This summer, I spent most of my time working and hiking. If I wasn’t running around helping a client find something at the pet store I worked at, I was running around the woods with a backpack full of snacks, coffee, and water. I ventured past the city of Montreal to McGill’s Gault Nature Reserve at Mont St-Hilaire or to Mont-Rigaud, close to the Ontario-Quebec border. For the few hours I was in the woods, I left my earphones in the car and shut my phone off so that I could enjoy the sounds of rustling leaves, streams, and the occasional birdsong.
One Tuesday toward the end of July, I was staring out the window at work planning my next excursion when I noticed how hazy the sky was. In fact, it was more than hazy: It was smoky. I soon realized that it was actual smoke, so much of it that I could not make out the cars on the other side of the parking lot, maybe only 200 metres away from me. When I looked at the sun, I could barely tell where it was in the sky. It was like a fever dream. I stepped outside expecting to see a building on fire, but there were no flames, no buildings on fire—just heavy air, thick with smoke and the scent of fire. When I left that night, the haze had passed, but the moon was glowing a deep orange colour.
Later that night, my research revealed the source of the apocalyptic scene as the major forest fires raging across Canada. The moon that night was orange because the smoke particles blocked shorter wavelengths of light, like blue and green. This year, Canada experienced 6,224 wildfires between Jan. 1 and Sept. 15. The week of July 20 saw the highest number of active fires recorded in a week in 2021 since the start of Canada’s official fire season on April 28. The week I noticed the smoky sky, there were 738 active fires. In those seven days, 580.6 thousand hectares of land were burned.
What startled me was that these statistics represented wildfires in Canada in 2021 alone. As I reflected on just how much the natural world is suffering, I was seized by a strong sense of impending dread. That sense of dread made me extremely anxious, depressed even, about what the future of our planet would be.
This anxiety was not entirely new to me. It was something I had felt it for years, but had buried it deep down because I didn’t want to deal with the reality of the ongoing climate crisis. After witnessing the effects of climate change first-hand, however, I understood I could no longer
