A Summer Day in 2050 BY ISAAC BEV ERS Ashland High School class of 2017 and Ashland Climate and Energy Action Plan Ad-Hoc Committee member (2016-17) Your eyes slowly open. The light from the morning summer sun seeps through the pergola on the south side of the apartment. A musing gratefulness for the grapevine it supports, which absorbs the summer sun, keeping your house cool, spreads in your senses, not yet separated from your mind by the day’s plans. Sliding out of bed, you open the window and peer through the leaves. The smell of fresh bread and fresh-brewed coffee, accompanied by the hum of cheerful conversation, waft up from the street below. Occasionally, an electric car or bus silently passes by. A smile flits across your face as you watch a father calmly follow his two children as they excitedly weave through bicycles and pedestrians towards the awnings denoting the open air market nearby. Realizing the air is clear of smoke for the first time in a week, you decide to go for a walk. The heat of the day looms in your mind, so you decide a short cool adventure through town to the Fairy Ponds is ideal. As you prepare for the day in the snug but well-designed space, the question of a local architect, Paula Laporte, crosses your mind; “Have you ever seen a bird’s nest with a spare bedroom?” Arriving in the kitchen you take out the rice, lentils, and locally grown vegetables from last night’s intentionally vegetarian dinner, place it in the willow basket-backpack, and go down the stairs to the street. Emerging into to the small courtyard, you become distracted by the community garden’s delights. Furtively, you take a ripe pear tomato from the same wall as your bedroom, put it into your mouth, and savor the concentrated sunlight. You exchange greetings with Eleanor, your older neighbor as she snips a few roses for her table. She tells you that you’re signed up to cook for tomorrow’s nightly co-housing community dinner. “Yes, I remember. I do it every other Wednesday,” you say, shaking your head and smiling slightly at her redundant yet endearing reminder. Before leaving, you glance back and up at the roof tiles. Though they look like slate, you know they’re powering the entire building. Avoiding distraction, you decide not to walk through the market. As you go down East Main, you notice the changes from your youth. In the store fronts it is difficult to find any plastic or metal, and the colors displayed are reminiscent of the earth and the plants on your frequent strolls. After walking through Lithia, soft and green, with playing children and late-morning sun-bathers, you reach the forest. Many of the Douglas Firs and the Big leaf Maples are dead or sickly, and the texture of the forbs has changed, yet the creek still flows and the hillsides have not eroded. They are held by the roots of young Ponderosa Pines and White Oaks planted 20 years ago. You are hot and sweaty, and have reached your destination. You slide into the largest pool, shallower than when you were young, but still thigh-deep, dunk yourself in its refreshing coolness, climb onto a warm rock, bask in the heat, and are grateful.

Climate and Energy Action Plan (CEAP)