1. A Fable for Tomorrow

THERE WAS ONCE a town in the heart of America where all life seemed to live in
harmony with its surroundings. The town lay in the midst of a checkerboard of prosperous
farms, with fields of grain and hillsides of orchards where, in spring, white clouds of bloom
drifted above the green fields. In autumn, oak and maple and birch set up a blaze of color that
flamed and flickered across a backdrop of pines. Then foxes barked in the hills and deer silently
crossed the fields, half hidden in the mists of the fall mornings.

Along the roads, laurel, viburnum and alder, great ferns and wildflowers delighted the traveler’s
eye through much of the year. Even in winter the roadsides were places of beauty, where
countless birds came to feed on the berries and on the seed heads of the dried weeds rising
above the snow. The countryside was, in fact, famous for the abundance and variety of its bird
life, and when the flood of migrants was pouring through in spring and fall people traveled from
great distances to observe them. Others came to fish the streams, which flowed clear and cold
out of the hills and contained shady pools where trout lay. So it had been from the days many
years ago when the first settlers raised their houses, sank their wells, and built their barns.
Then a strange blight crept over the area and everything began to change. Some evil spell had
settled on the community: mysterious maladies swept the flocks of chickens; the cattle and
sheep sickened and died. Everywhere was a shadow of death. The farmers spoke of much
illness among their families. In the town the doctors had become more and more puzzled by
new kinds of sickness appearing among their patients. There had been several sudden and
unexplained deaths, not only among adults but even among children, who would be stricken
suddenly while at play and die within a few hours.

There was a strange stillness. The birds, for example—where had they gone? Many people
spoke of them, puzzled and disturbed. The feeding stations in the backyards were deserted. The
few birds seen anywhere were moribund; they trembled violently and could not fly. It was a
spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins,
catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices there was now no sound; only
silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh.

On the farms the hens brooded, but no chicks hatched. The farmers complained that they were
unable to raise any pigs—the litters were small and the young survived only a few days. The
apple trees were coming into bloom but no bees droned among the blossoms, so there was no
pollination and there would be no fruit. The roadsides, once so attractive, were now lined with
browned and withered vegetation as though swept by fire. These, too, were silent, deserted by
all living things. Even the streams were now lifeless. Anglers no longer visited them, for all the
fish had died.

In the gutters under the eaves and between the shingles of the roofs, a white granular powder
still showed a few patches; some weeks before it had fallen like snow upon the roofs and the
lawns, the fields and streams. No witchcraft, no enemy action had silenced the rebirth of new
life in this stricken world. The people had done it themselves.

. . .This town does not actually exist, but it might easily have a thousand counterparts in
America or elsewhere in the world. I know of no community that has experienced all the
misfortunes I describe. Yet every one of these disasters has actually happened somewhere, and
many real communities have already suffered a substantial number of them. A grim specter
has crept upon us almost unnoticed, and this imagined tragedy may easily become a stark
reality we all shall know. What has already silenced the voices of spring in countless towns in
America? This book is an attempt to explain.

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