Pomquet

I wake up early from strange dreams I can’t remember and check Facebook. The Americans have attacked Iran and Trump is warning against retaliation, as he did when he instituted tariffs on this country: a bully’s behaviour. At least Canada has only been subjected to economic warfare—so far. As Tabitha Southey said on Facebook, it’s as if the American president bombed Iran so that he could post on social media about it, cosplaying strength and resolve. Such a weak buffoon, and causing so much damage everywhere.

I check The Globe and Mail on my phone to get more details, and see Mark Kingwell’s opinion piece arguing that generative AI may make all learning obsolete, leading to the end of something “transcendent and transformative” in our lives:

I don’t just mean a critical-thinking skill set, or body of facts, or even the basics of media literacy and fallacy-spotting – though these are essential tools for life. I mean, rather, the things that animate the hundreds of students who still come to our classes: the value of self-given meaning and purpose, the pleasure of being good at hard things for their sake alone, a consuming joy in the free play of imagination. A desire to flourish, and to bend the arc of history toward justice. I don’t know if those things are exclusive to humans; I do know that they are threatened and in short supply among existing humans.

Those two things—the wilful ignorance of the great empire’s decision makers, their utter stupidity and blindness even to their own citizens’ safety (since despite the threats, Iran will retaliate somehow), and the way people will be increasingly unable to sort through what is true and what is bullshit, falling prey to whatever scams our tech overlords build into their algorithms—feel connected to me, and both open the door to despair. Instead of giving in, I dress quietly and go for a walk.

I’m staying with my friends Matthew and Sara in Pomquet, Nova Scotia, for a few days. It’s paradise—although I know that not every day here will be cloudless and warm. We agreed yesterday that today would be devoted to writing, and as I’ve said in a yet-unpublished essay, I’m useless unless I walk for an hour in the morning, so even without death-from-above and cognitive-rot-from-within encouraging me to imagine the apocalypse, I would still need to stretch my legs. I smile at the old cat, Sweet Pea, who is snoring in her bed next to the window, and silently (I hope) open the front door.

The road is lined with birch and aspen trees. Roses, yarrow, and tufted vetch bloom beside the shoulder. I consider walking to the beach in the nearby provincial park, but that’ll take too long, so I decide to turn around in Pomquet. There are so many birds singing: Merlin identifies song sparrows, ovenbirds, red-eyed vireos, black-throated green warblers, American redstarts, and common yellowthroats. I add easier birds—crows, jays, robins, a white-throated sparrow—to that list. I’m walking among so much life.

The winding road is surprisingly busy for seven a.m. on a Sunday. It’s chilly; my nose runs and I’m glad I put on a jacket. As I get closer to Pomquet, I hear a rototiller: the sound of a man who doesn’t care about being unpopular with his neighbours. A pair of goldfinches flies into a tree on someone’s front lawn.

I use my watch to check my pulse: 86 beats per minute. Maybe walking, as important as it is, isn’t strenuous enough. One of my companions on last week’s walk, Nico, is 82 and incredibly fit. I want to be like him in 20 years; hell, I’d like to be that fit now. I’ll use some of the benefits from my new job to hire a personal trainer, I decide.

A row of mature trees, tall and stately with fine foliage, like the mesquite trees I remember from visiting Tucson, is covered in white blossoms. I risk the ticks I’ve been warned against and cross the lawn to get a better look. Bumblebees are everywhere, working the flowers, buzzing with what I imagine is contentment. I’ve never seen these trees before. The plant identification app on my phone tells me they are black locusts. There’s so much to learn about and see, to experience. I’m so happy to be here.