Staring down the barrel of a pipeline

This month marks my first as an associate on Environment America’s clean energy team. As I get to work on our 100% Renewable campaign, I’m excited to introduce myself and share what brought me here.

While I was growing up, my family moved every couple of years. So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that just as I was starting middle school, my parents announced we were relocating from Arizona to California. For a week straight, I was so furious that I refused to speak to them. But it turned out to be one of those decisions that altered the course of my life.

Coming from the Arizona desert, my first impression of our new house in the Bay Area was the sheer number of trees that surrounded it. I had never lived so close to so many trees before. Willows, native oaks, bay laurels and California buckeyes wove a canopy above us so dense it obscured the sky from our view. In the corner of our backyard, we discovered a redwood tree, standing giant next to our lavender and rose bushes. I remember my initial shock and confusion at finding something so grand, ancient and precious on our small plot of land.

From that moment I knew I wanted to learn more about my new ecosystem. So when I got to high school, I took an environmental science class, having heard great reviews about the teacher, Mr. Powell. For a lesson about coastal grasslands, he took his students on a weekend backpacking trip. In his class, I first learned about the major environmental issues we face: California’s droughts and wildfires, global climate change, extreme weather events, melting Arctic ice, and rising sea levels. Hearing about environmental damage and global warming for the first time can be earth-shattering and heartbreaking. But Mr. Powell managed to educate us on the urgency and scale of these issues without paralyzing us with fear.

We had moved to California midway through the state’s longest lasting drought. By 2014, it had reached a peak of intensity, impacting nearly 60% of the land. I have only ever lived in California during drought conditions. As a result, conserving rain and shower water and limiting our water use to a bare minimum became second nature. The El Niño cycles I experienced were fractions of what they should be -- brief and temporary reprieves from drought conditions. 

Concerned about our vulnerable natural world, I buzzed with anxious energy and sought out other ways to help beyond collecting rainwater. In an attempt to channel that angst productively, I joined the Student Conservation Association as a volunteer. I spent my weekends mapping and repairing the trails in our regional parks, removing invasive species from wild spaces, and making public lands more accessible. Often, I worked in silence, tearing away eucalyptus from the brush while I languished in the feeling of being alone in nature. But a couple hours in, my mind always returned to the miraculous ecosystem and microclimate diversity I encountered as I worked in the parks. I could start my day at the Jasper Ridge Biological Preserve, a unique grassland with an unusual number of microclimates, and end my day in salt marshes and freshwater wetlands.