My 1997 Ford Ranger has decided to challenge my ideas about Reconciliation Ecology.

I’m not the kind of guy who gets misty eyed over cars, but I do feel a certain affection for this beast. It’s the first and only car I’ve ever owned- the only vehicle that’s hit 100 mph under my tutelage (cross-country, near Billings in 1998).  I’ve blown tires in nine states- mostly on dirt roads. I’ve also gotten into multiple stare-downs and occasional shouting matches with assorted rural knuckle-draggers… carrying an Obama ’08 sticker and a ‘going to church no more makes you a Christian than going to the garage makes you a car’ decal will do that for you.

I never really expected to host a functioning component of the biosphere in the chassis, however.

Reconciliation Ecology! I love this idea. It’s the notion that the ‘natural’ and ‘human’ worlds can be integrated… bringing a touch of the wild into places where we live.

The ‘green roof’ movement is one example. Every town and city has hectares of rooftop wasteland that can easily support plant-life, from potted tomatoes to trees. Tracts of former sterility functioning like a giant lung.

A classic case study involves the peregrine falcon. It turns out that big cities are rife with quality niblets for a hungry raptor (rats, pigeons, Pomeranians). A few modification to windowsills create nesting habitat.

This highlights an important dimension of the concept of reconciliation ecology. Humans have to bend a little. Small modifications in our architecture and habits can open our streets, backyards, rooftops, and very homes to wildlife. In turn, we enrich our own lives… and maybe help some of our fellow travelers to persist.

This concept is part of what drives the designs for my ceramic fountains. I’ve been building small planters into the forms, with an eye towards hosting fish in the main basins… perhaps allowing the entire structure to function as a quasi-biosphere.

What I didn’t realize was that I was inadvertently participating in this same marriage of nature and the human with my truck.

A four-cylinder Ford doesn’t make a great shuttle. These days, I use the green machine mainly for moving weighty stuff (clay, retired Christmas trees, tables, etc.). Also- the thing is useless in the winter (rear wheel drive). Thus, it often sits forlorn from November through May. This year, I didn’t fire it up (with jumper cables) until it was time to move a couple boxes of pottery to the local farmers market.

It’s rather nice when you’re working an art fair to have something to do with your hands. I decided to haul a couple of un-fired pots with me (planning to do some carving). I was loading three of these babies into the truck when a yellowjacket rammed its little lance into my ear. Needless to say, I squealed like a piggy and unceremoniously dumped my poor little pots onto the tarmac.

It turned out that there was a thriving nest of yellowjackets humming away, pegged on to the passenger-side door.

Have you ever closely inspected one of these nests? Aside from being quite lovely in their alien geometry, it’s impossible not to admire the tenderness with which each pupal cell is tended.  Of course, I didn’t take much time to admire the view, choosing instead to bomb the nest with from a craven distance.

David James Duncan wrote a short essay called ‘Yellowjacket’ in River Teeth. He begins…

WHAT I’VE DONE TO THEM, WITHOUT WAITING FOR AGGRESSION ON THEIR PART, IS STALK THEIR UNDERGROUND STRONGHOLDS BY NIGHT, POUR GASOLINE DOWN THROUGH THE ARCHITECTONIC HALLS AND NURSERY CHAMBERS, BURN THEIR SLEEPING BODIES TO CINDERS, DIG EVERY LAST CHAMBER OUT WITH A SHOVEL, GRIND THE PALE BLIND YOUNG (STILL, SOMEHOW, WRITING) INTO THE DIRT WITH MY HEEL AND MUTTER, ‘WHAT ELSE CAN I DO TO YOU?

This about describes my mindset… exacerbated when I discovered six additional nests- including one in the tailgate and one inside the gas-cap.

My state of mind wasn’t really different in nature from the ‘varmint’ hunters who gleefully slag prairie dogs.  Nature makes its own rules. But… that’s the nature of reconciliation. It requires an accommodation with otherness.

Am I saying that I should have crafted a safe house on my truck door, and carried a roving cloud of hornets with me as I roved down the highway? Probably not, although I’d love to see whether the parking enforcers at the University of Idaho would at least leave me alone.

Perhaps a bee-hive in the carburetor, though….

I headed out this AM. The yellowjackets are back in the gas cap! Apparently, yellowjackets may lay down a pheromone signature that spurs recolonization. Basically, my truck (and all of its nooks and crannies) has been tagged and flagged. Reconcile away!

(I'm afraid I hosed them out... but man, did I ever feel guilty. If they come back a third time, I may have to re-think my options).