Masters of Everything and Nothing

Dramatic stories of natural catastrophes fill newsfeeds almost daily. Earthquakes, floods, fires, hail storms, tornados, and hurricanes dominate headlines, reminding us that humans hold little power over weather and geological activities.  Discussion of recent events led to an emotional discussion during art class the other day. Eventually our group wondered how people who lived here before us handled such phenomena when they occurred during their lives?

Depending on how far back we’re talking, we agreed that many of those individuals lived migratory lifestyles. It made me think about what I know about native people of the Great Plains.  Using human, horse, and dog power, they transported tanned hides and wooden supports used to construct temporary homes with them as they followed wildlife herds. These creatures provided not only food, but also materials used to construct homes, tools, bedding, and clothing. Their Walmart had hooves.

The nature of these transient beasts meant they constantly moved, seeking grasses that thrived across this region from Texas to Canada. Herds large enough to darken the plains for miles quickly devoured this solar generated calorie resource. When the grass was gnawed to the ground, they moved shifted locale, leaving it to regrow before their next pass through the area. As a result, humans whose lives depended on the great, shaggy beasts packed up and trekked after them.

While some imagine the hardships of such a life, researchers tell us it was beneficial. Food was fresh, and tribes usually abandoned camp long before human wastes fouled water and soil that sustained them. As part of nature’s cycles, they understood the waxing and waning of the moon as well as the always changing seasons. They knew where their food and resources came from and how to preserve them for later use. They were more in touch with the realities of existence than modern urban dwellers.

Like us, they were susceptible to natural disasters. Oral histories and records kept on animal skins reveal accounts of apocalyptic events. The difference is that their mobility encouraged a high degree of adaptability. Reconstructing a hide tipi required resources and labor, but it didn’t require a lifelong mortgage to replace it. Because they moved where game moved, fire meant a lost season of grass in one locale, not a lost herd that had to be rebuilt--if finances permitted.

When such events occurred, whole tribes moved on, lending support to the weakest in the group. They maintained their cyclical behaviors until cultural conflict made that impossible. Equivalent catastrophes today often isolate individuals or families who then depend on strangers or impersonal government entities to help them rebuild lives. Not only do people lose homes and possessions, businesses, farms, vineyards, and ranches succumb to raging floods and flames. Lifetime dreams vanish overnight.

While technology and civilization provide temperature controlled climates inside four walls, it’s worth considering what modern humans give up to enjoy such comfort. Unless we consciously contemplate our relationship with nature and its pros and cons, it’s easy to think we’re the masters of the universe. That is until a natural disaster reminds us we aren’t in control of anything but how we respond to what happens to us.