Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring: An Earth Day Tribute


I’ve just finished reading Rachel Carson’s classic Silent Spring, written back in 1962, but still timely. President Kennedy read it eagerly, followed by Nixon in a time when presidents read books. (President Obama is another omnivorous reader in our own time.) Nixon was so deeply affected, that he founded the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) as a safeguard.

I first became aware of the book in teaching college English composition classes where it appeared as an anthology excerpt, modeling sound expository writing. While Carson had written a thoroughly researched book steeped in chemical analysis, she did so in a way that rendered science transparent to the public, fostering its appeal, unlike a rival text written on the same topic that virtually no one read outside the science community.

Carson’s work models not only coherent analysis at its best, but delivers its thesis with a lyrical beauty underscoring its urgency and moving readers to call for policy change. In a letter to her close friend, Dorothy Freeman, she would write, “Once the emotions have been aroused—a sense of the beautiful, the excitement of the new and unknown, a feeling of sympathy, pity, admiration and love—then we wish for the knowledge of our emotional response. Once found, it has lasting meaning.”

A perfectionist, she researched exhaustively and revised continually, concerned not only with message, but delivery. She had begun her college days as an English major before switching to biology. Carson composed Silent Spring while battling aggressive breast cancer, initially misdiagnosed. She had planned to write four other science books. The miracle is that she produced anything at all.

Since those days of teaching writing and my growing commitment to the green movement and awareness of the existential, exponential threat of climate change, I have wanted to return to her foundational work. I’m not sure how many of us are into eco-literature and Silent Spring or her other noted works, The Sea Around Us (National Book Award Winner) and best selling, The Edge of the Sea, but I knew reading it fully was something I just had to do to do, not least, to honor her—she passed so quickly from us after Silent Spring—but also as a means to gauging our progress in addressing her concerns.

Silent Spring deals with the havoc waged by land, sea, and air to the environment through indiscriminate use of pesticides by federal, state and local communities in support of economic interests, e.g., logging, agriculture, community agendas, heedless of consequences, repeatedly so, even when evidence of harmful repercussions had proven pervasive. An act of willful hubris, a genocide against nature, it resembles our own era when fossil fuels, primary contributors to a changing climate, continue as principal sources of energy reliance.

Silent Spring can be painful reading in its strident account of corporate interests in liaison with government, pillaging our environment and disregarding human welfare. Today, nearly every plant, and animal, including ourselves, even where spraying has ceased, show chemical residue. Species have been sharply reduced, disturbing a complex ecology, while augmenting pest resistance and promoting cancer proliferation.

There was a strange stillness. The birds, for example—where had they gone? Many people spoke of them, puzzled and disturbed. The feeding stations in the backyards were deserted. The few birds seen anywhere were moribund; they trembled violently and could not fly. It was a spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh.

All of this fallout unnecessary, for safer biological tools had proven successful, yet still, the spraying continued. The corporate sector, spending $250,000, a huge sum at the time, resisted Carson’s assault, much like today’s Monsanto, arguing correlation not establishing causality, and disparaging Carson’s credentials: no Ph. D, no standing in the science community, no academic affiliation, a “bird lover,” her followers, “health quacks.” Shockingly, the American Entomological Society listed Velsicol, Monsanto, Shell Chemical Company, and other chemical corporations among their “sustaining associates.” One major pesticide firm threatened her publisher, Houghton Mifflin, with a lawsuit if the book were published without changes.

Carson was understandably surprised by the book’s smashing success, selling 65,000 copies in its first two weeks and its subsequent Book of the Month Club selection.

Against all odds, Silent Spring had found its way into the public’s consciousness. DDT was halted, though hypocritically allowed for export, much like cigarettes later on. As noted, the EPA came into being as the book’s consequence. In 1981, years after her passing in 1964, Carson was posthumously awarded our nation’s highest civilian honor, The Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Sadly, Carson’s critics have continued their assaults, covertly changing their tactics and employing political correctness. The late science fiction novelist, Michael Crichton, for example, a vociferous climate change denier, branded her “a mass murderess” for the ultimate banning of DDT and deaths of millions of African children from malaria, while others have dismissed her as a white elitist. They ignore that DDT was actually banned only domestically, subsequently proven ineffectual against increasing mosquito resistance abroad, and replaced by newer, more effectual pesticides and innovative pharmaceuticals to contain malaria. Ironically, Carson hadn’t actually called for its banishment, but for its judicial use along with other pesticides.

Among poisonous chemical substances Carson addressed in Silent Spring, herbicides continue as a primary public menace, particularly for gardeners using the ubiquitous box store Roundup. There have been three trials involving pesticide giant Monsanto, two in state courts and the other in federal court, with up to 100,000 plaintiffs, alleging resulting non-Hodgkin lymphoma and consistent Monsanto coverup. Significantly, on March 19, 2018, a unanimous jury found Monsanto culpable and $25 million was awarded to plaintiff Edwin Hardeman.

Dismayingly, Trump’s EPA has currently sanctioned Monsanto’s employment of a new crop herbicide, dicamba, resulting in widespread crop damage, and Monsanto’s presently facing legal intervention by the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. As with the frequent scenario Carson underscored in Silent Spring, corporate priorities like those of Monsanto have plunged headlong into pressing economic gains, even when their own studies revealed imminent liabilities, conspiring with the EPA to soft-pedal the herbicide’s dangers:

Documents filed in court show Monsanto met multiple times with EPA officials about the concerns, even editing EPA language about certain steps Monsanto should take in communications with retailers. In an October 2017 email, an EPA official forwarded a Monsanto official comment from the agency regarding the company’s product label, writing: “Like I said, no surprises.” (Carey Gillam, The Guardian, April 2, 2020).

After so many years, Carson’s legacy continues. The Sea Around US (1951) and Silent Spring have been translated into more than forty languages, with the latter averaging 25,000 sales annually. A collection of Carson’s unpublished work appears in Lost Words: The Discovered Writing of Rachel Carson., ed. Linda Lear (1998). For a biography, and there are several, I would begin with M. H. Lytle’s thorough and cogent, The Gentle Subversive: Rachel Carson, Silent Spring, and the Rise of the Environmental Movement (2007).

I’m glad to have read Silent Spring, which launched the modern day environmental movement, and unhesitatingly regard her as one of the foremost women of the last one-hundred years, unflinching, passionate, yet empirically based in her environmental witness. I end with the final paragraph of Silent Spring:

The “control of nature” is a phrase conceived in arrogance, born of the Neanderthal age of biology and philosophy, when it was supposed that nature exists for the convenience of man. The concepts and practices of applied entomology for the most part date from that Stone Age of science. It is our alarming misfortune that so primitive a science has armed itself with most modern and terrible weapons, and that in turning them against the insects it has also turned them against the earth. 


The Joy of fellowship with Nature


One of the best hobbies I’ve ever come upon is that of being an amateur naturalist.  It needn’t be expensive and you can do it in your own yard or on a walk or, believe it or not, from a car window.  And, yes, you don’t even have to leave the house.

Here’s a little checklist to see how versed you are on the natural world around you:

1.     Identify the ten most common trees in your neighborhood.

2.     Name five wild flowers that grow in your area.

3.     Identify ten flowers or plants common to your neighborhood landscaping.

4.     Identify five migrating birds that visit your yard.

5.     Name five birds that are year long residents.

6.     Identify ten common weeds in your yard.

7.     Name the planets and identify three of them in the sky

8.     Locate the North Star.

9.     Identify five rocks in your yard or area.

10.   Identify five insects in your garden

Most of us are hard pressed to do half of these IDs.  But then, that’s the fun of it, that you can begin, anytime, anywhere, and discover kingdoms all around you—and even below your feet.

Be careful, though, for discovery can be addictive.  You may even choose to specialize, maybe on rocks, bees or flowers.

Being connected with nature can yield release from daily stress.

It can also give you awareness of the fragility of nature’s weave of flora and fauna, their delicate balance and our dependency on that balance.  One third of our crops are pollinated by bees, for example, but our sprays have caused a serious threat to their survival.

One other gift that comes from a love for nature is how it develops your powers of observation.   My favorite American poet, Emily Dickinson, had this acuteness, with nature’s minutia a dominant motif in her poetry.  Take, for example, this delighful poem.

A Bird came down the Walk –
He did not know I saw –
He bit an Angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass –
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass –

 He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad –
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought –
He stirred his Velvet Head

Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home –

Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam –
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon
Leap, plashless as they swim.

Naturalism can grow friends for you.  There are groups of people out there like you who would gladly welcome you.  It’s fun to be among other gentle stewards of the earth, sharing their experiences and concerns, working together to promote awareness and preservation.  I like the Nature Conservancy.  It buys up threatened habitat and maintains it.

Your new hobby can afford you numerous excellent, often moving, reads, like Rachel Carson’s land mark Silent Spring or Thoreau’s classic Walden.  Good stuff on rainy days!

Think about how much you and your family can enjoy that country hike, park excursion, or neighborhood walk, connecting with what you now know, challenged by what remains to fathom in a hobby salient with retreating horizon.

Through its repetitive rhythms, nature confers assurance that tomorrow the dawn and dusk will come again, the seas will rise, and the moon ascend; that after winter, spring will surely come and our aerial friends return.

In sum, Nature amply rewards those who fellowship with her, conferring not merely release, but blessedness in an often troubled world.


Declining bee numbers: we know not what we do


 “The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy,
a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great
speed, but at its end lies disaster” (Rachel Carson)

 It was ecologist Rachel Carson who put environmental awareness on the radar screen with her sobering classic, Silent Spring (1962), drawing the attention of President John F. Kennedy in its precise detailing of the havoc posed by toxic spraying on wildlife and ultimate danger to ourselves:  “It is ironic to think that man might determine his own future by something so seemingly trivial as the choice of an insect spray.”

Decades later, we seem to have tossed her warning aside.  For example, there was the recent killing of thousands of bumblebees in Wilsonville, OR.  Man-made, it shouldn’t have occurred.  Investigation showed that flowering trees adjacent to a Target store had been sprayed with the pesticide, Dinoteferan (trade name Safari) to control aphids.  It isn’t supposed to be applied to flowering trees.  According to the Xerces Society for Invertebrae Conservation, the incident is being taken seriously and the trees will be covered with nets next year to prevent access to bumblebees and other pollinators.  I ask, Why spray at all?  If you don’t like getting the sticky aphid residue on your car, then don’t park under a tree.

Perhaps the worst of spray induced bee killing occurred on September 11, 2011, when an estimated 12 million bees died within 24-hours following aerial spraying to combat mosquitos in Brevard County, Florida.  Again, is it worth it?

As is, the plight of bees is worldwide, threatening our food supply.  Since 2005, Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD) has wreaked havoc on bees, largely through the  widespread use of neonicotinoids.  In the U.S., genetically produced corn is sprayed with neonicotinoids, with residues found even in adjacent fields.  Two recent studies show possible effects on short and long term bee memory, resulting in bees not returning to their hives, the tell-tale sign of CCD.

In Europe, neonicotinoids have now been recently banned for two years by the European Union to stem a decline in bee colonies.  We know they are devastating to amphibians and bat populations as well, which have also experienced sharp population declines.

The plight of honey bees goes beyond spraying, however, with extensive mite and viral infestation occurring.  As of yet, we haven’t found a remedy.

I know people who are horrified of bees and will resort to canned sprays.  Me, I’m a gardener and I’ve put countless hours in my garden working side-by- side with bees without consequence.  I respect them and give them room.  I know their preferred hours as busy laborers as well.

I confess I used to resort to sprays often, especially to control fungus and summer’s ubiquitous Japanese beetles in my rose garden.  I know better now and use nothing more than soaps, if anything at all.  I am considering replacing my roses with more tolerant, bee friendly plants like hydrangeas.

Spraying can kill birds as well as bees, by the way, and long term, increases the risk of cancer in human beings.  As is, nearly all of us have toxic residues from years of exposure to chemical substances, many of them sprays.  Again, Carson has warned us that we continue at our own peril: “A Who’s Who of pesticides is therefore of concern to us all. If we are going to live so intimately with these chemicals eating and drinking them, taking them into the very marrow of our bones – we had better know something about their nature and their power.”

But back to bees per se.  What would a world without them be like?  Last week, my wife and I were in northern California, driving through vast groves of almond trees adjacent to both sides of the highway, neatly geometric phalanxes of greenery stretching as far as the eye can see.  Sadly, their vastness may fade into memory like the omnipresent American elm of my New England boyhood that graced our commons.  These almond orchids, spread across 800,000 acres, are in trouble.  Dependent on bees for pollination, last winter saw a decline of up to 50% in hives.

To keep things going, these groves require up to 1.6 million domestic bees annually, resulting in emergency importing of bees.  With bee declines elsewhere, the future is problematical.  Almonds are critical to California’s troubled economy, constituting its largest agricultural export, and its demise would be devastating.

Worldwide, some 100 crops require insect pollination.  Given the earth’s burgeoning population, fewer bees could mean famine for many and inflated food prices.  Meanwhile, in the U.S., neonicotinoids continue to be used widely, particularly on vegetable and fruit crops.  Ironically, they were developed as a safer alternative to pesticides like DDT.  Unfortunately, their danger goes beyond spraying, since they’re systemic, or incorporated into the growing plant.

Like global warming, the threat of declining insect pollinators may seem benign, or far off in its consequences, lulling us into denial or indifference.  The reality is that, again like global warming, the effects of declining bee populations are exponentially happening now.  Incidents like those in Oregon and Florida only make matter worse.  We are intricately linked with all earth’s creatures and their demise hastens our own.


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