I wrote Yula’s Ark a long time ago, when my daughter was about 3 years old. We lived in Echo Park, not far from the zoo, so I thought it would be a great idea to join, and go often, maybe every day, stopping to see the little miniature train and the pony ride and the carousel on the way. If you know Griffith Park in LA, you know what I’m talking about.
But rather than being a place of joy for me, the zoo was a horror show. On each cage, next to each window–it seemed like EVERY window–was a plaque that described how this species no longer existed in the wild, how that antelope or this mole or that wild feline no longer roamed free, and there existed only 4 or 5 of them in various zoos around the world. The zoo had become a museum, showing the last of the breed, rare species, basically extinct species, “your eyes only ’cause when this one dies, it’s over.”
I wanted to do something. Anything. I joined every organization, I wrote every representative. When you’re a new parent you do things like that–perhaps some of you know the frenzy. Suddenly things that weren’t your responsibility JUST ARE now.
So I wrote Yula’s Ark. It didn’t do any good, it’ll never do any good. But maybe you’ll enjoy it.
[tags]Brenda H, sci-fi, ecology, environment, endangered species[/tags]