I want you to think for a second: the phones that connect us globally, the laptops we type our stories on, the screens that show our favorite TV shows and films, the medicine to heal our wounds, the machines that keep us alive, all have been given to us by ingredients from the Earth.
But these ingredients have also offered us the bullets that have severed people from their families, and the bombs that can decimate entire cities. Since the dawn of humanity, the Earth has opened itself for mankind’s manipulation of the world through the use of tools as far back as when Africa was our only home. It’s a cold reminder of the opening from 2001: Space Odyssey, where early hominids use bones as weapons to drive their rivals away. To what point then, do the consequences of these tools fall upon ourselves? How might we give back to the world and still value our innate natural curiosity?
As a writer obsessed with the future, the way in which tools affect the world of a story is important to me. Thus, I was intentional in gathering these writers whose stories are in conversation with how we interact with said tools, both of nature and of our own innovation. From tea leaves to prosthetics, these are stories about humanity finding ways to preserve what they love. “Best on Road” by Miles Purdy exemplifies the earliest symbiotic relationship between humanity and nature: Man and dog, and the preservation of such a bond through the use of prosthetics. In Lora Gray’s “Tasseography,” two sisters connect both past, present, and future through their love for tea, using tea leaves as a guide through an Illinois wasted by the inventions of war. We must be careful with what we create, because inventions are rarely, if at all, a “one size fits all.” Charles Velasquez-Witosky showcases this beautifully within his story, “Salmon Fishing in the Age of Solutions,” scientific solution and its effects on the livelihoods of fishermen. Many might argue that we are living in the future that sci-fi writers have predicted and warned us about. This is especially apparent when we consider our reliance on the tiny digital objects we carry in our backpacks, pockets and wrists, all with more computing power than the computers of the Apollo 11 that took humanity to the moon. “The Itch” by Alexandra Salata is a step back from the intrusive inventions of social media, streaming, and the internet, and a chance to relearn what it means to “see” the world. Salata’s story is a reminder of my favorite line from the legendary poet Mary Oliver in her poem “Wild Geese.” Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, /the world offers itself to your imagination.
The world will go on. It’s us who must invent the tools to save ourselves, our relationships, our communities. And the best way to give back to Earth is to be vigilant in adding more love and empathy to what we create, to recognize that whether it’s the year 2025, 2380, 2592 or 3001, we are still family to the world.