My earliest memory is of the beach and the surf: man washed up on this tiny speck of land, just a castaway Gilligan, alone with Mother Nature. At first the relationship was amicable. Calm breezes cooled the skin and healed the wounds. Bountiful driftwood and broad tropical leaves were all the shelter that a man needed. Ripe fruits were life-giving, and the bounty of seafood was luxurious.
But over time the relationship soured. What resources could be scrounged were scarce, never quite enough. The fisheries failed, the fruits were past their peak. As the monsoon season approached, storms gathered on the horizon with alarming frequency. Titanic waves broke violently upon the rising shoreline.
I began to realize that the ultimate battle had come: the unstoppable force of man vs. the immovable object of nature. In time, one must necessarily yield to the other.
So I raged against the heavens. I loosed every misery imaginable upon my opponent, and each time was answered tenfold. The vegetation withered. Fire burned the lush tropical island into a sandy Sahara, and the last of my hopes were run aground.
At long last, I conceded: man had defeated me. They’re practically a force of nature.