On the Commons

Somewhere just west of Calgary, Alberta, listening to Meadowlarks at the roadside. When I was 17 years old, my family’s car was repossessed. It happened at night, the Dodge sedan my parents had bought used towed away late one evening while we were watching TV. Cars get repossessed when their owner—who doesn’t really own the car yet, just pays for it—misses enough car payments in a row.

I have a story to share with you. It’s a strange turn of phrase, “I have a story.” Or maybe not strange. In cultures all over the world—and once, I imagine, in every culture—stories are sacred. Some you may only tell in certain seasons, others only to people allowed to receive them. “Have a story”: like any form of possession and ownership, that concept carries its burdens as well as its gifts. For me, at this moment, “I am currently holding a story” is closer to the truth.

the fragile reality of ownership Article voiceover 0:00 -18:49 Audio playback is not supported on your browser. Please upgrade. It’s Montana Wildflower season! On a short, easy hike with a friend last week we saw all kinds of delicate, quiet bounty emerging, including one of my favorites, the lovely Arrowleaf Balsamroot.

Holland Creek running out of Holland Lake, Montana All wild waters have a different flavor. The North Fork of the Flathead River, the river near the off-grid cabin I stay at most often, is wide, and fast enough I wouldn’t risk trying to swim across it.

Making tracks next to Black Bear’s in the Bob Marshall Wilderness, Montana. What story would someone 100,000 years from now stitch together from our footprints? Somewhere between 112,000 and 121,000 years ago, a person walked along the muddy residue of a lake that today is so long gone it might be found only in myth. And maybe not even there—the oldest known story of humankind reaches back only 100,000 years.

Sergeiv Posad, outside of Moscow, Russia, winter 2005 My father recently sent me a photo from outside the apartment he and my stepmother share in Moscow. It’s a tiny one-room flat that once belonged to my stepmother’s grandmother, Anastasia Tsvetaeva. Anastasia’s sister, Marina Tsvetaeva, is still one of the most beloved poets in Russia; it was lesser known that Anastasia wrote poetry, too, but the hardship and heartshatter that both women endured is well documented.

Bohemian Waxwings’ New Year’s Eve feast: Mountain Ash berries Nearly two decades ago, I had a premature baby. “Had a baby” is a strange phrase, isn’t it? It sounds so simple, like having a loaf of bread, or an itch. Whereas even in the best circumstances there is nothing simple about “having a baby.” My son’s and my circumstances were hardly the best—I’d come down with HELLP Syndrome, an extremely rare and almost always deadly pregnancy-related illness.

The following is a revised version of an essay originally published in January 2022. Many years ago, late into Barack Obama’s presidential administration, maybe in 2015 or even early 2016, I had a long messaging conversation with an acquaintance about some of the right-wing movements and talking points that had become prevalent over the previous few years, specifically the fear-mongering over “they’re going to take our guns.” “They” being liberal people or, more specifically, Democrats.

If you’re new here, welcome to On the Commons! Some places to roam: How, and and why, does anyone own the earth? The limitations of meditation and lure of silence. Walkability when a problem is systemic, or: you can’t solve for traffic. ✔️ Join over 7,000 On the Commons readers. Upgrade here. A few days ago, I was sitting by this river, near a U.S. Forest Service cabin where I went recently for a sorely needed offline, off-grid, off-network recalibration.

If you’re new here, welcome to On the Commons! Here, we explore questions as varied as: The disastrous and ongoing legacy of the Doctrine of Discovery, the epitome of ownership’s claim “I took it; now it’s mine” in the form of “I saw it; now it’s mine.” Is it possible to consume without exploitation? What is wrong with Russia? ✔️ Join over 7,000 On the Commons readers. Upgrade here. There are short audio recordings at the beginning and end of this essay. They contain only wildlife morning sounds.