WordSisters

Category: climate change

  • Chasing Spring

    The youngest member of the extended family is crawling and wanting to walk. His four-year-old sister prefers hitting a softball that is pitched, not set on a tee. The older cousin is closing in on successfully completing her first year of middle school. They are progressing in predictable ways that we all celebrate.

    If only the spring of 2026 would be as predictable instead of posting temperatures inspiring sundress wearing one day and tumbling forty degrees in a handful of hours. Snow, sleet, ice, rain and sunshine can be experienced during a school or workday. In the cities frequent snowstorms topped with melt and freeze have turned streets, even major thoroughfares, into pothole disasters. In the Midwest, farmers ducks float where spring fieldwork should be happening. 

    We could accept Mother Nature’s uncertainty in April. In May, we are done with heavy fleece jackets and would like to get the kids out of shoes that were worn a size too small through late winter snowy, slushy weather. But we’ll wait until spring really settles in. Money is as tight as the kids’ old shoes.

    Farmers can’t afford the same amount of fuel and fertilizer they ordered in 2025. Families don’t talk about summer vacation travels. Many worry about the coming expenses of feeding kids two additional meals much less extra day care or camp programs. We’re putting in vegetables where marigolds or coleus filled garden spaces. It makes sense if you have the time. Teach the kids about gardening and tending vegetables instead of using gas on unnecessary shopping trips. Maybe neighbors can pool childcare to save money. This might be the summer the grandparents are able to host grandma camp, or a cousin would appreciate getting out of their own home to hang out with the youngers.  

    It’s been a rough year and we can weather this. The kids want to spend time with their parents whether on a lake or in a community pool. We made it through Covid with its isolation and money squeeze. We supported each other through the Ice surges. Now we must figure out soaring gas prices and inflation. If we share with each other from what we have for a few months, we can manage a decent summer.  If spring will truly let go.  

  • Reflections on Carl Sagan’s “Pale Blue Dot”

    The recent Artemis II mission photos of Earth brought Sagan’s “Pale Blue Dot” to mind. The photo from 1990 shows Earth as a tiny speck, “the pale blue dot” drifting in one of many galaxies in the observable universe. I recalled liking his speech from 1994 about the photo, but didn’t remember more than that. I was surprised how much his words spoke to me today.

    NASA image taken by Astronaut Reid Wiseman on April 2, 2026

    Initially, when I searched for the speech, I was looking for distraction from planning my extended family’s yearly gathering. I was overwhelmed and bedeviled by details. 

    When I read, “That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives. . . . every saint and sinner in the history of our species, lived there on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam,” I reset and quit fretting. The family party will all work out—as most things do.

    Even more valuable was the perspective Sagan offered about my larger worries for our country’s future, specifically my fear of unhinged leaders plunging us into a 3rd world war:

    “The earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. . . . there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world.”

    His words reminded me to have hope. Humanity is resilient and has endured for millennia. Even our current horrible leader will be gone one day. No regime lasts forever.

    However, the Earth itself isn’t endlessly resilient. Sagan’s words helped me refocus: 

    “Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. . . . there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. It is up to us. . . . To me, it (the photo of our tiny world) underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”

    No matter what, we have to care about preserving our planet. In the U.S., in this moment, the odds seem against us. But the stakes are too high. We have to persist and I believe we will. Right now, other countries are showing the way, but we won’t dwell in the stupidity of today’s policies forever.

    Sagan’s wisdom comforted me. In 1994, he saw the sweep of history and imagined a future he hadn’t seen—our current reality—one which included “every creator and destroyer of civilizations, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every hopeful child, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer.” I imagine he wouldn’t be surprised by the present state of our world, but he would urge us to recommit to saving Earth.

    I hope you’ll read “Pale Blue Dot” in its entirety and be inspired by Sagan’s wisdom and perspective.

  • Three Summertime Favorites

    This summer’s smoky air has forced me to confront the many effects of climate change. While I shop for an electric or hybrid vehicle, I’m consciously turning away from my anxious dismay to remind myself of three favorite summertime experiences.

    Fireflies at the University of Minnesota Arboretum 

    Walking the hardwood paths and wildflower fields at dusk, when the grounds are usually closed, was magical. The air was warm and still. The land exhaled. At first, we saw a spark of light here and there in the shadows. As dusk deepened to near dark, small clouds of fireflies shimmered in meadows and swamps. Flashed On. Off. On. Off. A silent conversation. A symphony of light.

    ShrinerFest 

    In a week, my extended family will gather for a weekend in Chicago we call ShrinerFest. I continue to be delighted and surprised my siblings, their far-flung children, spouses or beaus, and grandchildren love this get-together. We’re all so different—from introverted scientists to outgoing sales managers—and hold a range of political and religious views. But we sidestep all that and just enjoy catching up, eating, laughing, eating, teasing. One young niece even illustrated a book about ShrinerFest for a school project.

    Drinking wine on my small porch in the evening

    We sit in the glowing circle of lamplight. I stretch out on the loveseat reading a novel while my husband reads tomorrow’s news today. The dozens of birds inhabiting our blue spruce are silent. City buses trundling by interrupt the KBEM jazz or blues on the radio. Now and then we hear the cry of a small animal—a rabbit? Chipmunk? I’m not enough of a naturalist to know. The ceiling fan stirs humid air that’s cooled to comfortable by 10 o’clock. The neighborhood quiets. We sip and read.