This morning, after coffee at my local café, I took a leisurely walk home, enjoying the cool spring day. I live in Minneapolis, a city known for its green spaces and urban wildlife. Our lakes and parkways provide green ribbons from the Mississippi River to lakes and trails in the far western suburbs. During the spring and fall, our city hosts a diverse population of migrating birds. On spring mornings, the air in Minneapolis is filled with bird songs and darting shapes.
At least, that was the way it was a decade ago. Walking home today the silence was oppressive. There were a few isolated birds singing, but it was clear that the great number of birds in the past weren’t here. I’ve noticed how the variety and number of birds at my bird feeders has dropped markedly.
Likewise, bees and butterflies that were plentiful until a few years ago, are now rare. When I see a pollinator, I feel the joy of recognizing an old friend. This doesn’t happen much anymore. All variety of pollinators are rapidly disappearing.
Sadly, the same is true for our bats. At sunset, their swarms were common. Wheeling around in the air, careening here and there, they provided a flying circus through twilight into the dark. They also ate their weight in insects every evening. Now, naturalist say that our metropolitan bat populations have crashed and are going extinct.
It’s not to say that we don’t have some wildlife entering the city. Bald eagles still perch above our lakes and rivers. Turkeys are plentiful and crowding their way into all parts of the city. Rabbits abound. However, the biodiversity of Minneapolis has shrunk noticeably.
When I got home, I sat in my backyard and listened. After a bit I went inside, feeling hollow, empty of joy, bereft. I am experiencing grief for the world we will not be able to pass on to our children.
What have we done?