In 1968, a photograph was taken that would gain worldwide fame for providing a first-of-its-kind view. Some 57 years later, the photo known as “Earthrise” captured during the Apollo 8 lunar mission is still quickly recognized. It was the first time the average person saw earth in its place in the cosmos, floating there all by itself, the blue of the water and white of the clouds contrasting with the deep black background.
The photo was taken from so far away that earth’s details are too small to see. Those details include the activities of humans—activities based on where they live, the season, the weather, their personal needs and economic abilities. In the moment the photo was taken, somewhere a person was in a store looking for a new jacket as theirs was out of fashion, while someone else was hoping to find even the smallest scrap of food to appease their hunger.
Here is a statistical update for that photograph. There are now 8 billion humans on the planet, of whom 11 percent live in poverty. Around 700 million live on less than $2.15 per day. In 2023, one in 11 people went hungry every day.
Unlike in 1968, today we all have a world view at our fingertips, thanks to Google Earth. If we zoomed into a place called the Point Reyes National Seashore and its pastoral zone, we see would family farms and ranches that have been providing food and caring for the land for over 150 years. And if you want in on a not-so-little secret, their production of food has grown exponentially per acre every decade.
This is a location where environmental organizations, some with tens of millions of dollars in their coffers, succeeded in ending these family farms. It’s a result that will severely limit local food production, kicking the stool out from under the local economy as it threatens to end 20 percent of Marin County’s agricultural production.
One has to wonder, with all the human need and suffering in the world, how an environmental organization justifies turning its back on the worldwide need for food. How it explains its hyperfocus on ending a sustainable resource that produced food, jobs and economic activity to prioritize recreation and a restoration pipe dream for humans to enjoy on the occasional weekend.
I was in the park on two beautiful Sunday afternoons recently and had no trouble finding any parking. There was ample space for all kind of activities. I find it interesting to hear comments about the impact of ranching on the park—an impact that has lessened over time—while no one comments about the impact on the landscape of 2.5 million visitors.
Any activity anywhere on our planet, whether it’s a walk on the beach or cows grazing in pastures, will have an impact. In the big picture, one viewed through the lens and window of the Apollo lunar module, I feel the question should be about the impact on the entire planet.
It might help to overlay Maslow’s hierarchy of human needs, whose top set includes food and nutrition. This hierarchy does not include “enjoying wilderness activities” in a county that is among the wealthiest in the United States. The settlement agreement in the seashore is simply a case of environmental groups with big bank accounts becoming hyper-focused on their agenda, forcing their ideals onto a community to which their back is turned—a community with plenty of human need and suffering within an hour’s drive.
Sam Dolcini has been representing Marin’s rural and agricultural communities for over 30 years through his service to the Marin Agricultural Land Trust, the Marin County Farm Bureau and in other roles. He lives in Hicks Valley.