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maybe-itll-be-someday · 2 years ago

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Addiction

A/N: Hi friends! This is my first time posting anything related to Bones, but I’ve binged 12 seasons in less than a month and it has to come out somewhere, so here it is!

Read on AO3

A character study of Seeley Booth that ties in the Pilot and The Parts in the Sum of the Whole.

He’s an addict.

Addiction was etched in his genes, grown from the tang of bourbon that stained his father’s breath. His father was addicted to dark liquor, to swinging his hand against his mother’s cheek, to the crunch of his and Jared’s ribs underneath his knuckles. Bones talks relentlessly about statistics and certainties, of predicted outcomes based on probabilities.

“Statistics allows you to validate claims based on quantitative evidence, Booth. It’s a crucial process in scientific expansion!”

The evidence of his life would all predict the same outcome - all the numbers and equations leading to the same conclusion. The remodeled fractures on his ribs that Bones had pointed out on his x-rays, the few and far between moments from his childhood that weren’t stained by a well-hidden bottle of whiskey and his father’s shadow looming behind him. The tally he keeps - 48, 49, 50 notches scratched on the back of a leather pocket notebook he carried in his gun case throughout his tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. The other tally of 19 names, all brothers, and their next of kin’s contact information. The remnants of a sharp, burning pain as the butt of a rifle smashed each of his toes individually, tones of the Tehrani accent heavy on his captor’s tongue.

Blood drenched his fatigues, both of his comrades and his enemies. If Bones ever successfully convinced him to do an MRI, she would find traces of the bullets that inscribed his bones. She would point out where shrapnel entered his lower back in Shindhad after he shielded the green private whose lower legs were blown off by an IED during a routine patrol. The bullet that wedged itself too close to his lungs in Mosul after an explosives raid went sideways by an ambush. Many more injuries that he brushed off as flesh wounds, his pain always ebbed away by the adrenaline that flooded into his veins with every close brush with death.

A laundry list of scars and traumas - he drowns in nightmares and holy water, hoping that God will eventually grant him mercy from the panic and pain that the war had woven into him. The beads of his rosary leave imprints on his palms, his knees cracking from the hours spent on them, praying for the safe passage of fallen soldiers and avoiding thoughts of the Sixth Commandment.

But the nightmares follow him, as do the screams, and he just wants it to stop.

Booth tries to avoid the bottle - always limiting himself to two whiskey doubles or no more than four beers. He drinks to dull, not to forget, not like his father. Not like Jared, who’s been bound to the bottle since he took a swig from the whiskey wedged between empty boxes of laundry soap in their garage at the age of 13. He tries not to be resilient, tries not to drink except on certain days, but it quickly becomes too much. He wants to feel something, anything, that wasn’t the guilt, the shame, the sorrow.

He placed his first bet in Iraq while his unit was on patrol. The burning desert sun beating on his back as enthusiasm for their next hot meal had grown into a bet on what food was being served at the mess that night. Booth had seen what shipments had come in two days before and was confident that the shipment of ground beef and tomato sauce would result in chili. Phillips, three years his senior and had a gnarly hook that caught him on the chin during training last week, slipped him a fistful of twenties and tens after dinner that night.

He stuffed the cash in his foot locker and joined betting pools for other things - fifty bucks to the person who could disassemble and reassemble their firearm the fastest, twenty to whoever could guess what time the visiting Sergeant snuck into their Corporal’s private quarters. There were a group of specialists who were Rangers fans and he egged them on to bet 50 each on the Flyers winning 3-1.

Booth racked in $800 that night. More money than he’d ever earned in a week. His pay was shit, not nearly enough to take off the edge of all the hits he’s taken. Rebecca had called him earlier that day, tears thick in her voice when she said pregnant and father. He had just started his third tour. His deployment was 12 months and he was only three months in. She was alone in DC and he was in Baghdad. If he keeps winning, he can provide for her, for them.

It has nothing to do with the feeling of winning, of the elation that God had twisted the tides in his favor.

He gets an honorable discharge after he gets captured - he can’t keep up with the long distances, his once broken toes unable to stand being in his combat boots for hours. But he’s good with a gun and someone had taken notice. Some sargeant from the Rangers shows up at the hospital, telling him that with his abilities he could be a sniper. He could keep serving his country and didn’t need to end his career. There’s something about going back into war that makes his stomach curl and he says he’ll think about it. He gets sent back to the States and watches his son enter the world, loud yet so tiny and fragile and swears to protect him, to make the world a better place for him.

Parker is three months old when he’s called in - one of the Ranger squads had lost someone and they needed help. National security, they said. For your country. He tells Rebecca that they should marry before he goes, that he wants Parker to have a complete family.

“I’m so sorry, Seeley. I love you, I do, but I can’t do it.”

They ask more from him. From surveillance to assassinating a member of the Shura council. His hand is steady when he flexes his finger over the trigger, delivering a clean bullet right between the eyes. A piercing wail fills the air. They chant his name, both a plea and a prayer. His stomach turns and he’s almost sick on his shoes, but he did it for Parker, for his country. They tell him he is a hero, the potential destruction that could have happened, but all he dreams of is the chant of a dead man’s name.

But there are more members, more high ranking officers who are threats to their democracy, their freedom. Soon, he perfects it. The most accurate shot in their entire base, a moniker Booth wears with honor. To him, shooting is as easy as breathing, his rifle simply an extension of him. He adapts to the sweltering air, the arid climate, and learns how to ignore the sweat that beads on his eyebrow and drips onto his scope.

He feels that same rush, the flood of adrenaline, every time he hits a shot. Booth is good at what he does. He’s meticulous - he shifts his barrel based on the slope of the terrain beneath them, listens to the wind and does a rough estimate of his bullet’s trajectory as he aims downsight. He can read the differences in rooms full of high-ranking officials and rooms full of insurgents with AK-47s slung across their backs. He makes observations and adjusts accordingly, takes smart shots, misses only a handful.

He counts his shots and tallies the lives he takes. By the 20th life, he feels something shift. By the 30th, he’s two years into being a Ranger and six months being a sergeant. He leads his own men, his own unit. By the 50th life, he’s lost too many men, too much blood is dripping from his fatigues and he can’t stand it anymore. He goes to the chapel when he can, whispers scared confessions into Aldo’s ear, and he’s not surprised when Aldo tells him one afternoon that God is a bastard.

Suddenly, the sweltering desert air starts to suffocate him. There’s too much death, too much destruction around him and he feels like he’s losing himself. He’s trained not to sleep, to keep your guard up at every second of every day, but soon his nightmares start to chase away the little sleep he could have. At the end of his fourth tour, he doesn’t renew his contract. He flies back to DC, starts taking Parker on the weekends, and spends every moment between his time with his son trying to keep his demons at bay.

In the idleness between his visits with Parker, the war comes back to haunt him. Nightmares of men he’s lost, brothers and friends, every life he’s seized before their time, every person he couldn’t save. Booth thinks of all the things he’s lost and wonders why God wouldn’t grant him a win.

On a random Tuesday after three nights of recurring nightmares, he ends up on a Greyhound headed to Atlantic City. He bets $100 on a blackjack table and wins $2,300 in return when a King of Hearts is flipped up over his Ace. He takes it as a sign that God was finally making up for the shit hand he’s been dealt, and bets another $300.

He’s only left with $500 at the end of the night, but it was still more than the $100 he had started with. He’s finally winning, gaining something instead of losing it.

It quickly slips out of control. He keeps chasing it, keeps going for little tastes of victory among the hundreds of losses, and soon he can’t pay for rent. He owes so much money to his bookie after someone at the casino had told him about sports betting and the Flyers were having a shit season. Rebecca never asks for child support but Parker gets sick with pneumonia and needs to go to the hospital after he contracts a secondary infection. He tells Pops that he needs help because Parker is sick and his old man gives him $500 in old bills that he had put aside for Parker’s college fund.

The money gets sucked into horses because he read in the paper that Stardust hadn’t lost five races in a row and they could use a little more money. Stardust breaks a leg on the track, and he burns with shame when he tells Rebecca that he doesn’t have anything . Luckily, Parker improves, and Rebecca’s new lawyer boyfriend offers to help with the bills. He almost gets evicted because he’s two months late on rent, subsisting on feeble meals of boxed mac and cheese and grilled sandwiches, when God gives him grace.

An old army buddy had told him that they were looking for agents at the FBI; it was a few months of training, but it was a steady paycheck. He throws himself into training at the Academy, has less time to gamble but when his evaluation to be a Special Agent comes around, he’s flagged during a background check.

“Addicts will do anything to get their fix. It’s a breeding ground for corruption. We cannot have such individuals representing the Agency, Mr. Booth.”

The psychologist assigned to him had told him that if he managed to get his gambling addiction under control, that he would be an excellent addition to the FBI. The elderly man pushed up his wire frame glasses up his liver-spotted nose as he gave Booth some resources on help for veterans and told him of the Gamblers Anonymous meetings that happened on Mondays and Thursdays in the basement of the Catholic church up the street.

He attends his meetings and gets a sponsor. He talks in group therapy about the things he’s seen and he feels a little less alone when a few veterans in his group speak up. He acknowledges that he has a problem, that he’s an addict like his father. He pinches pennies and apologizes to the landlord for the late rent, trying to pay him at least once a week to make up for the last two months. Soon, his re-evaluation comes and he passes with flying colors.

He slips once in a while - bets $50 on an upcoming Flyers game, bets $40 that he can beat a biker at pool, but he doesn’t let it run his life anymore. He focuses on being a good agent and a good father. Two years into being a Special Agent, Jocelyn Arrington comes calling, pleading for help. She reminds him of a mother of one of his men lost in a rescue mission gone south named Paul Adams. She had collapsed into his arms, much like Jocelyn did, when they released Paul’s remains to her after he was executed by insurgents. Another bereaved mother pleads for help and he’s not about to deny her the closure so few people got.

But the case is bare bones, only a few scraps of evidence and split jurisdictions led only to dead end after dead end. He confides in Camille, the now Chief Coroner of New York that he had gotten into a friends with benefits type of relationship during his first few cases as a special agent, and she suggests that he looks at Gemma Arrington from a different perspective.

She tells him of a forensic anthropologist, one of the best, that had solved a 400 year old murder. He’s skeptical of the use of forensics because knowing your suspect is more important but the only leads he had led him nowhere. He figures that it’s worth a shot.

Camille had said that a Dr. Temperance Brennan was teaching An Alternative Approach to Traditional Bone Cleaning Methods for Forensic Practice in a series of lectures this week at American University. Booth imagines a stuffy old academic, dressed in clothes mostly made of wool and smelled of old books. He imagines someone in their early 50s to late 60s at most, to garner the high regard that the Chief Coroner of New York held for the scientist.

Instead, he walks into the lecture hall and is met with a woman who is probably a few years his junior, commanding the room with such rapport and attention. She speaks with certainty, as if dictating pre-written information from an invisible book in front of her, and every single person has their attention solely on her.

He’s not surprised when she steals his attention, too. There’s something in her blue eyes that he’s drawn to, like there was a story between them that’s waiting to be written. He wants to know if she feels it too.

“Do you believe in fate?” He asks her.

“Absolutely not. Ludicrous.”

She doesn’t believe in fate, but he can’t help but think that this is what it feels like.

She says that she’s the best, but he needs his own evidence, his own proof. He never goes into a situation without reading it himself - a skill that’s kept him alive for years while serving overseas, won him many bluffs on a poker table.

That, and old habits are hard to break. He felt like taking a risk on her.

He realizes that she is, in fact, the best when she lists out Gemma Arrington’s life with the same certainty she had at her lecture. She knows of the move from Alabama, the car wreck that killed her father in 1996, that she sang without even knowing the existence of the tape loaded in the briefing room. She was arrogant with her intelligence, often using words that had Booth wishing he still had his old dictionary from his hot English teacher.

The arrogance was well-deserved. She slots evidence into a timeline, identifies the murder weapon and a potential exit path. He thought he knew what smart people looked like, what they sounded and thought like, but Bones was in a whole different league.

Temperance Brennan was brilliant.

Blindingly, absolutely brilliant. She has a brilliant idea, something about showing individuality and he thinks about the drawer of socks he can’t wear at the FBI. She asks him a brilliant question; why shouldn’t they be allowed to go on a date? He almost lies to her, wants to sidestep that rule about fraternizing with other agencies, but he plays the good agent and her response is as brilliant as she was:

“That’s too bad.”

She was exceptional - had an exceptional left hook that she used to sock a federal judge. It’s awesome and hot and exceptional like she is. He tells her as much and can’t stop the smile that curves his lips at the color that floods her cheeks.

She has an exceptional tolerance for alcohol when he takes her drinking because he wants to soften to blow when he tells her she can’t work the case anymore. They drink, and they drink some more, and soon a soft, steady haze of alcohol blankets him. He can’t stop staring, can’t believe that a woman like her can drink shitty tequila like a sailor. She has an exceptional idea, that they should have sex because they’re not working together and Booth wonders if he’s ever going to stop being blown away by her.

He feels his adrenaline surge when she slaps a few crumpled bills on the table and tugs on his sleeve towards the door. Booth stops her, wants to tell her his deepest darkest secret because he has a feeling that they were barrelling towards something he did not want to screw up.

He knew it would be as brilliant, as exceptional, as amazing as she was.

And he was right. It might have been the tequila, but he swears he gets more drunk on her. The soft warmth of her lips, the slide of her tongue against him, makes him dizzy. He feels something inside him slide into place and feels empty when she pulls away and tells him that they won’t be sleeping together. Booth wants to chase that feeling, those 15 seconds when her lips are on his. He wants to have it over, and over, and over again.

He’ll never get enough.

---

It all falls apart, too soon after. The judge is bulletproof and Bones doesn’t understand that powerful people get away with terrible things all the time. They fight and he is on the receiving end of only a taste of what she gave to the judge and he grows resentful of her - her fancy words, her seemingly endless knowledge of everything.

She’s brilliant and he’s not.

Temperance Brennan walks out of his life and is determined to keep him out of hers. In the year between Gemma Arrington and Clio Eller, he thinks of that moment in front of the poolhouse more times than he’ll ever admit. He can smell the supple scent of antiseptic mixed with fresh rain. He can feel the warm hand that anchors on the back of his neck pushing him closer to her in the same urgency he felt.

He thinks of the slender angle of her jaw, the waft of warm breath and tequila, of brilliant blue eyes, and feels an itch, an urge.

Then reaches for his phone, wondering if his buddy in the TSA was willing to do him a small favor.

---

They slowly become friends, partners. They dance on this fine line, between friends and something more than friends. Maybe he’s a little too protective of her, following her around on crime scenes and always urging her to stay back, to stand behind him even if he’s seen her take down suspects bigger and burlier than she was. Maybe she’s a little too attached to him, wandering hands that catch on his elbows, his forearm, his knee. She tells him things he suspects she’s never told anyone before, her well-earned trust handed to him in a file folder that contained the details of her parents’ disappearance.

They still argue and bicker, one of them always insisting that their viewpoint was the superior one when more often than not they found their answer in compromise. Bones lived by the laws governed by science and logic, while he relied on faith and feeling to guide him.

She teaches him how to be more rational, to take the facts before him and use it to their advantage. He teaches her to trust in him, in other people - that she could be vulnerable and understand the human portion of her that she tries to bury under anthropological facts and history.

They share bottles of beer and glasses of whiskey, barely dodge bullets, bombs, and close brushes with their death. He hops on the first plane to Louisiana when she wakes up bruised and battered with no recollection of the last 24 hours. He threatens, holds guns to people who would dare and try to hurt her. He holds her when her mother’s bones turn up, when she tells him that she doesn’t know who she is anymore.

But he knows who she is.

She was the one who always hovered in his periphery, the slant of her smile and the furrow of her brow something he could draw from memory, if he ever learned how to draw. He knew her Thai takeout order, the kind of whiskey she enjoyed, the burden of rationality she carries around in every aspect of her life. He knew that she was scared of being left behind again, so he always tells her that he’s not leaving, that she could always count on him.

She was his partner.

She was the unspoken reason as to why all his relationships were just meaningless reruns of women it never worked out with. She was the standard he held them all to, even if he would never admit it, especially to the new psychologist who looks like he’s barely out of high school.

He knows who she is.

He chases her, through war and ghosts and snakes and serial killers.

He chases those 15 seconds she gave him in front of the poolhouse almost five years ago now, chasing it in the subtle upturn of her lips when he presents her with Jasper for the first time. He chases the way her eyes sparkle when she sings on the stage they set up for her, chases the feeling of her hand in his when the world starts to fade as a bullet he takes for her lodges into his chest. He chases the flip of his stomach when he finds her on the sidelines of his hockey game, a red beanie pulled tightly over her ears when she waves at him.

Booth can’t stop himself, can’t stop the itch, the urge, that overwhelms him when she’s not near. An itch that had almost torn up his insides when she mentions that Sully wanted to take her away from him for an entire year and the relief of it when she decides to stay, to be rational, to keep doing their jobs because they’re amazing partners. He can’t stop the urge to shove the barrel of his gun down the mouth of any person who threatens her, or the urge to never give up on her because she wouldn’t give up on him.

He can’t stop himself when Sweets tells him to use his addiction, his problem, to break the stalemate. He’s thought about it over the years, made and replayed scenarios in his head on what it would be like to finally cross that fine line they’ve been dancing on all these years. But he’s a good agent, one who follows the rules, and they always said that there would be no fraternizing with consultants or other agencies. He decides to screw it all because they were on the brink of something, of the unwritten story he saw in her eyes when they first met.

It was going to be brilliant, exceptional, and amazing.

He tells her that he’s a gambler, unashamed in the fact that he’s an addict. He wants to take a chance on this, on her, on them .

But she pushes him away, tells him that he needs protecting. He hands her his heart and she crumbles it into little pieces in front of him. She doesn’t know how to make them work, doesn’t know how to risk the status quo for the potential. She didn't know how to take the less-traveled route, to bet on something out of her control.

“I’m a scientist. I can’t change. I don’t know how.”

Booth had forgotten that gambling always came with risks. He forgot that you came down from the adrenaline you get when you place a bet, that reality always had the odds tilted against him.

“Can we still work together?” She asks, after breaking the heart he’s offered to her. He glances at her, watching the tears that carve pathways into her cheeks and doesn’t fight the urge when he says yes.

He’s an addict.

And now, she is his only vice.

#bones #bones and booth #booth and bones #booth x brennan #brennan x booth #temperence brennan #seeley booth #thank god this is done i've been DREAMING about bones and it all needed to come out somewhere #also i haven't written in a while and this was a joy and delight #maybe i write more #maybe i don't

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asgardian--angels · 22 days ago

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Planet's Fucked: What Can You Do To Help? (Long Post)

Since nobody is talking about the existential threat to the climate and the environment a second Trump term/Republican government control will cause, which to me supersedes literally every other issue, I wanted to just say my two cents, and some things you can do to help. I am a conservation biologist, whose field was hit substantially by the first Trump presidency. I study wild bees, birds, and plants.

In case anyone forgot what he did last time, he gagged scientists' ability to talk about climate change, he tried zeroing budgets for agencies like the NOAA, he attempted to gut protections in the Endangered Species Act (mainly by redefining 'take' in a way that would allow corporations to destroy habitat of imperiled species with no ramifications), he tried to do the same for the Migratory Bird Treaty Act (the law that offers official protection for native non-game birds), he sought to expand oil and coal extraction from federal protected lands, he shrunk the size of multiple national preserves, HE PULLED US OUT OF THE PARIS CLIMATE AGREEMENT, and more.

We are at a crucial tipping point in being able to slow the pace of climate change, where we decide what emissions scenario we will operate at, with existential consequences for both the environment and people. We are also in the middle of the Sixth Mass Extinction, with the rate of species extinctions far surpassing background rates due completely to human actions. What we do now will determine the fate of the environment for hundreds or thousands of years - from our ability to grow key food crops (goodbye corn belt! I hated you anyway but), to the pressure on coastal communities that will face the brunt of sea level rise and intensifying extreme weather events, to desertification, ocean acidification, wildfires, melting permafrost (yay, outbreaks of deadly frozen viruses!), and a breaking down of ecosystems and ecosystem services due to continued habitat loss and species declines, especially insect declines. The fact that the environment is clearly a low priority issue despite the very real existential threat to so many people, is beyond my ability to understand. I do partly blame the public education system for offering no mandatory environmental science curriculum or any at all in most places. What it means is that it will take the support of everyone who does care to make any amount of difference in this steeply uphill battle.

There are not enough environmental scientists to solve these issues, not if public support is not on our side and the majority of the general public is either uninformed or actively hostile towards climate science (or any conservation science).

So what can you, my fellow Americans, do to help mitigate and minimize the inevitable damage that lay ahead?

I'm not going to tell you to recycle more or take shorter showers. I'll be honest, that stuff is a drop in the bucket. What does matter on the individual level is restoring and protecting habitat, reducing threats to at-risk species, reducing pesticide use, improving agricultural practices, and pushing for policy changes. Restoring CONNECTIVITY to our landscape - corridors of contiguous habitat - will make all the difference for wildlife to be able to survive a changing climate and continued human population expansion.

**Caveat that I work in the northeast with pollinators and birds so I cannot provide specific organizations for some topics, including climate change focused NGOs. Scientists on tumblr who specialize in other fields, please add your own recommended resources. **

We need two things: FUNDING and MANPOWER.

You may surprised to find that an insane amount of conservation work is carried out by volunteers. We don't ever have the funds to pay most of the people who want to help. If you really really care, consider going into a conservation-related field as a career. It's rewarding, passionate work.

At the national level, please support:

The Nature Conservancy

Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation

Cornell Lab of Ornithology (including eBird)

National Audubon Society

Federal Duck Stamps (you don't need to be a hunter to buy one!)

These first four work to acquire and restore critical habitat, change environmental policy, and educate the public. There is almost certainly a Nature Conservancy-owned property within driving distance of you. Xerces plays a very large role in pollinator conservation, including sustainable agriculture, native bee monitoring programs, and the Bee City/Bee Campus USA programs. The Lab of O is one of the world's leaders in bird research and conservation. Audubon focuses on bird conservation. You can get annual memberships to these organizations and receive cool swag and/or a subscription to their publications which are well worth it. You can also volunteer your time; we need thousands of volunteers to do everything from conducting wildlife surveys, invasive species removal, providing outreach programming, managing habitat/clearing trails, planting trees, you name it. Federal Duck Stamps are the major revenue for wetland conservation; hunters need to buy them to hunt waterfowl but anyone can get them to collect!

THERE ARE DEFINITELY MORE, but these are a start.

Additionally, any federal or local organizations that seek to provide support and relief to those affected by hurricanes, sea level rise, any form of coastal climate change...

At the regional level:

These are a list of topics that affect major regions of the United States. Since I do not work in most of these areas I don't feel confident recommending specific organizations, but please seek resources relating to these as they are likely major conservation issues near you.

PRAIRIE CONSERVATION & PRAIRIE POTHOLE WETLANDS

DRYING OF THE COLORADO RIVER (good overview video linked)

PROTECTION OF ESTUARIES AND SALTMARSH, ESPECIALLY IN THE DELAWARE BAY AND LONG ISLAND (and mangroves further south, everglades etc; this includes restoring LIVING SHORELINES instead of concrete storm walls; also check out the likely-soon extinction of saltmarsh sparrows)

UNDAMMING MAJOR RIVERS (not just the Colorado; restoring salmon runs, restoring historic floodplains)

NATIVE POLLINATOR DECLINES (NOT honeybees. for fuck's sake. honeybees are non-native domesticated animals. don't you DARE get honeybee hives to 'save the bees')

WILDLIFE ALONG THE SOUTHERN BORDER (support the Mission Butterfly Center!)

INVASIVE PLANT AND ANIMAL SPECIES (this is everywhere but the specifics will differ regionally, dear lord please help Hawaii)

LOSS OF WETLANDS NATIONWIDE (some states have lost over 90% of their wetlands, I'm looking at you California, Ohio, Illinois)

INDUSTRIAL AGRICULTURE, esp in the CORN BELT and CALIFORNIA - this is an issue much bigger than each of us, but we can work incrementally to promote sustainable practices and create habitat in farmland-dominated areas. Support small, local farms, especially those that use soil regenerative practices, no-till agriculture, no pesticides/Integrated Pest Management/no neonicotinoids/at least non-persistent pesticides. We need more farmers enrolling in NRCS programs to put farmland in temporary or permanent wetland easements, or to rent the land for a 30-year solar farm cycle. We've lost over 99% of our prairies to corn and soybeans. Let's not make it 100%.

INDIGENOUS LAND-BACK EFFORTS/INDIGENOUS LAND MANAGEMENT/TEK (adding this because there have been increasing efforts not just for reparations but to also allow indigenous communities to steward and manage lands either fully independently or alongside western science, and it would have great benefits for both people and the land; I know others on here could speak much more on this. Please platform indigenous voices)

HARMFUL ALGAL BLOOMS (get your neighbors to stop dumping fertilizers on their lawn next to lakes, reduce agricultural runoff)

OCEAN PLASTIC (it's not straws, it's mostly commercial fishing line/trawling equipment and microplastics)

A lot of these are interconnected. And of course not a complete list.

At the state and local level:

You probably have the most power to make change at the local level!

Support or volunteer at your local nature centers, local/state land conservancy non-profits (find out who owns&manages the preserves you like to hike at!), state fish & game dept/non-game program, local Audubon chapters (they do a LOT). Participate in a Christmas Bird Count!

Join local garden clubs, which install and maintain town plantings - encourage them to use NATIVE plants. Join a community garden!

Get your college campus or city/town certified in the Bee Campus USA/Bee City USA programs from the Xerces Society

Check out your state's official plant nursery, forest society, natural heritage program, anything that you could become a member of, get plants from, or volunteer at.

Volunteer to be part of your town's conservation commission, which makes decisions about land management and funding

Attend classes or volunteer with your land grant university's cooperative extension (including master gardener programs)

Literally any volunteer effort aimed at improving the local environment, whether that's picking up litter, pulling invasive plants, installing a local garden, planting trees in a city park, ANYTHING. make a positive change in your own sphere. learn the local issues affecting your nearby ecosystems. I guarantee some lake or river nearby is polluted

MAKE HABITAT IN YOUR COMMUNITY. Biggest thing you can do. Use plants native to your area in your yard or garden. Ditch your lawn. Don't use pesticides (including mosquito spraying, tick spraying, Roundup, etc). Don't use fertilizers that will run off into drinking water. Leave the leaves in your yard. Get your school/college to plant native gardens. Plant native trees (most trees planted in yards are not native). Remove invasive plants in your yard.

On this last point, HERE ARE EASY ONLINE RESOURCES TO FIND NATIVE PLANTS and LEARN ABOUT NATIVE GARDENING:

Xerces Society Pollinator Conservation Resource Center

Pollinator Pathway

Audubon Native Plant Finder

Homegrown National Park (and Doug Tallamy's other books)

National Wildlife Federation Native Plant Finder (clunky but somewhat helpful)

Heather Holm (for prairie/midwest/northeast)

MonarchGard w/ Benjamin Vogt (for prairie/midwest)

Native Plant Trust (northeast & mid-atlantic)

Grow Native Massachusetts (northeast)

Habitat Gardening in Central New York (northeast)

There are many more - I'm not familiar with resources for western states. Print books are your biggest friend. Happy to provide a list of those.

Lastly, you can help scientists monitor species using citizen science. Contribute to iNaturalist, eBird, Bumblebee Watch, or any number of more geographically or taxonomically targeted programs (for instance, our state has a butterfly census carried out by citizen volunteers).

In short? Get curious, get educated, get involved. Notice your local nature, find out how it's threatened, and find out who's working to protect it that you can help with. The health of the planet, including our resilience to climate change, is determined by small local efforts to maintain and restore habitat. That is how we survive this. When government funding won't come, when we're beat back at every turn trying to get policy changed, it comes down to each individual person creating a safe refuge for nature.

Thanks for reading this far. Please feel free to add your own credible resources and organizations.

#us election #climate change #united states election #resources #native plants #this took 3 hours to write so maybe don't let it flop? i know i write long posts. i know i follow scientists on here #that study birds and corals and other creatures #i realize i did not link sources/resources for everything. i encourage those more qualified to add things on. i need to go to work

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