Battling Climate Grief and Anxiety as a Parent

A photo of an oak tree with bright red leaves against a bright blue sky

As I tend to tell it, my environmentalism started with grief and anger, at the young age of 10. I visited Homasassa Springs State Park and saw manatees for the first time. Their huge size and gentle nature enchanted me. As I watched them, my parents had to nudge me insistently to get me to leave. The same day, reading the informational signs, I learned that they were terribly endangered. I signed up for the Save the Manatees club that day and told everyone I could get to listen to me about it.

But in reality, my environmentalism started years before that.

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Looking Closely at What Surrounds Us

A snail partly buried in the sand with a gray and peach shell

Skittering across the mud, a tiny hermit crab lunged at invisible-to-me prey. A few inches away, a crab with its shell covered in algae started digging. Caddisfly tubes made of rocks and shell bits poked up all around.

As I was observing this tiny tableau, I felt something on my foot. Something very much alive, moving, and animal-like.

“Ah, ah, ah!” I yelped, reaching down and trying to get it off. I spotted a long translucent creature and flicked it, only to have it hop up and land elsewhere on my leg. I finally got it off, much to my relief. As it turned out, it was an itty bitty shrimp and the shallow water extending to the horizon was full of them. I ended up with them in my shoes a couple more times that afternoon.

Despite my panic about having shrimp in my shoes, the low tide flats of Breakwater Beach in Cape Cod offered an awesome opportunity to look at nature up-close – really close. It was easy to miss the vast, wriggling diversity of life in the shallow water and sand unless you looked carefully. Once you did start looking, it was everywhere.

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Building Character Whether We Want to or Not

Photo of a tiny orange newt on the bark of a fallen log with moss

“I swear, this hike felt a lot easier when I was 15,” I said to my kids, huffing as we hauled up what seemed like the endlessly steep mountain.

I had promised an “easy, fun, not that long” hike. I was right that it wasn’t that long. What I had forgotten was that it was nearly straight up, complete with patches of steep, smooth rock. It had rained the night before, making everything slippery as hell.

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When you find magic in a tree

Gazing up into the leaves of a large Princess Tree (yes, that is the species!) against a bright blue sky

There are some trees you see and you just know they’re magical. They’re magical like you can sit easily in them on a summer day reading a book, on a branch that’s just the right height. They’re magical like you could swear you saw a fairy in the hole *right there*. They’re magical like you can just see the squirrels chasing each other up and down them, even if they aren’t there that moment. They’re magical in that you can feel the years in them, the memories and secrets of place they have stored. They’re magical like childhood.

This tree was just outside the used book sale tent of the Friends of the Library at the Gaithersburg Book Festival. Books + trees = joy. Obviously magical.

The life lessons gardening is teaching my children

Our roaming, sprawling cherry tomato plants from last summer, growing all into and over our netting-based fence with a pink plastic flamingo in the background

“Can you water your garlic?” I asked my younger son, referring to the elephant garlic we planted in our garden. He loves elephants, so of course we had to plant an elephant plant.

“Sure!” he replied.

Now, did he actually water it? Well, no. He tried, but the rain barrel was out of water and then he got distracted.

Thankfully, the garden isn’t school and watering is not homework. But there is much my kids will learn from it, above and beyond the practical skills that go into planting and cultivating seeds. These lessons are drawn from my own experience, but also heavily influenced from broader points I’ve picked up from the books Braiding Sweetgrass and Lessons from Plants. As Robin Wall Kimmerer says in Braiding Sweetgrass, “Plants speak in a tongue that every breathing thing can understand. Plants teach in a universal language: food.”

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Weaving climate change discussions into everyday life

Photo of a kid in a blue fleece jacket (my son) and older man in a green sweatshirt (my dad) walking down a hiking path with trees on both sides

Warm weather in January stirs up a lot of ambiguous feelings in me. On one hand – it’s beautiful out! On the other – it’s probably because of climate change! (It’s also called climate chaos for a reason – the up and down unpredictability is part of it.) And back to the other hand – we should enjoy it while we can! In reality, it’s probably a combination of all three.

Bringing kids out in nature and modeling enjoying it is one of the best ways to build lots of emotional and physical skills as well as environmental awareness. You don’t need to get all apocalyptic, but it’s also a chance to draw attention to how it is unseasonably warm and how the climate affects it. You can get curious, asking your kids what they think we can do to help. (It’s very possible they’ve already discussed it in school.) We don’t want to put the whole burden on them though, so be sure to talk about what adults (including yourself) are doing, like Indigenous water protectors fighting oil pipelines or Black and Hispanic activists working to close coal and natural gas plants in their neighborhoods. And of course, all of the people working to build renewable energy!

If you want somewhere to start, check out the Family Climate Justice toolkit I created with Raising Luminaries.

(I originally wrote this post on New Years’ Day and posted it to social media then.)

Slowing down for sustainability

Photo of a crescent moon between the branches of a bare tree

I always want to look up in wonder when someone says “Look, the moon!” and teach my kids to do the same.

Even if you live in an area with a lot of light pollution, we almost all share the moon. Watching it shift through its waning and waxing cycles is a beautiful way to keep in tune with and respect the cycles of nature.

Taking time to notice and truly gaze at the “everyday” things in nature – from the moon to dandelions – is both something that kids are naturally good at and provides us adults joy in rough or busy times. Slowing down doesn’t mean coming to a halt – it can just mean finding time for small pauses. It means noticing the things we wouldn’t otherwise. It can teach us to be more sustainable to both ourselves and our wider world. The more we can look beyond our individual worries, the more we can care for and accept care from those around us.

An Unexpected Tour of the Adirondacks

An Unexpected Tour of the Adirondacks, We'll Eat You Up, We Love You So; photo of mountains with blue sky

Note: This is an essay about an adventure that happened to me far, far before I had kids.

A crying girl, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and a supermarket parking lot. Not exactly the elements for an epic summit. But having missed the turn-off for our hike, we were now on the wrong side of Lake George in upstate New York, eating the lunches we were supposed to be having on the peak. By the way, I was the crying girl.

“This is your fault!” I pouted to my then-boyfriend, Chris, even though I had the map. I curled up in the passenger’s seat of his Civic, my tears falling on my bread. “If you hadn’t been speeding…”

“It’s too late now. What do you want to do?” he sighed. He got out of the car and started pacing.

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On Flowers and Children and Unplanned Beauty

Photo of a bumblebee on a marigold flower; On Flowers and Children and Unexpected Beauty

A small brown haired head with flecks of blond leans down. My son’s nose is almost touching a bright orange flower, its torn pedals sprouting from a huge green stem. In the middle of the flower, there’s a fuzzy yellow and black bumblebee butt sticking out. It has its whole face immersed in the flower, guzzling down nectar. My son watches it in wonder, occasionally speaking to it.

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