Apocalypse now...or later

A nature photographer from Ontario recently visited the Northern Peninsula in the hopes of putting together an exhibit of photographs inspiring apocalyptic associations. He has recently become preoccupied with impending crises as a result of being constantly reminded of the melting icecaps, resource conflicts and outsourced agriculture.

Sure, one could certainly suppose that mainstream media wants us to believe the world is coming to an end. This has got me thinking survival-like thoughts. The photographer from Ontario was under the impression that under dire circumstances, rural Newfoundlanders would fare considerably better than our urban counterparts and I believe there to be some truth in the statement.

Granted, as a native rural Newfoundlander, I am aware that beef is absolutely cow, as pork is pig and that meat comes from animals which you must kill to eat. More than one of my city friends has commented that they would become a vegetarian if expected to butcher their own meat. I often respond that I would strangle something to death with my own bare hands if I was hungry enough. I think I definitely would; ask me to choose between starvation and strangulation and you would not wait long for my answer. But are we really that self-sufficient compared to just a generation before us? Could my generation actually fend for ourselves in moments of crisis or would we (me) crumble to the floor mourning the loss of high-speed Internet service?

Come to think of it, I walked around my apartment in Montreal last winter in heelless socks. I can't concentrate when my feet are cold and wool socks remind me of snowmobiling in skinboots, home. They're a comfort. But now all the heels have worn clear off my socks, even my favourite yellow and green ones. I wish I could say that it was laziness preventing me from mending them but it's not. Those vamps have apple-sized holes in them because I don't have the slightest clue how to fix them. Pearl something, something, one, two, pearl? Whatever. And there were countless opportunities to learn how to knit as a child. Both of my grandmothers were champion knitters, they even tried to teach me once at Girl Guides.

If I remember correctly, I barely earned my badge and that blanket would not even cover Barbie's legs. The Girl Guides were being very generous with that one. Now I'm considering taking a knitting workshop, paying cold hard cash to learn something from a stranger I could have learned from my lovely nannies for free. Isn't that the way of our generation, we don't know how to do anything. I mean, we might know how to do more than a Torontonian, but really, is that something you wanna brag about?

We don't even know how to cook anymore, any of us. We claim to cook but that generally involves actual produce and livestock only about half the time, while the other half consists of prepackaged and take-out. We like to think we cook but believe me, if your food comes from a box you didn't cook it.

It may be convenient but it's got practically no nutritional value and costs more than cooking from scratch. How did we manage to remove cooking from eating? I don't know but I am as bad as the next. I have no desire to peel and chop after being on the go all day. To the question of dinner I say, where's that frozen mushroom pizza? Dinner in 15 minutes or less. Give 'er!

But this attitude is getting us nowhere and if for some crazy reason that nature photographer is even slightly correct with his apocalyptic predictions, than I wonder how we would relearn all the things we've forgotten in the time we have. Sewing, bottling, fishing, hunting, preserving, baking, farming, knitting, weaving, brewing, I could go on and on. Just a short list of the many things our grandparents know how to do that I don't, do you?

Productive behaviour that leads to a tangible accomplishment; a summer dress, bakeapple jam, fresh potatoes, beer to be enjoyed later. All these things a result of some physical act which came to one naturally, acts that kept them healthy in body and mind, skills that were passed down through families connecting generations. An important part of our heritage that has gone to the way side because we don't do these thing anymore. We're too busy. We are too busy, we say it all the time but what are we really busy at?

We're not busy learning how to play an instrument, square dance or waltz. We're not busy quilting, picking berries or snaring rabbits. We're not really that busy, are we? I mean, how many hours a week do we spend watching television that doesn't matter or amount to much? How many hours do we spend on the Internet surfing the web? Surfing? Leave it to the Californians to deceive us into thinking that spending hours online reading fashion blogs is an exercise of some sort, surfing, ha!

That's my guilty pleasure right there, I am attached to my laptop. We're in a far more serious relationship, my Toshiba and I, than any I've ever had with a man, a friend or my mother. Lord knows I suffer from separation anxiety and that Facebook, that's a time vampire. Suck the time right out of you, that will. 11 a.m. I look at sister's profile. 11:30 a.m. I look at another sister's profile and then another. Spend whole days confirming what I already know about my own sisters, good grief. I am actually in the middle of a Facebook chat as I write this column, when I could finish in less time and go learn how to sail or something, instead.

But maybe I'm being too hard on us, my generation, maybe it's closing in on 30 that causes people to consider all the things they don't know how to do. Maybe we actually know how to do all kinds of things that our parents and grandparents don't and such is the way of evolution. Maybe I'm the only one concerned with the lack of skills. Heck, maybe I'm the only one lacking these skills. Maybe. Still, I don't know what I'd do if the electricity went out. Start searching for pencils in the dark, I dare say.

(Megan Coles is a writer originally from Savage Cove. She can be reached at megcoles@gmail.com).