Climate Change Threatens the World’s Food Supply, United Nations Warns (NYT)

THE MARMALADE FIELDS

(dedicated to Christopher Flavelle)

When the balance finally tipped for good I decided to head for the Marmalade Fields. My parents had spoken of it in happy terms ever since I was a little shaver, and although I had no idea where it was located it seemed wise to find it soon -- now that things were getting so bad.

So I set out with a loaf of bread, a rusty canteen, and enough socks to last me until Easter. As I went past the huge factory where they turn soil into sand I ran into a man eating a piece of cardboard. 

"Does that taste any good?" I asked him.

"No, but the chewing brings back pleasant memories" he said, between bites. "Would you happen to have a packet of ketchup I could borrow?" he asked.

I gave him my last packet and headed East towards the melting glaciers of Hetland. A pack of wolves nearly got me that first night as I camped in the woods, but I swam across a flooded river to the opposite shore. A group of migrating zingare welcomed me to their camp for the rest of the night, but had no idea where the Marmalade Fields were located; they were headed for the nearest bowling alley. But they suggested that all rivers lead eventually to  all good things, and gave me a breadbasket to float down the flooded river in.

The river swept me uncontrollably away from the Hetland glaciers for several days before I managed to land at a palm oil plantation. The plantation overseer assured me that the Marmalade Fields were just over the horizon, and told me that he had lost most of his field hands because they all wanted to go there as well. He now used trained rabbits to work the plantation. I thanked him and headed towards the horizon, where a flock of crows were dancing in the moonlight.

At the horizon I found men and women dressed in rags, planting trees by the thousands. They told me the Marmalade Fields were just a myth, a hoax, and that when their forest was complete they would become indigenous and reap bountiful harvests. They invited me to stay, and I almost did; but after a night's rest I decided to find out for myself if the Marmalade Fields existed or not. The people in rags gave me a broken wristwatch as a friendly gesture at parting, and the next day I arrived at the Marmalade Fields.

 There was a huge asphalt parking lot and a roller coaster. Once I climbed over the wickerwork fence I found a grape Kool-Aid vendor who extended me credit for six months. After quenching my thirst I traded my rusty canteen for a stuffed toy, then returned to the people in rags planting trees. I wasn't exactly disillusioned, but I wanted to see how far I could go with a stuffed toy. The people in rags welcomed me back as their king. 

And then we made war on the goats.