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My eight year old brain was hard at work.

In my backyard, I had stared into the sky for some time. I began to do some backwards forward thinking.

Now, I was only eight – I knew I was here. Then there was mom and dad. And those pesky siblings – who some days were not too bad. Then there was the Moose Jaw friends and the park where we played. And my aunts and uncles who lived in places like Darcy and Mantario. I had been to Ontario to visit the long-lost relatives as well.

In school they told me there was a whole big planet we lived on. And when I stared into the skies, there
had to be a lot more out there. For miles and miles, and perhaps millenia and millenia.

Somehow my eight year old brain realized I wasn’t in control of earth or the universe.

My dad had just become a weather forecaster – the real kind who drew lines on maps and plotted pressure systems and storms and climate changes. My dad said their forecasts were right probably 80% of the time. It was that pesky 20% that got people mad at them. I learned the word meteorologist – which made sense to an eight year old to think of meteors, and the skies and how big this universe is in comparison to this small earth.

One day, decades ago, he mentioned the climate change debate to me. He had been forecasting now for awhile. The doomsayers were forecasting as well. The earth would implode on itself in mere months, or perhaps just a few years. The climate was changing and we were at fault.

In his measured way, my dad explained that our observations were limited. The science measured a limited amount of data, we did not have centuries of data. He had lived through the dirty thirties – where climate change was significant. And then the forties and fifties restored a “normalcy” to the climate – as though there had been no “change”.
His advice?

Watch out for the extremes of climate change prediction. On both sides!

Be kind to the earth. As a former farmer, a lover of dirt and one who marvelled at the skies – he was an environmentalist before the term became popular. While he did not dismiss gas emission cars, he wanted carburetors that mixed fuel well – reducing emissions and getting better gas mileage.

Worship the creator not the created. We want to change the planet for the good – that’s good. Some figure all it takes is us playing God. I just listened to a 2019 Killam prize awarded scientist proclaim that there is no God and that “science” is ultimate.

I’m sorry, but my eight year old brain dismissed that years ago. I can still pray for rain and the creator can hear. And maybe, just maybe, God has a hand in this climate change thing!

At eight, and now in much later years – I think my dad was a wise man.

Read more by Ron HERE

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Ron Baker
Ron Baker is a recently retired (2005) member of the Kindersley community. His roots run deep – his grandfather homesteaded just outside Kindersley in the early 1900's. Ron was born in the old Kindersley Hospital, has made his home in various other communities over the years, but keeps coming back. Committed to the community, Ron has found his local involvement has proved to be great fodder for some hilarious tales and tragic events. His experience in administration and working with people, along with his love for a good story, ought to help to bring daily life to life! Ron blogs at ronbaker.ca, and is pleased to be a part of the writing “crew” at Kindersley Social.