It’s a humid July afternoon in Havertown, the kind of day where the air seems to sit heavy in your lungs. The streets shine faintly in the heat, and the neighbors’ sprinklers hiss against their lawn. The water arcs in rainbows before splashing into thirsty grass. Poochie, the golden labradoodle from next door, barks wildly at anyone who dares to walk by, her tan fur catching the sunlight as she bounds along the fence.
I’m lying out on the creaky Adirondack chair on our porch, drinking an iced tea that’s already lost its chill. The hum of the cicadas is constant, like the soundtrack of a summer that’s getting longer every year.
It wasn’t always like this. My dad talks about his childhood summers—how they were hot, sure, but not like this. Now, the heatwaves stretch on for weeks, and our local news talks about “record-breaking” temperatures so often it loses its shock value. A car hit a power line last summer, and we lost power. I remember sweating through the nights, the sheets sticking to our skin, and my sister Caroline complaining until Mom finally caved, and we went to spend a week up at our Pocono house.
It’s strange how the heat we feel every summer doesn’t match how little people seem to act on climate change. The warning signs are everywhere, but most people still don’t do much about it.
The culture around climate change today is full of contradictions. Everywhere you look, you hear warnings about the rising temperatures, melting glaciers, and extreme weather. Plenty of TikTok videos show floods and wildfires. Yet even though people talk a lot about it, it feels like most of society isn’t acting on it.
Climate change has become something everyone knows about, but few feel they can actually fix it.
The lake in the Poconos has always been our escape. It’s where we go to breathe, to shake off the noise and grime of normal life. The house sits on a hill that overlooks the man-made lake, and the view feels like a portal to another world. Up there, the air is cooler and crisper. The pine trees sway gently, and their needles whisper to the wind. It’s a place that feels untouched… or at least it used to.
Last summer, when we pulled up the red gravel driveway, something felt off. The lake was lower than I’d ever seen it. The shoreline had retreated, leaving behind a muddy ring that reminded me of a poorly drained bathtub.
Dad frowned as we unloaded the car. “They must’ve drained it again,” he muttered, referring to the local authorities who managed the water levels. Even he didn’t sound convinced.
When we arrived at the lake last summer, the signs of change were impossible to ignore. But just like the shrinking water levels, efforts to address climate change often get bogged down in arguments and politics, making it harder to find real solutions.
One big problem is how climate change gets politicized. For example, when governments make big investments in the environment, many politicians oppose these not because of the science but because of party politics. On social media, people argue about whether individuals or big companies are to blame. Some shame others for using plastic straws, while others point to the massive emissions from corporations. These arguments slow progress and make it hard for people to work together on solutions.
The fight over who’s to blame for climate change only divides us and delays real solutions, much like the changes Caroline and I saw in the murky lake that day.
We walked down to the dock, the wooden boards warped and splinted from the years of tough use. “It’s gross,” she said, as she pointed to the algae blooms that spread across the water’s surface. “Looks like snot.”
She wasn’t wrong. The once-clear lake had turned murky. Its usual sparkle had dulled. I dipped my hand in and recoiled. The water was warm but almost uncomfortably so, like the shallow end of a crowded pool.
Despite the statistics and growing awareness, the impact of climate change feels different when it hits close to home. At the lake, the changes aren’t just numbers, they are a part of our family’s story fading away.
“Climate change,” Mom said later when we brought it up at dinner. She’s not a scientist, but she explained it in her usual straightforward way. “It’s the heat,” she said, gesturing with her fork. “When it gets this hot, more water evaporates, so the lake gets lower. And the algae? That’s from stuff washing into the water and all this warmth making it grow faster. It’s like a bad circle that just keeps going.”
Dad sighed, cutting into his steak. “Great. So even our getaway isn’t safe.”
A Gallup poll from 2024 shows that 61% of adult Americans worry a great deal about global warming. The same report shows that nearly half of Americans believe global warming will pose a serious threat in their own lifetimes. So many Americans are aware of the problems affecting our environment, yet very few people are doing anything. Another Gallup poll from earlier in 2024 says 60% of Americans believe that the effects of global warming have already begun. Another 62% believe that human activities over the past 100 years have caused rising temperatures.
Despite the statistics and growing awareness, the impact of climate change feels different when it hits close to home. At the lake, the changes aren’t just numbers, they are a part of our family’s story fading away.
Back in Havertown, the heat is oppressive, but at least it’s familiar. Up at the lake, the changes feel more personal.
I remember fishing off that dock with Granddad, his rough hands guiding mine as I reeled in my first sunfish. I remember kayaking with Caroline, racing to the tiny island in the middle of the lake, laughing when she tipped her boat trying to beat me. Those memories feel fragile now, like they’re tied to a place that’s slipping away.
Sometimes, when I’m lying awake at night, I wonder when we have kids what they will think of the lake, if it’s even still there for them to visit. Will they splash in its waters as we did, or will they stare at a dried-up basin and hear stories about what it used to be?
The thought makes my chest ache in a way I can’t quite describe.
I can’t help but worry about what the future holds for places like the lake, but what gives me hope is seeing young people leading the charge for change. Their passion and activism show that there’s still a chance to make a difference before it is too late.
Even with all the energy and hope coming from young activists, the question remains: will it be enough? Sometimes, the best we can do is keep pushing forward.
Young activists and environmental groups have inspired millions to demand better climate policies. Online, creators share tips on sustainable living and spread awareness about environmental issues. It’s clear that more people, many on the younger side, care about the planet. But the big question is whether this energy will be enough to push for the major changes needed to protect our future.
Even with all the energy and hope coming from young activists, the question remains: will it be enough? Sometimes, the best we can do is keep pushing forward.
“What can we do about it?” I asked Mom once, frustrated by the weight of it all.
She looked at me with this sad smile, the kind that’s half given up.
“We do what we can,” she said. “Recycle, educate ourselves. But mostly? We don’t give up.”
So here I am, sweating on our porch, listening to the cicadas and sipping lukewarm iced tea, trying to hold onto that last part. Trying not to give up.
