VIEWPOINTS
Saturday, June 12, 2021
OTHER VIEWS
I
n early May, the Umatilla Museum
reopened its doors to the public. But
who cares about history, let alone
local history, let alone Umatilla County
history? You should.
Visiting the Umatilla Museum is
a step toward eye-opening empower-
ment through questioning our world.
It is liberation, detaching from “The
Matrix” of disinterest and apathy
surrounding our nature and identity.
In this process of liberation, history
provides us with first with continuity,
a connection to preceding generations
and legacy. From the construction of
McNary Dam that keeps YouTube buzz-
ing, to Native Americans who left their
mark on daily language, to artifacts
marking military veterans’ sacrifices
that provided freedom to write this arti-
cle, reflecting on cause-effect relation-
ships unlocks a cascade of questions
and subsequent insight. Absent these
questions, we see only what is directly
before us. In turn we erroneously
believe ourselves to be a “blip,” rather
than belonging to a continuous flow.
From continuity comes humility.
That is, while we are indeed the doers,
the creators of today, as part of that
flow of Homo sapiens there is little
fundamentally new under the sun.
Umatilla County’s earlier housewives
and craftsmen had different technolo-
gies but similar aims; and while future
Umatillians will develop new tools,
the purposes of these will be famil-
iar. Humility acts as a thoroughfare
connecting past to present to future and
back again. It allows us to learn from all
members of this flow to whom we are
neither superior nor inferior. It affords
us the ability to view our contempo-
raries as fellow travelers rather than as
rivals.
Humility is neither natural nor easy
to obtain, however. When 2021’s teens
reflect on the Umatilla Museum’s 1950s
editions of the Umatilla Viking, they
may struggle to look past the “old-fash-
ionedness,” to fight a desire to look
down on predecessors. If today’s teens
are open to seeing similarities with
this earlier generation, however, they
will find them. Accepting that one is
not superior is a kind of “humble pie,”
an unpleasant part of the liberation
process.
Despite such immediate bitterness,
“humble pie” provides comfort. Yes, we
should strive to be better, as individuals,
morally and materially; yes, let’s push
the frontiers of technology. Nonethe-
less, we can take comfort in our status
as mere Homo sapiens. Psychology and
philosophy have value as theory, but are
nothing compared to the millennia of
field data (a.k.a. the “history”) we have
on Homo sapiens. While all the billions
of us in this human laboratory have
been individuals and responsible for
personal actions, as a collective we have
bumbled through, simply doing the best
we can. Seeing ourselves, friends, and
family in the faces of ancient Egyp-
tians or even of Umatilla’s 19th century
pioneers can give us comfort, making
us feel less alone in our shortcomings
and limitations.
Once possessing comfort we are
equipped to generate empathy for
others, be they in the past or in the pres-
ent. We can put ourselves in the shoes of
a Umatilla railroad worker, or of Lewis
and Clark. We can imagine that were
we 19th century pioneers or Native
Americans, we might have engaged in
the same atrocities for which we judge
them. Like “humble pie, “empathy pie”
is bitter — swallowing it requires us to
forgo our instinct to judge — but doing
so is again the only way to unlock and
unlatch.
A progression from continuity to
humility to comfort to empathy under
our belt, we can navigate forward with
confidence. We can propel ourselves by
the warmth of our predecessors, from
Umatilla County and beyond. With
lighter hearts we can continue writing
the story written by frail Homo sapiens,
one we realize to be as repetitive (cycli-
cal) as it is progressive (linear).
Perhaps most important, we can
give ourselves the power and others the
permission to depersonalize challenges,
shortcomings and conflicts. We are
individuals but also part of something
much bigger than any one of us. Recog-
nize this, unlatch from apathy and
disinterest and open your eyes. Make a
visit to the Umatilla Museum as part of
this process.
———
Alex Cooper works in the Migrant
Education Program for the Intermoun-
tain Education Service District.
A5
What is forest health?
ALEX
COOPER
Start opening
your eyes at
the Umatilla
Museum
East Oregonian
GEORGE
WUERTHNER
OTHER VIEWS
T
he U.S. Forest Service continuously
justifies logging our forests based
on what it calls “forest health.” The
agency claims logging will “restore” resil-
iency. But few ask what exactly constitutes
a healthy forest ecosystem?
The agency defines forest health as a
lack of tree mortality, mainly from wildfire,
bark beetles, root rot, mistletoe, drought,
and a host of other natural agents. To the
Forest Service, such biological agents
are “destructive,” but this demonstrates a
complete failure to understand how forest
ecosystems work.
This Industrial Forestry Paradigm
espoused by the Forest Service views any
mortality as unacceptable other than that
resulting from a chainsaw.
This perspective is analogous to how
U.S. Fish and Game agencies used to view
the influence of natural predators like
wolves and cougars on elk and deer. Over
time biologists learned that culling of the
less fit animals by predators enhanced the
survival of the prey species.
Similarly, wildfire, bark beetles, and
other natural sources of mortality enhance
the long-term resilience of the forest
ecosystem.
For example, the snag forests result-
ing from a high severity fire have the
second-highest biodiversity found in
forested landscapes. Large, high severity
fires promote more birds, bees, butterflies,
wildflowers, bats, fungi, small rodents,
trout, grizzly bears, deer, elk and moose.
Many species of wildlife and plants are
so dependent on snags and down wood that
they live in mortal “fear” of green forests.
Some estimates suggest that as much as
two-thirds of all wildlife species utilize
dead trees at some point in their lifecycle.
“THERE ARE
NUMEROUS OTHER
KNOWN ECOLOGICAL
IMPACTS ASSOCIATED
WITH LOGGING THAT
ARE MINIMIZED,
OVERLOOKED OR
IGNORED BY THE
FOREST SERVICE.”
Even worse for forest ecosystems, the
Forest Service emphasizes chainsaw medi-
cine to “fix” what they define incorrectly
as a “health” problem. Chainsaw medicine
ignores the long-lasting effects of logging
on forest genetics.
Research has demonstrated that all trees
vary in their genetic ability to adapt to vari-
ous stress agents. Some lodgepole pine and
ponderosa pine have a genetic resistance
to bark beetles. Others are better adapted
to deal with drought and so forth. Yet, a
forester with a paint gun marking trees for
logging has no idea which trees have such
adaptive genetics.
Research has shown that thinning even
50% of a forest stand can remove half of
the genetic diversity because it is the rare
alleles that are important in the time of
environmental stress. Perhaps one in a
hundred trees may have a genetic ability to
survive drought or slightly thicker bark that
enables it to survive a fire.
There are numerous other known
ecological impacts associated with logging
that are minimized, overlooked or ignored
by the Forest Service.
For instance, one of the primary vectors
for the spread of weeds into the forest
ecosystem is logging roads. Logging roads
are also a primary chronic source of sedi-
mentation that degrades aquatic ecosys-
tems. Logging removes carbon that would
otherwise be stored on the site. Even burnt
forests store far more carbon than a logged/
thinned forest.
So when the Forest Service asserts it
is logging the forest to enhance “forest
health,” one must ask whose definition of
forest health are they using? The timber
industry? Or an ecological perspective? So
far, the agency is more a handmaiden of
the industry than a custodian of the public
trust.
———
George Wuerthner is an ecologist who
specializes in fire ecology and livestock
issues.
Regular, moderate sun exposure is the goal
JOHN
WINTERS
HEALTH CARE ESSENTIALS
asked the man strolling on the beach
why he was wearing a life jacket.
Trying to be patient, he explained, “My
goodness, don’t you know the ocean is
dangerous? Millions drown every year.”
He’s right. The ocean can be a very
dangerous place and requires great respect.
I encouraged him to learn a little about
the actual risks of certain activities so he
wouldn’t feel so threatened. Understand-
ing and respect are different than blind fear.
This analogy also applies to our attitudes
toward the sun.
We often hear, “Avoid the sun’s harmful
rays,” “stay inside,” and “protect yourself
against the sun’s damaging rays.” Is our sun
really out to get us, or is there more to the
story?
These warnings have some truth to
them, but they also are incomplete. The
ocean sustains life on this planet, yet can
kill you depending on your actions. You
can learn to swim, fish or skipper a boat.
You can safely row across the Atlantic
given adequate preparation. Similarly, you
can safely enjoy the sun’s benefits while
minimizing risk. The man on the beach
probably doesn’t need to wear a life jacket,
and we probably don’t need to hide from the
sun.
According to my research, the sun and
the human race have happily coexisted
for a really, really long time. I googled it.
Sunshine is both life-giving and potentially
dangerous. Our skin does have built-in
I
protections, but these take time to deploy.
Humans who have lived near the equator
for eons are born with ample protective
melanin in their skin. Others that hail from
the north don’t need so much protection and
are lighter in color.
For us northerners everything is dandy,
until you move south or take a tropical
vacation. The sudden increase in the sun’s
intensity causes problems.
Sunlight offers myriad types of light
essential to life. Humans see only a small
portion of the spectrum. Outside what we
see are energy waves that warm us, help
plants grow and improve our health. Yes
that’s right, the sun’s “damaging ultraviolet
rays” also are healthy.
So, how do we get the healthy part while
minimizing the harmful part?
We require UV light to synthesize vita-
min D. Vitamin D is noteworthy because
it prevents skin cancer and has many other
important properties. Optimal levels of
vitamin D help prevent 17 types of cancer,
hypertension and other cardiovascular
diseases, diabetes, autoimmune diseases
and influenza, including COVID-19.
Optimal levels of vitamin D also improve
moods, immune function in many ways,
and inflammation. That’s all very import-
ant.
Dr. Cedric Garland, an epidemiologist
known for his research in the field of vita-
min D deficiency, calculates that adequate
vitamin D levels would prevent 600,000
cases of breast and colorectal cancer every
year. Dr. William Grant, a NASA atmo-
spheric physicist, was one of the first to
recognize vitamin D’s protective benefits.
He believes more than 50,000 American
lives would be spared yearly, 30% of cancer
deaths would be prevented and cancers of
the skin, prostate and lung would be halved.
The Journal of Investigative Dermatol-
ogy found that sun exposure has an inverse
relationship to melanoma risk, by far the
most deadly skin cancer. Surprisingly,
office workers have much more melanoma
than outdoor workers.
Experts point out that skin cancer rates
are rising the past 50 years, about the time
we started hiding from the sun and using
sunscreen. They ask, “If sunscreen worked
we would see less skin cancer, but instead
we are seeing more.” Trustworthy sources
such as The Lancet, The British Journal of
Dermatology and the Cochrane Collabora-
tion find that sunscreen use doesn’t reduce
deaths from skin cancer.
The relationship between skin cancer
and sunshine doesn’t fit into a one-sentence
soundbite. You don’t need to fear the sun, or
the ocean — but there certainly are times
for precaution. There are three main types
of skin cancer: basal cell carcinoma, squa-
mous cell carcinoma and malignant mela-
noma. BCC and SCC account for about
99% of skin cancer cases, and are import-
ant to treat, but rarely cause death. Mela-
noma accounts for about 1% of cases but
causes 75% of skin cancer deaths. Optimal
vitamin D levels protect against melanoma
in many ways. The key is to get plenty of
vitamin D but not too much sun.
Your overall health requires mindful sun
exposure. Hiding from the sun or burn-
ing can each cause problems. Like water,
the sun is essential to life, yet too much is
dangerous. Regular, moderate sun expo-
sure is the goal.
———
John Winters is a naturopathic physician,
who recently retired after operating a prac-
tice in La Grande since 1992.
An excellent reason to be a fraidy cat
J.D.
SMITH
FROM THE HEADWATERS
OF DRY CREEK
ore than 40 years ago, I was
perched on a barstool in Wisdom,
Montana, when a stubby older
fellow in a hard hat limped through the
door, climbed up on the stool next to me,
ordered a double shot of Jim Beam with a
beer back, looked me in the eye and asked,
“How you doin’ pup?”
I allowed I was fair to middling and
asked why he was so stove up. He launched
into a tale about a thieving pack rat that was
robbing doodads from his mining partner
and how he had laid a trap for the varmint
at the end of his bunk, waited most of one
night with a flashlight and a pistol then
blew away the rat, sure enough, right along
with the big toe off his right foot. He ended
the story with, “You never learn younger.”
That chunk of advice has rattled
around my brain ever since. It has only
been recently, as I have grown impossibly
old, that it has begun to make sense. For
instance, I have discovered that I am quite
afraid of alligators and mountain lions.
There is no objective reason for the fear
of alligators. The only time I ever saw a
live one was at Reptile Gardens in Rapid
City, South Dakota, where my semi-sister
was hired to “wrestle” alligators twice per
hour. This amounted to her in a two-piece
swimsuit leaping on the back of a tooth-
less trained critter and flipping it over a few
M
times. Nevertheless, when a gator appears
on the television, I get the heebie-jeebies.
The fear of cougars has some basis in
experience. It can be traced to an incident
at a remote cabin in the Eel River country
of Northern California where my daughter
and I had been given the task of watching
over an extensive grow and a pen of chick-
ens while the gardener went back to New
Jersey to attend her father’s funeral.
We were accompanied by a blue
mongrel named Patsy who was too cautious
to work cows and calves but was really
good at barking, rolling in horse turds and
keeping my kid and me safe from attack by
chipmunks. Her choice of perfume made
her an outdoor dog.
It rained for a week, day and night. We
were trapped in the oil-lamped cabin except
for the 15 drenching minutes a day it took
to gather eggs and feed Patsy and the chick-
ens. My 8-year-old kid clobbered me at
every board game we played, so after the
fourth day we retreated to opposite corners
of the living room where she read Nancy
Drew and drew pictures of horses while I
did what I do best, pretty much nothing.
Even today when I am accused of being a
tad too sedentary, I remind the person who
tries to pry me out of my lounger that the
Buddha sat below the Bodhi tree until his
skin started to fall off, then he went back to
partying, and that my skin still is in reason-
ably good shape.
On the night the rain finally stopped and
the stars came out, we were in our bunks
about midnight when Patsy came uncorked,
yapping out 30 yards into the brush, then
running back to the porch, then repeat-
ing the act. I yarded my 200 pounds of
self out of bed, put some pants and T-shirt
on, stepped into my moccasins, grabbed a
flashlight and went out into the night to see
what in tarnation was happening.
Patsy led the way. The yard was fenced
with four strands of barbwire, which she
maneuvered much more gracefully than I.
Beyond it was a fairly dense willow thicket
with a maze of livestock paths tromped into
the mud and where, when we turned a blind
corner, Patsy led me directly to a cougar
straddling a fresh deer kill.
If you have ever heard the voice of an
aggravated Siamese cat, imagine the sound
turned up to 11 on a big amplifier. When
my flashlight hit the lion’s eyes, that is the
voice that he/she deployed to remind us we
were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Patsy abandoned the quest immediately
and scooted toward the house. I followed as
quickly as I could while walking backward
and pointing the flashlight in the general
direction of any attack that might occur.
I do not remember going back over or
through the fence, or up the stairs onto the
porch, but I was able to get through the
door without being clawed or eaten right
behind stinky Patsy, who had become
a house dog. Then, as an indicator of
how fully the experience had scared the
peewadding out me, I very carefully locked
the door, as though this particular lion
might have learned how to operate a door-
knob with its teeth or paws. You never learn
younger.
———
J.D. Smith is an accomplished writer and
jack-of-all-trades. He lives in Athena.