Down the garden path

I’m sorry yesterday’s screed was so screed-ish. I do not lack empathy for the people made homeless by flooding in Texas, India, Nepal, and Bangladesh. To lose everything--especially control over your life and where you’ll lay your head at night--is devastating. It could be months or more before families experience anything close to normal. My frustration arises from knowing there is so much we can do to change the course we are on--yet our unsustainable economy chugs gaily along, oblivious to its obvious obsolescence. Try saying that quickly.

On the weekends I do all I can to stay out of the house, where I work and worry over what climate change advocates need to do differently. Today David and I visited Rowallane Gardens, a National Trust property. Here I’m looking at Rowallane house from inside the walled garden.

The stables wall borders one side of the garden.

The stables courtyard was set up for a wedding.

Tonight, David and I attended a Green Party party at a pub. There was a band, a pub quiz, and several songs by the Green MLA (member of the legislative assembly) Steven Agnew. When I was at Queen’s, I researched Agnew's questions in the parliamentary record. This was for a paper I wrote on Europe’s largest illegal dump--near Derry. I wanted to tell him how helpful his work was but it was a bit loud to convey my thanks. David has been volunteering for the Greens for about six months. I haven’t gotten involved in politics here because I can’t vote and I don’t want to do anything overtly political to draw the attention of the border control authorities.
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