In our cold, dark Canadian flat, I pour fresh water into the sea, recalling not only the Greek lament “that the dead may drink” but also the covenant of the Eskimo hunter, who pours fresh water into the mouth of his quarry. Seals, living in salt water, suffer perpetual thirst. The animal has offered its life in exchange for water. If the hunter does not keep his promise, he will lose all his good fortune; no other animal will allow itself to be captured by him.

Simply living on the earth doesn’t make one a parasite upon it, provided there is some mutuality in the exchange.

It’s a fair question to ask whether much mutuality exists any more, especially in cities. We don’t have fields to leave fallow for a season, nor wild creatures to honour for their sacrifice.

We pay lip-service to the doctrine of sustainability as long as we aren’t required to do anything more than recycle inconsistently. In my view, neither real change nor real awareness are likely until we approach the cataclysmic horizon near enough to tumble over it.

We shield ourselves from the cost of our luxuries. Few of us know what it’s like to pull a carrot, let alone behead a chicken or gut a deer. Perhaps we should learn. At the very least it might remind us to give thanks.

If you live on this planet you are using its resources. It doesn’t matter whether you conciously care or not. You are all depletists.

If you can’t handle living with this fact, you should jump off the ledge of a sidewalk.

But no one is going to admit to being a depletist! Let’s get some depletist categories and individuals named and shamed here.