“No Mose; no Mose,” chant those opposed to the expensive system to prevent flooding in Venice, Italy. But all the alternatives are also costly, and the muddy island on which Venice lies seems to need Mose, the system of barriers that rise to protect Venice from high water. Raising the barriers is a costly procedure, maybe something on the order of 300,000 Euros for each use. And the overall cost of the system, scheduled to completed in 2023, will be twice the original estimated costs. Saving Venice? Not my worry, however. I live a thousand feet above sea level in western Pennsylvania on sedimentary rock that underlies my house in layers miles deep; no chance of slowly sinking here though occasional subsidence from old mine collapses is a possibility. But the local river lies 300 feet lower than my house. Flooding? No chance on my hilltop. Venice, by contrast…
No place on the planet is free from natural and manmade * dangers. New Madrid, Missouri? Yep. Sits above an earthquake zone that could shake the continent’s interior. San Francisco? We all know about California’s many faults and their threats. Storms in the Midwest? Nor’easters along the eastern seaboard? Volcanic eruptions in Central America and along Cascades in the West, hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico? Holy Cow! This is generally a very risky planet on which to live, and it seems that some of us have sought out the most dangerous environments as places to live or had the misfortune to be born in the midst of manmade and natural risk—not me, of course, because I live in quiet western Pennsylvania where earthquakes are rare and mild when they occur and storms are rarely life-threatening—have sought out the most dangerous environments as places to live. Venice, Italy? Muddy island on which people over centuries have built their lives only to find that mud compresses under weight. The city sinks even in the absence of sea level changes. The same thing happens in every muddy delta, including the Mississippi Delta and that expansive sea-level land of millions along the Ganges-Brahmaputra distributary streams. Did I mention that Bangladesh is also subject to Indian Ocean cyclones (hurricanes, typhoons), some of which have killed tens to hundreds of thousands of delta residents.
A fifty-car accident on the Ohio Turnpike during the December, 2022, winter storm resulted in many injuries and at least one death as of this writing. The Ohio Turnpike Commission, like the Pennsylvania Turnpike Commission, had put out advisories against travel during the snow-and-ice event. Nevertheless, people traveled, took the risk, and wrecked. That’s what our species does. We build on a muddy island during an interglacial epoch when sea level rises; we build along rivers that flood and shorelines that undergo storm surges; we build in earthquake zones and tornado alleys. That’s who we are. And in the aftermath of every destructive event, we rebuild as though the same event could not occur.
Flooding of communities along the Monongahela River in western Pennsylvania isn’t a yearly occurrence, but the parking area called the Mon Wharf in Pittsburgh does get inundated rather frequently. And big floods do occur along the length of the river, washing over small towns and causing damage to the many houses on the Mon’s banks. But over the years, people have cleaned up the muds, replaced the carpets, couches, TVs, and dryers, and resettled in “the old homesteads.” That’s who we are. Risk be damned. And if it doesn’t come to us as in a river’s flooding, we go to it, skydiving, ice- and rock-climbing, white water rafting, skiing on treacherous slopes, swimming among sharks, and walking through territories where bears and mountain lions roam.
We build on unstable ground. If not on the muds of Venice, then on slopes. In fact, that house—my house—I mentioned above sits more than a hundred feet a stream that runs through the woods on my property. If one lives on a hill, one pretty much assures living near some slope, not necessarily a Tepui’s cliff, but certainly all hills imply valleys and lowlands. That river not far from my house goes by a name given by indigenous denizens. Monongahela is loosely translated as “River of Falling-in (or Sliding-in) Banks.” Landslides are common, as weak shales that underlie tough sandstones and limestones erode away. So, yes, I have a great setting in overlooking a forest and a winding stream populated by deer, groundhogs, turtles, rabbits, and numerous species of birds, but I have like those I fault for shortsightedness, built a house in an area with a specific risk—two, if one counts potential subsidence; three if one counts winter and spring storms, four if one counts 80-foot trees potentially falling on my house. Whoa! What am I doing here? Oh! That’s right. I live on Earth, where risk is endemic.
What’s a Venetian to do? What’s a Pennsylvanian to do? What’s anyone to do? Venice is sinking and will continue to sink as sea level continues its interglacial rise. Those who choose to continue their lives on that island or on muddy deltas, have little choice other than to leave or to spend money on maintenance, or on minimizing the risks. I suppose one can say that at the end of life each person can say, “Well, up until this point, I’ve been able to minimize risk.” The winners in life have minimized risk effectively, but it eventually overwhelms each of us in our ultimate demise, for just living a long life increases the risk of death. Not many 120-year-olds running around, are there?
But minimizing risk is the only way to live a long life on a risky planet. That so many humans have lost their lives in “foolish” risks is astounding to me. Yet, I am, if I examine my life, in some ways just as foolish. The lure of risk is powerful. That’s the reason for roller coasters and other theme park rides, isn’t it?
People will continue their efforts to save Venice until the muds eventually swallow the city. The costs will get increasingly more prohibitive, but generations from now, a new group of Venetians will discuss further expensive measures to save their homes and businesses. They will attempt to the very subsiding end to mitigate the risk they chose rather than abandon the city. People will continue to build along rivers that flood. And my descendants, post my departure to a realm of no risks, might be asking whether or not they should unload the cedar house on the hill before a landslide or falling tree claims it.
Remember that this is not your practice life. Anticipate what you can, and adapt when anticipation fails you. And when adaptation fails, get out, run away, hide, or do whatever it takes to minimize the consequences of risk. Venice? Great tourist spot, but I wouldn’t want to live there.
*Manmade. Interesting choice of word, Donald, especially in the context of the U. S. Marines eliminating all use of “Sir,” and “Ma’am,” in a politically correct change that will no doubt help our military break things and kill people better than our enemies—who, unless I’m wrong don’t care about political correctness when breaking things and killing people are on their agendas. But, hey, this is the twenty-first century and almost, figuratively speaking, 1984. Poor Neil Armstrong. Had he made that first-ever trip to the moon today, he would have been castigated by the PC crowd for not saying, “That’s one small step for a person, one giant leap for persons regardless of their choice of gender—or nowadays, species.” As long as truly dangerous risks don’t threaten, the PC crowd will make the choice of words the risk. But I can’t imagine a U. S. Marine in the heat of battle thinking, “Now, what’s the politically correct way to address my captain? I don’t want to offend….” What’s that expression we used to say as kids? “Sticks and stones might break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” Instead of shooting bullets, marines should shout “sirs,” and “ma’ams” at the enemy; certainly, the enemy will be doing that to a politically correct military force.
No place on the planet is free from natural and manmade * dangers. New Madrid, Missouri? Yep. Sits above an earthquake zone that could shake the continent’s interior. San Francisco? We all know about California’s many faults and their threats. Storms in the Midwest? Nor’easters along the eastern seaboard? Volcanic eruptions in Central America and along Cascades in the West, hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico? Holy Cow! This is generally a very risky planet on which to live, and it seems that some of us have sought out the most dangerous environments as places to live or had the misfortune to be born in the midst of manmade and natural risk—not me, of course, because I live in quiet western Pennsylvania where earthquakes are rare and mild when they occur and storms are rarely life-threatening—have sought out the most dangerous environments as places to live. Venice, Italy? Muddy island on which people over centuries have built their lives only to find that mud compresses under weight. The city sinks even in the absence of sea level changes. The same thing happens in every muddy delta, including the Mississippi Delta and that expansive sea-level land of millions along the Ganges-Brahmaputra distributary streams. Did I mention that Bangladesh is also subject to Indian Ocean cyclones (hurricanes, typhoons), some of which have killed tens to hundreds of thousands of delta residents.
A fifty-car accident on the Ohio Turnpike during the December, 2022, winter storm resulted in many injuries and at least one death as of this writing. The Ohio Turnpike Commission, like the Pennsylvania Turnpike Commission, had put out advisories against travel during the snow-and-ice event. Nevertheless, people traveled, took the risk, and wrecked. That’s what our species does. We build on a muddy island during an interglacial epoch when sea level rises; we build along rivers that flood and shorelines that undergo storm surges; we build in earthquake zones and tornado alleys. That’s who we are. And in the aftermath of every destructive event, we rebuild as though the same event could not occur.
Flooding of communities along the Monongahela River in western Pennsylvania isn’t a yearly occurrence, but the parking area called the Mon Wharf in Pittsburgh does get inundated rather frequently. And big floods do occur along the length of the river, washing over small towns and causing damage to the many houses on the Mon’s banks. But over the years, people have cleaned up the muds, replaced the carpets, couches, TVs, and dryers, and resettled in “the old homesteads.” That’s who we are. Risk be damned. And if it doesn’t come to us as in a river’s flooding, we go to it, skydiving, ice- and rock-climbing, white water rafting, skiing on treacherous slopes, swimming among sharks, and walking through territories where bears and mountain lions roam.
We build on unstable ground. If not on the muds of Venice, then on slopes. In fact, that house—my house—I mentioned above sits more than a hundred feet a stream that runs through the woods on my property. If one lives on a hill, one pretty much assures living near some slope, not necessarily a Tepui’s cliff, but certainly all hills imply valleys and lowlands. That river not far from my house goes by a name given by indigenous denizens. Monongahela is loosely translated as “River of Falling-in (or Sliding-in) Banks.” Landslides are common, as weak shales that underlie tough sandstones and limestones erode away. So, yes, I have a great setting in overlooking a forest and a winding stream populated by deer, groundhogs, turtles, rabbits, and numerous species of birds, but I have like those I fault for shortsightedness, built a house in an area with a specific risk—two, if one counts potential subsidence; three if one counts winter and spring storms, four if one counts 80-foot trees potentially falling on my house. Whoa! What am I doing here? Oh! That’s right. I live on Earth, where risk is endemic.
What’s a Venetian to do? What’s a Pennsylvanian to do? What’s anyone to do? Venice is sinking and will continue to sink as sea level continues its interglacial rise. Those who choose to continue their lives on that island or on muddy deltas, have little choice other than to leave or to spend money on maintenance, or on minimizing the risks. I suppose one can say that at the end of life each person can say, “Well, up until this point, I’ve been able to minimize risk.” The winners in life have minimized risk effectively, but it eventually overwhelms each of us in our ultimate demise, for just living a long life increases the risk of death. Not many 120-year-olds running around, are there?
But minimizing risk is the only way to live a long life on a risky planet. That so many humans have lost their lives in “foolish” risks is astounding to me. Yet, I am, if I examine my life, in some ways just as foolish. The lure of risk is powerful. That’s the reason for roller coasters and other theme park rides, isn’t it?
People will continue their efforts to save Venice until the muds eventually swallow the city. The costs will get increasingly more prohibitive, but generations from now, a new group of Venetians will discuss further expensive measures to save their homes and businesses. They will attempt to the very subsiding end to mitigate the risk they chose rather than abandon the city. People will continue to build along rivers that flood. And my descendants, post my departure to a realm of no risks, might be asking whether or not they should unload the cedar house on the hill before a landslide or falling tree claims it.
Remember that this is not your practice life. Anticipate what you can, and adapt when anticipation fails you. And when adaptation fails, get out, run away, hide, or do whatever it takes to minimize the consequences of risk. Venice? Great tourist spot, but I wouldn’t want to live there.
*Manmade. Interesting choice of word, Donald, especially in the context of the U. S. Marines eliminating all use of “Sir,” and “Ma’am,” in a politically correct change that will no doubt help our military break things and kill people better than our enemies—who, unless I’m wrong don’t care about political correctness when breaking things and killing people are on their agendas. But, hey, this is the twenty-first century and almost, figuratively speaking, 1984. Poor Neil Armstrong. Had he made that first-ever trip to the moon today, he would have been castigated by the PC crowd for not saying, “That’s one small step for a person, one giant leap for persons regardless of their choice of gender—or nowadays, species.” As long as truly dangerous risks don’t threaten, the PC crowd will make the choice of words the risk. But I can’t imagine a U. S. Marine in the heat of battle thinking, “Now, what’s the politically correct way to address my captain? I don’t want to offend….” What’s that expression we used to say as kids? “Sticks and stones might break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” Instead of shooting bullets, marines should shout “sirs,” and “ma’ams” at the enemy; certainly, the enemy will be doing that to a politically correct military force.
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