The Church and the Environment(alism)
“In the beginning, when God created the heavens and earth, the earth was a formless wasteland…then God said, ‘let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw how good the light was…God looked at everything he had made, and he found it very good.” Forget all the politics, the politicians, the posters, posers, polydactyly, pterodactyl-like postulations, intellectual positions stretched so thin to fit they require extra fingers and freedom from close inspection. Head in the clouds, they fly high in flight from reason, not unto things more sublime. So come back down, plant them one, two, firmly the left and the right, muddy boots the better, for if the Earth is steadily warming melting permafrost into puddles to stand in one is to be the most fun and the most far-sighted too. Like right now you are here, not there, because here, you, in the puddle, here, the slush and the pulpy-sluice but a few drops deliquesced past edible, you see the problem over there and over there it’s ice-shelf phantasmagoria, just one stray ray of sunshine enough to split the glacial sheet in two, four, eight, sixteen; the ice as flaccid as saran wrap pulled tight, see through gelatinous illusion, even the snows and the bears have left. If it breaks and by if when then…1
Since pondering environmentalism, any variants, activism especially, can quickly lead one deep into the dreamworld of dark, deforested tundras peopled by radioactive coyotes, plumbers named ‘Colin,’ ants who breed with ever disappearing bees, and the collected works of Al Gore translated into Finnish, best begin, as Catholics, with the aforementioned first chapter in the first book of the Bible; best begin with straightforward common sense, something lately uncommon in our commonly upside down, down is the new up world. God is good. God is the author of all things. And since God made the environment and himself specified its goodness we, ourselves God’s creatures, should, as a healthy starting point, look at the environment as ‘good’ and as something to be respected and cherished and grateful for, for we, humanity, were at first, before the original transgression, set ourselves in the lush garden of life to cultivate and care for it.
I’ve titled this essay ‘The Church and the Environment.’ And I plan to take you on a brief survey of this topic from the Genesis springboard through the experiences of varied saints and luminaries such as Ketari Tekakwitha, Benedict of Nursia, Dorothy Day and Francis of Assisi, without taking our eyes off that foreboding iceshelf in the distance, those albatrosses environmentalists hang around necks their own the most popular choice, assuring us that if we but for one moment forget about the problem that will be the surefire last straw sending us into alternating cracked earth desert utopias and floodlands filled brim high from formerly hardened Artic ice like our very own example A; blue like the precise colors Alaskan blue, (or) like Arctic blue, (ibid…and henceforth, ibid) like blue chalk, bubbles, buoyant blue, fish pond and fluorescent turquoise. The thing is, our iceshelf, that one and same stretched thin thing primed like two brushstrokes three for tapdancing on thin ice musicals, it’s clear too, translucent and as seemingly sweet as, and no less inviting than, heatwrought crystalized sugar glass. You can bet your bottom dollar we’ll be keeping tabs on, and a thorough record of, freeze, creak, freeze, crack, crunch. Paraphrasing Leon Trotsky, you may not be interested in climate change, but climate change is interested in you.
A thorough record (kept, by us) too in the mainframe discussion at hand as we proceed, certainly as gingerly as those walking if not dancing if not dancing while singing on thin ice the eyes darting down below every now and then, from one Francis to the next, a discussion of the Pope’s recent encyclical Laudato si’ rounding out our analysis. (Did he really have to lowercase the second part of the title, though? Asking for a friend). What have Catholics said and continue to say about the environment? What are the important takeaways, the overarching themes, the rules and responsibilities for us living in the 21st century?
Then, following this, then, then, then, listen up, then we will look at how Idaho hot springs can serve as a concentrated distillation of our thematic principles put into action. And if you don’t know about Idaho, and about the Idaho wilderness, and about natural hot springs found in the Idaho wilderness, and about the way in which people can go into the Idaho wilderness in search of these hot springs, yes, these the one and same ones indeed, and then get into them and then soak and soak and stay and look and listen at/to all that nature so vast and remote and sometimes even silent then, suffice to say, you have lived an impoverished life, one that will hopefully be a few ticks enriched at the close of this essay.
Catholics have long been concerned with environmental issues. Ketari Tekakwitha, the 17th century ‘Lily of the Mohawks,’ survived smallpox as a child and converted to Catholicism at 19 years old, thereafter taking a vow of perpetual virginity. She was renowned for the many strict mortifications and penances she subjected her body to. She was also deeply in tune with her surrounding environment. Environmental scientist Bill Jacobs claims her natural, lived experience, knowledge of flora and fauna would make any contemporary biologist and botanist ‘envious.’ Green with envy to the point of self-inflicted poison ivy rubs to the face is taking it a bit far, but, you get it, she knew her stuff, and effortlessly too. Raised in the Iroquois nation, daughter of a people who ‘carefully managed the fields, forests, and wildlife of their homeland,’ Kateri’s life is additionally a testament to the virtue of humility, of understanding one’s place in the larger world—as a steward and servant, not exploitative consumer—and how to thrive in harmony with the surrounding ecosystem. 2
In this harmonious balance, Kateri, who ‘often went to the woods alone to speak to God and listen to Him in her heart,’ has come down to our age as a patroness of the environment, environmentalists, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, of exiles, too, she showing us how to live well in our temporal, temporary home on Earth while we await the perfection of God’s glory in Heaven. The fist Native American to be canonized, she bequeaths her name and legacy to the former Catholic Conservation Center, a ‘Catholic faith-based, non profit organization,’ whose goals include ‘protect[ing] clean air and water, conserv[ing] energy and limit[ing] climate change.’ Furthermore, in keeping with her personal example reconciling care for the Earth with care for our souls and a focus on salvation, the Saint Kateri Conservation Center also strives to ‘increase faith and rebuild the Church…restor[ing] our relationships with God, each other, and nature.’3
Next, we jump forward approximately three centuries into a consideration of Dorothy Day, flying south over our iceshelf leaving it fingers crossed and hoping for the best, unto destination: 20th century; destination: New York City; destination: not to that guy on the corner of 5th avenue and East 81st shilling unsolicited advice about ‘world’s best, yeah top grade museums’ in South Orange, NJ, ‘not Newark, not none any but right smack dab on the campus of Seton Hall University, you see; go there and don’t never leave’ without the slightest recognition, even when pointed out to him point blank, of that gargantuan see: leviathan-like memory and memorabilia structure directly behind him and his soapbox; no, destination not even Brooklyn Heights, her place of birth, nor her place of work on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, rather we journey into the mind of this woman who happened to exist in 20th century New York City by accident, so too we all of us each to his own circumstances, she part journalist, social activist, bohemian and political radical as a young woman, now and maybe forever best known for founding the Catholic Worker Movement. Environmentalism, harmony with nature specifically, was part of that sociopolitical philosophy. Day’s time at the communal co-op Maryfarm certainly fit with Saint Kateri’s aim to strike an organic balance between people and nature under the auspices of a loving God, sovereign creator of all, but it was even more in tune with the next saint we will investigate, Benedict of Nursia, for no one better embodies the idea of rootedness than Benedict, the concept of living in a place and drawing sustenance from that place. 4
This is precisely what Day and her compatriots did at Maryfarm, a communal farm in Williams Township near Easton, Pennsylvania. Far from the communist implications such a designation might imply, Maryfarm can be more precisely explained as Catholic co-operative tilling the land so as to bring forth fruit to feed the poor. And how beautiful a Catholic environmentalism this was. As Day noted in 1954, ‘there were not many guests’ during the harsh winter months of January and February, and yet still days were spent chopping wood, cooking, washing and cleaning, organizing concerts and maintaining a full daily schedule of spiritual reading—the Bible at breakfast and the Seven Story Mountain during the day—planning retreats, and praying at a makeshift Grotto dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. ‘Life is a night spent in an uncomfortable inn,’ Day noted St. Teresa of Avila saying yet she, Day, in living in harmony with the surrounding environment and drawing sustenance form it to feed her less fortunate brothers and sisters, ‘try to make it as comfortable as possible at Maryfarm.’5
While Maryfarm aimed to combine fruitful farming with the spiritual fruits of prayer, no one did this better than Saint Benedict and his compatriots, founders of Western monasticism, ora et labora a calling card word-motto-identifier theirs for the ages, as singularly, suddenly recognizable as ‘Bond,’ ‘Cleopatra,’ ‘Caesar,’ ‘Beethoven,’ and ‘Michelangelo.’ While the Roman Empire lay in tattered ruins, its scattered embers smoldering from a century of barbarian invasions, Benedict and his community occupied themselves with the heavy lifting—talking about something like an 800+ pound deadlift, no chalk, no belt, hook grip and having eschewed the standard 135lb warm-up for a dive into the cold deep end of 225lbs from the starting gate—saving then pushing forward Western Civilization. The ancient philosophical texts invaders preferred to burn and trample, maybe out of frustration in not being able to read them (but did anyone even try getting the Wi-Fi functional so as to access online translation materials? In hindsight, it might have been a less challenging task that initially assumed. Historians have recently identified both the Empire-wide network and password; ROMEDCCLIII and 0IIIIIIIVVVI, respectively), they transcribed and stored away safe. So too the architectural and artistic forms and formulas of antiquity, many of which were lost in the chaos following 476, the monks preserved, they themselves serving as the link between ancient Rome and the New Rome of Christendom which rose phoenix-like from the ashes of the ‘Dark Ages’ in AD 800 when Charlemagne was crowned Holy Roman Emperor.
One of the Benedictines greatest contributions is an environmental one. It is the colligation of their motto, ‘prayer and work,’ to the concept of ‘rootedness.’ We hear often in environmental circles that we must care for our common home, Jupiter, Uranus, haha, get it? Ur Earth. To do this we must love the Earth, love the land, love a real place. That is rootedness, loving the dirt beneath your feet, not some abstract idea, and that is precisely what the Benedictines can teach us. Agricultural life was a huge, dominant, feature of the monks’ daily life. Within St. Benedict’s guiding Rule one can find instructions that since ‘idleness is the enemy of the soul’ it was incumbent upon brothers and sisters to ‘be occupied at certain times in manual labor.’ Monks were commanded to fast often, naturally, but the intensity of a fast could be lessened if ‘the monks have work in the fields.’ Work in the fields they did have, lots of it, and in tending to it they give a forceful testament to the relationship between human labor and the environment. If people approach nature, and her gifts, with humility, not avarice, being committed to being rooted in a singular place so as to make the most of that place, in prayer as well as work, great fruit will come. For not only will the community and those who come to this place find themselves well fed, they might just become holy along the way, too. For if idle hands are the devil’s plaything, what can be said about hands ceaselessly at work, in equal measure on rosary beads and on the plow? If ‘they themselves do the work of gathering the harvest,’ the Rule of Saint Benedict stipulates, ‘then are they truly monastics when they live by the labor of their hands, as did our Fathers and the Apostles.’6
Finally (oh, no, it might be happening, it, our iceshelf, soon liquefying down into the puddles too?), it is true that little can be said about St. Francis of Assisi that has not already been said; stigmatic, reformer, filled to the brim with such an evangelical zeal it bordered on holy insanity, as when he went to Egypt during the Crusades and practically begged the Sultan to martyr him. Francis was a man of impetuous, rash promises, stripping naked before his father in a renouncement of everything, only to rush off into the forest following the guidance of a voice counseling him to ‘rebuild my Church.’ Rash indeed, but, as Chesterton pointed out, ‘never was a man so little afraid of his own promises. His life was one riot of rash vows; of rash vows turned out right.’ And if a more grandiose claim that Chesterton makes is also true—that the imitation of Christ can be said to begin with St. Francis—than his most famous patronage, of animals, and nature more broadly construed, takes on an even greater importance. Because with St. Francis we have not just rash passion proved true, a full dedication fulfilled not burned out, we also have a living example of that modern maxim, ‘what would Jesus do?’ Considering environmental questions, we can look to St. Francis of Assisi with confidence.7
In his famous poem, “The Canticle of the Sun,” from which Pope Francis took the title for the encyclical we will soon investigate, we see Saint Francis’ most important contribution to a Catholic environmentalism: seeing all of nature, along with humanity, as part of God’s creation not, as a multitude of modern environmentalists will mistakenly claim, some pantheistic divine force unto itself. This contribution, although easily missed, is enormously important. For in a modern environmentalist scene that wishes to return to paganism, to nature as divine, it was Francis who returned the ‘flowers and stars’ to ‘their first innocence. Fire and water are felt worthy to be the brother and sister of a saint. The purge of paganism is complete.’ ‘Brother Sun, Sister Moon,’ St. Francis declares, ‘Brother Wind…the air cloudy and serene…Sister Mother Earth who sustains us and governs us and who produces varied fruits with coloured flowers and herbs.’ Brothers and Sisters, Sister Mother Earth, for we are all of us kin, all of creation, adoring in unison the ‘Most High, all powerful, good Lord, Yours are the praises, the glory, the honour, and all blessing. To You alone, Most High, do they belong, and no man is worthy to mention Your name. Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures.’ 8
And so, in no particular order, from the previous four saints we can deduce the following bullet points of an approach to a Catholic environmentalism:
1. Harmony and humility, that we are part of something larger than ourselves and although the crown of creation, stewards not exploiters.
2. That when respected the earth can be fruitful, literally, in serving the needs of our own, rooted community, one driven by the ideals of prayer and work along with the needs of the less fortunate. And, finally,
3. God alone is God. Correctly esteeming the environment as a brother or sister, as another part of God’s sovereign realm, leads us to properly worship God in all his majesty.
What lessons can we therefore take from a brief look at Pope Francis’ Encyclical Laudato si’ in order to add to our above, synthesized themes? Ecological reflections are nothing new for church leaders, Francis begins, quoting Paul VI’s 1971 apostolic letter Octogesima Adveniens. ‘Due to an ill-considered exploitation of nature, humanity runs the risk of destroying it and becoming in turn a victim of this degradation.’9 Little has changed today as
This sister now cries out to us because of the harm we have inflicted on her by our irresponsible use and abuse of the goods with which God has endowed her. We have come to see ourselves as her lords and masters, entitled to plunder her at will. We have forgotten that we ourselves are dust of the earth (cf. Gen 2:7); our very bodies are made up of her elements, we breathe her air and we receive life and refreshment from her waters.10
That humans often see ‘no other meaning in their natural environment than what serves for immediate use and consumption,’ as John Paul II noted in his 1979 Encyclical Redemptor Hominis has led the current pontiff to denounce myriad problems that betray the original, Book of Genesis balance between man and nature in God’s creative plan.11 ‘Obstructionist attitudes,’ non-biodegradable electronic and industrial waste, the lack of access to fresh, potable water, ‘short-sighted approaches to the economy, commerce and production,’ (what has been captioned today as profit over people), crowded cities, and the ‘way that humanity has taken up technology and its development according to an undifferentiated and one-dimensional paradigm,’ are just a few of the many problems Pope Francis faults for creating what he sees as an improper and unjust perspective on the environment prevalent today. And these injustices have, are, and will continue to affect ‘the most vulnerable people on the planet,’ namely the poor, the least, the afterthought if thought of at all.12
We are not God. The earth was here before us and it has been given to us. This allows us to respond to the charge that Judeo-Christian thinking, on the basis of the Genesis account which grants man “dominion” over the earth (cf. Gen 1:28), has encouraged the unbridled exploitation of nature by painting him as domineering and destructive by nature. This is not a correct interpretation of the Bible as understood by the Church.13
To view the planet, its goods and its inhabitants, organically connected ‘one and indivisible’ within The Gospel of Creation, the ‘theology of creation’ that is found in the first chapter of Genesis when ‘God saw everything that he had made, and behold it was very good,’ is for Pope Francis perhaps not the privileged but rather the sole proper perspective. Despite the manifold problems we face today, and there is an endless stream of critiques throughout Laudato si’, the above with which we barely scratched the surface, we need not despair for, as the pope reminds us ‘…we know that things can change. The Creator does not abandon us; he never forsakes his loving plan or repents of having created us. Humanity still has the ability to work together in building our common home.’14
So, it seems we’ve come full circle. I began this essay with a reflection on the first chapter of Genesis and it can be argued that Laudato si’s thesis is precisely that, recapturing the authentic meaning of Genesis 1, even more so employing it as a guide in restoring the proper man-nature environmental balance. But so what does this have to do with hot springs? How are hot springs, more specifically Idaho hot springs, good examples of all these Genesis 1 plus themes lived out fully?
Imagine yourself driving on US-55, north out of Boise up through Horseshoe Bend past Smiths Ferry, Donnelly, and Cascade en route to McCall; the deep forests on your right, so thoroughly green they’re almost black and the Payette River rushing and churning and frothing down on your left, you’re already at this point, this trace on the way, in a complex nexus of environmental harmony. You, the solitary dot in the small car on the narrow road, aware of the grandeur of God’s large, overwhelmingly, even terrifyingly beautiful creation all about you—not bad for a prayer of thanksgiving either, that thought; there’s some Franciscan natural spirituality for you—juxtaposed against your corresponding smallness, dotspeck insignificance. And yet as you drive and drive on, preferably sometime near sunrise or sunset so those variegated colors can fall down from above, accentuating everything, you realize that while you are a speck God loves the speck. God died for you, for all of us dotspecks so small in such a created space so vast.
You get to McCall but McCall’s not where you want to be. Burgdorf, the town and its hot springs15, is your destination. Leaving McCall headed northwest into the heart of the Boise National Forest you bump along a road more desolate than 55 and therefore more reflective and more real. The dust, the squeak break turns at less than 20mph, the 100 foot plus trees packed together tighter than grains of sand on the shore, the road more like dirt untouched, now paved but soon just pebbles, then potholes, then slog forcing you to drive so slow it’s like a water tap trickle. What doesn’t change is the silence about you; 45 minutes of silence and staring.
You arrive at Burgdorf but you have not returned to civilization. Burgdorf is neither a civilized place nor one for polite conversations about 5-star getaway resorts and teatime in the countryside manor. There is no running water, there is no electricity, there are no mattresses and no TVs, there is no internet, no cellphone towers, not even a credit card machine. These barbarians don’t accept anything but cash; animals. What is at Burgdorf is a handsome spread of wooden cabins varied in size and style, places to set recently chopped wood on fire so as to burn things before placing them in your mouth and chomping down, and, ringing the place on all sides, forest, forest, forest, trees and so many trees so deep and so thick it appears to stretch on forever, even back in time.
All of this highlights the main attraction at the heart of the place. From first foot gingerly dropped into the 100 degree main soaking pool, you get it, instantaneously, finger snap immediacy from no to yes, behold, environmentalism, no, rather a complete environmentalistic practical philosophy come to life, hot springs, as close to heaven on earth as it gets. That testing foot now two feet firm on the pleasurably pebbled, turquoise and orange colored mineral bottom of the large pool, the calciums and magnesiums, the lithium and silica too, mixed and smash strewn together to form the foundation for a water now up past your waist, autotoning those abs you’ve long neglected, the steam rising up from the water entering your nostrils then plunging down into your lungs, cleaning, cleaning, oh, you’re breathing now, brother, sister, cousin, cuz, friend, ah…acquaintance (?) yeah, breathe deep, up from the diaphragm and exhale slowly, it’s a team effort here, the rocky pool bottom prune-exfoliating your well worn feet, the warm water now up to your neck, the crisp mountain air and the foggy steam rising up from the water not for one moment, not for even a falting second, restricting your view of the surrounding mountains, some of them snowcapped, and just for you, you enjoy yourself here, okay (?), and those rows of trees, trees, trees, forest and fall foliage, looks sweet enough to eat.
This is Catholic environmentalism, the closest glimpse at Eden before the Fall, the simultaneous living out of our main three themes from above and the entire sapsticking umbrella of Genesis 1, umbrella and underpinning undercurrent, gulfstream lodestar, true guiding light for all conversations concerning this topic. Here, you, this hot spring, any hot spring—not just Burgdorf but, maybe, Atlanta Hot Springs near a mile high ghost town in the Boise National Forest, or Sheepeater Hot Springs in the River of No Return Wilderness requiring a six mile, one-way hike to reach, or one of those closest to us here on the Palouse, Stanley Hot Springs on US-12 out towards Missoula16 —in a hot spring, should so you be, should you find yourself thus, you, witness consciousness of harmony and humility between man and nature, the appreciation that God loves us and made this for us but for us to care for it and enjoy it, not exploit it, as you are doing exactly right now, properly enjoying this, savoring it, right at this moment waist deep in warm water nearly hot almost too hot but still not quite therefore perfect, this reflection leading to point number three, that God as Creator is worshipped all the more gloriously when we properly honor his handiwork, we, this being point number two, being placed here, on this Earth, in this environment, to by prayer and work till the land, steward creation, and ultimately, reap its benefits; benefits open for all people, for anyone with a map, a free weekend, a bathing suit, and the will to walk, ride, or drive deep into the Idaho wilderness in search of dark forests and hot water.
No one who would find themselves in a hot spring surrounded by mountains and forest with steam cutting through crisp air up to their windswept face feet squishing through mineral deposits below would think, even consider, doing anything on the prohibitive laundry list Pope Francis mentions in Laudato si’. No thoughts of profit or city planning, no smog or sub-prime mortgage shilling, no time for simple, mind-numbing consumerism, complex corporate scheming, roidrage hyper-capitalism, avaricious communism, Keynesianism, the invisible hand, visible pollution, urban sprawl, or global market trends.
No spare thoughts for pandemics, vaccines, social distancing or social sardining, no Bill Gates, no George Soros, no Georges Stephanopoulos, Bush, Clooney or King(as in III, where the **** is Patrick Henry when we need him?), no time even for a passing thought for Curious George, now think about that. The ice-shelf? Yes, it has finally melted and is en train de flooding the earth; chain reaction, domino theory type stuff; abrupt rising of sea levels, abolished coastlines, sinking cities, et cetera. But here, in an Idaho hot spring, no worries, for here, in an Idaho hot spring, one is on high ground, geographically and as pertaining to the spirit; and for good, happily ever after, ‘yeah freaking buddy!’ you scream at the top of your lungs, beer in hand, body in hot spring, your exclamation broken by raucous laugher, your own and that of your companions, they themselves in that same blissful aquatic headspace you are.
Now I’m not saying that all the world’s problems, especially those related to the environment, would be solved if people visited hot springs on a bi-weekly basis, came to places in the middle of nowhere to be immersed physically and mentally in natural states too often uncommon in our busy, out of joint world. I’m not saying this would solve all the world’s problems.
I’m also not saying that it would not.
Gracjan Kraszewski is Director of Intellectual Formation at the St. Augustine Center at the University of Idaho; holder of a PhD in history. Author of the novel, ‘The Holdout’ (Adelaide Books, 2018) and the historical manuscript, ‘Catholic Confederates’ (Kent State Univ. Press, 2020). Currently working on a 1,000 page plus absurdist and maximalist philosophical comedy novel entitled Job Search set one hundred years in the future investigating themes of American freedom, free will, and the pursuit of happiness in a time of apocalyptic thermonuclear geopolitics. Fiction has appeared in Riddle Fence, Amsterdam Quarterly, Eclectica Magazine, Wilderness House Literary Review, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, New English Review, The Southern Distinctive, PILGRIM, The Coil, Bull: Men’s Fiction, Adelaide Literary Magazine, RumbleFish Press, Five on the Fifth, and on The Short Humour Site. Pieces forthcoming in the Nashwaak Review and Black Bear Review. Fluent in English, Polish, and French.
1 The Holy Bible (‘New American Bible: For Catholics’) published for Catholic Extension by the American Bible Society, New York: 1970/1991. Genesis 1: 1-31, 2:15.
2 Fr. Michael Rennier, ‘5 Saints to Inspire us to take care of our Planet,’ June 18, 2017; No author Listed, ‘Reflecting on Blessed Kateri Takakwitha,’ July 13, 2011 ; Saint Kateri Conservation Center, ‘Mission and Vision.’
4 Daniel Patrick Sheehan, ‘Dorothy Day’s roots to Sainthood run to Communal Farm in Williams Township,’ August 14, 2012; Dorothy Day, ‘Maryfarm,’ The Catholic Worker, March 1954, pp. 3
5 Dorothy Day, ‘Maryfarm,’ The Catholic Worker, March 1954, 3.
6 Rule of Saint Benedict, chapters 41 and 48.
7 G.K. Chesterton, St Francis of Assisi (New York: Image Books, 1957 Org. 1928), 42, 59.
8 Chesterton, St Francis of Assisi, 36; St. Francis of Assisi, Canticle of the Sun.
9 Pope Paul VI, Octogesima Adveniensm, Apostolic Letter of, May 14, 1971.
10 Pope Francis, Laudato Si, Encyclical Letter of, ‘On Care for Our Common Home,’ May 25, 2015.
11 Pope John Paul II, Redemptor Hominis, Encyclical Letter of, March 4, 1979.
12 Pope Francis, Laudato Si.
16 Evie Litton, The Hiker’s Guide to Hot Springs in the Pacific Northwest (Falcon Press: Helena, MT, 1993), 222, 217-18 , 155.