Working at a wolf sanctuary became part of my identity. Leaving the pack was harder than I expected.
I was helpful, but unlike the giving tree, I was not entirely happy.
Unlike these stories, we don’t have decades of do-overs—especially on the West Coast, where the droughts are real and the big earthquake could shake things loose anytime.
My mother’s body, one in a million, became a conduit for lightning, and, three months later, it became a conduit for me.
As a person who spends a lot of her time reading, writing, and teaching about endangered creatures and environments, I craved something hopeful.
Dillard stalked a world just beginning its freefall into an unprecedented amount of change, and her response was to look, and to look hard.
We are already living in a changed world. Giving yourself time and space to grieve is important. But grief can also be a powerful tool for motivation.
Kate Harris writes in Lands of Lost Borders, “Explorers might be extinct, in the historic sense of the vocation, but exploring still exists, will always exist: in the basic longing to learn what in the universe we are doing here.” This is exactly how I felt working at Hilda Glacier.
Contrary to its reputation as an extreme sport, freediving has meditative aspects.
As a child growing up in a landlocked state, I’d imagined the flock of gulls as a cloud of wings, calls sounding like laughter. Now I was struggling to grasp all that we’d lost.
My partner and I were trying to have a baby despite our climate fears. Then Trump was elected.