Keynote Address at our “Vigil For the Healing of the Earth"

By Tracy Simmons

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Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you to the organizers for inviting me to speak at this Earth Day celebration, and thank you all for taking time to be here today.

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Like many of you, I've felt drawn to take concrete steps toward sustainability in my own life. My wife and I have a small backyard vegetable garden, care for a flock of chickens — two who are going on 10 years old — we catch and use rainwater and this month I got my first two packages of bees. These small actions have become powerful anchors in my life during uncertain political and environmental  times.

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My journey toward environmental stewardship began years ago, with simple curiosity about growing food. What started as a single raised bed has expanded to a few now, including an indoor hydroponic garden in my home office. My chickens followed — at first just four hens that quickly became family members with distinct personalities. The rainwater collection system came next, prompted by increasingly dry summers. And now, the bees represent my newest adventure in learning how to care for the natural world.

 

My connection to wildlife conservation runs deeper than my backyard. My aunt operates a wildbird rescue center in Port Townsend. Her dedication to rehabilitating injured birds has shown me how even severely damaged creatures can recover with proper care and attention. I've visited her facility many times, and watching this majestic bird regain their strength day by day reinforced my belief that healing is possible when we commit to it. Her work reminds me that our responsibility extends beyond our immediate surroundings to all creatures sharing our ecosystem.

However, the Trump administration has narrowed the scope of the Clean Water Act, removed requirements for federal agencies to assess climate impacts and disbanded EPA offices addressing pollution burdens in marginalized communities. Over in Idaho, wildlife rehabilitation licenses have been revoked.

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I was already worried about our planet, now even more so.

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However, I'm working on moving from eco-anxiety to community resilience. The path between these points involves both acknowledging our grief and taking collective action.

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My Buddhist practice has been instrumental in shaping my environmental ethics. The Buddhist concept of interdependence teaches us that nothing exists in isolation – every action creates ripples throughout our interconnected world. This perspective has transformed how I view my role on this planet. Rather than seeing humans as having "dominion over the earth," I understand our position as one of sacred responsibility – we are caretakers entrusted with preserving the delicate balance of life.

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I often reflect on the Five Contemplations that Buddhists traditionally recite before meals, particularly the line: "We accept this food so that we may nurture our brotherhood and sisterhood, build our community, and nourish our ideal of serving all living beings." This reminds me that even the simple act of eating connects us to countless others – the farmers, the soil, the sun and rain, the transporters, and all elements that made that meal possible. When I tend my garden or care for my chickens, I'm practicing this principle of compassionate stewardship.

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There's no denying that we live in an era where climate headlines can be overwhelming. Many psychologists now recognize what they call "eco-anxiety" — that chronic fear of environmental doom that can leave us feeling helpless or paralyzed. I've felt it— a pit in my stomach when reading about another record-breaking storm, another wildfire, another environmental protection rolled back.

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The American Psychological Association now recognizes climate anxiety as a significant mental health concern. I've found that acknowledging these feelings rather than suppressing them is the first step toward healing. My spiritual practice helps me process my grief about environmental losses while keeping me grounded in the present moment. The Buddhist principle of non-attachment doesn't mean not caring – it means caring deeply while accepting that we cannot control everything. This perspective helps me stay engaged without becoming overwhelmed.

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Here in the Inland Northwest, we face our own set of challenges. Our summers grow hotter and drier, wildfire seasons become more intense and water conservation becomes increasingly crucial.

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Climate change isn't an abstract concept here – it's increasingly visible in our daily lives. Our region has experienced record-breaking heatwaves that threatened vulnerable populations. Water levels in the Spokane River have fluctuated dramatically, affecting both wildlife and recreational opportunities. Pine beetle infestations have intensified as winters grow milder, transforming our familiar forest landscapes. These changes aren't happening in some distant future – they're unfolding now, in this place we call home.

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I'm sure I'm not the only one who's wondered what difference a single individual could possibly make. So I decided to start small — like I said, with just a few garden beds, some chickens, and eventually, the bees.

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Now, each day, when I collect eggs or watch my bees returning to their hive with saddlebags full of pollen, I'm reminded that regeneration is still possible. When my garden produces food from what was once just bare soil, I see how quickly nature can heal when given the chance. These small daily victories don't solve the larger environmental crisis, but they've given me a pathway out of paralysis and into action.

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I've learned that the practice of caring for other living things – whether plants, animals or ecosystems – creates a profound shift in perspective. This is called "cultivating loving-kindness." When we extend care beyond ourselves, we naturally begin to consider the longer-term impacts of our choices. I find myself asking not just "Is this convenient for me?" but "Is this beneficial for all beings?" This perspective helps me make choices that align with my values, even when they require more effort.

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But individual action alone isn't enough. And this brings me to the wisdom of bees.

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A beehive is perhaps nature's most perfect example of teamwork. A single bee can produce only about 1/12th of a teaspoon of honey in its lifetime — hardly enough to notice. But a healthy colony working together can produce 60 pounds or more. It's not about any individual bee, but about their cooperation.

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Inside the hive, each bee has a role that serves the greater good — nurse bees care for the young, foragers collect nectar and pollen, guard bees protect the entrance. No single bee tries to do everything alone.

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When a honeybee finds a rich source of nectar, it returns to the hive and performs what's called a "waggle dance" — literally communicating the location of resources to others. The bee doesn't hoard this information but shares it freely for the collective benefit.

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My chickens, garden and bees depend on one another, and I depend on them. The chickens provide fertilizer that enriches the soil, the garden provides some food for both my family and the chickens, and the bees pollinate the garden to improve yields. Each part strengthens the others.

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This interconnected system mirrors what Buddhists call "dependent origination" – which describes a chain of cause and effect. Nothing exists independently. When we recognize these connections, we naturally want to protect all parts of the system, not just those that immediately benefit us.

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I've come to see this as a powerful metaphor for how we might approach our environmental challenges. Like bees, humans thrive through cooperation, not isolation. And like a diverse ecosystem, our communities grow stronger when we recognize how our different roles complement each other.

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This brings me to some inspiring examples from right here in the Inland Northwest.

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The Spokane Riverkeeper works to protect the Spokane River and its watershed from pollution, halting numerous contamination sources while advocating for science-based, resilient solutions to clean and safeguard the waterway.

 

Over on the Palouse, The Palouse-Clearwater Environmental Institute champions sustainable living and environmental protection throughout the region's unique ecosystem. PCEI has mobilized community members to participate in conservation efforts, from restoring sensitive wetlands to preserving native habitats. Their work extends beyond conservation to education, offering experiential learning that connects residents with their natural surroundings while building environmental literacy across generations.

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And in North Idaho, the Kootenai Environmental Alliance has a clear mission of protecting the area's natural resources. The organization's commitment to preserving the region's lakes, forests and wildlife habitats has created a lasting legacy of environmental protection across northern Idaho.

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If you're looking to move beyond individual actions, consider joining one of these organizations. The Lands Council needs volunteers for their plant restoration projects. If water conservation interests you, the Spokane Riverkeeper has opportunities for citizen scientists to monitor water quality. Even dedicating just a few hours monthly to these efforts creates significant impact when we work together.

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Eachof these organizations have found ways to address environmental challenges while strengthening community bonds in the process.

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And this is where I want to highlight an upcoming opportunity to strengthen our own hive. FāVS News is organizing the "Uniting the Inland Northwest" event, which aims to bring together people across different faith traditions, backgrounds and perspectives to address our shared community challenges.

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It will be on April 27 - next week - beginning at 4 p.m. at the Montavale Event Center, with a keynote on the Ubuntu philosophy of community building. After, we'll go into breakout sessions. Topics include homelessness in our community, How Food and Faith Unite Communities, the Next Generation's Vision for Unity, Understanding LGBTQ+ Faith Experiences, interfaith dialogue and Building Bridges with Refugee and Immigrant Neighbors.

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Just as my beehive thrives through the diverse roles of its members, our community grows stronger when we recognize that we need all kinds of approaches and perspectives to address complex environmental issues. Some of us will be advocates for policy change, others will focus on education, still others will work directly in conservation or sustainable agriculture. The FāVS event creates space for all these approaches while fostering the connections between them.

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My wife and I are planning a trip to Yellowstone National Park this summer – our first visit to this iconic wilderness. We've been learning about the park's complex ecosystem. I'm particularly excited to see how conservation efforts have helped restore wolf populations, creating a cascade of positive effects throughout the park.

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The reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone in the 1990s offers a powerful lesson about ecological balance. When wolves returned after a 70-year absence, they not only regulated elk populations but triggered what ecologists call a "trophic cascade" – changing the behavior of other species and ultimately reshaping the physical landscape itself. Riverbanks stabilized, vegetation returned, and beaver populations increased. This remarkable transformation reminds us that when we restore key elements of natural systems, healing can happen in ways we might not have predicted.

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This trip represents our commitment to experiencing and appreciating natural wonders while continuing to learn about responsible environmental stewardship. 

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As I conclude today, I want to return to where we started — that feeling of eco-anxiety that so many of us experience. I believe the antidote isn't to ignore these feelings or pretend our challenges aren't real. Rather, it's to channel these emotions into meaningful action and, crucially, to do so in community.

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My chickens, garden and beehive haven't solved the climate crisis. But they've given me a daily connection to the natural world and a sense of agency. Similarly, the "Uniting the Inland Northwest" event won't solve all our political challenges overnight, but it creates vital connections that make larger solutions possible.

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And if you're looking for a place to start your own journey toward greater engagement, consider one simple step: Start a small container garden, even just a few pots of herbs on a windowsill. Or commit to purchasing food from local farmers who use sustainable practices. Visit a wildlife rehabilitation center like my aunt's and ask how you could volunteer or support their work. These small actions connect you to both the natural world and to a community of others making similar choices.

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In Buddhism, we talk about the concept of "right action" – choosing actions that cause no harm and create benefit. This doesn't mean we must be perfect, but that we should move in a beneficial direction with awareness and intention. Each small choice matters not because it will single-handedly solve our environmental challenges, but because it aligns us with our values and connects us to a larger community of care.

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I'll leave you with this thought: Together we can create something remarkable — a community ready to face our environmental challenges and nurturing enough to sustain us through the work ahead. Like the interdependent web of my garden, chickens, and bees, we too are connected in ways both visible and invisible. When we act from this understanding, we transform not just our external circumstances, but ourselves.