Karen Cowe
Connected to Place
A sense of belonging to a particular place is an intimate and profound experience. For me, it has had more to do with a visceral connection to deep time—seeking some sense of permanence, a steadiness, in an impermanent and volatile human-built world.
Growing up in rural Scotland, my ancestral home was surrounded by beautiful landscapes, bordered by the coast of the North Sea and The Cheviot Hills. It is a place of deep personal significance.
I grew up in the Berwickshire countryside. I’m not entirely sure when my village was established as a settlement, but I do know the church was built in the 12th century and that my family has lived there, and still does, since at least the 1300s. When I was young, my grandad drove me along the country roads and had me name landmarks en route. Today, as I drive from my village to the nearby town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, I silently recite the place names—Edington Mill, Foulden, the Border (between Scotland and England), Cumberland Bower, Brow of the Hill, and Halidon Hill. The latter was the site of a battle in 1333, where the Scots lost to the English army in an attempt to gain political independence from England.
When I’m in Berwickshire, I know my ancestors were there, too, and that makes me feel very content. On a recent walk with my sister, we walked along the loaning (lane) behind our village, and I knew my ancestors had walked the same path. We saw something they never saw, though. In November 2021, Storm Arwen brought northerly winds gusting at over 70 mph to the region. The highest gust speed was 98 mph. The damaging winds snapped trees in half and uprooted mature trees that had provided shelter and shade for decades. It was a devastating scene. According to the Met Office (UK weather service), the storm represented a trend of more severe storms due to climate change. That beautiful scene, which generations of my family had experienced, was destroyed by one overnight storm.
I’ve now lived in California longer than I lived in Scotland. When I first moved to California in 1996, I struggled to establish this sense of place. I was attracted to the geography of the Bay Area, but it was more congested and polluted than anywhere I’d lived. When we bought our first home, we bought a small house on a large plot, and I started to put down roots by creating a garden. We designed it using permaculture principles, the idea of “permanent agriculture” or lasting design. I learned so much about my new home from that small plot of land—the soil type, the curve of the land, where rain fell or didn’t, the types of plants that thrived there, etc. We chose to create an edible landscape and produced so much food we got to know our neighbors through sharing it.
My journey to deeply understanding the importance of place and caring for it led me to our work at Ten Strands, which helps to “galvanize and harmonize” the work of many organizations working at the intersection of education and the environment. I feel proud of Ten Strands’ work supporting initiatives that advance students’ connection to place—and its essential and enduring understandings, given the rapidly increasing impact of climate change.
When I think about the climate crisis, I know the task ahead is daunting and can feel overwhelming. I have learned to observe how unsettled I feel when I’m not connected to place and how important it is to establish that sense of belonging that can come from being in a close relationship with place, which I have come to seek as I move around the world—a connection, like a force that grounds me and has formed my purpose in this work. I find great solace in that idea, hope, and optimism that much can be accomplished collectively. I also think of ways to spend less time in my head and more time in my heart to be fully present for this work. The easiest way to do that for me is to read and, increasingly, write poetry. In Scotland, we have a great tradition of poetry. Our poet laureates are called Makars, which makes me think of a maker—a roll-up-your-sleeves and get-the-job-done doer.
Karen Cowe speaking at the ECCLPs September 2022 (Re)launch Event
The last time I visited Scotland, I wrote a poem to articulate that sense of belonging and love for a place, the rootedness and the care it evokes, and the wisdom it gives to steady oneself in uncertain times, which I wish to be experienced by all generations, present and future.
The Burn (stream) at Braid
A Magpie leaving her parliament led me to the burn at Braid.
She rattled off the names of the trees that provided shade
and kept everything cool that warm September morning.
Ash, Elm, and Oak from ancient times, and more recently, Sycamore and Beach that have become naturalized and are now part of this woodland family.
I can feel the belonging in this place.
The satisfaction that the complex arrangements of roots beneath the surface provide the good, and necessary, grip of Scotland.
Century after century, the trunks, branches, and canopy have been buffeted around by the weather, yet they remain held and intact.
Even the flow of the burn feels sure as it rises in the Pentland Hills and makes its way north-east to enter the Firth of Forth at Portobello.
And from there into the roaring North Sea and the world’s Ocean.
Neither rocks, nor fallen branches, nor human constructions will keep it from making its way through the gorge cut by glacial meltwater to its final destination.
And what of me and this place?
I feel the same belonging. My roots run just as deep, my trunk, branches, and canopy are just as resilient.
I can stand beside, or preferably in, any trickling tributary of any river on this homeland and feel deeply connected to this place and, in turn, to the rest of the world.
You can learn more about Karen and her work at Ten Strands here. Learn how Ten Strands plans to strengthen the partnerships and strategies that will bring climate and environmental literacy to all of California’s PK–12 students.
Karen’s Climate Story is adapted from her Statement of Purpose: Connected to Place, with support from Change Narrative LLC.