WRITING HISTORIES OF CLIMATE CHANGE

The natural world from my childhood has been extensively disrupted by climate change. My home, near the headwaters of the Roaring Fork River, is already seeing the detrimental effects. Erratic precipitation and snowfall patterns choke our severely strained water system. From Lake Christine in 2018 to Grizzly Creek in 2021, wildfires burn more fiercely, blanketing the skies in smoke so thick that N-95 masks are required to venture outside. I grieve for the drying rivers, decimated hiking trails, and charred forests that were once my playground. Despite this grief, I find hope in the quiet but fierce strength of my best friend, Chloe Brettmann.

Growing up, Chloe embodied the gentle kindness of the Earth that she fought for. While we explored the natural beauty around us, she became extremely attentive to increasing climate stresses. In 8th grade, she worked to tell the story of Rachel Carson and went on to finish Fourth in the country for her National History Day project. Along this journey, she taught many of my friends and I about the impact of Silent Spring. In Chloe, I saw someone whom I would follow in the charge to fight climate change – someone who I respected and looked up to. Her approach to driving action as a local youth activist was never one of anger, but one that nonetheless cultivated the passionate sense of urgency necessary for change. From organizing climate lobbies to pushing for administrative changes in our schools that centered on more sustainable practices, Chloe sought to bring as many people together as possible in her environmental pursuits. She fought hard-won battles to bring composting into all levels of the public school system and installed new water bottle filling stations in each building.

Seeing her drive this progress as a 9th and 10th grader gave me immense hope. I, along with many of my peers, decided to join her. Chloe's gentle but inspiring leadership made me feel like we could make a difference. She continues to fight for climate action and environmental justice in her academic explorations of Colorado environmental history at the University of Chicago, where she is currently writing a thesis on Uranium Mining in Colorado.

I recently called Chloe to ask her what gave her hope about the future of the environment. Aside from telling me that was a silly stupid question, she said, "I mean…I guess it's just like…there's not another option? I'm hopeful because I'm doing something and can see some of the changes. And even when I can't, at least I'm trying, you know?" For catching her during a deep thesis research moment, I found this exceptionally profound. Beyond those words, I'd like to share 3 more lessons I have learned from Chloe over the years that make me feel a bit more hopeful about the environment going forward.

1. Nothing is too small to make a difference

Chloe and I spent countless hours growing up volunteering at our local rodeo, in our school cafeteria, and even at the Aspen X-games, digging through garbage bins to make sure that it was clean enough to be recycled or composted. Chloe brings an endless energy and positivity to the truly disgusting work of sorting through other people's trash. Through it all, I found myself smiling. We later worked together to eliminate single-use plastics from large events in our community (one plastic water bottle at a time) and worked with janitorial staff to promote proper composting practices, dragging the bins out to our pick-up locations behind the school every day and trying to make sure it was done correctly. I don't know how much of a difference we made in our waste reduction and education efforts, but Chloe reminded me that it was a lot more than if we'd done nothing at all.

2. Ground your work in a love for nature

Some of my best memories are with Chloe hiking, biking, skiing, kayaking, and appreciating the beautiful natural world in our back yard. I found that nature tended to teach me far more about myself than any class or meditative experience. On our hikes to peaks 14,000 feet above sea level or 40-mile bike rides, we grew closer and found joy in the purity of simply being outdoors. The fun and peace that it brought, sometimes disrupted by smoky skies or low water flow, remind us both of what we are losing, and what we are fighting for.

3. There is strength in grief and hope in pain

Chloe is perhaps one of the strongest people I know. For all the pain that she has been through in her life, there is not a drop of coldness or self-pity in her heart. In 2008, Chloe's father Cory tragically passed away in an avalanche. Cory had been an incredible explorer and loved being in nature with all his heart. He was an avid environmentalist himself. Chloe once told me that she felt closest to him when she was outside on a mountain in the snow. Before we graduated from high school -where Chloe won the principal's award for her environmental contributions to our school system- she pulled me aside to show me the Ski Patrol pin that her dad had worn hidden underneath her robe, telling me that she, "just wanted to make sure he was up there with me."

She carries his adventurous, peaceful, passionate spirit with her, and her own light inspires me every day to be kinder, fight harder, and find hope. In her grief, she found strength to carry on her dad's legacy and a fire within herself to fight for the environment. I can't pretend that the future of the climate crisis is not terrifying. But I know that there is everything to be gained by trying to do something about it. So long as there's a Chloe Brettmann out there, I am not only hopeful, but confident that we will be able to make a difference.