30
easement on his land, guaranteeing that it will
remain a farm in perpetuity. Though he deeply
loves farming, he constantly worries about the
long-term effects.
“Just the other day I removed a fence row,”
he explains, meaning he turned a patch of
wild, uncultivated land into land that could be
planted. “But I know that I was also removing
habitat for animals and birds. I look out at this
landscape here and know it was once wooded,
yet I continue to take down trees.”
His voice softens. “I used to want to own a
farm, but the older I get the more I think of
myself as just a caretaker.” He motions out
the window, to the field across the road, a vast
expanse of flat land and dried corn stalks. “I
know I’m going to be out of here someday. I’m
trying to think about what I’m leaving behind.”my attempts to verify that Raven-
swood, West Virginia, had so many churches
per capita that it was once listed in Guinness
come up empty. It may be just another
myth, like Bigfoot, or the idea that America’s
views on science and religion can easily be
pigeonholed.
They can’t.
Nor are the two approaches necessarily at
odds. Science and religion are both modes of
inquiry, and both can help us to experience
our world in richer, deeper ways. Choose one,
choose the other, or if you can, choose a bit
of both.
Yet for many people, evolution seems to
be the sticking point. How did we get here?
The idea that an all-powerful divine architect
simply waved his hand and created us from
nothing has a certain appeal. But to some of us,
it is unacceptable, based too much in faith and
unprovable religious teachings, what some call
myths, going back thousands upon thousands
of years. And of course, it raises the question
“Why?” What did this divine architect have in
mind? What’s our purpose here?
The pure evolutionary perspective, the
similarly sticky “primordial ooze,” has its own
shortcomings. It is scary, for one thing. Are
we out here on our own, undirected, no divine
plan? The idea of unorchestrated evolutionalso suggests we are not actually so special.
Not chosen. What’s to keep the orangutans from
hitting the genetic adaptation lottery one day
soon and jumping the line?
Humans have been wrestling with these
questions for as long as they’ve been stringing
two thoughts together one after the other. I’m
guessing the riddle of it all won’t be resolved
anytime soon.
It takes some prodding, but I eventually get
my retiree friends at McDonald’s to weigh in
on the evolution dilemma.
Eldon, the eldest and one of the quieter of
the men crowded around the table, firms up his
mouth and shakes his head. “I’m not going to
answer that.”
Bruce agrees. “Not a thing I really want to
talk about.”
But Jeff, true to character, just can’t seem to
keep his mouth shut. “We’re in the Bible Belt,”
he chuckles. “We don’t believe in evolution.”
John takes the final bite of a fried hash
brown. “My ancestors didn’t swing from no
trees by their tails. They used their hands.”
The men are enjoying themselves. That
much is clear.
“Yeah,” Jeff snorts. “Maybe so. But they still
flung their poop like a monkey.”
Finally Dave enters the fray, his tone more
serious. “I do believe in the Bible, and I
believe in evolution. Evolution is simply the
improvement of the species. Well, if you
know anything at all about animal husbandry,
the hog ... You look at the hog, and you can
see it has changed in my lifetime. It used to
be shaped like this in the back—” he makes a
small arch with his hand “—and now they’re
flat. That’s evolution.”
“Huh,” John counters. “Science just went
and made those hogs longer ’cause they wanted
more pork chops.”
Jeff nods. “Yeah. And more bacon.”
There is, for the moment, enthusiastic
agreement that science and religion are both
fine, as long we have more bacon. Then my
Ravenswood comrades commence downing
their last sips of coffee, pulling on jackets, and
making for the door.
Breakfast is over, until tomorrow.BEYOND THE PRIMORDIAL OOZE | DINTY W. MOORE