Instead of the Noah you know, the one who built the ark, sheltered all those animals, sailed for 40 days and 40 nights and got to see God’s rainbow, instead of him, I want you to meet a new one. An updated version.
This Noah shows up in a tough little essay written by Amy Leach, of Bozeman, Montana, who knows her science, knows there’s a flood coming—a flood of humans, seven billion and counting, already swamping the Earth, crowding the land, emptying the sea, and her more modern Noah—informed, practical, not inclined to miracles—has a different plan. He announces,
The old Noah, you may remember, squeezed eight humans (wife, kids, their spouses) and at least two of every critter, big and small, onto his crowded ship. But the new Noah, being more practical, feels he can winnow a little. “Everybody” is a lot of animals, more than you know. Back in the day, Amy Leach writes,
And, honestly, (I’m thinking to myself), if the world lost a scorpion or two, would anyone notice? Or want them back? And blotchy toads, biting little flies—some animals are hard to keep going on a tight, crowded ship. On the last voyage, dormitory assignments were beyond difficult.
And all those supplies? Amy Leach writes how the first Noah would have had …
This doesn’t mean we don’t care, new Noah says to the animals. We definitely, absolutely want to bring a bunch of you with us. But, we’ve got to be practical.
Even if our ark has grown to the size of a planet, carrying everybody through is not going to be logistically possible, which is why, he says,
And anyway, that first Noah? He lived in a different age, a time they call the Holocene, before humans began to dominate and crowd out the other species. Back then, there weren’t as many people. And there were more kinds of animals, closer by, hiding in the woods, clucking in the yard, so the world was more various then, more intimate, more riotous, and thinking about it (a little wistfully, if only for a moment), the new Noah quietly recalls that on that first ark …
And now, animals, it’s time for many of you to step away. You’ve had your unruly eons. They were wild, unplanned, noisy, great fun. Natural selection ran the world. Crazy things happened. Those were good times, Amy’s essay concludes …
Amy Leach is a writer living in Bozeman. Her collection of very short pieces—about jellyfish, beaver, salmon, plants that go topsy turvy and stand on their heads—are collected in a wonderful little book called “Things That Are.” In this column I do to Amy what the new Noah is doing to our planet: I edited her down, sliced, diced, slimmed (lovingly, I hope), trying to give you a taste for her fierce, crazy prose. But like the planet, she’s wilder in the original, so I hope you go there and sample the unedited version.