Writing Prompt: Where is your high ground?
When we think about the human relationship with landscape in 2023, perceived safety feels like an important consideration - socially, physically.
I’ve had a difficult time distinguishing anxiety from intuition in 2023, particularly while traveling. (It feels important here to note that wondering about relative safety is an absolute privilege). The climate events I could once dismiss as unlikely feel more likely. There are volatile and violent governments at work, and a planet that feels less stable every day.
As I traveled to Southern Italy for research earlier this month, one of its two super volcanos was causing hundreds of small earthquakes near Naples. Scientists say the volcano is in a dangerous state, and its volcanic fields run directly underneath the tiny isle of Capri (where I was about to spend 10 days).
If Campi Flegrei were to erupt, it would not just cause death and destruction in southern Italy, but is capable of producing an extinction-like event by blocking the sun with ash.
Pizza in Naples before taking a night ferry to Capri, with a historic storm overhead and Flegrei waking
I’m curious about how we live with these place-based risks – for example, a rumbling super volcano that hasn’t blown since the 1500s – and the knowledge that one day, it will indeed blow? The inhabitants of the surrounding area have reported an uptick in the usage of anti-depressants. They keep emergency travel bags by the door.
Photo from a journalism trip to New Orleans for The Guardian, interviewing Katrina survivors about why they stay
In my climate journalism, I’ve interviewed several people who have lost everything - including loved ones - in hurricanes and storms - and asked them why they continued to live where they live. Their answers are always powerful - home is not just a rational commitment. It is emotional.
Our risk assessments feel both personal and mercurial in 2023.
Does your home landscape register as safe to you in 2023? Where is your personal high ground?