Beneath the Boughs

There is a funny sort of divide between mainstream conservation ideals and the ever clawing, striving, evolving world around us that I rarely see commented upon within restorative conservation ideologies. Life always finds a way, and it is somewhat futile to try to "restore" an ecosystem that is decidedly alive (and in the case of the Georgia swamp I know and love, defensively hostile). You cannot walk though my woods unscathed unless you know the paths, the landmarks and the guardians you must navigate around. There are wild creatures yet in the swamp, deer and rabbits sure, but also copperheads and cotton mouths, juvenile gators, skunks and armadillos and foxes and hawks. The woods are alive, and you must learn the rules.

These exosystems aren't static, and there's a world of difference between cutting back the briars and clear cutting the entire forest, and the forest doesn't care about your plans. A bird drops a seed, a bee pollinates a flower, and they don't care one bit about the "native" and "invasive" status of those plants, they're simply food or waste or shelter. Humans seem perpetually surprised by the adaptive nature of the environment. Its why coyotes and armadillos aren't "invasive," they're just naturally expanding their ranges to where there is food and shelter for them. Humans are so pervasive that we forget we're not alone here. Many creatures like coyotes and foxes and raccoons are experts in using human infrasturcture to move around, hide and find food, which means they now go where we go. Not every species is so adaptable, so when large predators like wolves disappear, multiple smaller animals have to step in to fill the oversized hole in the niche.

I have the privilege now of sharing this with you:

I paid for the exams, I went down for the scope, you gave me the all clear, I started to feel hope,

I fought with the insurance, I begged to get my pills, I waited there for hours just to get stuck with the bills

Things were looking up! The acid stopped its bubbling. I thought the spasms would resolve since you didn't find them troubling.

But the spasms they continued, the bleeding left unstymied. You said that "sometimes things just hurt," acted like I was whining.

You said that its not gluten, no ulcers you can see; The spasms leave me doubled over, vision tunnelling.

"Don't spend too long on the john" you say, as if you've cracked the code. If you could solve what's going on, I'd spend less time by the commode.

Ten whole years ago was my first diagnosis. A decade down, you're doctor 6; it didn't follow their prognosis

You don't know why I'm bleeding, you only know its there, "its probably just stress" you say, from your comfy chair.

I wince to even take a seat, your nurse she rolls her eyes, "You've gained a little weight" she says, with all her tone implies.

"I'd get more exercise, you know" I ground out sounding bitter, "If I didn't have to spend the day staying by the shitter"

I've done this song and dance before, and here we go again. I know that you're approaching "We've done all that we can."

Its no surprise to hear you say "its beyond my specialty" my hopes were only only ever hollow that you could find a cure for me.

"I think you need a surgeon" The doctor says without delay. He wants to pass the buck to them, to make me go away.

Another hefty copay, another specialist, to blame my weight, downplay my pain, to make me feel dismissed.