Riparian Rage

The television meteorologists predicted a fourth straight day of record-breaking, triple-digit heat. The forecast today called for a high of 105 degrees.

Elmer and I were on the move toward the park earlier than usual—4:45! Full sunrise was still less than an hour away. My mood soared with good will at hanging with my dog that time of day.

We were about ready to cross a bridge over a creek that had undergone two decades of massive, expensive and successful efforts to restore its riparian areas along a quarter mile stretch that flowed through the park

The previous morning I had seen the old beaver glide upstream not far from where I walked and a blue heron perched on a wooden fence that kept dogs and humans out of the riparian areas.

It may seem unusual to some, perhaps many, but this creek is my friend. I have a daily spiritual service with this watercourse and witnessed uncountable marvels of nature in and around it.

A young man riding a bicycle approached us and then turned off the sidewalk, He stopped and got off his bicycle. I saw the beam of a flashlight in the riparian area behind him. I heard voices. I saw part of the fence had been removed to allow easy access. The man walked his bicycle through the gap and disappeared into the foliage.

Homeless people had made a new camp.

I wanted to investigate but decided otherwise because I was angry and that is no way to investigate anything in life.

Longtime readers of this newsletter know I have no sympathy and more than a little animosity toward homeless people who destroy natural areas such as forests, wetlands, dunes, riparian areas and deserts with their residency and accumulations of weird shit, garbage, fires, tree cutting, soil compaction, feces, propane tanks, drug paraphernalia, etc. They have no right to destroy flora and fauna and the habitats that support them.

Is their presence murdering a natural area more heinous than five tents murdering a small business that someone dreamed about their whole life and spent an inheritance to open?

In my mind, yes. Perhaps that comes from having had a hand two decades ago in planting 10,000 trees in Tillamook County watersheds as part of massive initiatives to restore riparian areas, estuaries and deforested uplands utterly wrecked by human/corporate use, mostly by logging and dairy farming. I am glad I lived long enough to see the ecological benefits of these initiatives. I count it as the greatest work of my life, way more meaningful than teaching or writing.

My point is: these efforts worked. They are also working to restore the creeks and wetlands in my neighborhood. The astonishing array of wildlife nourished by the creeks and wetlands that Elmer and I see on our walks is proof of that.

Unfortunately, I’ve also seen the results of the destruction wrought by the homeless in these same restored areas and it undoes much of the planning, expense and labor of the efforts. It is horrible to behold. It seems almost malicious.

Elmer and I walked around the park twice and I cooled off a bit. It was now time to investigate.

We walked a path that paralleled the riparian area where the homeless had made camp. I slowed down and looked through some foliage. I saw a man almost prone on a mattress; I caught a sliver of his face. He was the same man who had been whacked out of his mind in the neighborhood the last month, living against the wall of a convenience store, under a bus shelter, and inside an upraised brick flower planter in front of an abandoned retail store.

His camp was an unholy mess of water jugs, pop bottles, bedding, mosquito netting (how in the world had he procured that?) and fast food detritus. He had hacked away or broken off dozens of branches to create a mini clearing and a trail to the creek to piss and shit.

The bicycle was there, too. I saw two other men sleeping on the ground.

Back home, I got on the computer and found the contact information to report the encampment to the city’s Park Ranger program. A two-sentence email would conclude my civic duty on this matter, except for the obligatory ten follow-up emails or phone calls to spur action.

Or it was quite possible Rangers would act immediately, this very day in fact, and roust the campers out of the riparian areas. I suspected there were already complaints lodged by local residents.

But…it was going to hit 104 this afternoon. The shade from the forested riparian area was probably keeping at least one of the men alive.

I didn’t send the email. I would give the men three days to leave. The temperatures were supposed to cool down to the low 80s by then.

Three days later, the men were gone but all their shit was left behind.

Two days later, all the shit was gone.

Progress?