I’m writing this from Minneapolis, where it’s been a hard couple of weeks.
There’s a sense of fear in the air. Schools are going remote to keep kids at home. Families are making decisions about safety, about routines, about how to explain what’s happening to their kids. It’s the kind of moment where the news doesn’t stay abstract; it shows up in your neighborhood, your classroom and your kitchen table.
In weeks like this, it can feel strange and uncomfortable to think about forests.
When people are hurting, when communities feel under threat, when the basic sense of safety is shaken, talking about trees can feel small. Or distant. Or indulgent. But I think the same part of us that reacts to injustice, that worries about our kids, that feels grief and anger when harm is done, is also the part of us that’s capable of caring deeply about the living world.
Right now, I’m holding on to the idea that forests matter because they represent the future we’re responsible for, one that sustains communities over time. Forests support local economies, protect biodiversity, clean water and air, and create the conditions that allow places to endure and adapt. They are long-term systems in a moment that often feels defined by crisis.
I’ve also been struck by the resilience of the community around me. Neighbors organizing meal drives. Parents checking in on each other. People are finding ways to show up collectively, even when the circumstances feel unsettling. It’s a different kind of system, but the same principle applies: resilience isn’t about avoiding disruption. It’s about how people come together, adapt, and support one another through it. That’s something I’ve spent years admiring in forests, and it’s grounding to see it so clearly in my own community right now.
During our last vacation, my young son wrote a poem. It’s simple and honest. It made me smile in a week where that hasn’t come easily.
The wind blowing on the leaves,
the chirping of the birds
which make small turds
the wind on the water
if only it were hotter.
There’s no agenda in that poem. No policy. No solution. Just noticing what’s around him. Paying attention to what’s already here, and choosing to care for it. That feels enough for this month.
We can care deeply about what’s happening to people right now, and still stay grounded in the work of sustaining the landscapes that support our shared future. Community resilience and forest resilience aren’t the same, but they’re built on similar values: care, connection, and a willingness to invest in what lasts.