HERE AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, as we wait the last few hours before historic hurricane force winds and even tornadoes (80mph predicted winds, possible tornadoes, here! in Minnesota!! in December!!!) arrive, we are comforted by the thought that climate change is not happening. It is, like so many other facts, a mere hoax. A charade, a canard, perpetrated upon the innocent by some shadowy “they” who are doing it for some unknown “why” to achieve some unimaginable “what” that is unknowable except in the deepest, darkest corners of the internet. There to be discovered by good republicans, Q-anon enthusiasts and others more intelligent and well- informed than we mere mortals.

Here, meanwhile, we look upon a quiet river swathed in fog, a few last ledges of ice remaining. The eagle chirps from her nest-tree in the last light, perhaps instinctively aware of what is approaching. The flying squirrels have not yet arrived for their evening feeding—perhaps they sense something as well. All is eerily quiet. The hatches are battened—what few hatches a log cabin has—lawn furniture tucked away, other things hidden as much as possible from gnarly gusts from the heavens.

We have had 3 major destructive wind events here in the last few years, and have lost many a tall, green friend. More than had fallen in the previous half-century. As we gaze at the fog-shrouded river we hope that this night does not join the list—that the old grove escapes the worst of the predictions. We hope such things for everyone coping with this winter’s unprecedented weather. And we hope that somehow, something will happen to pierce the fog of ignorance abroad in the land, that keeps meaningful, desperately needed climate action from being taken. To pierce the ‘nothing can be done,’ ‘it’s not happening,’ ‘it’s God’s will’ denial of fools. No, it’s not. (God’s will). I live in and care-take a church, of sorts. One made of large pines. I’m the parson. And I know.