By Thom Hartmann, educator and commentator

Walk into a piece of old growth Pacific Northwest forest, and something happens to you. The light goes liquid. The air thickens. The moss is six inches deep on every horizontal surface. The Doug firs go up two hundred feet without a branch and disappear into a canopy you can’t quite see. The fallen trees, what loggers used to call nurse logs, are slowly becoming the next forest, with seedlings already rooted in their soft, decaying bodies. And the silence isn’t really silence. It’s a different quality of attention than you can find anywhere else.

I’ve spent a lot of hours in those forests over the years. What strikes me, every time, is that the forest doesn’t feel like a place. It feels like someone. Or, more accurately, like many. A standing community of beings that knows you’re there before you know how you feel about being there.

For most of my life, science was telling me I was wrong about that. The official story, survival of the fittest, was that a forest is a kind of slow-motion gladiator pit, every tree fighting every other tree for sunlight and water and nutrients, and that the canopy I was walking under was the result of a few million years of relentless mutual exploitation. Whatever I was feeling under those firs was a poetic projection, not a fact about the forest.

In April, scientists from the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute and the Forest GEO global research network published a paper in Nature that’s quietly demolishing that story.

The team examined nearly three million individual trees, across more than five thousand species, in seventeen forests spanning Asia, Africa, and the Americas, and they found that positive, supportive interactions between neighboring trees are at least as common as the competitive ones we were taught about in school, and that the closer a forest is to the equator, the more cooperative its tree-to-tree relationships tend to be.

“Most research has focused on competition and other negative interactions among trees,” the study’s co-author Matteo Detto said, “but trees can also help their neighbors in many ways. We find that these positive interactions are more common in tropical forests, adding another piece to the puzzle of understanding their remarkable diversity.”

This is on top of decades of research, by Suzanne Simard at the University of British Columbia and by many others, on the underground mycorrhizal networks (the so-called wood wide web) that connect tree roots through filaments of fungus, allowing them to swap carbon, water, nitrogen, and chemical defense signals across species lines.

Simard’s framework, including her concept of mother trees (older, larger trees that appear to act as hubs in the underground network), has been beautifully popularized in books like her own Finding the Mother Tree and Peter Wohlleben’s The Hidden Life of Trees, and has also, in fairness, been challenged by other ecologists who argue that some of the popular claims have run ahead of the data.

The careful version of the science, today, is this: forests are unmistakably interconnected through fungi and roots, carbon and signals do move among trees through those networks, big old trees do appear to play structural roles in the system, and the precise mechanisms of how, and how much, are still being worked out. What’s not in question, after the new Nature paper, is the larger frame. Forests are cooperative systems at least as much as they are competitive ones. They’re not gladiator pits. They’re communities.

This matters far beyond ecology, because for the last hundred and fifty years our entire economic worldview has been built on a stolen metaphor from biology. We took Darwin’s struggle for existence, ripped it out of its context, ignored the fact that he wrote at least as much about cooperation and mutualism as he did about competition, and built capitalism, libertarianism, and most of our public-policy frameworks on the assumption that competition is the law of nature.

We lectured each other about it for generations. We told the kids in our schools that the forest was red in tooth and claw. We told them the market was just an extension of the forest. We told them anyone who didn’t make it deserved their fate, because that was just how nature worked.

But nature doesn’t work that way. The Russian biologist Pyotr Kropotkin, observing wolves and birds and human peasant villages across Siberia in the 1880s, noticed this immediately and wrote his classic Mutual Aid to push back on the social-Darwinist misreading of his contemporary, Thomas Huxley.

Lynn Margulis, a century later, blew the whole story open with her work on endosymbiosis, demonstrating that the eukaryotic cell, the basic unit of every plant and animal on Earth, came into existence through cooperation between two ancient bacteria, not through competition.

And forest ecology is now arriving at the same place. The trees, it turns out, are not in business school. They’re in a long, patient, multi-species relationship with their neighbors, their fungi, their soil, their rain, their light, and the dead bodies of every tree that ever lived and fell among them.

I made a related argument decades ago in Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight. The whole basis of life on Earth is a single, vast, hundreds-of-millions-of-years-long cooperative project.

Photons from the sun cooperate with chlorophyll. Chlorophyll cooperates with carbon dioxide and water. The resulting sugars cooperate with mitochondria. Plants cooperate with fungi. Fungi cooperate with soil. Soil cooperates with microbes. Trees cooperate with other trees.

And for almost all of human history, every culture except the most recent one understood this implicitly. The forest was a relative. The river was a relative. We were not above the system. We were part of it, and our job was to maintain the relationships that kept it alive.

What does this mean for the rest of us in 2026, with a planet on fire and a civilization built on the wrong story? Three things, I think.

First, defend the old growth forests we have left. They aren’t interchangeable with tree plantations. A two-hundred-year-old Doug fir, with its underground mycorrhizal partners and the centuries of local relationships it has built, can’t be replaced by twenty saplings on a clearcut. Once those connections are severed, it can take centuries for the network to rebuild, if it can be rebuilt at all. There’s a reason indigenous land sovereignty consistently produces healthier forests than corporate or state management does. Indigenous knowledge has known this in its bones for thousands of years.

Second, change the story you tell yourself about how the world works. Adam Smith was wrong about the invisible hand being our deepest nature. The forest is the deeper truth. Cooperation, mutualism, kinship, and care are the substrate. Competition is real, but it sits inside the larger frame of cooperation, the way a jazz solo sits inside the band.

If you build a society on the metaphor of the forest instead of the metaphor of the market, you get a different country, with different schools, different hospitals, different elder care, different economics, and very different relationships between neighbors.

Third, find a real forest, an old one if you can, and sit in it for an hour with your phone face-down. Not to perform contemplation. Just to listen. The forest will teach you what cooperation actually feels like, in your body, with no theory required. You’ll feel small in the right way, and held in the right way, and you’ll come out of it remembering something the dominant culture spent a century trying to make you forget.

The new Nature paper is just the latest piece of the science finally catching up. The forest was never a battlefield. It’s a community we forgot we belonged to. And the very good news is that the community is still here, still patient, still willing to teach us, in the language of light and root and fungus, who we actually are.

If there’s an old growth forest within driving distance of you, go this month. If there’s a campaign to protect it, donate or volunteer. If your local government is making decisions about a nearby greenbelt or watershed or working forest, show up at the meeting and speak. And tell me in the comments where your forest is, and what it’s teaching you. We’re a wisdom school here, which means our forests, like our wisdom, belong to all of us.

We have a wonderful Earth
And we should try to preserve it
So more babies can be birthed
And introduced to our Earth
Our wonderful, wonderful, wonderful Earth
We have a beautiful Earth
With large, green grasslands and rainforests
And elegant blue oceans
With those always present sea-green waves
And filled with living beings to support
Our sweet, sweet Earth
There is much knowledge
Science, astronomy, mathematics
And they are just a small part of the knowledge
On our smart, smart Earth

Who knows what we can achieve?
All we know is we can go above and beyond
Who knows what more there is for us to discover?
Who knows how far we can go?
Let us keep on learning and understanding
And discovering new ways
To protect and preserve nature on
Our sweet, wonderful, beautiful Earth
Our dear, kind, gentle Earth
Our amazing, sustaining, ever-providing Earth
Our smart, dazzling, awesome Earth
Our Earth!

By Elodie K. Cotton, grade 7, Connecticut. Elodie is also our student intern.

By Diponkar Chanda, Ontario, Canada

No one remembered the name of the kingdom anymore, but it did exist, a long ago!

Far, far away, nestled close to a forest, there was a tiny village, and it was the seat of this kingdom. There was a palace as well; but not like the ones in our big cities.

This palace was very different. Its walls were made of straw and clay, it had a thatched roof, and it stood gently beneath the sky, like a well-kept secret.

In this palace lived a little princess with her ancient grandmother.

One sunny morning in spring, when a sweet breeze was blowing, birds were chirping joyfully, and flowers bloomed in every corner of the yard, the little princess woke up.

She rubbed her eyes, looked out the window, and noticed something—their little walls didn’t seem as colorful as the world outside.

The trees wore fresh green dresses. The flowers in the meadows sparkled with red, yellow, pink, and purple. Even the butterflies danced in colors—too bright and too many to name them here!

Pale Swallowtail Butterfly. Photo by Herb Everett, Oregon.

Monarch Butterfly. Photo by Ted Rose, Indiana.

The princess longed to bring those colors into their home, their palace.

And she knew, like everyone else in the kingdom, that the true owners of all the colors were those beautiful butterflies.

So, the little princess wanted to catch one. But she was far too little.

Art by Makayla Liu, age 12, Vancouver, Canada.

No one else was home, so she turned to her granny. Now, her granny was like eighty or a hundred years old, or maybe even more. Nobody really knew how old she was. She was the oldest person in the whole kingdom. And, she was certainly far too old to run after those butterflies!

What could they do?

The old woman thought for a moment. Then she searched the hut carefully—every corner, every pouch, every pot.

Finally, she found something she was searching for, a little fistful of sunflower seeds. She smiled.

Granny stepped outside into the wide, sleepy yard. With her slow, gentle feet, she planted the seeds in tidy rows and began to care for them. She watered them every day, with all the love in her heart.

Days passed. Little by little, green shoots appeared. Then leaves. Then came tall, strong stems.

And then one morning, a thousand sunflowers bloomed across the yard—each one like a small sun, shining with golden joy.

Granny didn’t need to chase butterflies anymore.

The butterflies came to them—fluttering, dancing, and painting the air with their beautiful colors.

And you know what?

They shared their colors generously. And from then, true beauty arouse on the boundless canvas of nature—born from careful sharing.

And the little palace also sparkled with butterfly colors—reds, oranges, blues, and purples that no brush could ever copy.

Not just the tiny palace, but also the little princess herself sparkled with those attractive colors.

Her smile shone with every color of the butterflies.

And from that day on, little princess learned that true beauty grows many-fold when we share it with everyone, with profound care.

Diponkar Chanda is an emerging writer based in greater Toronto area of Canada. Originally from Bangladesh, he writes stories and poetry that bridge cultures, languages, and imagination. English is not his first language, and he brings the rhythm and depth of his native Bangla (also known as the Bengali) language into his storytelling.

Art by Makayla Liu, age 12, Vancouver, Canada. She adds: “I’ve loved drawing since I was a child, and in the future I hope to work in a field related to drawing or character design.”

By Samir Sogani, age 12, California.

Everyone bows before a supreme force, our Sun.
Everyone, to live, relies on our Sun.

A beacon of hope to travelers on Earth,
When the moon is cast aside by our Sun.

It gives energy for greens to grow and thrive,
No leaves, no air, without our Sun.

Some myths call it a god, burning bright;
Others say even gods serve our Sun.

We now know it’s not divine, just a flaming ball of gas.
However, many still believe the myths that a god is our Sun.

Compared to some stars, it’s barely a spark.
Compared to others, colossal is our Sun.

Children say, “My parents are like the Sun.”
But even parents owe their life to the Sun.

We take for granted air, fire and breath,
Each one a gift returned by our Sun.

Even scientists cannot grasp its full weight;
Thousands of Earths would fit in our Sun.

One day Samir, all will vanish into the emptiness of space.
But not today. We still burn with our Sun.

By Samir Sogani, age 12, California. Samir adds: “I am Indian American, I speak English and Spanish but I grew up listening to Hindi and Telugu at home. I have been very lucky to travel around the world with my family—from the ancient temples of Cambodia to the ruins of Machu Picchu. Everywhere I go, people are connected by the Sun, and I wrote this poem to reflect on the impact of humans on nature and how we take the Sun and Earth for granted. I am hoping the readers leave with wanting to take better care of our natural resources before it is too late.”

By Keren He, age 16, grade 10, Louisiana.

In Louisiana’s heart, a lush embrace,
A sanctuary sprawls, a wild, open space.
The Global Wildlife Center, a haven graced,
Where creatures roam free, their freedom traced.

Nine hundred acres, a vast expanse,
Where wild hearts freely roam and dance.
A thousand beings grace this grand land,
In harmony, they live as if by chance.

Safari wagons roll through verdant terrain,
As guides share tales that educate and entrain.
Of habitats lost and efforts to sustain,
Of balance restored, new life to regain.

Zebras with stripes like an artist’s brush,
Kangaroos hop with a playful rush.
Giraffes bend low, their touch gentle, plush,
Camels sway by, their steps soft as hush.

Ostriches dart beneath the azure sky,
Emus stride through, their gait never shy.
Bison show strength as they wander by,
Antelopes leap, so graceful and spry.

Conservation’s call rings clear and true,
As visitors learn what they can do.
To protect these wonders, both old and new,
For future generations to cherish, too.

The Center stands tall, a beacon for all,
A refuge, a teacher, heeding nature’s call.
So come one, come all, let your spirit soar,
In this sanctuary of life—forevermore.

By Keren He, age 16, grade 10, Louisiana. 

By Diponkar Chanda, originally from Bangladesh, Canada.

“While the story is not based on any specific folktale or myth from Bangladesh, it is inspired by the cultural storytelling style I grew up with—where themes of transformation, nature, and divine connection are often present. It is an original piece, drawn from imagination and shaped by a sense of spiritual curiosity.”

Long, long ago, trees of every kind embraced the soil, animals wandered freely through the wild, countless birds flew across the sky, and endless varieties of fish swam in the oceans. Insects crawled, flies glided—everything was alive and moving.
But one thing was missing.
There were no humans—nowhere in the world.

Yet, there were shadows. Shadows of many shapes, colors, and sizes. Small ones, tall ones, and those in between. They came in uncountable forms—silent, formless, and dreamless. Though they moved, they had no desires. Though they existed, they felt nothing.

But among them was one curious shadow.
He longed for more.

One day, he rose into the sky and reached the gates of heaven. There, he stood before God.
“What is it you seek?” God asked.
“I want to feel the world,” the shadow replied. “I want to be alive.”

God raised a glowing hand.

“I want to see,” said the shadow.
So God gave him eyes.

“I want to hear.”
God gave him ears.

“I want to taste.”
God gave him a tongue.

“I want to smell.”
God gave him a nose.

“I want to touch.”
And so God gave him skin—and with it, arms and legs—so he could walk and hold, run and rest.

In that moment, the shadow became the first human—alive with five senses and the gift of wonder.

With this miraculous transformation, the Earth itself stirred with change.
From that first human, more humans came—walking in sunlight and dreaming under moonlight.
And the world was never the same again.

—Diponkar Chanda is an emerging writer based in Toronto, Canada. Originally from Bangladesh, he writes stories and poetry that bridge cultures, languages, and imagination. English is not his first language, and he brings the rhythm and depth of his native Bengali into his storytelling. This is his first submission to a North American children’s publication.

Lipless mouth of the earth—she has planted her many clocks
The ground is pregnant in too many places
with tiny empresses on her wrist 

Her hands weed out the thyme; time is a spool; an autumn seamstress of patience
A tundra tending architect
Club bouncer of biomes

Find her; search her
thaw her out—
her belly has swollen too big

Her nurturing placenta caskets; pulping over; the collection, 
Of everything inside her, childish and buried;
Asphyxiated paper cut-out dolls
Frosting over

Ask them; flax and psyllium
Aren’t fathers equal to mothers?
As pistil is to stamen
Tell me, Fertilizer and measuring tape of sacrifice

Mother has become a statue and we no longer wait,
Waiting is for summer, when she is an ant mound

And we bring her saffron offerings
And a whistle for her feet

So that she blesses this house that waits for
No one and nothing but garden gnomes and
Wrist watches

Underground, father doesn’t know how we exist
He knows only that we are boundless
Citizens of space debris

Father is our earth monger 
Soil for soul

—Rose Haberer, Canada. She writes: “My name is Rose Haberer. I am sixteen years old from Toronto, Canada. My family has roots in Poland, Lithuania and South Africa. My writing is inspired by feminism and the authors I love such as Kelly Link, Jennifer Egan, Mona Awad, Joan Didion, and Sylvia Plath—along with the women in my life who have led me to write about the struggles and complexities of femininity.

Overwhelmed by thoughts of climate disaster, I often find myself flooded with emotions that I need to excise through artistic expression. In this piece, I reflect on how nature functions within my family, how the ecosystem in my backyard is tended to, and how my family members each have roles within that ecosystem, both functional and emotional. In the piece, I view the members of my family as belonging to the garden, reflecting how we are all children of nature.

Photographs by Carleen Clifton Bragg, Chicago, Illinois.

Down by the Pond: Southside Suburb of Chicago on a Calm, Clear Autumn Day

Ducks on the Pond

Autumn is Bold Colors… A Blend of Orange, Reds, Browns and Blues…

Trees are ablaze with bright colors for a while during the peak of Autumn

Autumn Leaves ready to drop… just waiting for a heavy frost, steady rain or windy day…

Photographs by Carleen Clifton Bragg, African American Photographer, Illinois.

“I live in Chicago’s South Side neighborhood. There are three beautiful small lakes near where I live. Sometimes, I visit the park with a cup of my morning coffee. Sitting on the bench by the water, I gaze at the still water and the geese enjoying their group gatherings, and naturally, I smile. Watching the geese swimming makes me happy. It’s the most beautiful cornerstone in the neighborhood that I depend on as a quick getaway. It is my home away from home. In the autumn, it’s especially breathtaking! I call this ‘My Peace Spot’ for the tranquility it offers me. Last autumn, I took some of the most stunning photographs here!

“I developed an interest in photography at the age of five. I credit my parents for planting the seeds when they purchased me my first camera. They have continued to support my interest in photography over the years. I started as a self-taught photographer, but later trained with the New York Institute of Photography. I try to capture sports moments, glamour, landscapes, music, theater, and street life. I am enamored with the works of the ‘late greats’ like Gordon Parks and James Van Der Zee.

“My photos have been published by Tyler Perry’s Production: Why Did I Get Married?, Today’s Photographer Magazine, and the International Library of Photography. I am a three time-winner of the Museum of Science and Industry’s Black Creativity. I also had a solo exhibit—my first One-Woman show in 2011 at the ARC Gallery in Chicago, Illinois.”

By Carol Thompson, EdD., Georgia

Have you ever wished you could go on a real-life treasure hunt? Well, guess what? There’s a super cool outdoor activity called geocaching that lets you do just that! It’s like a secret mission where you get to explore nature, find hidden treasures, and enjoy quality time with your family.

What is Geocaching?

Geocaching is a modern-day treasure hunt using GPS devices or smartphones. People all around the world hide small containers, called geocaches, “cache” for short, in various outdoor locations, from parks to forests to urban areas. These hidden treasures can be found using GPS coordinates, which guide you to the exact spot where the geocache is waiting to be discovered. It is very similar to hide and seek with small goodies to locate. Who doesn’t like a good game of hide – go – seek?

How Do You Geocache?

Getting started with geocaching is easy and doesn’t require a lot of fancy equipment. All you need is a GPS device or a smartphone with a geocaching app installed. You can find many free apps designed just for kids to make the adventure even more exciting.

1. Choose Your Geocache:  Use the app to pick a geocache near you. Look for ones with easy difficulty levels at first, so you can get the hang of it. The app will give you the cache basics, like size, difficulty, and terrain. It also sometimes gives you hints, photos, and date of the last find. The challenge is on!
2. Follow the Coordinates:  The GPS coordinates provided by the app will lead you to the general location of the geocache. Once you get close, use your keen observation skills to find the hidden treasure. Depending on the app, sometimes your GPS will even vibrate when you are close.
3. Discover the Treasure:  When you find the geocache, open it carefully. Inside, you might find small toys, stickers, or other fun items. Remember, if you take something, you should leave something of equal or lesser value for the next adventurer. Another reminder is that the cache shouldn’t be moved so that the next treasure seeker can find it using the same coordinates. Bask in your discovery and take the time to look around.
4. Log Your Discovery:  Many geocaches have a logbook where you can write your name and the date of your discovery. Sometimes the log is digital only and requires you to log via your app. It’s like leaving your mark on the treasure map and letting other treasure seekers know that you were successful.

What are the Different Types of Caches?

Geocaching has a cache for every adventurer! “Micro” and “small” caches are perfect for inside city settings where space is limited like magnetized under a park bench. “Traditional” caches are more likely to be tucked inside natural hideaways like under a huge Oak Tree with coordinates specific to a wildlife area. “EarthCaches” add an educational twist, exploring geological wonders. “Virtual” caches offer interactive challenges, and “gadget caches” combine tech and ingenuity for a modern treasure hunt where the caching pirate must figure out a specific puzzle to unlock the container. Each cache type ensures geocaching is a diverse and thrilling adventure, catering to a wide range of interests and skills.

Connecting with Nature

Geocaching is not just about finding treasures; it’s also a fantastic way to connect with nature away from screens and gadgets. As you follow the GPS coordinates, you’ll explore beautiful parks, serene forests, and other outdoor wonders. You might come across flowers, insects, wildlife, or even some cool geological features—all part of Mother Nature’s amazing creation. It’s a chance to appreciate the beauty of the world around you while having a blast with your friends and family. Geocaching is a thrilling adventure, a friendly competition, and a great way to get outside and see lots of different things. Get ready for your first of many geocaching expeditions!

A Note of Caution

As always, for safety reasons, we highly recommend that you should have a trusted adult (a parent, for example) with you on your geocaching adventures. 

—Carol Thompson, EdD., Georgia. Carol is an experienced author with a diverse portfolio, including the “Mr. Wiggle” series published by McGraw Hill, Inc. She has also published numerous magazine articles.

By Joyce Lazarus, Ph.D., Massachusetts.

Note: This is a fictional story, based on actual events. The names have been changed to protect the identities of the plaintiffs.

Rachel sits down on a riverbank, shaded by a giant cottonwood. Its silvery leaves turn in the breeze, shielding her from the stifling August sun. She stares at sunburnt grasslands and distant blue hills on her ranch in Montana, where her family has been ranching for generations.

Something catches her eye. She looks toward the west and sees plumes of dark smoke rising, reddening in the afternoon sun. Dark, billowing clouds are filling the sky, blotting out sunlight.

“Dad, do you see the smoke?” Rachel calls to her father.

“No. Where is it?”

Rachel starts running toward the smoke. She spots a wildfire in the distant hills, its orange flames devouring the withered forest. With no rain for the past three weeks and a severe heatwave, there is little they can do to stop wildfires from spreading. She already knows of twenty-five other fires this summer, less than fifty miles from their ranch.

How long before one of these wildfires reaches their ranch? How can they stop fires that spread so quickly, whipped up by winds?

The look on Dad’s face tells Rachel how concerned he is.

“Let’s hose down the house and barn,” he says. “We’ll bring in the cattle and horses.”

Rachel learned about climate change when she was eleven and thought it was something she could do nothing about. Now thirteen, she feels her stomach twisting into knots, panic surging. Her whole ranch could be destroyed! How can she stop something so powerful?

Every year there are more storms, droughts, wildfires, heatwaves―every kind of natural disaster. Rachel understands that burning coal and other fossil fuels are a major cause of climate change, but most people she knows do not want to admit this. They shrug their shoulders, saying, “Let nature run its course. We’ll get through this crisis like we always have.”

Many people do not see things as Rachel does. When she learned in science class that humans have only about seven years to act before irreversible harm is done to the Earth, it hit her very hard. She knows the feeling of smoke caught in her throat, of dense gray smog blocking out sunlight. She is just a teenager, but if teens don’t try to solve this climate crisis, who else will?

Rachel has nightmares about fires sweeping across her ranch. She sees herself racing to save her family, horses, cattle, and little dog, Felix. She wakes up covered in sweat.

 ***

She isn’t the only teen in Montana worried about climate change. Since joining a climate action club, Rachel has gotten to know Nora. Nora tells her that every time she hears about wildfires, it feels like getting punched in the stomach. When Nora watched Greta Thunberg on TV, speaking at the United Nations, asking world leaders, “How dare you?” it took her breath away. This was the first time someone close to her age expressed the anger and determination to do something that Nora felt.

Later that month, Nora brings her exciting news.

“There is a law firm, Rachel, “Our Children’s Trust*,” that can help us sue the State of Montana for not protecting us against climate disasters. I plan to join the lawsuit.”

“Really?”

“The state constitution says that all Montanans are entitled to a clean and healthful environment. When fossil fuel companies drill into the land, polluting the air and water, they disregard what science has been telling us for decades about dangers to the environment.”

“What do we need to do?”

“We should sign up as plaintiffs, to explain in court how climate change has harmed us, then talk about our fears for the future. We’ll tell our lawyer, Janet Olsen, what disasters might occur if we don’t act soon.”

“You’ve convinced me, Nora. I’ll join!”

“Your story is much more persuasive than mine, Rachel. Your ranch has come close to being destroyed by wildfires! Why don’t you represent our group and I’ll give interviews to the press? We’ll work together to win this case!”

Rachel, Nora, and fourteen other teens join the lawsuit against the State of Montana.

***

While Janet Olsen prepares arguments for the trial, Nora gives interviews to the press. Articles soon appear in newspapers all over the country. TV news anchors speak of “the kids who are leading the way to save the US from climate catastrophe.”

Rachel Heller gives her name to the lawsuit, “Heller v. Montana,” since her story makes the strongest case for acting quickly.

After three long years, their lawsuit makes it to court―the first time in US history that a kids-led climate lawsuit goes to trial.

***

One hot June day in Helena, Montana, the trial begins.

Teens stand up in court one after another to tell the judge how climate change is harming them.

Sara, sixteen, says that her life as a member of the Diné Tribe is completely tied to nature.

“We tell many stories to our people,” Sara says. “We can only tell a Coyote story if there is snow on the ground. But the time left to share these stories is getting shorter, with so little snow in winter. What will happen to our stories when there is no more snow?”

Lilian, from the Crow Tribe, speaks about a summer tradition, Crow Fair, with its rodeo, traditional dances, and parades. Because of intense heat, the fair was cancelled this year.

“If you miss Crow Fair, you’ve missed something that’s part of your identity,” Lilian says. “We’re taught that we have three mothers: your natural mother, your home, and Mother Earth. Taking care of all three is our responsibility.”

Rachel, Nora and others stand up and talk about the harm caused by climate change.

The judge thanks everyone for their testimony.

***

One day in July, the judge announces that she has reached a verdict. All sixteen plaintiffs file into the court and nervously sit down.

The judge reads: “We find the plaintiffs’ arguments for protecting Montana from the harmful effects of climate change to be convincing. We rule in favor of the sixteen plaintiffs.”

Loud cheers and applause greet the children as they leave the courthouse. Nora and Rachel lift their fists, crying, “We are heard! We are heard!”

Rachel later says to Nora, “We can’t save the planet by ourselves, but we took a first step. Others will follow.”                             

—Joyce Lazarus, Ph.D., Massachusetts. is a retired French professor and an author of a number of books.  A grandmother to three children, Joyce has also published several children’s stories. She adds: “I feel inspired by my three grandchildren, and am concerned about the growing climate crisis that their generation will face.  My hope is that young people, like the characters in this story, will find ways to mitigate the threat of climate change, to protect and preserve our precious Earth… My aim in writing this story is to show young people that they can help make a difference by recognizing that they are stewards of the environment.”

* Our Children’s Trust is a national nonprofit based in Eugene, Oregon. Their mission statement reads: “Our Children’s Trust is a non-profit public interest law firm that provides strategic, campaign-based legal services to youth from diverse backgrounds to secure their legal rights to a safe climate. We work to protect the Earth’s climate system for present and future generations by representing young people in global legal efforts to secure their binding and enforceable legal rights to a healthy atmosphere and stable climate, based on the best available science.
“We support our youth clients and amplify their voices before the third branch of government in a highly strategic legal campaign that includes targeted media, education, and public engagement work to support the youths’ legal actions. Our legal work—guided by constitutional, public trust, human rights laws and the laws of nature—aims to ensure systemic and science-based climate recovery planning and remedies at federal, state, and global levels.”
To learn more about them, please visit: https://www.ourchildrenstrust.org