Reading from Nature's Page: How the Climate Crisis Is Rewriting Our Minds

Earth Day arrives this year with a particular weight. Here in Louisville, the past week has felt less like a celebration of our planet and more like a stark reminder of its raw power and our precarious place within it. We’ve faced top-ten floodwaters, spent two nights sheltering in our unfinished basement as tornado warnings blared – acutely aware of the rain cascading down the cracked concrete walls, the pooling water a constant, unsettling presence. Even last night, sleep was a fractured thing, punctuated by the shrill alerts of flash flood warnings. We even had to cancel a trip, the uncertainty of potential flooding making travel too risky. This hypervigilance, this constant state of alert, feels like a new, unwelcome normal.

It’s in this context that the idea of “reading from nature’s page” takes on a profound and urgent meaning. For too long, humanity has operated under the illusion of separation, failing to grasp the fundamental truth: everything is connected. As Clayton Page Aldern compellingly argues in his vital book, The Weight of Nature: How a Changing Climate Changes Our Brains, climate change isn’t just an environmental crisis happening “out there.” It’s an internal one, directly impacting our very selves – how our brains function, the tenor of our emotions, and our relationship with the future.

Aldern masterfully synthesizes neuroscience and psychology to illustrate the tangible ways our changing climate is rewiring us. One of the most resonant points he makes is how our sense of "normal" climate and weather resets with each generation. My parents’ baseline was different from mine, and my niblings’ baseline will be different again. This generational amnesia makes it alarmingly easy to underestimate the scale and speed of the changes unfolding around us. We adapt to slightly warmer summers, more intense storms, and don’t always grasp the cumulative impact. But as Aldern makes clear, these shifts are not benign; they are having concrete effects on our cognitive abilities, increasing anxiety, and even altering our decision-making processes. The constant low-grade stress of a changing climate, punctuated by acute events like the ones we’ve experienced this week, takes a toll we are only beginning to understand.

The harrowing realities Aldern outlines are given stark and urgent scientific backing in Jeff Goodell’s powerful book, The Heat Will Kill You First: Life and Death on a Scorched Planet. Goodell, a seasoned journalist, meticulously explores the lethal effects of rising global temperatures, blending scientific research with compelling on-the-ground reporting. His book leaves no doubt that extreme heat is not a distant threat but a present and rapidly escalating danger, poised to dramatically reshape our world. Experiencing the anxiety of potential flooding and tornadoes here in Louisville, while being acutely aware of the increasing intensity of events like the California fires, amplifies the chilling warnings in Goodell’s work. It underscores how the climate crisis manifests in diverse and devastating ways, and that ignoring the science of rising temperatures is a perilous mistake.

Yet, amidst the anxiety and the undeniable weight of these challenges, there is also a profound need for connection and even joy. This is where the poetry of Ross Gay, particularly his collection Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude, offers a vital counterpoint. Gay’s work is an exquisite celebration of the natural world, a meticulous cataloging of its beauty, its resilience, and the simple joys it offers. His poems remind us of the inherent worth of the earth, the interconnectedness of all living things, and the importance of finding moments of gratitude even in the face of adversity. In the midst of worrying about flooded streets and potential tornadoes, the image of a blooming flower, the sound of birdsong (when the sirens are silent)--these small wonders become anchors, reminding us what we stand to lose and what is still worth cherishing and protecting:

thank you zinnia, and gooseberry, Rudbeckia

and pawpaw, Ashmead’s kernel, cockscomb

and scarlet runner, feverfew and lemonbalm;

thank you knitbone and sweetgrass and sunchoke

and false indigo whose petals stammered apart

by bumblebees good lord please give me a minute. . .

and moonglow and catkin and crookneck

and painted tongue and seedpod and johnny jump-up;

thank you what in us rackets glad

what gladrackets us;

This Earth Day, let us commit to becoming more attentive readers of nature’s page. Let us acknowledge the profound ways in which the changing climate is impacting not only our planet but also our minds and hearts. Let us grapple with the uncomfortable truths illuminated by books like The Weight of Nature and The Heat Will Kill You First. And let us also embrace the beauty and connection celebrated in the poetry of Ross Gay, finding strength and inspiration in the natural world that sustains us.

The cracks in our basement walls, the sound of cascading rain, the relentless alerts – these are not just inconveniences. They are lines in nature’s increasingly urgent narrative. It’s time we truly learn to read them, to understand the weight of our actions, and to act with the urgency and interconnectedness that our planet demands.