In America, few modes of transit combine a childlike sense of joy with a valid fear of death quite like the bicycle. Urban bike commuters and child-hauling suburbanites can both see that America’s roadways were designed with cars in mind, not pedestrians or cyclists. We’ve known since the early 1950’s that air pollution is linked to cars and transportation—the largest source of greenhouse gas emissions in the United States—and can’t help but wonder: what will it take to finally release us from our toxic car-based identity? As of 2021, electric bikes have been outpacing global EV and hybrid auto sales, and a estimates that by 2023, there will be roughly 300 million e-bikes around the world. Cars have been beating regular bikes in the war for America’s roads for decades. But with e-bikes on the rise, a less-polluted, less car-centric society may finally be in our future.

“It would be a huge contribution if we got everybody out of their cars and onto bikes,” says Adam Markham, director of the Climate & Energy Program at the . “The more we do to reduce emissions, the faster we do it, the less damage there will be.” Markham warns that the international “Paris Target” to keep average global warming below 1.5 degrees Celsius of pre-industrial levels is highly unlikely. “We’re currently around 1.1 degrees and it’s possible we might go to four degrees, and that becomes not just dangerous but catastrophic.” Alarming as this may be, fighting climate change isn’t why most people ride an e-bike. According to by Portland State University, the majority of riders are motivated to buy e-bikes to increase their range and speed, andÌętoÌęhandle hills more easily. “Americans who would never have considered riding a bike were thrust onto this thing and woah! these e-bikes can make cycling easier,” says Larry Pizzi, general manager of and board director of the nonprofit . “The pandemic cast a bright light on the biking category, creating a whole new generation of cyclists.”

To get an inside take on the future role of e-biking, we spoke to leading experts in cycling, climate science, urban planning, and micromobility. From sustainable batteries to better bike infrastructure, here are some predictions about how e-bikes will transform—both themselves and our car-mad world—by 2073.

Helping to Decarbonize and De-Car Cities

In the best-case scenario of what e-bikes could do for urban policy planning, consider this: in 50 years, cities and suburbs could be brimming with wide and protected bike lanes running parallel to the sidewalk. Restrictions on cars could include , more one-way streets, , and priority given to ride-sharing vehicles. Eliminating half the cars that exist today could reallocate more space and fundingÌęfor people taking mass transit and bikes.

Juliet Scott-Croxford is the North America president at , a folding bike brand that saw direct-to-consumer sales of its electric models rise 239 percent in the U.S. in 2022. Scott-Croxford envisions a future in which every parked car was shared by multiple people, and each vehicle had a rack containing four e-bikes. “This would create a network of flexible transit between e-bikes and cars where you only pay for what you use and have access to the right mode of transportation for the job wherever you go,” she says.

Caroline Samponaro, the head of micromobility and transit policy at ride share company Lyft, also envisions a future in which we’ve dropped the single–occupancy dependent transit system and created micromobility hubs with various charging capabilities. “In 50 years, we will have made U.S. investments in greenway networks, connecting more rural and less dense towns with safe bike superhighways,” says Samponaro. Lyft’s Citi Bike program in New York saw 18.3 million trips and 40 million miles traveled on e-bikes in 2022, and the company recorded a more than 50 percentÌęincrease in bike ridership since 2020, a growth Samponaro attributes to e-bikes.

Scott-Croxford thinks widespread adoption of e-bikes will come to fruition with cities across the U.S. implementing e-bike rebate programs. Denver’s program has cut 2,040 metric tons of carbon dioxide and saved nearly $1 million in avoided fuel and electricity costs, . And the federalÌę, currently pending in Congress, would offer all Americans a refundable tax credit of 30 percentÌęoff the purchase of an e-bike, up to $1,500.

By the 2070s, there should finally be more bikes than vehicles on the road in U.S. cities as municipalitiesÌęget less hospitable to cars. Mikael Colville-Andersen, a renowned , founder of the non-profit , and an urban design consultant, sees this substitute effect happening now in Europe, where many cities have removed parking spaces to make driving difficult. The urban transformation will take longer to happen in America last due to what he calls “the brain fart of a century of car-centric planning and thinking.” But, he says, “it’s only a tiny window in the history of humans and it has a shelf-life.”

Sustainable Battery Tech Will Be Needed

Used in everything from phones and laptops to electric vehicles and bikes, lithium-ion batteries are hardly green inventions. They rely on rare-earth metals likeÌęnickel, lithium, and cobalt, the latter of which is frequently compared to a “blood diamond” for the associated inhumane mining practices in places like the Congo. Ravi Kempaiah, a battery scientist and the founder ofÌę, predicts that by 2073 more devices will rely onÌęwhich are cheaper, resistant to cold, and more climate-friendly than the ones we currently use.ÌęIn the next 50 years, alternate power sources like could also become a viable option.

In the meantime, Kempiah is trying to make e-bikes last longer. In his opinion, the technology’s current limits make the bikes feel disposable.

“The majority of e-bikes sold in the U.S. are between $1,500 and $2,500 and are bought at Costco or online with warranties often lasting up to one year, and batteries lasting up to three years,” says Kempaiah, who until recently held the world record for theÌęlongest e-bike ride. This summer, Zen will launch e-bikes and standalone batteries with twice the lifetime of regular e-bike packs. Kempaiah says Zen is working to build a battery that will last four times as long as current lithium-ion ones, and is able to be recycled after 12 years, which could cut down on mining. America faces a long road ahead to implementing sustainable battery solutions on a large scale,Ìębut it no longer feels like an elusive quest for success.ÌęIn June 2021, the Biden administration called forÌęÌęin batteries; Nissan announced in 2022 that it will introduce cobalt-free batteries by 2028; and Tesla isÌęshifting toÌę, which contain zero cobalt and nickel, for its Model 3 and Model Y cars.

In the future, federal legislation will likely mandate that batteries be recycled and kept out of landfills. In November 2021, PeopleForBikes joined forces with the non-profitÌęCall2RecycleÌęto offer a first-of-its-kind battery recycling program that accepts batteries from nearly 40 bike suppliers and has over 1,800 specially trained bike shops throughout the country serving as drop-off locations. “Call2Recycle is not an industry-wide practice, but it will be,” said Kempaiah, who believes that by 2073 we will primarily use recycled batteries to power e-bikes.

Smarter, Safer, and Seldom-Needed Machines

At the end of the day, the most sustainable bike battery is still a human one.

As popular as e-bikes are now, in their relatively earlyÌęstage, the majority of the population may not need them by 2073. Ìę“Bikes have worked perfectly in every city on this planet for about 130 years. Why fix something that isn’t broken?” says Mikael Colville-Anderson. I think that the current wow factor will fade, like the Segway and e-scooters.” ÌęColville-Andersen believes pedal-assist e-bikes to be useful for a select group of people, such as the elderly, but thinks cities will be better off without so many of them. “In 50 years, the e-bike will be around but people will realize that they don’t need one for urban trips; a normal bike will suffice in our re-designed, slowed-down cities,” he says. “The convenience factor of just walking out of a home and hopping on a bike without worrying about whether it’s charged or not will reign supreme.”ÌęHowever, for those engineering the e-bike’s full potential, this is just the beginning of an exciting new frontier.

David Devine, senior product director at , imagines current barriers such as range anxiety, ease of charging, and cost of ownership will be a thing of the past. He also expects to see a very different product landscape, with improvements in motor efficiency, energy density of the battery, and safety. “The cycling industry will need to collaborate with automotive and other forms of transport to have a better connected awareness network for V2X (vehicle-to-everything)Ìęcommunication,” he says. “Being able to balance different levels of autonomous vehicles with driver-oriented transport will be important.” Cannondale, one of the first brands to partner with Bosch on urban e-bike development in 2010-2011,Ìęis at the forefront of connected bike technology with innovations like , an intelligent network of lights and a rear-facing radar that helps riders be more aware of their surroundings and more visible to drivers.

These kinds of tech advances may be key to bridging the great divide, wherein e-bikes have done their job in helping create a safer new world with far fewer cars. “By the 2070s, we may still be tech-focused but analog solutions—like the normal bicycle—will return,” says Colville-Andersen. Even if non-pedal assist bikes become the norm, e-bikes may still hold significant value for some Americans. marketing director Justin Gottlieb says, “Electric cargo bikes will become the SUV or pickup truck solution forÌępeople to carry kids, adults, groceries, camping equipment, soccer gear and so much more while getting exercise and lowering theirÌęcarbon footprint.” However the bike may evolve in 50 years, be it into an autonomous marvel with automatic braking and steering or a , as long as there is a passionate ridership, the bike will be passed down like an undeniable heirloom, raising the next generation of happy-go-lucky cyclists.

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For those of us who have benefited from an outdoor upbringing, it can be easy to forget that taking a family walk in the woods is an immense privilege. Many marginalized groups have limited access to the natural world, and in some families there may be no precedent for even deliberately cultivating a relationship with it.

Meanwhile, youth are grappling with climate anxiety. One found that 59 percent of young people aged 16 to 25 were extremely concerned about climate change, and more than 45 percent of them said this negatively impacted their daily lives. The good news, , is that participating in collaborative, hands-on educational activities related to climate change is one proven way to ease the distress. These activities can also help kids find community in environmental stewardship, which is key to creating a sustainable movement—youth who make a shared positive local impact are more likely to remain invested in climate action as adults.

Organizations are popping up worldwide to provide more outdoor access and environmental education to youth, fostering the next generation of advocates for our planet. From New Mexico’s Navajo Nation to the school gardens of Charleston, we identified five programs across the U.S. that have proven track records of igniting kids’ interest in the natural world and inspiring them to fight for outdoor equity and climate justice in their own backyards.

The Green Heart Project, Charleston, South Carolina

In an age where young students aren’t guaranteed any outdoor activity during the day—just ten states in the country require recess in elementary school, for an average of 25 minutes— is setting a better precedent with its farm to school program, which brings kids into a garden for one hour every week through the year. Started in 2009 with a third grade class at Mitchell Elementary, Green Heart now operates in 18 public and private schools throughout Charleston (including three schools added this year), and has built a successful modelÌęfor hands-on food and outdoor education between its bountiful vegetable gardens and lesson plans covering food, health, science, and the environment. The in-school and after-school program, serving pre-K to 12th grade, reached 3,900 students last year, and expects to reach 5,000 this year. “Our core value is to respect, so we have three rules: respect yourself, your buddies, and the earth,” says Amanda Howell, Green Heart’s development director. “When you have that as a core value and that experience nurturing the garden and understanding how food grows, where it comes from, and the impact on the earth, it is raising a generation of kids to have this fundamental respect for the environment and a drive to do something about it.”

Aaron Johnson, who recently graduated from the Charleston Charter School for Math and Science, started with Green Heart as a third-grader at the program’s flagship elementary school and has since returned to participate in all three summers of its eight-week youth internship program, which entails working in school gardens and engaging in educational sessions on food systems, healthy living, career preparedness, and environmental and financial literacy. “Working on Green Heart projects has changed how I eat and my perspective on life while having fun and learning how to live off the land, even in the most unexpected spots,” says Johnson.

Howell says that these days, the community is more interested in the gardens than ever: “Especially after the COVID spike, people have shown a new appreciation for the food system and where food comes from.” During the pandemic, she’s also seen many high school interns becoming inspired to study sustainable agriculture, gardening therapy, and social justice work. “If our high school students are a testament to the next generation of climate leaders,” Howell adds, “I feel pretty good about the direction we’re going in.”

K’é Community Trail Building Program, Crownpoint, New Mexico

This past summer, amid 90-degree heat, sagebrush, and sandstone plateaus, 17-year-old Caleb Jack found himself carrying giant rocks as he worked to create a half-mile of the HashtƂishnii Trail, completing a one-mile loop in his Crownpoint community of the Navajo Nation, the largest Indian reservation and tribe in the United States, with over 27,000 square miles and 400,000 residents. Jack is one of five paid interns who worked on the four-week , which launched in 2018. He says he’s learned more than he imagined, from trail design to Leave No Trace principles: “I have an idea now of how to protect our land and take it back to how it used to look.”

Virginia Nelson, program supervisor in the , says Navajo applicants were selected based on their interest in environmental science. “Some interns came from 25 miles away and worked from 8 A.M. to 5 P.M.,” says Nelson. “Passing by the trail, seeing it being used by local community members, after-school students, and their own families, the interns feel very proud of their work.”

Daniel Vandever, who coordinates trail development, says the program was designed to give kids hands-on experience in trail design and rehabilitation, offer safe walking paths in town, hold space for youth to connect with different educators—from places like and the —and expose kids to various career options associated with outdoor recreation and community development.

“Whether this program leads to a path toward community development, conservation and stewardship, or climate activism, is up to them. The important thing is they have the option,” says Vandever, who’s also an acclaimed and owner of South of Sunrise Creative, a strategic communications firm that helps advance higher education initiatives through community development.

Generation Wild, Colorado Ìę

After creating local parks and trails with communities across the state for 20 years, saw that kids were spending less and less time outside. Since 1992, GOCO has been receiving 50 percentÌęof the proceeds from the Colorado Lottery to protect wetlands, rivers, and open spaces. In 2017, GOCO launched the initiative with a 29 million dollar investment, “with the intent being that if kids and towns can’t connect to the outdoors, they won’t be compelled to advocate for it in the future,” says executive director Jackie Miller, who helped spearhead the project. GenWild funds central community hubs, which it calls coalitions, that bring families together to not only get outdoors but also imagine new ways of engaging with nature.

Today, there are 12Ìęcoalitions across the state, which have collectively reached more than 40,000 youth through programs, jobs, internships, and volunteer opportunities. In addition to free community events for all ages, such as trash cleanups in Rocky Mountain Arsenal Wildlife Refuge or Pencils in the Park art lessons in Pikes Peak, GenWild has offered 1,598 paid opportunities for kids ages 15 to 22. These include positions leading land stewardship projects on public lands, organizing recreational activities at nature centers, and leading environmental education workshops.

Prior to rolling out GenWild, Miller says GOCO looked at what the barriers were to getting youth outside and gear was top of the list, followed by lack of time and lack of representation. “We knew we had to provide resources,” she says. “Now there are many gear lending libraries such as at Colorado Mountain College, which is a hub for their Generation Wild activity.” Miller credits part of the program’s success to experiences that allow for bonding with peers, creating a sense of community, and generating personal growth by doing things kids never thought they could.

That has been the case for Jovani, a high school senior from Sheridan, who’s been involved with the program since he was in seventh grade, and has worked in various paid GenWild positions for the past six years. “The people in my community notice the work we do—the gardens, the river cleanups, the rain barrel installations, planting over 40 trees in our neighborhood. I think it gives people hope in our community and more faith in those around us,” says Jovani, who got a tree tattoo to show his love for nature. “I’ll stand up for natural places no matter the cost.” Besides discovering a love of camping and public speaking—despite being an introvert, he points out—Jovani has found a passion for water sampling. “It’s actually quite fun to go into the river and test the quality of the water to make sure that every little organism lives and prospers so that the entire ecosystem is healthy. It helps everyone around us to get this data down so that people can be informed because it impacts us all as a community together,” says Jovani, who was just hired as the water assistant at a GenWild affiliated organization, Groundwork Denver.

Urban Ecology Center, Milwaukee, Wisconsin

The Menomonee Valley branch of the sits on the southern bend of the Menomonee River, between 24-acre Three Bridges Park to the north and Silver City, one of Milwaukee’s most diverse neighborhoods, to the south. “For the last ten years, we’ve been building a positive connection with nature,” says branch manager AngĂ©lica SĂĄnchez. “Whether it’s a third-grade class learning about the rock cycle with our Neighborhood Environmental Education Project, a summer camper catching a frog for the first time, or one of our after-school Valley Explorers making their own kite from items found in nature.”

As with all three inner city UEC locations in Milwaukee, the Menomonee Valley branch shows how nature is all around us, that families don’t have to make a long trip outside of the city to find it. Sánchez understands that it can be hard for kids in cities to think of their local green spaces as safe places to learn and grow. “Fostering a space in which kids can explore, learn with a mentor, and see themselves reflected is key to our mission,” says Sánchez, adding that her branch interacts with roughly 20,000 kids every year within a two-mile radius of the center. “We want kids to see the parks we manage as theirs, their park in their own backyard that they can steward and care for.”

One eight-year-old Valley Explorer participant spoke proudly of how they feel more connected to and protective of the environment now than before participating in the UEP program. “I’ve learned how to get from place to place in the park, and am getting to know the park and its hiking trails. I’ve learned how to be kind to animals,” says the Valley Explorer, recalling memorable moments when they learned how to fish, touched a turtle, and studied a salamander. “I love handling the animals and I like to run around outside with the other kids.”

SĂĄnchezÌęhas watched kids light up when they are active in the outdoors, climbing trees and connecting directly with creatures—especially while pond dipping and digging for worms—and how profound those seemingly simple experiences can be for them. “We have seen some of our elementary-age students come back as high school outdoor leaders, summer interns, and even staff,” she says.

Community Nature Connection, Los Angeles, California Ìę

When the pandemic put a halt to much of programming, the six-year-old nonprofit took the forced pause as an opportunity to reflect on how best to broaden access to nature for those most affected by racism, socio-economics, disability, and gender bias. The organization has always centered its work around marginalized youth, but CNC’s new executive director, Delaney Alamillo, says that moving forward there needs to be a greater awareness of the urban environment as a mecca of discovery, with its own rich tapestry of plant and animal species. Instead of initiating participants at one of CNC’s coastal sites or a distant mountain trail, the program is going first to where its youth actually live, seeking a mutual understanding of what exists there. “Outdoor learning doesn’t have to take place in a natural setting,” says Alamillo, who will put this message into practice at 20 elementary schools in Los Angeles this coming spring.

One of CNC’s major new projects is the Akuutet Learning Nursery, situated in Elyria Canyon Park in Northeast L.A. Opening this year, the native plant nursery will aid restoration efforts in the area while also operating as a community engagement site for public education. “We’re planning to recruit nearby high school students at Sotomayor Arts and Sciences Magnet as paid interns to work in the nursery,” says 23-year-old Tawny De Guzman, CNC’s new nursery and restoration coordinator. “They’ll learn techniques like developing a seed bank and have the experience with native milkweed propagation to support the declining monarch populations.” During college, De Guzman worked with the National Park Service as well as with CNC on a restoration team, helping to lead a project planting more than 50,000 plants in the Santa Monica Mountains. She says this new full-time role at Community Nature Connection is a dream job. “My position perfectly combines restoration, field work, native plants, and increasing environmental justice for communities that are marginalized, folks like me who had no idea these mountains and natural spaces existed and were readily available to people in L.A.”

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On a winter day in 2016, Louise Washer received a call that would change her life. As president of the (NRWA), Washer was overseeing habitat restoration projects, monitoring water quality, and working to eliminate pesticide use in seven watershed towns in Connecticut. The call was from her friend Donna Merrill, who was developing a community land stewardship project at the Hudson to Housatonic Conservation Partnership, similar to the NRWA. Merrill had just experienced an aha! moment upon discovering the citizen-powered ‘’ in Oslo, Norway—a city-wide trail of bee-friendly food and shelter stations.

Emboldened by Oslo’s dedication to protecting its pollinators, Merrill and Washer teamed up on a mission to plant native dogwood trees in the neighboring towns of North Salem, New York, and Ridgefield, Connecticut. “It was a huge hit. People loved the idea of restoring habitats across state lines,” says Washer, who saw the potential for a similar initiative across NRWA’s seven towns. In late 2017, Merrill, Washer, and several other area women launched what’s now known as the , a volunteer-run network of public and private gardens providing pesticide-free native plant corridors, spaced roughly half a mile apart, for bees, hummingbirds, and butterflies—all pollinators that are responsible for one in every three bites of food we eat.Ìę Pollinators are four times more attracted to native plants than non-native or invasive ones, according to the .

Anyone can register a garden on the , which receives 70,000 online visits every month, by attesting that they’ve curated a predominantly native plant habitat (ideally by converting some modest portion of lawn). While the Northeast harbors the largest concentration of these official native gardens, the pathway has spread to every corner of the country, in cities like New Orleans, Atlanta, Chicago, Oklahoma City, San Antonio, Los Angeles, Bend, and Seattle. Today, there are more than 280 pathways comprised of thousands of individual properties (the majority of which are less than two acres), covering over 5,000 acres across the United States.

I learned about the Pollinator Pathway in late summer 2021. I had just bought my first-ever house in Ridgefield, Connecticut,Ìęand was out for a run in the neighborhood park when a flurry of butterflies stopped me mid-stride at the top of a hill beside a six-foot-tall patch of colorful plants; buzzing bees overpowered Queen B in my AirPods. A large butterfly sign advertised the Pollinator Pathway website, where I found info about how to into a pollinator-friendly landscape, find the best , and effectively . I realized my new backyard was a crime against nature.

My 5,000-square-foot lawn, a.k.a. food desert for bees, is among the roughly 50 million acres of lawn in the continental United States that takes up as much land as all the national parks combined. Our sod-obsessed, grow, mowÌęand blow culture relies on , , and 59 million pounds of pesticides per year, according to the Environmental Protection Agency. The pesticides we use to keep our lawns pristine aren’t just bad for us, they’re deadly for pollinators. A study published last year found that exposure to commonly used toxic pesticides called neonicotinoids or “neonics” can Ìę

“Man is more dependent on these wild pollinators than he usually realizes,” wrote Rachel Carson in Silent Spring, published 60 years ago. More recently, a 2020 documentary called deftly depicts how the mass decline of these species threatens devastating food shortages, which also means the , from fruit to nuts and chocolate. Turning our desolate lawns into native gardens is an essential step in preventing pollinator extinction.

This spring, I reached out to Washer for advice on how to “go native.” She told me I didn’t have to do much. “Stop mowing! See what happens,” she said. “If you don’t like what pops up, weed whack.”

For the first few months, the lawn gave off awkward vibes, like a teenager trying to grow a beard. When I called up Washer to report on my prepubescent native garden, she’d just come back from an exhilarating bike ride. “I saw a monarch butterfly laying eggs on poke milkweed on the side of the road!”

It’s little wonder that a person who stops mid-ride to appreciate the cycle of life would be the force behind the Pollinator Pathway. You’d never know that Washer once maintained a tidy sweep of turf at her home for years, unaware of the significance of native plants or how detrimental a leaf blower is to the ground nesting of native bees and other overwintering insects. “I turned my lawn into a wild native garden and suddenly the hummingbird moths and the monarchs came,” says Washer, who’s getting her botany certificate at the New York Botanical Garden. “It was like learning to read the world around me; I just saw green.”

By summer, things were beginning to sprout in my backyard: Queen Anne’s lace, clover, yellow buttercups. My kids helped dig holes and put native plants gently in the ground: ragweed, crystal peak white, coreopsis, goldenrod, brown-eyed Susan, aromatic aster. We started a new morning routine of eating breakfast outside with the bees, and I felt grounded in gratitude for this space that had become a form of meditation, a salve for climate anxiety.

I called up Jana Hogan, another Pollinator Pathway co-founder and president of the , who designed the Pollinator Pathway website and has joined Washer in Zooming and traveling across the Northeast to give about starting native gardens and stopping the use of pesticides. Although my yard was turning into a meadow, I confessed I was kind of winging it and still hadn’t seen any butterflies.

Hogan has planted ten pollinator gardens in a single day, including at the modern art museum The Aldrich and the 18^th-century historical site Keeler Tavern, so when she told me not to sweat it, I took her word for it.

Hogan suggested buying a bunch of plugs at , a 68-acre native nursery in Woodbury, Connecticut, with over 400 native plant species. The thought of more plants was overwhelming, but Hogan assured me they’d be easy to maintain as native plants need less water, fertilizer, and pruning than turf or non-native plants, which haven’t originally evolved in that climate. Before we hung up, she squashed any lingering doubts about why this project matters. “Bottom line, if something isn’t eating your garden, you’re not part of the ecosystem.”

At Earth Tones, I met owner Kyle Turoczi, a soil scientist and wetland ecologist, who has witnessed a multi-generational awakening around native gardening. “In the last two years, we’ve been busier than ever. People come here from as far as Maine, more aware of climate change and the decline of pollinators. They are alarmed by seeing so few insects in their gardens,” said Turoczi. “There is a collective sense of urgency I haven’t seen in 18 years of running this nursery.”

I drove home with a trunk full of perennials: purple wild bergamot, red cardinals, echinacea, black-eyed coneflowers. I dug more holes in the knee-high meadow. When my arms got sore, I told myself my kids were holding me accountable and that this Pollinator Pathway project was going to solidify their green DNA, ensuring they never lose touch with nature.

In July, the butterflies finally arrived: tiger swallowtail, monarch, black swallowtail, and cloudless sulphur. Tiny flying reminders of how important this collaborative effort is between us, and a sign that my backyard had rejoined nature.

Washer once looked me straight in the eyes and declared, “It is the end of the lawn.” She’s part of a chorus. The Washington Post is , the New York Times is advising readers to “kill” their lawns, the state of Nevada is , and there’s even a reality TV show, , about converting lawns into eco oases. șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű, too, has written about the benefits of giving up on green grass in favor of messier but more natural landscaping. Although many homeowners associations require regular lawn maintenance to protect curb appeal, and towns are still laying down turf requirements—as in Elroy, Wisconsin, where it’sÌęÌęto grow your front yard more than 6 inches tall—widespread issues like deepening drought and moral reckoning with the climate crisis are forcing change. If the old symbol of the American dream was Frederick Law Olmsted’s romanticized “turf in broad, unbroken fields,” then the new one is a native garden.

Pedaling through Ridgefield this summer, I see butterflies and butterfly-shaped Pollinator Pathway signs everywhere. It’s not lost on me that I live in an affluent, predominantly whiteÌęcommunity, where people can afford to be worried about a food desert for bees rather than human beings. But at least this restoration work to rebuild relationships with pollinators and the natural world is happening. And it’s not stopping here.

In August, Washer invites me to tour in South Norwalk, Connecticut, where a city landfill has been transformed into a spectacular 5.5-acre native paradise. Volunteers wearing lime green “Weed Warriors” T-shirts are pulling up mugwort and Japanese knotweed. As I stare at a massive tangle of invasive plants, a volunteer named Betsy flashes a bright smile and says, “One weed at a time!” A 14-year-old named James chimes in, “I like getting outside and helping the environment. I wish we were here for longer than two hours.”

Standing on the banks of the Norwalk River, Washer talks about how the Pollinator Pathway will continue supporting pathways like Oyster Shell Park and aiding new local initiatives that call on them for help. , for example, relies on forging partnerships in various Pollinator Pathway towns in order to help create wildlife corridors connecting coastal areas of Westchester and Fairfield County up to Massachusetts and the Canadian boreal forests. Washer’s determination to mend the broken connection with nature is so fierce it seems to change the air. Everything goes quiet when she speaks, like the insects are listening. She says the pollinator pathway movement is also evolving in new directions. “The goal has shifted to outreach, educating the public, and passing legislation around pesticides and .”

“We’d like to bring more diversity into the picture, into what the pathway movement looks like. We’re partnering with groups in underserved urban communities and providing grant funding and volunteers to help with existing projects,” says Washer,Ìęciting plans to work in Bridgeport with community farms and school gardens and with in Yonkers, where the Pollinator Pathway hopes to partner on restoration work along the Saw Mill River with a paid “Green Team” of local teenagers. Washer also sees Indigenous people’s knowledge about sustainable land stewardship as integral to the success of the Pollinator Pathway movement. Cristina Cabrera, a Pocasset Wampanoag and executive director of the Northeast Sustainable Agriculture Working Group, will be speaking to the Pollinator Pathway board to share her experiences growing food on an Indigenous farm.

In September, my native garden is winding down, even as it courts pollinators, pickerel frogs, and migrating birds. I’m gearing up to co-host a neighborhood Pollinator Pathway party with Washer. The gist of it is you have some beers and chat with neighbors about how to create a pollinator-friendly property and the connection between people’s lawns and the water they drink. At the very least, people will stop using and opt for an ; they’ll advocate to pass local legislation that expands the pathway habitats, , and . Washer says this is a proven way to reach the others (like me, not so long ago).

On an early autumn morning in our meadow, my kids drizzle honey over pancakes as we sit under the heart-shaped leaves of an eastern redbud tree. My daughter points to a cluster of purple aster: “Bee, bee!” My son joins in: “Monarch!” He finishes a bite of pancake and says, “This is like the coolest TV show on earth!” He gets up to straighten our Pollinator Pathway sign, one of 9,000 sold so far, then turns to me. “Our garden will last forever, right?”

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For our first kid-free vacation in three years, my husband and I planned a weekend in Cape Cod. Just the two of us, our neglected road bikes, and maybe some cold lobster rolls in our jersey pockets. When we actually pulled it off last spring, it felt like a second honeymoon. No responsibilities, no cheddar bunnies. We could finally catch our breath.

Like millions of parents across the country, we carried on through the pandemic as the challenges piled up. In the early days of the lockdown, I still vividly recall taking care of my COVID-infected husband, homeschooling our then four-year-old son, wiping down groceries, nursing my four-month-old daughter, and rethinking my career when The New York Times had to shelve a filed travel assignment. Then our landlord informed us he wanted to sell our home. And shortly after that, my wonderful 104-year-old grandmother died.ÌęÌęÌęÌęÌę

A found that more than half of those who identified as caregivers reported experiencing depression or PTSD-related symptoms due to the stressors of COVID-19. It took me a while to realize that I was a burnt out caregiver. My usual drive to exercise and play with the kids gave way to all-consuming fatigue, a shorter temper and one glass of wine too many; there came a point when I had nothing left in the tank. I called up , a Brooklyn-based clinical psychologist and parenting therapist, who said the well-being of caregivers is one of the best predictors of a child’s psychological and emotional health. “Kids have the best chance for healthy development when they are raised by parents who have the internal resources to meet their needs with calm, confident consistency.” The opposite of calm, I reached out to my newly vaccinated parents and asked for help.

Here’s how to maximize your own kid-free adventure—avoiding a few rookie mistakes I made—and why it’s a surprisingly healthy choice for the entire family.Ìę

Prepare the Kids, Reduce the Guilt

Before booking a getaway, figure out who’s watching the kids. If grandparents aren’t local and your regular babysitter isn’t available, turn to school friends in the same boat. Offer to take their kids for a night next time if they take yours, or consider traveling with another couple and getting a hotel with a kids club.Ìę

Avoid a traumatic goodbye by giving kids substantial notice that you’re hitting the road—and reminding them who they’ll be hanging out with while you’re away. As Coor cautioned, the most important thing is trusting that they can handle your absence for a few days, and not projecting your own nervous anticipation onto them. “Confidently provide your child with factual information tailored to their developmental level of understanding” she said. “Be honest about being apart without feigning excitement or putting a ‘but’ in your sentence (‘…but you’ll be with your favorite cousins and I just know you’ll have a BLAST!’).” Allow kids to share their feelings about being separated, and address whatever questions they have as they arise.

For several weeks up until the day of departure, my husband and I brought up little reminders about the trip so it didn’t come as a surprise. When we drove away and my son ran across the front yard yelling, “Bye! I love you! Have a great trip!” my initial guilt about leaving the kids had all but vanished. I remembered what Coor said about modeling good self-care in order to empower our kids to engage in self-care themselves—even during childhood. “You’re treating yourself well by resting, reconnecting with yourself and your partner, and refilling your own cup so that you can come home with plenty of reserves to refill theirs.”

Keep the Stoke High and Trip Expectations Low

After a year without childcare, three days on the Cape sounded like an unbelievable amount of time to catch up on the active outdoor lifestyle we’d been missing. Instead of just packing our campervan with road bikes, we threw in running shoes, an inflatable ,Ìęand a SUP board. On our way north from Connecticut, over two citrusy pints of Surfside Session at in Mashpee, Massachusetts, we decided we didn’t need to have such an action-packed getaway simply because we could. Rather than ruin the trip by trying to do it all, I let go of plans to paddle around Washburn Island and Wellfleet and get post-SUP drinks at Truro Vineyard.Ìę

, the co-founder of , a newly launched community for active families, and an adventure-loving mom to two, knows all about holding space for kid-free experiences and celebrating the win of an adults-only trip, whatever that entails. “A few years ago, my husband and I committed to supporting each other in spending time outside alone without the kids. Sometimes this looks like him heading out for a Saturday of singletrackÌęon his mountain bike, and other times this looks like me heading out for a backpacking trip with my mama friends,” said Froelich. “I’ll admit, I always feel a portion of guilt when I’m heading out, but I always come home with my cup overflowing. I’m ready to pour myself back into my kids when I take care of my own needs!”Ìę

Following nights of uninterrupted sleep by the sea in South Yarmouth and at in Falmouth, the days sparkled with possibility. Riding along the and , being able to shift gears and enjoy pressure-free days without juggling work, school, playdates, and sibling drama, was completely soul-nourishing. It felt like free therapy. “After over a year of 24/7 parenting, many parents have lost touch with any roles they play in life besides On-Demand Snack Maker,” said Coor. “Breaks from caregiving allow parents to recharge and attend to the aspects of their lives—outside of their children—that bring them joy.”Ìę

The Kids Will Be Alright, but Have a Game Plan

Don’t spend the first half of your vacation looking at photos of your kids, wondering if they feel abandoned, checking the baby monitor (then calling the caregiver). They’ll be fine. My son built forts and ate too much chocolate ice cream. If I’d set expectations for the trip before we left, I would’ve been able to disconnect from parent mode earlier and connect more with my husband. Have some sort of game plan, whether that means FaceTiming one day, exchanging a few pics, or disengaging altogether. It’s important for kids to build confidence in their ability to thrive without parents around, and the long-term benefits of little bursts of independence are indisputable.Ìę

According to a by the Society for Research in Child Development, kids who engage in alone time and witness their parents doing the same are more psychologically adept in stressful situations (such as a pandemic) and will be better equipped to function on their own as they get older. Autonomy-supportive parental behavior “fosters intrinsic motivation and provides the opportunity for the child’s perception of self-authorship of one’s actions
and being effective in attaining a sense of mastery.” The three-week study also found that there is a positive impact on the entire family climate, notably “reductions of parental stress and increases in parental vitality.”Ìę

Embrace the Newfound Space and Maintain It

As with any vacation, that free-wheeling vibe fizzles once you return home, especially if it’s to a kid-centered universe. But as my husband and I discovered since our escape to the Cape, even taking a day here and there to hit pause—be it separately or together—is enough to keep the mental load light and prevent a sense of self-erasure at the service of our children’s achievement. Our five-year-old has adjusted really well to our more frequent kid-free breaks, always eager to share stories and welcome the occasional surprise goody. He’s also been on board with a more hands-off approach to parenting, enjoying the extra freedom to follow his own wild, creative pursuits, be it planting milk weed in his fairy garden or reading at his own pace. In giving everyone more space, I have greater patience with myself and my family and don’t feel compelled to meet the high standards of a performative mom culture.Ìę

These days, as we gather around our van’s dining table, hovering over maps and national park guidebooks on our homeward trip from California to Connecticut, I’m still stoked for all the crazy, cheddar bunny-filled days on the road ahead. Which probably has something to do with that solo century ride I’m looking forward to when I get back.

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My family and I bought a Ford Transit last spring, and it felt like a dirty secret. Despite being a relatively svelte RV, theÌętypical Class B camper gets 16 to 20 miles per gallon and emits far more greenhouse-gas emissions than my Prius or bike, both my long-preferred modes of transit.

Vans are traditionally converted using toxic materials, such as foam insulation, chemically treated plywood, vinyl, and various other plastic parts. Surprising, right? Scrolling through thousands of #vanlife photos, one might have the impression that it’s a vehicle for woke nature enthusiasts and families raising the next generation of Greta Thunbergs. AmidÌętheÌępandemic, vanlife felt like a safe mode of travel, so my husband and I decided to free our two young kids from routine (or whatÌęwas left of it) and transform a former Enterprise cargo van into an 85-square-foot home for weekend escapes and road-trip vacations. But I knew I would have a hard time enjoying the adventures—first toÌęÌęin Maine and then to Siesta Key in Florida—if we didn’t do the greenest build possible (andÌę to offset each trip).

Although vanlife is booming, environmentally friendly builds are not. “It’s very rare, but occasionally we have customers asking about using eco-conscious materials,” said Brian Jagodnik, the marketing and creative director atÌę, a van-conversion company based in Portland, Oregon, that churns out 100 builds a year and is booked through summer 2021. I came across șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Van on aÌę of 185 van-conversion companies in North America, of which only fourÌęmention being eco-minded. (Keep it up,Ìę,Ìę, ,Ìęand .)

I drove our van, Egret, home from upstate New York to Connecticut and spent the next six months researching green builds, talking to experts, and working with my local builder, who has since overhauled his approach. “Now that I’ve become more aware of eco-options, I’ll be able to offer them to my customers,” says Ryan O’Connor, founder ofÌę. “Your build proved that there are eco-options available for every major component of a van build—insulation, flooring, lumber, paint, and stains, etc. In many cases, they perform better than traditional options without additional cost.” He added that the type of person who is drawn to vanlife typically has a great appreciation for the outdoors and a tendency towards minimalism. “These concepts fit hand in hand with eco-conscious building,” he says.

Here’s how to get your green rig ready for the open road.

Buy Tree-Hugger-Approved FlooringÌę

If Frank Lloyd Wright had a van today, you can bet there’d be cork in it. The pioneer of green architecture was fond of usingÌęcork oakÌęfor the flooring in his studio, home, and at his magnum opus,Ìę. Besides its uniquely sustainable nature, high durability, and natural sound-inhibiting properties, cork’s soft waterproof surface is as easy to clean as it is to assemble.

Amazingly, the cork tree actually benefits from the harvesting process. Extracting the bark of a cork oak is an ancient practice of self-regeneration that enhances its ability to absorb carbon dioxide. We sent away for 120 square feet (at $4.99 per square foot)Ìęof Ocean OakÌępanels fromÌę, a 150-year-old family cork business in Portugal that works with big-box home-improvement retailers like Lowes and bills itself as “carbon-negative flooring.” As Amorim’s Vincent Circosta put it, “The tree breathes in more carbon than it takes to ship the product.”

Source Lumber from a Sustainable Sawmill

Even the most well-intentioned builder may suggest using run-of-the-mill wood for ceilings, walls, cabinets, benches, and other interior essentials. Opt instead to work with small local sawmills, which are fruitful sources of beautiful salvaged wood (the black walnut countertops and dining table are my favorite pieces in the van). Sustainable sawmills are often more invested in preserving natural-forest areas and supporting urban-renewal projects, and they can turn felled trees into high-quality pieces you won’t find at Home Depot.

Other options include reclaimed and Forest Stewardship Council–certified wood from a local lumberyard or a modular bamboo conversion kit from a company likeÌę that’s compatible with Mercedes Sprinter and Ford Transit vans.

Go Wild on Insulation

Wool not only makes for greatÌęperformance wear, but it’s also the ideal camper insulator for its ability to retain warmth, reduce energy loss and noise, and resist mold and mildew. It’s also installed in walls with relative ease. A biodegradable and renewable resource, wool also offers long-term sustainability andÌę. Unlike popular synthetic-insulation alternatives like Thinsulate, foam boards, and spray-foam kits, wool is noncarcinogenic, formaldehyde-free, and naturally flame resistant.

We usedÌę, which sources its 100 percent wool product from New Zealand, manufactures in the U.S., and partners with local distributors across the country. Through theÌę, we ordered four bags (at $135 per bag) of R7 Wool Batt insulation. Buying wool from a local farm would minimize the environmental impact even further.

As for the floor insulation, we ordered cork rolls fromÌę. Tyler Reith ofÌę recommended cork for its thermal, vibrational, and acoustic-insulating properties. According to Reith, cork is far better than extruded polystyrene (EPS) or extruded polystyrene (XPS), which areÌęfound in commonly used rigid insulationÌęsheathing andÌę“toxic to humans and animals and horrible for the environment,” he says. “Many foaming agents used in XPS contain hydrofluorocarbonsÌęthat can be 1,430 times as potent a greenhouse gas as carbon dioxide.”

Pick Eco Paint

Find a nontoxic, 100 percent natural and biodegradable paint that will help you breathe easy, such asÌę waterborne paint andÌę, which promise zero emissions and no volatile organic compounds. To stain cabinetry and finish walls, ceilings, and countertops, we used tung oil fromÌę ($24.99 for 32 ounces), which dries faster than raw linseed oil (another greenÌęoption) and is nontoxic and food safe.

Expand Your Cabin (Not Carbon) Footprint

Get creative with your layout to eliminate the need for a bigger and less fuel-efficient RV.Ìę is a Denver-based company that makes body panels, or flares,Ìęto extend the width of your van. By allowing for a sideways bed configuration (up to 81 inches long), the flares open up usable space like a real work of magic. With Egret, having an extra two feet was a game changer and inspired us to maximize the tiny footprint with other clever van hacks, like aÌę headliner shelf and Scopema swivel seats paired with a removableÌę dining table.

Shop Secondhand for Almost Everything

Starting with the van, when you purchase a used model (ideally with some warranty left), you’ll extend the vehicle’s life and get more distance out of the manufacturing footprint—not to mention save a ton of money. Besides, sourcing pre-loved items for your used van is half the fun of aÌębuild. Because aÌęgrowing number of people believe that buying new is never sustainable, there are more upcycling hubs than ever before. With my own build, I found just about everything I needed secondhand: the mattress (Craigslist), the passenger seats (eBay), the gray-water tank (Facebook Marketplace), the vintage rug in the kitchen (my parents), and a foldable camp chair (a thrift shop in Hudson, New York).

Be Equipped to Go Off-GridÌę

One way to tap into vanlife’s full potential is to stay longer in one destination (call it theÌęSlow Driving movement), which reduces mileage and curbs the carbon footprint. Slowing down makes a lot of sense. Gas prices are expected to reach $3 a gallon in 2021, and drivers are projected to collectively spend $45 billion more on fuel this year compared toÌę2020, according to the driving appÌę. A solar-powered lithium-battery solution, like aÌę or a combination ofÌę withÌę solar cells, can empower off-the-grid adventures. For our setup, I avoided the hazardous lead-acid battery andÌęgas-guzzling generator and landed onÌę ($3,200) and twoÌę ($250 per panel), which I mounted toÌęÌę($1,575). We harnessed the sun to run power-hungry devices like a computer, toaster oven, and refrigerator, and let the trip’s relaxed pace take on new luminous dimensions.

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You might think sleeping in a treehouse is tailor-made for summer (hello cool breezes and rustling of leaves), but if you go in winter you’re in for a treat. A cozy fireplace perched above the forest floor makes the experience of waking up among the branches a surreal experience. And, bonus—winter rates tend to be 40 percent lower than those in the peak of summer.

And there are more options than ever. Online directory Glamping Getaway offers 41 treehouse destinationÌęand Airbnb has approximately 550Ìęlistings. Airbnb spokesperson, Molly Graizzaro, says the company has tracked a 150 percent increase in treehouse bookings since this time last year, and is “seeing the treehouse trend pop up in places all over the world.” They’ve even added —a specific treehouse page—dedicated to Airbnb’s top ranked treehouses.

Despite there being more beds in trees than ever before, booking a treehouse in winter can be tricky. Why? North American properties, not located in the warmer regions of the country, tend to close when it gets too cold. But not all shut down. In fact, some are even better if you go in the snowier months. But, which? Try these five.

Enjoy All the Creature Comforts

Winvian (Litchfield, Connecticut)

Up High: Between the slanted walls of sustainable architect John Connell’s , cozy elements like gas and wood-burning fireplaces, a Jacuzzi tub, steam shower and a well-stocked bar help guests shake off the winter blues.

Down Low: You’ll be lured down 35-feet out of the maple trees by an exceptional farm-to-table feast in the main house (or at locals’ favorites and ). Roam the 113-acre property on snowshoes, or take a walk in the 4,000-acre private an eight-minute car ride up the road. Better yet, skip the drive and enjoy a scenic 20-minute trip through New England’s winter wonderland on the hotel’s mountain bikes. Once you arrive at the preserve, follow the blue blazed , an easy 6.5-mile path that you’ll find mostly empty in winter.

Access: Winvian is a two-hour drive from New York and Boston. The resort is also directly accessible via helicopter.

Toboggan In, Toboggan Out

Refuges Perchés (Mont-Tremblant, Canada)

Up High: Opened in the summer of 2014 in a 2,000-acre protected regional park in the , is comprised of 10 four-season treehouses—with names like The Bee and The Rockhouse, a 240-square-foot structure wedged between two boulders and accessed by a suspended bridge—stretched out along the shores of Lac du Cordon. Upon your arrival at the main lodge, snowshoes and a toboggan will be waiting for you to load up your gear and head out through the woods to the various 13-foot-tall treehouses within a quarter to half mile away. Bring sleeping bags, groceries and all the portable batteries you can muster if you want to watch movies on your device, as there are no electrical outlets in your treehouse. Though you have to go to the main lodge to recharge and shower, at the treehouse you can count on free Wi-Fi, cell reception, outdoor fireplaces, a wood stove and a BBQ. Come nightfall, you’ll sit with a beer by a big bay window or on a rooftop porch and let the stars take hold.

Down Low: Spend your days snowshoeing and cross-country skiing the park’s 22 miles of backcountry trails.

Access: Les Refuges Perchés is an hour and 30-minute drive from Montréal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport. Specific directions to the treehouses are sent to guests following a reservation. From $99 per night in winter.

Instagram the Killer Views From Bed

The Original Treehouse Cottages (Eureka Springs, Arkansas)

Up High: In a 33-acre tall pine forest, a mile out of Eureka Springs, you’ll find The Original Treehouse Cottages, which operates seven treehouses. We suggest booking the 24-foot-high as it’s the only one where you can watch the sun rise through a giant floor to ceiling window. Come winter, the treehouse’s heated hardwood floors, plush king bed, and stone fireplace are a warm welcome. Around early afternoon, while you wait for the grill to heat up, snack on the hotel’s homemade pumpkin nut bread and bird watch—you’ll spot chipping sparrow, downy woodpecker, indigo bunting, and rose-breasted grosbeak—from the wraparound deck. End the day with champagne and chocolates in the heart-shaped Jacuzzi, a potentially corny feature you’ll learn to overlook because it comes with panoramic views of the surrounding pine forest.

Down Low: Experience the beauty of the Ozarks while hiking the 24-mile Hidden Diversity Trail in , a 30-minute drive from the treehouse.

Access: The Original Treehouse Cottages is a 3.5-hour drive from Little Rock National Airport.

Have the Ultimate Romantic Weekend

Treehouse Point (Fall City, Washington)

Up High: At Treehouse Point, there are eight 10-to 21-foot-high treehouses spread out around the property, created by Peter Nelson host of the Animal Planet show . Whether you book the popular original treehouse , the more secluded , or the treehouse—which features a lofted bedroom and 80 windows—you’ll have spectacular views of a lush evergreen forest in , just 25 minutes outside the city.

Down Low: Eat a continental breakfast of sweet and savory scones, granola and fruit at the lodge, then get out early to hike the , a steep eight-mile trek with 3,150 feet of elevation gain and stunning views of Mt. Rainier and Seattle. Refuel at before slipping back into the four-acre forest to skip rocks in the river, relax in a shared hammock and roast s’mores over the outdoor fire pit.

Access: Treehouse Point is a 30-minute drive from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.

Get Off the Grid

Cedar Creek Treehouse (Ashford, Washington)

Up High: “There’s a whole other world way up high in the tree canopy,” says Bill Compher, on why he opened his solar-paneled to guests 18 years ago. The property, which includes a , was grandfathered in on private land within , part of the Mount Rainier Forest Reserve. There are no outlets, cell service is vague at best, and you have to go to Compher’s neighboring home to get Wi-Fi. But once you’ve climbed the five-story stairwell and settled into the rustic sun-drenched treehouse, some 60 feet up and built around a 250-year-old Western Redcedar, you’ll discover the thrill of being off the grid for a few days. The snug one bedroom treehouse is ideal for spontaneous couples as Compher only accepts reservations a week in advance in the winter.

Down Low: The treehouse is located 10 miles from Mount Rainier National Park’s Nisqually River entrance—one of only two entrances open in the winter. Many guests will head out on a so bring your snowshoes or rent them for $14.50 at the park’s . “During the winter, one of the best views of the mountain can be achieved at the . The 1.4-mile hike/snowshoe/cross country ski route takes the visitor to a cliff, which overlooks the Nisqually Glacier and river,” said Ranger Scott McLean, who leads snowshoe tours on weekends. “Glancing up, you can surmise the 14,410’ majesty of Mount Rainier.”

Access: Cedar Creek Treehouse is an hour and 30-minute from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. For $650 for two nights.

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