Abstract
The sun shone brightly overhead as I looked out over the community garden, its rays illuminating the green bushes, fruit trees, and lovingly maintained raised beds bursting with life. I was seated on a rainbow patterned blanket with booklets and art supplies scattered around me. A group of about 15 queer and trans youth and adults circled up around me, chattering in soft tones as they waited for the nature journaling session to begin. The session was part of a week-long LGBTQ+ youth summer day camp, the kind of program those outside of Florida may be surprised to learn exists in the state. It was summer 2022, a couple weeks before a new batch of anti-LGBTQ+ laws would go into effect. This included the “Don’t Say Gay'' law, which Florida trans activists call “Don’t Say or Be LGBTQ+”, a law intended to erase LGBTQ+ people and histories from schools. Every LGBTQ+ child in Florida knows at least a little about these laws, as well as the numerous other repressive policies passed since, as they directly impact their everyday lives. Every LGBTQ+ educator knows about them too, as these laws make it nearly impossible for us to show up as our full selves in formal educational settings. When I finished rearranging my supplies and started speaking, everyone moved in closer. To open, I shared about my own relationship with the natural world, how it was so affirming for me to know that nature themself is queer and trans. I offered guidance for more intimate observation of the natural world, how to attune to the diverse lifeforms that reside in different habitats. I talked about nature journaling as a relational practice that helps me connect to the beings around me, so that I never really feel alone. Then, I handed out journals and passed out stickers to decorate the covers. Some chose to stay in the circle and decorate and draw there, enjoying the feeling of existing alongside other queer and trans people. Others chose to leave the circle and go out into the garden, quietly drawing and sketching what they found. Afterwards, we shared our drawings and reflections about the experience, reflections rich in joy and gratitude. I can’t know what happened to the journals after they left the space. Maybe they ended up spilled on, lost under a car seat, or simply became another place for notes, doodles, and to-do lists. I don’t think it really matters, though. Because for that one shining afternoon, queer and trans youth sat with me together in a circle and felt that they belonged. Not just to each other, to the other humans in their life, but to the entire universe. They belonged to the birds, the butterflies, the clouds, the lichen, the collard greens. As a trans environmental educator, this is the gift I feel most empowered to give to learners: a deep, unshakeable, hard-won sense of belongingness to everything that is that no hateful politician or repressive legislation can take away.
Recommended Citation
Koning, Y.,
&
Abreu, S.
(2024).
Always Been (English).
Occasional Paper Series,
(52).
DOI: https://doi.org/10.58295/2375-3668.1534
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