Farming in extreme heat showed me climate change is real. Changing my lifestyle is harder
At least I have a watering hole to cool off in that I share with many of B.C's aquatic species
This First Person column is written by Anna Helmer, a potato farmer in Pemberton, B.C. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
I knew right away it was a newt. The sucking, or rather, clenching sensation on my skin had become a surprisingly familiar sensation, given all the amphibians also seeking to reduce their body temperature on this extraordinarily hot day in our watering hole.
The first time I sensed it as I floated, I absentmindedly felt up my leg for the cause of that curious feeling. I was shocked when I found the slimy, bright green creature. I tore it off and flung it far away with surely unsurvivable vehemence.
I regret doing that as later I learned it was likely endangered.
This was in the middle of the heat dome of 2021, when temperatures in Western Canada were in the high 40s C.
I am a farmer and I have a lot of non-optional outside work to do, such as moving the irrigation pipe and cultivating potatoes on a tractor with no AC. So when the heat became overwhelming, as it did several times a day, I thought nothing of jumping into a pond that contained just about all the aquatic bugs of British Columbia, including one commonly called a water scorpion (it bites, but doesn't kill).
I never intended to swim in a swamp. The makeshift swimming pool was originally an unrelated climate change mitigation plan, excavated and filled with water to use as a reservoir to fight wildfires that might encroach on the farm. It was a promising pool-shaped collection of cool water, even if it did resemble a swamp.
The appeal of a swimming area — even a makeshift swampy one — rose with the temperature. The heat overcame any delicate aversions I had and I jumped in. That's how I began my acquaintance with amphibians, water scorpions and a dizzying array of beetle species.
I've been farming with my family for 25 years and this was not our first effort at dealing with the effects of climate change on the farm. The increasing summer heat even before the now infamous heat dome was most notable, but longer periods without precipitation and the ubiquitous presence of wildfire smoke were also cause for concern.
Our mitigation efforts had been directed at protecting the crops and soil from the extreme conditions and had mixed success. We had reduced our reliance on the summer markets, which allowed us to avoid handling the potatoes in the heat. Now we sell most of our crops over the winter, which has its own set of challenges, mainly, ironically, to do with getting around in the cold and snow.
We've also been using cover crops (plants grown in rotation with the cash crops to slow erosion, suppress weeds and build organic matter) for decades. As it happens, we've found the soil holds the moisture well and appears able to weather droughts.
Prior to the heat dome, I used to think the effects of climate change on our farm were manageable. I must admit that I did not have a firm grasp on the immediacy and severity of the situation, and I had no idea I would feel it so personally.
I find it a little embarrassing to admit that. People often assume I am a passionate, highly aware environmentalist because of my occupation. I often run up against the stereotype of the hippie organic farmer who does a lot of canning and is somehow one with nature.
The truth is, despite my organic credentials, I make a lot of choices that aren't green. I love a good airplane trip, for example, and would never consider farming without fossil fuel-powered trucks and tractors to ease our labour.
The heat dome provided me with a reality check and a lot to think about, but I haven't changed my lifestyle choices. I chalk it up to wilful selfishness: I'm not motivated to change when most of the people in my life who work in air-conditioned offices don't even realize how hot it is outside.
These are the thoughts that swirled in my head as I waded over to the muddy shore of our watering hole. I calmly pried off the newt's every little finger and toe from my forearm and deposited the amphibian amongst a school of water beetles cavorting in the grass tufts.
With luck, it would eat a few of them and I could go back to pretending I had a pristine, bug-free pool. I can now swim with creepy crawlies without feeling I have to kill them all, but that is the extent of my increased environmentalism.
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