Thankful, and Not

Thanksgiving is synonymous with harvest. Reaping what you have sown, you walk across the threshold of the field, your machete idle but ready to swing, to neatly lob off a head of broccoli. The level of satisfaction is hard to replicate in layman’s terms, somewhere between basketball’s slam dunk and capturing the flag.

Harvest is what gave us some primordial ease, that the dark, cold months will not be hungry ones. The ancient discovery that successful agriculture could offer its practitioners self-reliance — to a degree — is what set us on the path to discovering other things, like gratefulness.

Because I spend most of my time outside and surrounded by vegetables, I don’t get far from the miracle most people call dirt. A day seldom passes when I do not catch myself standing still, almost a little stunned, as I take in the farm field and the peacefulness that surrounds me.

Since I practice no outright faith, save what I’ve read about our expanding universe, those moments pass like acknowledgments, a prayer of thanks directed at none other than Mother Nature.

It is largely these moments that help me begin and finish these weekly articles. I try to keep it peaceful, even the bloodshed. But if I am always writing about something beautiful or magically balanced, always showing reverence and joy, does that frame of mind become trite?

Look around, or, worse … Listen.

These are the things I am not grateful for:

• Leaf blowers. The funny thing about them is that nobody likes them, and their negative environmental impacts are well-publicized. They succeed because their victims lose their minds or sell their homes. Gradually, no one is left to fight the onslaught.

Every now and then, a small uprising: A village moves to limit use. I’d propose something more drastic — for example, all leaf blowers must be nuclear-powered by 2030.

That should take care of that.

• Light pollution. The funny thing about light pollution is that nobody likes it, and the negative impact on the environment is well-documented. Also well-documented is that our environment cannot take too many more negative impacts. I am not thankful for this. No one should be.

One of the many unintended consequences of so many glass houses is that they can’t contain themselves. If someone leaves so much as a closet light on, the entire neighborhood will bask in the glow. This is bad for people trying to sleep, and it is confusing to animals who don’t have access to prescription sleep aids, which, in the long run, might actually put the animals at an advantage.

• Speed bumps. The funny thing about speed bumps is, nobody likes them, and they do have a positive impact on our environment.

I am not thankful that Sagaponack, a village of something like 30 year-round residents, needs speed bumps to control the pastoral pace. Speed bumps are here to slow us all down, to protect us from ourselves.

Speed bumps near the swamp will have the unintended consequence of saving a turtle or two — and we should all be grateful for that.