Jon Dowd tells how flying to Cleveland to volunteer for the Obama campaign changed his view of the world and himself. (photo: Ed Curtin)

I am not a comfortable flier. I don’t mind much of it except the takeoffs and landings. And the prospect of four of those certainly had my nerves on edge. But this fall, with some vacation time on my hands and campaign news in my brain, I felt compelled to step up and do something that mattered to me — and so I did, flying to the battle ground state of Ohio to volunteer in the projects of Cleveland for the Obama campaign. The take-offs and landings were a small price I’d have to pay.

After an all-day flight, I arrived at a rather upscale strip mall of clothing boutiques and electronics outlets. Feeling upbeat and a little at home, I headed through the parking lot to the huge Ohio for Change storefront and passed a woman on the phone to her insurance agent. Her car window had just been smashed and everything ripped from the dashboard. Not a comforting beginning, and for a guy who’s never been in a Rust Belt inner city before, the incident clouded my expectations and raised some personal fears for the days to come.

My job the next day was to visit with residents in several neighborhoods asking folks if they’ve already early voted or were going to wait until Tuesday, Election Day.

I was a little taken aback at how run-down most of Cleveland was. Building after building was boarded up and vacant. One in five houses in the neighborhoods I was canvassing was condemned and abandoned. These were neighborhoods of poor people. I found myself having to force down a fear of being mugged, robbed and shot.

But at my first door, the people were friendly beyond belief. That there was someone from Oregon on their porch working for the candidate they supported, floored them. And the scene repeated itself at every door. Wearing my Oregon State windbreaker with my Surfers for Obama button was an appealing ice breaker. As the day went on, and in the days to come, kids would clamor for the stickers and buttons I was handing out.  The fear of being in the ‘hood had been lifted by the very people I had been afraid of.

I began noticing how well-kept each home was, the walls that were without graffiti, the sparkling mass-transit system. More importantly, I began noticing how each person I met was glowing with anticipation. And there questions were always this: “Do you think we can pull it off?” It was always the expression of “we,” poor African-American big city dwellers and me, a white guy from Oregon.

I recently turned 57, and while that may not be old, I am sometimes confronted with the realization that there might not be too many years for me to make an impact on the world. I’ll probably never be a Lincoln, a Gandhi, a Pauling or a King, and I may never write a book. But there are little things I can do — little things we can do collectively that can add up to great things.

Volunteering allowed me to tell myself: “I made a difference.” Even if the other candidate had won, I had forced myself to do something different, and I had played my part in doing my part.

When I arrived home, I found my wife had created a ‘You are my HERO’ poster for me. Yes, it means a lot that she’s proud of me. But nobody is more proud of me that I am.

Jon Dowd is an information technology consultant for the Community Network at Oregon State University.

Ancient tree stumps emerged at Neskowin, providing OSU researchers with an opportunity to explore the history of climate changes in Oregon. (photo: Harold Zald)

(Note: This commentary returns to the “front” page of LIFE@OSU online to give readers a chance to see a special television news report about the “Ghost Forest” at Neskowin. Click on the video link at the end of this article. — Editor)

The Oregon coastline at Neskowin is always an awesome sight. But when storms recently eroded portions of the beach, they revealed remnants of an ancient forest, its 2,000-year-old stumps rising from the sea.

Anyone could appreciate their ragged beauty, and they’ve been called “a tribe of dignitaries . . . from the ancient past.” But they are more than that. They also carry a story about their time, one that may reveal important scientific information about ancient climate as well as what caused their death, perhaps a major earthquake and subsidence (in this case, a major decrease in land elevation). At OSU, researchers and graduate students in the College of Forestry began a program to sample a few of 200 stumps — but it was criticized in both news and editorial articles, and temporarily halted.

Many scientists at OSU and the Pacific Northwest Research Station of the USDA Forest Service highly support this sampling project. They constitute some of the nation’s leading forestry, climate and ecological researchers. They wisely recognize – as did the Oregon Parks and Recreation Department when it originally approved the study – that tree rings from these ancient stumps could provide invaluable data to help understand not only past climate, but also verify our future climate models, and learn more about geologic events in Oregon coastal areas.

One researcher – a participant on the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change – has pointed out that these old trees lived in a climatic period before the Medieval Warm Period and the Little Ice Age. The climate then may have been quite similar to ours now, but without the effects of the Industrial Revolution or elevated greenhouse gases. Such data may help answer important remaining questions about the veracity of human-induced global warming – the natural, year-to-year, and decade-to-decade climate variability, and the effects of ancient El Niños and Pacific Decadal Oscillations (a pattern of climate variability).

People and nations around the world are debating climate change, what is causing it, what the future may hold and what to do about it. These are absolutely not trivial issues. At stake is everything from our transportation system to our food supply, the survival of species, jobs and our economy. As scientists we must help answer the remaining questions about climate change, sooner rather than later, and we need to get the answers right.

Ancient -- 2,000 years old! -- tree stumps could provide valuable information for the debate on climate change. (photo: Harold Zald)

The researchers who used a chain saw to cut wedges from 3 out of 200 stumps – a total sample would have used 20-30 of the stumps — were using a standard approach that had been carefully considered. Conventional coring was not working because the stumps were too old and decomposing. Other approaches to obtain samples might be possible. But ultimately, this research is important and our understanding of complex climate issues can be no better than the data upon which it is based.

This is a rare opportunity to get important data. It may not last much longer. The same erosion that exposed these stumps to a level rarely if ever observed is now causing rapid decomposition. This will eventually destroy the stumps completely. For good reasons, this project and others like it should continue. The ancient stumps at Neskowin carry a message from the past, one that science can help us interpret to improve our understanding of climate change and our policies.

by Hal Salwasser, dean of the College of Forestry at Oregon State University