by Theodora Thoreua-Roosevelt, Professional Window Washer and Amateur Naturalist
(the first in a series by Our Fair City writer Jim McDoniel, giving us another glimpse into the world of HartLife)
Entry 1: An Introduction
There are many who would tell us that the world beyond the steel and stone walls of our fair city is a desolate freezing wasteland incapable of sustaining life. There are many who would say that the only life that still exists is here in the underground caverns of HartLife and is under the direct control of the company. Many say that nothing can live without the nourishment of the company. However, most of those “many” are in a position of authority in the company and not a one has a background in science, so their opinion is hardly worth considering.
The mistake made by “many” is in confusing a life with Life. A life is a fragile and easily snuffed out by any number of things, from the slightest increase of ammonia in our atmosphere to a tiny piece of lead piercing a part of its body. A life is short and sweet and best served cold. Life is another matter entirely. Life is hardy and unexpected. Life can be found on ice glaciers, fiery volcanoes, salt deserts, sugar desserts, and dark sunless pools of the purest ammonia. Most importantly, it changes; it adapts. Life goes on.
So those who say that life only exists with the permission of the company are unequivocally and categorically wrong. Mind, they will try to equivocate and categorize, but they are still wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. And even where they are right, their overall wrongness sours the point they had, until, it too is wrong.
The proof, as the saying goes, is in the pudding pill. Though, really it is two miles east in a small patch of snowless ground. And it is in body field #12. And fifteen miles north, northwest. And under a rock. Proof my friends is everywhere, you just need to look where I have looked.
And so, I leave this journal. If you are reading this, first and foremost, shame on you for reading a lady’s personal journal. You sir are no gentlemen, or if female, no bosom companion, or if mole, a very BAD MOLE. Second, and slightly more foremost, I hope you find the descriptions of the plants and animals illuminating, educating, and inspiring. Perhaps someday you too will intentionally throw your identity variance so as to be given the only job that affords one the truest view of our natural world: the noble window washer.
(Dora for short)