A reflection on living well in a place

“The plain fact is that the planet does not need more “successful” people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every shape and form. It needs people who live well in their places. It needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane.” –David Orr, What is Education For? 1991

I first read this quote in a graduate course studying environmental education in 2013. While it struck me at the time, I didn’t quite realize that it would become my compass. The phrase “live well in their places” has rung through my head at important choice points over the last decade- in my education and professional practice, am I helping those around me live well in their places? As a consumer and planet dweller, am I living well in my place? As a community member to humans and nonhumans, am I contributing to others to be able to live well in their place?

Having a deep sense of place or home has always been a part of me. Growing up in South Minneapolis 8 blocks away from where my mother and her six siblings grew up meant I always heard generational stories about my neighborhood. Uncle Jimmy played hockey there, mom got into a fight on the steps of that school, and everyone biked to the Dokken’s for candy. I continued exploring the city with my friends throughout elementary, middle, and highschool, widening our radius of travel the older we got and further we could bike. The phrase “sense of place” didn’t mean anything to me then, but now I see how fortunate I was to develop a deep sense of place at a young age. 

In Minneapolis, my sense of place was very much rooted in the spatial geography, physical landmarks, and relationships with kin. 10 years ago I moved to the North Woods of Minnesota, studying to become a Naturalist. During those studies, I expanded my understanding of a sense of place through an intentional practice encouraged by our mentors to slow down and pay attention. 

While it sounds simple, it is one of the hardest practices to make a habit, but my world expanded. I learned to notice the differences between fir and spruce trees; I followed lynx tracks through the deep snow and saw the imprint where it had bedded down for a nap (just like my cats!); and I felt the awe of realizing it was the chickadee who greets me with that familiar call, “Heeeyy Sweeet-eee,” reminding us that spring is on its way. My year of intensive Naturalist studies ended in a revelation- my connection to place in Minneapolis isn’t so different from the North Woods. Both require the practice of noticing my surroundings, building relationships, and being present—all of which can be applied wherever I go.

I decided to stay in that forested town of 300 people in Northern Minnesota and have been here ever since. Through observation, I’ve experienced the natural cycles of plants, animals, and seasons. I’ve learned the history of this land- stories of sorrow, collaboration, and “sisu” (Finnish for determination). I’ve worked with folks who have a deep love of this place; they’ve shown me the power of showing up in community, especially when things are tough. I will never be “from here,” as that phrase is reserved for the families that have lived here for generations, but I can definitely call this place home.

What climate change threatens is the ability for all living beings to not only have a home but to feel that sense of place that allows for inner peace and connection to community. Climate change has made it harder to understand and predict the natural cycles around us. I feel uneasy when it is 45 degrees in December, not only because I love winter more than anything, but because my sense of place has thus far relied on being able to anticipate the seasons that govern my life. While this disturbs me on an emotional level, these seasonal unpredictabilities have physical and deadly effects on the nonhuman beings that use temperature cues to know how and when to live their lives. 

The region I live in has been named a climate refuge, a place where those displaced by the impacts of climate change may move to. I’ve benefited from those before me welcoming me to this place, and I’m honored to be in a position to welcome others. 

However, I’ve noticed a trend that so far, those moving here are not those in need of a new, healthy home. Rather, it is those who want a second home to use for vacation or to “escape to when things get really bad”- a quote I’ve heard from many. Migration has been and will always be part of human history. And, let me be clear, I am someone who has benefited from being able to relocate. What bothers me is this feeling that some folks who move here or other places like this in the world, consider it to be “empty” because there are fewer people and structures than they are used to. This makes it much easier to feel that actions in these rural areas have no impact. Practicing a sense of place can teach us otherwise and help us not only live well in our places but also move well to others. 

While those with excess and wealth buy up the housing stock only to sit empty, families who live here are becoming a different type of displaced from rising property taxes and unaffordable homes. If this continues, there is no way this place will be a climate refuge for those truly impacted by the impacts of climate change. Climate change has and continues to be a product of rampant capitalism. Its impacts will allow those with the most to continue to benefit at the expense of those with the least. 

Unless, of course, we do something about it. 

I see solutions all around me from folks working to create regional food systems, to communities protecting and preserving their housing stock, to educators teaching their students how to live well in their places. 

It is this moral courage that inspires me to continue to show up, even when things are hard, working together one project, class, or conversation at a time, to leave behind a habitable and humane world for future generations to one day call home.