Dear Donatella,

I want you to have all the wonderful, joyful, and live-giving gifts the Earth has to offer and that I have experienced growing up.

Born in San Diego and transplanted to Virginia I have known the ocean, seaweed, kelp, sea urchins, sand dollars, crabs and rocks, glass, and shells of every color, size and shape. In Virginia I ate puckery unripe persimmons, made ink with poke weed berries, and built houses and forts all over the forest around our home. My sisters and I baked tiny loaves and cakes of clay and dirt bread, ran from copperheads, rattlesnakes, and cotton mouth water moccasins. Oak and ash, sycamore, maple, elm, and pine trees made lovely shade and places to climb and read while eating fallen apples and pears.There were creeks to wade in and clouds to watch. It rained a lot but the wet and cold didn’t stop us from trying catch rabbits and foxes. We ran through the woods laughing, crying, and living.

Today in Albuquerque where you were born I gauge the drought and the heat of a six month summer now in terms of its effect on you and your future. You have lived here all your life and I have lived all my adult life in the high desert. I watch the snow and rain grow less and feel the dry summer heat that is so relentless and worry for your future. I love this place and plan to “die in the dirt” here. I know you love it too.

I promise to walk more, ride my bike more and drive less. I promise to build a home with Pop-pop that is solar and designed to have a tiny footprint and run on renewable energy. I promise to use less plastic and petroleum products and to recycle everything I can. I promise to keep your future and the climate of the Earth at the forefront of my daily life and to do everything I can to leave you a legacy and life worth living with the animals, plants, air, and water to sustain you and your children.

Love,

Grandmom