Ease of Green

Spring is almost at full strength here in New England. The hard wood trees have yet to reach their complete cover of deeper, darker hues, but there are buds everywhere in the fields and on the forest floor. The hillsides at this time of year in New England have a pale, almost yellowish green aura about them, well-matched by the pale, almost yellowish green of the pollen which is wreaking havoc with my eyes and nose. Despite that, the sounds and smells of Spring, almost more than the sights of it, are what really brings me joy after a long winter. I'll take the pollen, the occasional drenching rains and the emergent bugs along with it all because, hey, after all, it's not easy being green.

Boundaries & Borders

This week, like most during my “shoulder season” in between winters, I’ve spent a lot of time riding my road bike. My much beloved bicycle was manufactured in Spain (the Basque country, actually, if you ask the good folks who made it). I ride on tires made from South American rubber by a Dutch company, on wheels made in France, using a drive train made in Japan, with handlebars and stem made in Italy, and with several other bits and pieces from here in the United States and elsewhere. On a good day, when I have fresh legs, the right combination of food and drink in me, the right amount of sleep, and the right frame of mind, this model U.N. of components and pieces works together in perfect sync, translating my effort to the Vermont tarmac smoothly in a way that allows me to work my body, clear my head, and enjoy the beautiful countryside. On a good day, the origins of the various components fade away with the stresses of everyday life. Don’t worry, I’m not about to break out into song here but I do have a point to make.

In the coming weeks I’ll be traveling overseas a bit, passport in hand. When I arrive at JFK airport in New York City for my flights, I’ll be with the largest number of people I’ve been amongst in several months, converging there from all over the globe. It’ll be like a human version of the international flow of commerce. Having not had a sniffle all Spring apart from some hay fever, and having survived the long winter without having gotten sick at all, I now am a little concerned about the current swine flu scare. I’m not worried about actually contracting swine flu, but I am a little nervous about the perception of illness. What if I forget to take Claritin and display cold symptoms on the flight? Will we be forced to land in Nova Scotia and be quarantined until after the minimum incubation period has passed? Should I wear a surgical mask to protect myself from the rest of the traveling throngs? I have places to go and people to see, and I have no interest in being a news story or a case study. Should I be pounding some sort of cocktail of Magnesium and Zinc? Gosh, the folks reading the “news” on TV certainly make it seem as though I should consult with the Center for Disease Control before going anywhere or doing anything.

Enough already. No, I’m not going to worry about it. No, I’m not going to do anything or take anything out of the ordinary to protect myself. No, I do not have swine flu and, odds are, definitely will not catch it. My lifestyle, moving back and forth between winters in the U.S. and New Zealand, spending my time with guests from all over the world and a largely itinerant collection of staff, puts me four-square in the modern realm of people taking advantage of the blurred lines of demarcation between countries, economies, languages, and cultures. Heck, getting ready for the approaching season at Treble Cone in New Zealand, I’ve had several conference calls recently with our Austrian director, who has been in California, about hiring staff from more countries than I have fingers, all conducted in English for free using an internet phone service. Swine flu is the least of my concerns.

At the end of the day, I rely on all the various, minute facets of this cross-border existence to work seamlessly together in order to do my job, enjoy my time, and live my life. On a bad day, I may feel every cog in the chain as I work to do what I need to do. On a good day, I won’t be aware of the chain at all, and the components will free me to look to the horizon and enjoy my time on the road.