Progress and Steel-Toed Boots
Yesterday, the meadow greeted passersby with tall grasses, wildflowers, and a gentle breeze. Today, bright survey flags appeared like tiny exclamation points, bulldozers arrived wearing hard hats, while someone confidently says, "Progress."
Progress? What does that mean? Well, in this case, it means approximately nineteen deer received official eviction notices. I'm sure a few foxes, rabbits, groundhogs, and countless other woodland residents found the same letter tucked beneath a leaf.
I get it: the world runs on technology. I understand countless photos of grandchildren, weddings, graduations, births, and a few thousand pictures of vacations, dogs and cats need a place to call home. Yes, data centers help make that happen, and I appreciate what they provide.
But where do the deer and rabbits live once their front yard becomes a parking lot? Does the fox grumble about the noisy new neighbors? Do the dragonflies hold tiny emergency meetings over the pond?
As for the people living next to these data servers, do they install sound barriers and wonder what tomorrow's landscape will look like?
For numerous people, several data centers have appeared within a short driving distance of home. Maybe this is simply the season we live in. Maybe progress always arrives wearing steel-toed boots and carrying laptops.
Still, there's something sacred about a meadow that doesn't need Wi-Fi to tell its story. For centuries, wildflowers bloomed without notifications. Birds greeted the sunrise without anyone pressing "Like" or inserting a smiling emoji. Ancient trees became silent witnesses to generations who never needed to charge a battery or check an email.
I know communities need jobs and buildings need upgrades. I see how technology continues to grow, and I can't deny it keeps the world connected. Even so, I find myself wondering how we balance the growing need for technology with spaces that simply cannot be replaced.
Growth within the digital world often brings good things. This is true. But do we need this kind of thing?
I hope, through it all, we never forget that forests, streams, fields, farmland, and forgotten fence rows matter. These spaces aren't waiting rooms for the next building project. They're home to something ... already.
For now, though, I'll keep taking my walks, smile at the dragonflies, admire the rambunctious chipmunks, and continue applauding for every patch of green that survives another season.
After all, not every valuable thing needs to be stored in a data center.
Some treasures still belong beneath an open sky.
Blessings,
Linda
May we all keep applauding for every patch of green that survives another season.~~LM









