 |
| fourth-grade me |
When the Amazon rainforest first hit my radar in early elementary school, I became obsessed, and had to learn everything I could about it. Since this was before Al Gore had invented the internet, I got a lot of my information out of paper books (the irony of that not dawning on me until much later) and old National Geographic magazines from the “free to a good home” pile at the county library. I perused that pile every time I rode my bike into town. The quality Nat Geos had map inserts of far-away jungle lands like Indonesia and Hawai’i. I grew up in the deserts of the American West and had only experienced the dry pine forests of the upper Sierra Nevadas— lush jungles seemed so exotic and alien. What would it be like to live in a place where it literally rained every day?
In fourth grade our art teacher told us the National Wildlife Foundation was sponsoring a poster competition for Earth Day. The theme was “Rainforests: Help Save Our Layers of Life.” Ohmagersh. It was like they had made the contest just for me! I knew everything a fourth grader could possibly know about the different layers in the rainforest ecosystem! The emergent layer was probably my favorite, because from there I could see the rest of the forest (I knew I could see it, because I’d climbed trees to the emergent layer gazillions of times in my head— the view from the top was ah-maze-ing). I also knew that the canopy layer was full of fruits and flowers and birds, so it was also quite beautiful. Y’all, whatever you’ve seen of real jungles is nothing compared to the jungle magic that was happening in my 9-year-old head.
So I got to work on my poster. I drew pictures of all the animals and all the trees and made big, multicolored bubble letters. When it was done, I sat back and thought, “That’s not very good. In fact, that’s kind of terrible.” But I knew I had to win because nobody could love the rain forest more than me. I didn’t win. Heidi Muñoz won for our grade. She copied a picture out of a Nat Geo magazine. I knew it was copied, because I had that exact page taped to my bedroom wall.
In sixth grade I got the idea that I could save the rainforests by starting a school-wide recycling program. I figured our school used and discarded enough paper from enough trees that if I could just plug that hole, maybe the rainforests would be around long enough for me to go see them as an adult. I got out the yellow pages (again the irony) and started looking for recycling business in my tiny town. I called a lot of places that would recycle car parts and metal, but no one wanted paper. One guy said, “Have you tried the naval base yet? I think they might take paper.” Oh, man! That was one hot tip! I felt like a detective, “I haven’t,” I said, “Who is your contact over there?” The guy gave me a number and I called. They were confused why an 11-year-old was calling to arrange recycling pick up for the school, but the guy eventually agreed that they would send a truck every Thursday. He said the truck would only make one stop, so all the paper had to be ready to go each week. I couldn’t believe it. It was working.
I went to class the next day and informed my math teacher (who was also my homeroom teacher), that the Navy would be picking up our school’s recycling on Thursday, and that I needed to get recycling containers into every classroom by the end of the day today. I wanted to use the cardboard boxes that were outside the lunch room, and I would personally deliver them to each teacher and explain what could and couldn’t go in the boxes. He literally rolled his eyes at me and said, “Rebecca, you’re supposed to check with us before you do stuff like this!” I said, “You don’t even have to do anything. I’ll do it. I just need you to sign my hall pass so I can be in the building during lunch.” He signed the pass.
The recycling program didn’t last very long. The truck never came on time, or sometimes wouldn’t come at all, and my math teacher didn’t like the fire hazard that was building up in the back of his classroom. Eventually, I had to throw away every cardboard box. I felt terrible. Those boxes were perfectly recyclable and I knew it.
In seventh grade my biology teacher was the first environmentalist I had ever met. She was from Tennessee and her husband was in the Navy, which is how she ended up in the desert. She taught us about endangered species; I used some of my lawn-mowing money to “adopt” an endangered timberwolf for my sister’s birthday.
I’m an adult now, have been for some time, and I’m still trying to figure out how to save the rainforests and protect endangered species. I compost, recycle, avoid single-use plastic, and pick up garbage. I’ll even pick up gross-looking garbage off the sidewalk, if I have hand sanitizer or a sink with soap nearby. I walk or ride my bike when I can, and drive a fuel-conscious car when I need to. I vote for people who promise to protect the land, as well as the human and non-human people who inhabit it… sometimes they keep their promises, sometimes they don’t. Saving the world is harder now than it was when I was a kid. It’s more nuanced and complicated. I make more mistakes, and sometimes I’m not sure if what I’m doing even matters— there are soooo many people on the planet! But I can’t let 9-year-old me down. So I spend hours into days researching laundry soaps and sofas that are socially and environmentally responsible, and I forego mosquito treatments on the yard, even though the neighbors treat theirs.
By the way, did you know that native pollinators like mason bees can as much as double product yield for crops that normally rely on honey bee pollination? Crazy, right?
*puts out mason bee houses*
