I’ve been trying to think of something philosophical and profound to say about Earth Day, but this year the words aren’t coming (so forgive what may be a disjointed post). This year, my world feels small. I don’t know how to save the world, so I focus on my own family and my own home. I want to say I’m doing what I can or doing my best, but I don’t feel like I am.

Living on a farm brings me closer to the environment and I’m learning more about how much potential this land has to help. We have our wetlands, grasslands and forests, but what should we be doing with them to make them healthier?

The need is urgent. Our potential to help, given this property, is larger than many people. I want to regenerate our land, diversify our grasses, rebuild our soil, dig out invasive species, plant native species, grow our own food. Though I think about tackling one field or one stand of trees or one section of phragmites along the creek or the pond, I don’t.

Not doing enough.

So I think even smaller. I should be eating locally grown produce, free range eggs, pasture-raised chickens, grass fed meat. The farmers are all around us, and they need support. We should be zero waste, palm oil free, off-grid. But we’re not.

Not doing enough.

Yes, we recycle, compost, reuse, try not to buy too many things, thrift when we need things, have geothermal and solar panels, vote for (hopefully) progressive politicians. But none of it feels like enough given the scale of the disaster we are in.

But I keep trying.

Sometimes, my not enough looks like picking up a battery charger someone dumped at the side of the hiking trail and carry it out of the woods.

Not doing enough. But doing something.

In the future when I talk to Ellie about feeling the onset of climate change, I think I will start with the winds. The winds are so strong and fierce. More than anything I remember from when I was growing up. I feel like the winds are harbingers of more harshness to come.

I am not optimistic about climate change. I feel like we have passed the point of no return. I don’t see people changing their habits. I don’t see any desire to change our habits. I think that Ellie is going to face many struggles.

Last week I read Pastoral Song by James Rebanks. I read it in a couple of days, set it down for a day, and then picked it up to read it again. This time with a pencil and notepad beside me.

So much of what he wrote connected with me. But this passage hit hard, and I want to share it as I look ahead to Earth Day this week.

I’ve been reading a lot recently. Thinking about farming and food and our world. Trying to learn about our land and figure out what is best for it.

A consolation for me when I think about Ellie’s future and climate change is this farm. She will be able to grow her own food if she needs to. The farm will hopefully be a safe place if she needs one. We will protect this small section of the world as best we can.

I often think of the farm as a refuge from the rest of the world, but Pastoral Song reminded me that we are part of the world, especially ecologically. Climate change doesn’t stop at the farm’s border. What happens in the fields across the road affects us, as does what happens in the Arctic, the Amazon and the English fells.

I am learning. I am trying to change. I am trying to do my best on this piece of earth that I am responsible for–and realizing I have a responsibility to the rest of the earth as well. I am trying not to despair.

The winds roared through the farm on Friday. Their sound fills my ears and blocks out everything else. I can’t hear Ellie. I can’t hear my thoughts. All I feel are the winds. They consume me.

Then, on Saturday morning, the air calmed. Ellie and I walked down the driveway to open the gate–the gate that connects us to the rest of the world. We heard a crow call as it flew over and Ellie cawed back. The sun beamed into the pines, beckoning the bloodroot that is rising from the forest floor. We stepped carefully as we discovered worms crawling all along the lane.

Nature was waking and our girl was listening. I’m trying to hear too.