The Rattlesnake We Already Knew Was There

Yesterday began as an ordinary day.

Sam and I spent quite a bit of time behind one of our buildings moving things around, setting up a little pool for the puppy, and working through some of the countless small projects that come with setting up a property like ours. We were in and out of that area for hours, walking around, talking, working, and letting the puppy play.

Later, we went to a gathering at our neighbors’ house. When we came back, Sam went back out there to check on everything.

As she came around the corner, an enormous rattlesnake moved across the ground directly in front of her and disappeared into a pile of wood and other materials beside the building.

She immediately got the dogs inside and came to get me. We went back out carefully and found it in a pile of wood we had there. It was, without question, the largest rattlesnake either of us had ever seen.

What stayed with me was not simply its size. It was the realization that only a short time earlier we had been moving freely through that same area, completely unaware of how close it might have been.

Nothing about our property suddenly changed when Sam saw the snake. It had not appeared out of nowhere. It had been somewhere nearby, whether in that particular spot or moving through the woods around us.

We already knew snakes lived on our property. Everything here is surrounded by woods and we do encounter them from time to time. Snakes are part of this land whether we happen to see them on a particular day or not.

But there is a tremendous difference between knowing something in theory and suddenly standing a few feet away from a massive embodiment of it.

This morning, during my prayers and writing, I found myself returning again and again to that experience. A thought began to take shape that I feel the need to share with you all here.

How many realities in our lives and in the world around us are like that rattlesnake?

We recognize the evidence. We glimpse pieces of what is happening. We discuss it occasionally and may even admit that significant changes are underway. Yet it is remarkably easy to continue through our daily routines as though those changes are somewhere far away and unlikely to truly affect us.

Until one day they are no longer distant. They are directly in front of us.

Knowing Something Is Not the Same as Responding to It

There are major shifts taking place around us right now. Our food systems are changing. So are the climate, energy systems, technology, wildlife populations, water availability, agriculture, communities, and the cost of basic necessities. Soil is being depleted in many places. Pollinators and other wildlife are losing habitat. Supply disruptions over the last several years have reminded us that systems we once considered almost invisible and completely dependable can be far more fragile than they appear or than we may even want to believe.

At the same time, technology is reshaping society at extraordinary speed. Weather extremes are becoming harder to dismiss as isolated events. Families are feeling economic pressures in their everyday lives, while institutions that once seemed immovable are being questioned, changed, or restructured.

We may disagree about the causes, the seriousness of individual problems, or what the future will ultimately look like. But I think more and more people sense that the world we have known is undergoing a profound transition.

Recognizing that does not mean living in fear.

The rattlesnake did not require us to panic. It required us to become more aware of our surroundings and adjust our behavior accordingly.

There is wisdom in that distinction.

Collapse Does Not Usually Look Like a Movie

When people hear the word collapse, they often picture a dramatic Hollywood scene. The electricity goes out everywhere at once. Vehicles stop moving. Stores empty overnight. Cities erupt into chaos and suddenly everyone realizes that the old world is gone.

History usually unfolds much differently.

Systems weaken gradually. Pressures accumulate. A shortage develops here, infrastructure begins failing there, a farmer can no longer afford to continue, another species disappears from an area where it once thrived, another family struggles to keep up with food or housing costs, another community loses something that once held it together.

Most changes arrive incrementally enough that we adapt to each new condition without fully recognizing how much has changed.

Then we look back and wonder when the transformation actually began.

The answer is often years earlier.

That is one of the things the rattlesnake represented to me this morning. The moment something becomes impossible to ignore is rarely the moment it first became real.

Sometimes it is simply the first moment we truly and unmistakably see it.

Awareness Should Lead Somewhere

I do not believe we are being called to become frightened of the future. Fear by itself accomplishes very little. It can leave us frozen, overwhelmed, or endlessly consuming information about problems without ever changing the way we live.

Awareness should lead somewhere.

It should invite us to ask a much more practical question:

What can I do with the piece of the world that has been placed in my hands?

That question is at the heart of what I mean when I talk about the New Earth.

I do not imagine a New Earth appearing suddenly one morning, fully formed and completely separate from the world we live in now. Real transformation rarely happens that way. I believe it is emerging already, quietly and unevenly, wherever people begin making choices that restore resilience, connection, stewardship, and life.

It happens when a family grows some of its own food instead of depending entirely upon distant supply chains. It happens when neighbors share vegetables and seeds, when a homeowner restores native habitat, when communities protect water, when farmers rebuild depleted soil, and when towns make space for local growers.

It is happening as people learn to collect rainwater, conserve resources, understand renewable energy, repair rather than immediately replace, and rediscover skills that previous generations considered ordinary.

It happens when unnecessary outdoor lights are turned off so darkness can once again belong to the sky, allowing the light of the stars to return and giving migrating birds, bats, insects, and every other creature whose life depends upon the night the darkness they need.

None of these actions looks dramatic.

That may be precisely why they matter so much.

Large transformations are often built from millions of small decisions made long before anyone gives the resulting movement a name.

We Shouldn't Have to Wait Until Something Is in Front of Us

Seeing the rattlesnake changed how we will approach that corner of the property. We will clear the pile where it disappeared, pay closer attention when we walk through the paths there, protect the dogs, and look at anything that might be attracting snakes close to this highly used area.

At the same time, we will continue respecting the fact that this is shared habitat. The snake was not malicious. It was doing what a rattlesnake does in the environment where it lives. Awareness simply means that we now understand the situation more clearly and can make thoughtful decisions about how we coexist safely.

That seems like an important lesson far beyond snakes.

We should not have to experience a food shortage before thinking seriously about where our food comes from. We do not need a water emergency before considering how we might conserve, collect, or protect water. We should not have to lose every pollinator from our gardens before planting habitat for them.

Nor do we have to wait for an energy interruption before learning how our power systems work, for soil to become exhausted before rebuilding it, or for a neighborhood to lose its sense of community before getting to know the people who live nearby.

Preparing for change does not require abandoning modern life or retreating into the wilderness. It does not require believing every frightening prediction we hear.

It simply means paying attention to what is already happening and responding intelligently.

There is nothing extreme about that.

It is stewardship and preparing with intention.

The New Earth Is Already Taking Root

For me, this is where the story becomes hopeful.

Many of the systems humanity has depended upon are under enormous pressure. Some are failing in places. Others are being transformed or replaced. Many things that seemed permanent only a generation ago no longer feel certain and many no longer even exist.

But that is only one half of the story.

Something else is growing alongside it.

Gardens are returning to yards and neighborhoods. People are learning how to grow food, save seeds, compost, regenerate soil, protect native species, and create wildlife habitat. More families are discovering local farms and thinking seriously about the journey their food takes before reaching the table.

People are experimenting with solar energy, rainwater collection, conservation, and simpler ways of living. Communities are rediscovering the value of sharing skills and resources. Others are working to restore forests, rivers, pollinator corridors, dark skies, degraded land, and places that have been neglected for generations.

Perhaps most importantly, more people seem to be remembering something our modern systems encouraged us to forget:

Human beings are not separate from the living world.

We belong to it.

We affect it, depend upon it, and have the ability either to diminish it or help it recover.

This is why I have come to believe that the New Earth will not simply arrive.

We build it.

Not all at once, but garden by garden, home by home, farm by farm, neighborhood by neighborhood and community by community.

Yesterday's rattlesnake was not a prophecy for me, and I do not see it as something dark or ominous. It became a reminder that realities do not cease to exist simply because they remain outside our immediate field of vision.

Sometimes the signs are already all around us.

The question is whether we are willing to acknowledge them before something has to cross directly in front of us.

Because once we recognize what is happening, we have choices.

We can ignore it and hope the systems around us somehow remain unchanged forever.

Or we can begin preparing for a different future while we still have the ability to shape it thoughtfully.

We can grow food. Restore land. Protect water. Rebuild habitat. Strengthen community. Learn skills. Become more resilient. Pay attention to the living world around us and begin repairing our relationship with it.

The New Earth will not appear all at once.

It will emerge wherever people choose to restore the land beneath their feet, strengthen the communities around them, and begin living today as though the future they hope for is actually worth building.

The snake was already there.

The changes around us are already happening.

And perhaps the most important question is no longer whether we can see them.

It is what we choose to do because we can.