to be fair, it\u2019s not like we\u2019ve had many of those this year. Even if we did, those times are over: the cold is coming, and right on schedule, too. At least something has gone according to plan\u2014it is 2020 after all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All right, I\u2019ll try and cut to the chase. I do, in fact, remember when you first left. I was working that day, bringing carts inside from the Safeway parking lot. You were a little smoky at the time, but I thought it was mostly clouds. I remember going inside, chatting with a co-worker in the entryway. I looked outside and \u2026 where the hell did you go? One moment you were there and then, just like that, you were gone, replaced by a suffocating gray haze. Everyone I talked to sounded just as confused. \u201cWhere did the sky go?\u201d \u201cIs it safe to breathe?\u201d \u201cHow long will things be this way?\u201d Of course, we knew it was inevitable, what with all the fires. But your departure was so fast, so abrupt, and kind of scary to be honest. The world seemed to be falling apart on my doorstep, and I couldn\u2019t do anything about it. Sounds dramatic, I know, but there are some things in life that I always expect to be just \u2026 be there. You\u2019re one of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This wasn\u2019t the first time you\u2019d left, not by a long shot. Wildfire season is a thing and you always skidaddle when the West Coast smokeout starts. Sometimes you leave for a few days and sometimes for a few months, but always around this time, like an absentee parent on a \u201cbusiness trip.\u201d I can\u2019t blame you for wanting to get out of the house, given how crazy things have been (trust me, I wish I could have run away from all this). But I remember, oh, about five years ago when you went on your longest, most expensive trip. I remember the fires being close to home, as in, two miles from my home. I remember my family loading up the car with as much stuff of value as we could. I remember watching the horizon burn as we sped toward the sanctuary of my grandparents\u2019 house. I remember seeing the entire tree line lit up with an almost supernatural orange glow. I remember seeing nothing but a dark haze as I gazed up, searching for you in desperation. And I remember sitting on my grandma\u2019s couch, listening to our cats howl with anxiety as I came to grips with the fact that my childhood home might burn to the ground. The entire situation was unreal, like a bad dream spawned from a late-night disaster movie. I was just waiting for the traumatic climax, the slow drive back through the scorched and twisted forest, the sight of our house and shop reduced to smoldering piles topped by buckled metal roofs\u2014the final realization that things would never go back to the way they were. We got lucky. The fires died back, we went home, and the nightmare never fully materialized. Eventually, I woke up and you came back as if nothing had ever happened. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

What\u2019s different this time is that your return doesn\u2019t signify the end. Regardless of your history of pulling the good ol\u2019 Irish goodbye, we both know the situation isn\u2019t getting much better. Even looking at you I can still see a fair bit of smoke and haze. I said you were a bit dirty, but hell, you look like you just finished a fourteen-hour shift in a mine and got your nice  denim uniform all covered in coal dust. And if you haven\u2019t noticed, it isn\u2019t just the fires running amok right now. The list of what\u2019s gone wrong this year is longer than a NASA technical manual. A pandemic, riots, vandalism, violence, intimidation, and total lack of trust and acceptance. Heck, I remember a few months back when panic spread over a rumor that a planned peaceful protest was actually a plot by left-wing activists bussed in from out of state. So as much as I\u2019d like to put on that song by Electric Light Orchestra and rejoice that the worst is over, that the sun is shining, and that it\u2019s a beautiful new day, we\u2019re still in it for the long haul as far as I can see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, Mister Blue Sky, you might ask if I\u2019m being dramatic. Well, of course I\u2019m being dramatic\u2014I\u2019m an English major after all. But after taking a step back, I know I don\u2019t have it as bad as everyone else. My home is still standing, I didn\u2019t get laid off, my campus isn\u2019t completely shut down, and I don\u2019t really mind being cooped up for the sake of public health. But as I think about all that\u2019s happened, I realize, in an odd way, that I sort of asked for this. I enjoy bad weather and gray skies. I long for days where you go away and leave behind a deluge of rain or snow, the kind of relaxing trip where somebody tells me when you\u2019re leaving and when you might be back. And it\u2019s not just you I prefer gone, but everyone else as well. That sounds harsh once I say it aloud. It\u2019s more like I\u2019m fine if nobody else is around, at least for a time. I\u2019m introverted is what I\u2019m getting at. I find an odd bleak joy in your absence, and I almost feel guilty for it. Looking outside at the haze you left behind, day after day, knowing I couldn\u2019t go anywhere\u2014I got exactly what I wanted, but not in the way I wanted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yes, I\u2019m overthinking this, but if you\u2019ll spare a few moments, I\u2019d like to overthink one last time. As I take a break from marveling at you, I realize I\u2019m not the only one to make lemons into a sort of choked-out black lemonade, and it scares me. It scares me in the same way the fires did five years ago. Not in the sense that I\u2019m worried about when I can go outside or safely breath in public again (though that is a given right now), but because I don\u2019t know what\u2019s going to happen, and the possibility of things resolving peacefully is growing slimmer by the day. I long for the confusion and hatred of this year to stop in the same way I longed for the smoke to clear. Despite the clearing skies overhead, a more unsettling haze has settled over the rest of the country. The physical haze caused dimness, confusion and fear, and the fire, destruction, death, and terror. This metaphorical haze does the same. This time, however, it\u2019s our own fault. We started these fires. We started fighting and killing one another in the streets, spreading lies and misinformation over the air. We are suffocating this nation town by town. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

You wouldn\u2019t believe how many times a week I hear or read things like, \u201cHey, maybe the president will die of Covid,\u201d or \u201cMaybe they\u2019ll finally bring in the military to gun down the protestors.\u201d I see people wishing for death and harm upon others under the guise that it\u2019s the fastest way to make things better. Making the best of a bad situation is one thing. Trying to use misery to your advantage is plain immoral, no matter how much of a misery surplus we have right now. I found an odd comfort imagining the smoke was rain clouds and fog, but these psychos are fantasizing about people dying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, I\u2019m not one for ending on doom and gloom, so sky, I\u2019ll shift gears before I let you go. Despite my disappointment in you leaving so abruptly, your return is still beyond welcome. You came back just as fast as you left. It was not so early in the morning that it was dark but early enough that it was still cool. I let the dogs outside and there you were, smiling down with a bit of soot on your face. I was surprised, even more so than when you left. Just the other day I made a bet that you wouldn\u2019t come back for at least another month, and yet within the week you graced us with your presence. Right when I had given up hope of ever seeing your magnificent shine again, the haze cleared away, and blue stretched from mountain to mountain once more. I guess I\u2019ll just say, though things can go to hell quickly, things can get better just as fast. There is a certain level of stability and familiarity I\u2019ve come to expect from the world and society, a sort of chaos threshold. Losing something that\u2019s supposed to be perpetual is devastating, even world-shattering, but knowing such a loss can be reversed, at least in some circumstances, gives me more hope than you could ever imagine. Yes, I\u2019m still stuck at home, the virus is still spreading, and this country is still full of hatred, but goddamn, you came back. That means something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t expect everything to get better tomorrow, next week, or even next month, but I expect something will get better when we need it most, or just when we\u2019ve given up. Misery under an open sky is still better than misery under a polluted one. Things are bad right now, Mister Blue, but I\u2019m pleased, at least, to be with you. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sincerely,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Garrett Christensen<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Garrett Christensen To the sky, You\u2019re back, finally, but for how long I wonder. A few days? A few weeks? Forever maybe? Actually, if memory is anything to go by, then I\u2019m just being naive. You\u2019ll be gone again soon enough; the forests are still burning up and down the West Coast. Washington, California, and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":519,"featured_media":0,"parent":920,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-963","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/963","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/519"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=963"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/963\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":967,"href":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/963\/revisions\/967"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/920"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.eou.edu\/oe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=963"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}