Mathieu Parsy

We Wanted to Save the Planet, Then Summer Called

We’re trying to make a responsible choice as a couple. After the climate grief workshop and that extremely convincing YouTube video about moose corridors, we agreed to pause all frivolous spending. No more spontaneous patio brunches. No more artisanal gin subscriptions. No more buying “just a few” succulents that turn into a full terrarium ecosystem.

But now we’re at a crossroads.

There’s a plot of land in Nova Scotia. Wetlands, old-growth spruce, fox tracks like ellipses through the snow. The real estate agent called it “undevelopable,” which only made us love it more. It’s not so much for us—it’s for the warblers, the bog turtles, the timid deer that shows up in trail cam photos.

But also…

There’s a candy-apple red BMW convertible that looks like it was engineered specifically for our mid-life crisis. Low mileage. Tan leather interior. Just enough room for one overnight bag and all our regrets. The ad says “Summer is calling.” My wife and I met in the Summer—we already wore aviators and felt a little wild.

We spreadsheeted the pros and cons. The BMW got points for “wind joy” and “healing through escape velocity.” The land got points for “carbon sink potential” and “moss you can lie down in and maybe cry a little.”

We visited the plot last week. A hare stared at us like it knew we’d hesitate. We leaned on a rock and thought about legacy. We also imagined the rock as a roadside rest stop, a scenic overlook, the BMW parked neatly beside it, the greatest hits of our youth playing through the speakers like maybe we’ve forgiven ourselves.

We haven’t made the decision yet.

But we did buy a bird feeder. A little one, shaped like a lighthouse.

We hung it on the balcony.

The chickadees arrived by noon. They seemed…hopeful.