Melissa
M. Scallan
c/o The Sun Herald
Gulfport, Mississippi
mmscallan@sunherald.com
1/12/2001
Open
Letter to my Gulf Coast Friends,
Recently,
a good friend and lifelong Gulfport resident alerted me to the
controversial proceedings over the destruction of the Alamo
Hotel live oaks. The news struck me with bewilderment and distress.
I was troubled, because I couldn't understand how caring, community-conscious
folks (as I have found Gulf Coast Mississippians to be) could
permit the tinder of this controversy to flame to its current
blazing state. I was apprehensive, because something instinctive
began gnawing at my viscera. Some familiar inner ghost began
buzzing in my brain and rumbling through my soul, nagging that
I should do something to help save the lives and collective
spirit of one of my country's great natural legacies—the
live oaks of coastal Mississippi.
But,
what could I do? After all, my home is in Illinois. I only visit
Gulfport/Biloxi about ten times a year on business. What right
did I have to stick my nose in other people's affairs? I concluded
I did not have that right. I am not privy to all the economic,
social and political factors that shape the daily lives of my
Gulf Coast friends. All I could do was share my feelings and
beliefs, for what that was worth. I visited the Alamo Hotel
site one day. I mingled my energy in the rustling life force
of a small live oak forest with its fleshy, green canopy and
tangled community of contorted, sturdy boughs. I could only
imagine the virtually infinite matte of living, thriving roots
that had bulwarked the soil for over a century, maybe a millennium.
I actually confronted one of the more prominent patriarchs and
ran the tender flesh of one finger over its furrowed bark. No,
I did not embrace it. I could almost feel the flowing vitality
of a noble life somehow greater than mine—greater, at least,
in prominence and history. I breathed in the sylvan musk of
one of Mississippi's greatest natural gifts, just so I could
take the memory home with me. But, God help me, I did nothing
else. I just whispered a silent "tsk, tsk" and headed off for
the airport.
I
know that every morsel of life on this planet, even the life
of a tree, is way too precious to be thrown away for any reason.
As a society, we are tormented by nightmares that haunt our
hopes for the future of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
These nightmares often become too real. We worry about how callus
humankind has become toward respect for each other and for life,
in general. In daily coffee clutches, in casual conversations
at the mall, in resounding debates among legislative bodies,
over a couple of brews at a local bar, even at our most revered
church assemblies, we rave among ourselves. Red-faced and with
our fists pounding, we declare a need to rally the righteous
in battle against the abominable evil that plagues our society.
We recognize that atrocities like murder, war, pollution, and
general disrespect for each other and for the natural world
are at the very core of this evil. We are frustrated. We desperately
seek answers from anywhere, but mostly, we plead to the highest
power in the universe. We are often dismayed, because the answers
don't seem to come; and the evil continues to prosper.
I
have been blessed with a gift for eternal optimism. Deep in
my bones, I know that humanity is as compelled to preserve life,
as it is capable of destroying it. I know love, caring and wisdom
will eventually win out. The alternative is unthinkable. It's
just that our priorities get a little screwed up from time to
time. I really believe the answers we seek are right in front
of us. They are obvious and decisive, but we seem to be blinded
by ulterior motives—motives destined to someday rot in
the desert like Ozymandias. We fail to recognize the obvious
truth. I believe the truth we seek glows in a little grove of
oaks struggling to persist on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi.
I
travel extensively on business. Over the past four years, I
have traveled to each of the forty-eight connected states at
least twice. I have spent 200+ days in coastal Mississippi.
I have witnessed the generic evolution of virtually every regional
culture in this country. Franchise retailing, Interstate travel,
the World-Wide Web, cable TV, the incursion of Hollywood values,
booming infrastructures and proliferating technologies are turning
every community into every other community. We are compromising
our regional, cultural treasures in lieu of an amorphous convergence
of social values. We are beginning to speak, look and believe
alike. In a Disneyland, big-screen cinema, e-everything world,
we are evolving toward sameness. The only beings on this earth
that still seem to preserve our regional uniqueness are our
natural flora and fauna. I have seen the saguaros of Arizona,
the sequoias of California, the vast, treeless grass oceans
of the Great Plains, the brilliant crimson, gold and russet
autumns of the North Central and Northeast hardwood forests,
the misty, mystical rainforests of the Pacific Northwest, and
the dense, lush pines and ancient sprawling oaks of the South.
The trees (or lack thereof) seem to be all that's left to put
a unique face on the individual life aspects of each beautifully
diverse region of this country. Truly, our natural heritage
is the last remaining vestige of the "Nature" of who we all
are. Our trees are symbols of the regional and cultural diversity
that have made this country great. Only we can protect them
from ourselves.
My
friend just mailed me the December 16, 2000 front page of The
Sun Herald. The full-color photo of men and machines tearing
away the living essence of the very tree that had honored me
with its spirit only a month ago saddened me. It occurred to
me that in the land of Audubon, the same land that John Muir
heralded as a jewel during his trek across the country, there
should be a heightened awareness to the real wisdom people have
around them. Somehow, that thought compelled me to write this
letter.
Friends,
I have no stock in the decisions you make, which directly affect
the quality of life you chose for your community, nor do I have
any right to tell you how to decide. I cannot tell you what
morsel of your lush natural heritage you should savor for all
time. My home is a thousand miles away. Every time I ponder
in awe under the sweeping embrace of the Friendship Oak or the
Patriarch in the courtyard at Mary Mahoney's, I feel, deep within
the very grist of my soul, the warm nudge of the wisdom you
all must surely possess. The fact that those great trees have
survived thousands of years of human achievement and uncertainty,
is a living testament to your wisdom. But, I also feel a sense
of being universal connectedness to what you have so thoughtfully
preserved. I feel akin to the life essence of your great arboreal
treasures, and I feel at home amid the vibes that prove your
sagacity. We are all connected. We are all family. We all have
a stake in the preservation of our natural heritage. The decisions
you make affect us all. Please, decide wisely; and God bless
you all.
Sincerely,
Philip J. Zurawski
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