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Publications + Presentations

“Sustainability and the Triple Bottom Line”

Essay published digitally in Pangaea Journal at St. Edward’s University, 2017. (Read here.)

“Comparing Public Perceptions of Climate Change in the United States and European Union”

Capstone thesis for Environmental Science and Policy program at St. Edward’s University, 2018.

“Investigating the Relationship Between Undergraduate Students’ Environmental Knowledge and

Composting Behaviors”

Poster presentation at St. Edward’s University’s 2018 Symposium on Undergraduate Research and ​Creative Expression, 2018.

“Investigating the Correlation Between Nitrate Concentration and Periphyton Biomass”

Platform presentation at the St. Edward’s University School of Natural Sciences Biology Lab ​Symposium, 2017.

“Project Feed 1010: Environmental Education and Citizen Science Using Aquaponics”

Workshop presentation at North American Association for Environmental Education annual ​conference in Spokane, WA in Oct. 2018.

“Cultivating Environmental Literacy and Sustainable Food Systems Through a Community ​Ambassador Program”

Lightning talk presentation at North American Association for Environmental Education annual ​conference in Spokane, WA in Oct. 2018.

“Digital Naturalist Journal Project: Science + Storytelling”

Platform presentation at North American Association for Environmental Education annual conference ​in Lexington, KY in Oct. 2019.

“Lettuce (Lactuca sativa) productivity influenced by microbial inocula under nitrogen-limited ​conditions in aquaponics”

Journal article published in PLOS ONE, February 2021. (Read here.)

“Sustainability, Citizen Science and the Future of Food”

Scientific poster presented at the Institute for Systems Biology Undergraduate Research Showcase, ​August 2017.

“My Experience as an Intern at ISB”

Platform presentation at the Institute for Systems Biology Baliga Lab meeting highlighting research ​projects and summer internship experience, August 2017.

“Aquaponics and Citizen Science: Promoting Systems-Thinking and Career Readiness”

Workshop presentation at National Association of Biology Teacher’s annual conference in San Diego, ​CA in Nov. 2018.

“How the Heck Do I Grow My Own Food...in a Small Space?”

Online article published on The Austin Common, April 2020. (Read here.)

“Sustainability Amidst a Global Pandemic”

Online article published on The Austin Common, March 2020. (Read here.)

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Welcome to Unless!

Inspired by these wise words from the Lorax ​himself, I have created this blog to add my voice ​to the growing conversation about the future of ​our planet and inspire others to do the same. At ​the risk of being just another digital presence in ​the expanse of online blogging, I aim to present ​something new, to offer different perspectives ​on prevalent environmental issues, and to draw ​from personal experiences to make sustainable ​living more approachable. Unless is the result of ​juxtaposing my two passions– writing and ​photography– to express my thoughts and ​connect with my audience through creativity, ​humor, and simplicity.

The driving force behind starting this blog came from the sense of “apocalypse fatigue” I began to feel after years ​of following environmental issues in mainstream media. I would read articles that simply threw data at me or ​focused too much on the problems and not enough on the solutions. Despite having an environmental science ​background, even I found this kind of reporting to be overwhelming. If I was confused, then certainly someone ​without a science background would be as well. For that reason, I started to approach environmental issues from a ​social science perspective. After watching a TED talk by Per Espen Stokes on how to shift from apathy to action on ​climate change, I became fascinated with learning more about how to effectively communicate these issues and ​promote optimism about our climate future. Thus, Unless was born.

We are at a pivotal point regarding the state of our planet; it is more important than ever to keep an open mind ​and be willing to have difficult conversations with others, regardless of one’s beliefs. One of my main goals in ​starting this blog is to facilitate these conversations and empower my audience to do the same within their ​spheres of influence. My hope is that by opening these channels through which ideas can be exchanged, we will ​strengthen our connections to one another and understand the importance of collaboration and community in the ​fight to save our planet.

As the Lorax reminds us, the first step is caring. The next step is action.

Scream for the trees. March for the bees. Petition for the oceans.

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On the Importance of Connection

I am constantly amazed at the power dogs have to generate instant connections between strangers. Now I don’t ​have a dog, just two cats that are hit-or-miss when it comes to meeting new people, so there’s no guarantee of ​connections there. But I do get to watch my neighbor’s dog Lucky often, so you can trust me when I say that ​having a dog = instant connections. Lucky is a fluffy and loveable labradoodle, a mini horse of a dog, a real ​sweetheart and snugglebug. I babysat her this past weekend and everywhere that I took her, from the park to ​Nada Moo (vegan ice cream shop for those who aren’t familiar), people came right up and talked to me. Okay, ​more like they cooed over how cute she is then gave me a quick glance and smile as they walked away, but you ​get my point. Dogs are the ultimate wingman when it comes to making friends. Just getting to babysit Lucky ​every so often has made me that much closer to my neighbors.

When I was growing up, I knew all the other kids on my block. Every morning, my friend Corbin and I would wait ​for the school bus together, and every day after school, we would play outside until dinner. The two girls that lived ​next door were high school cheerleaders, and they always invited me over to practice crazy stunts (all fun and ​games until that one time they dropped me on my head). It just seemed easier back then to knock on the ​neighbor’s door and ask them to come out and play. Fast forward to adulthood and you realize that no one ​answers the door anymore. And I’m totally guilty of it too--- if I hear a knock on my door, you better believe I’m ​creepily peeking out the blinds to see who it is and if I don’t know them, more than likely I’m not answering. It ​takes extra effort as you get older to make those connections, even with the people living right next door. I’m ​fortunate enough right now to live in a safe and beautiful neighborhood full of families that all know each other. ​My boyfriend tutors many of the kids on the block, one of my good friends lives just one street over, and I’ve met ​just about every cat that lives within half a mile of my house. It feels really nice to have our little community here, ​to be able to bike to the coffee shop and say hi to at least three people I know along the way.

Now as I sit here at the coffee shop writing this post, I am distracted observing the lives of the people around me. ​Sitting next to me, two women who were previously complete strangers to each other have formed a connection ​first over one of the women’s dog (what did I tell you?), then over a book the other woman was reading, and finally ​over the realization that they live right down the street from one another. Alternatively, across the patio a different ​connection appears to be faltering as a young couple argue in harsh whispers, attempting to keep their troubles ​discreet, though it is painfully obvious to everyone in the near vicinity. In the parking lot, an unhoused man ​haggles a young woman for spare change and a conversation, desperate for human connection, no matter how ​curt or futile.

At this point you might be asking ​yourself what any of this has to do ​with sustainability or climate ​change or whatever you think this ​blog might be about. You’re ​probably thinking, ‘Wow, she ​knows her neighbors and likes to ​people-watch, big whoop.’ Trust ​me, it will all come together. Just ​keep reading.

In my Welcome to Unless post, I ​mentioned how collaboration is ​vitally important in solving the ​world’s climate crisis. This ​collaboration will likely be more ​effective if we have a strong sense ​of community and belonging built

around the understanding that we all inherently share the common goal of continuing to live and thrive on this ​planet. This sense of community is not possible without first forming those initial connections, which in turn ​facilitate compassion for others.

Connection

Compassion

Community

Collaboration

Simple enough, right? Why is it then, that it seems like we are becoming increasingly hung up on the first crucial ​step: making connections. Like I said earlier, no one wants to answer the door anymore. We all retreat into our ​homes, so totally consumed by our own lives that we sometimes forget there is an entire world beyond the ​threshold of our front porch. So much of what we are exposed to in society encourages us to compete with each ​other, to be the best even if it means putting others down. We thrive on this competition and we lose our sense of ​compassion and no longer value community outside of our immediate circle. How do we shift this mindset that is ​constantly being reinforced through social media, advertisements, and current events? How do we move away ​from feelings of disconnect and skepticism and competition?

Many of these initial thoughts I had were really reinforced after reading Brene Brown’s latest book, Braving the ​Wilderness. I don’t want to spoil it for those of you who haven’t read it (and if you haven’t, I highly recommend it), ​but I do want to highlight a few interesting points she makes that really jumped out at me. The book revolves ​around Brown’s main argument that “we’re experiencing a spiritual crisis of disconnection,” splitting ourselves into ​groups based on political ideologies, religious beliefs, and anything else we can use as an excuse to turn away from ​each other. We all have experiences that have left us hurt and scared and lonely, but instead of leaning in to one ​another and sharing in those experiences, we express that fear as anger and distrust, retreating into our safe ​corners and lashing out from our side of the line in the sand. She goes on to offer four practices of true belonging ​that “challenge how we think about ourselves, show up with one another, and find our way back to courage and ​connection.” I would quote the whole book if I could and if it would get people to read it. Did I mention that I highly ​recommend reading it? I have a copy you can borrow; let’s connect over our crisis of disconnection.

The youth climate movement is an excellent and relevant ​example of the power of connection and the strength in ​community. Young people from every corner of the globe ​have banded together to fight for their future on a ​habitable planet, forming a community that spans across ​continents and is inclusive of all nationalities, ethnicities, ​religions, and races. It is purely a group of people ​working together toward a common goal. They are ​synchronized, unified in their message and approach and ​that’s what makes the movement so effective. My single ​voice writing this blog is drowned out by the roar of ​millions of young people around the world striking ​school on #FridaysforFuture. Now that’s not to say that ​one person can’t make a difference. If I believed that, I ​wouldn’t have started this blog. But there is something ​to be said for the impact an entire community can have ​when fighting collaboratively for a common goal.

For now, my reach is small; I aim to make at least one person think about the world from a different, sustainable ​perspective. Those kids are getting the attention of everyone--- the media, political figures, other activists and ​humanitarians; the whole world is not only watching, but responding. The community is essential in the fight to ​save our planet. Climate change is not a political or religious or cultural problem; it is a human problem that ​requires the coordination of all humans to solve.

All of this is just to say: make an extra effort to connect ​with someone. It could be your neighbor that moved in a ​few weeks ago but you haven’t officially introduced ​yourself to, a stranger at a coffee shop that has a sticker ​on their laptop of a band you really like, or even someone ​that you think you already know but you can’t quite ​remember what it is they do exactly. All it takes is one ​connection. From there, the community will grow and ​collaboration will be more attainable and impactful.

And if all of this feels daunting to you,

just start by getting a dog.

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(Somewhat) Salvaged Supperclub

It was a slightly chilly night back in April: my friend Marissa and I were picnicking outside Barton Springs and ​chatting about everything under the sun when she tossed out a cool idea about a dinner party where everyone ​brings a random ingredient and cooks a meal together. It was an idea sort of mentioned in passing, but it stuck in ​my mind.

Having just read Brené Brown’s Braving the Wilderness, my mind was already turning over idea about connection ​that formed the basis of my last post. This idea of a community potluck-style dinner that also required a bit of ​creativity to create an edible meal from a mystery selection of ingredients was intriguing. Then I started thinking ​about how to incorporate an element of sustainability as well and after some research, I landed on this idea of a ​salvaged dinner. The concept is fairly simple: prepare a meal from food that would otherwise be thrown away. The ​idea came about from a chef and a designer in New York who started hosting pop-up “Salvage Supperclubs” to draw ​attention to food waste--- these dinners were also held in dumpsters, for added effect. Seeing as I didn’t really know ​where to find a *clean* dumpster on such short notice, my dinner was hosted in a nice house in an affluent ​neighborhood of Austin, but the intention was there.

Trying not to scare people away at the idea of eating “bad food”, ​we asked our guests to bring random ingredients that either 1. ​were about to go bad, 2. they didn’t know how to cook with, or 3. ​they just weren’t going to eat for whatever reason. The only rules ​were no meat and nothing moldy. Seeing as this was my idea, I ​obviously had to play by the rules. After standing and staring into ​my fridge for a while, I finally pulled out a half-eaten and slightly ​brown avocado, a bunch of rather wilted kale from the previous ​week’s Imperfect Produce box, and a perfectly fine sweet potato ​that strikingly resembled a vulva (later deemed the “pussy ​potato”). I loaded up my reusable tote and started the long *ahem, ​1 block* walk to Marissa’s house.

As the guests slowly trickled in, I began to survey the trove of food ​being left on the counter. At first I was just excited that people ​actually came and brought ingredients, but my excitement ​waned as I noticed that most of the food was fresh from the store. ​Obviously we could still make a nice meal together, even if it ​wasn’t exactly the salvaged dinner I had in mind. After careful ​deliberation of our ingredients– a handful of sweet potatoes, kale, ​garlic, green onion, corn on the cob, red pepper, avocado, and ​spinach– it was decided that (with supplementing some staples

like rice and tortillas) we could make some decent tacos. Because really, what can’t be put in a taco? Fast forward ​through the collaborative cooking process– and by collaborative, I mean two or three people did all the cooking ​while the rest of us played Bananagrams– and it turned out to be a pretty good meal.

In theory, hosting my own salvage supperclub sounded like a fun and interesting idea. I practice, there are definitely ​some aspects that got me thinking further. Looking back, I recall being nervous to invite people, worried that my ​friends wouldn’t “get it” or would think it was weird. I was so nervous that I think I down-played the idea a bit, even ​trying to concede and be like “Yeah I know it’s weird, but just go with it!” When in actuality, I don’t find the idea weird ​or gross at all; I think it’s fucking GENIUS. I only wish that I could have hosted my dinner inside a dumpster.

After the anxiety of even just inviting people, then I got to experience the embarrassment of having the less than ​ideal, but still perfectly edible food that I brought passed over in favor of the fresh produce from my guests. My half-​eaten, slightly brown avocado sat on the counter in its beeswrap before returning to my fridge, sad and rejected at ​the end of the night. However, its fate was far better than my bunch of kale that was deemed “too wilted” and ​immediately tossed in the compost. The part of me that fears confrontation stayed silent and sat with my ​embarrassment for the rest of the night, but later I started thinking: Wasn’t it the point to bring food that maybe ​wasn’t at peak freshness, but was still edible? This propelled me into thinking about why I (or anyone) should be ​embarrassed about eating less than perfect food.

We would rather waste food than tarnish our pride. It’s the same stigma that surrounds dumpster diving (which I ​would 100% do, more on that later). Here in the U.S., food waste accounts for 30-40% of the food supply (USDA). That ​means about one-third of our food supply is never eaten, just ending up in dumpsters and (hopefully) compost bins. ​Honestly, as I write this, I’m realizing there’s just so many different factors and elements that surround the issue of ​food waste that I’m going to dedicate an entire post to the topic. Check back later for more information on the ​confusion of sell-by dates, salvage grocery stores, Imperfect Produce, and yes, dumper diving.

In the meantime, host your own salvaged dinner. Be creative, embrace the sustainability spirit, and most ​importantly, don’t go home and cry if no one wants to eat your wilted kale.

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Sustainability Amidst a Global Pandemic

I like to think of myself as an “eco-warrior;” I’ve always ​tried to do my best when it comes to living a ​sustainable lifestyle. I bring my reusable bags to the ​grocery, I fill my own jars with bulk items to avoid ​plastic packaging, I never leave the house without my ​aluminum water bottle and bamboo utensils. I’m by no ​means perfect, but I try very hard to make sure ​sustainability is at the heart of all my decisions. Now, ​amidst this COVID-19 crisis, I find myself having to ​sacrifice a lot of my core values in favor of prioritizing ​the health and safety of myself and others. Over the ​past few weeks, I’ve purchased a ridiculous amount of ​food in plastic packaging, a lot of it being plastic that I ​know can’t even be recycled. It all has me feeling a mix ​of confusion, anxiety, and sadness. These pillars that I’ve ​carefully built up as my identity just came crashing ​down all around me.

Side note – I’d like to start off by saying that I 100 percent understand and appreciate what a privilege it is for me to even ​have the means to buy several weeks worth of food right now. This isn’t meant to be a complaint, just an exploration into ​my personal values as well as the priorities of society as a whole.

In the beginning of all the panic, I started receiving emails (you know the ones) from various companies listing all of the ​precautions they’re taking to limit the spread of the disease. Most of them were from random mailing lists that I was just too ​lazy to unsubscribe from. I mean, do I really care what my old dentist in my hometown is doing to combat COVID-19? Delete.

But one that did catch my eye was from Wheatsville Food Co-op, where I’ve been a loyal member for the past few years, ​mainly because I appreciate the efforts they make in the ways of sustainability and community. I started reading through ​the list of precautions – hand sanitizer readily available (duh)… employees washing hands (well I should hope so)… no more ​bringing personal containers for bulk products (EXCUSE ME?!). With panicked eyes, I glanced over at my pantry shelves ​beautifully lined with glass jars of rice, beans, oats, quinoa, nuts, and seeds. What a sad sight it would be to see those ​juxtaposed with ugly, non-recyclable plastic bags. But given the choice, I’d much rather have food in plastic than no food at ​all. Pick your battles.

The next hit came Monday morning as I was standing in line with several other people (6 feet apart, denoted by strips of ​painters tape on the sidewalk), waiting to enter Wheatsville. I begrudgingly left my jars at home, but I wouldn’t be caught ​dead without my reusable bags. And I wasn’t the only one. The employee manning the door said something to the woman ​in the front of the line. I watched as that message got passed back like a game of telephone until it landed at my feet with a ​thud – No reusable bags allowed. Me and my fellow eco-warriors looked around at each other in disbelief, desperately ​clutching our canvas bags to our chests until one brave soul finally trudged back to their car to abandon their bags and the ​rest of us glumly followed suit.

Perhaps one of the biggest blows of this whole situation has been the need to order so many things from Amazon. I’ve ​personally been trying to distance myself from online ordering because of the excessive packaging and the massive ​transportation footprint. I had a pretty good no-purchasing streak going and was even considering canceling my prime ​account. Now, I hate to say it, but it’s actually been a lifesaver amidst this crisis. I’ve been able to order shelf-stable food items ​that have been out of stock at my grocery store, pet food for my three ravenous animals, and even a desk chair so that I ​could properly join this whole #WFH club, all while sticking to the social distancing rules. Pro tip, courtesy of my mother – ​unbox your stuff outside (wearing gloves, if possible), immediately recycle/trash the packaging (do not make a box fort), then ​(you guessed it) WASH. YOUR. HANDS. Never hurts to be too careful. Thanks, Mom.

If you’re like me and you need some convincing to not feel guilty for buying rice in a plastic bag, try to think about it a ​different way. All of the single-use items I’ve bought during this pandemic are negligible compared to what the industry ​produces and society consumes on a normal basis. This doesn’t mean it’s the end of sustainability as we know it. It might be ​a slight hiccup, but it’s also a chance to show how resilient and creative and crafty we can get with our currently limited ​resources and potentially upend our normal, unsustainable systems. On any given day, my dad is brainstorming with ​students in his makerspace on how to reduce plastic use, but is now finding himself trying to source plastic to make into ​medical-grade face shields. Just goes to show that nothing is black and white.

My hope is that we can find ways to be sustainable in other areas of our lives where it’s safer to do so (i.e. don’t waste all that ​food you panic-bought) and carry some of these practices with us as we come out of this pandemic. The eco-warrior in me is ​swelling with pride as I think about how small my carbon footprint must be right now without all the driving or flying I ​normally do (though the wanderlusting nomad in me is *screaming*). Take this time to be more mindful and critical about ​what and how much you’re consuming, focus on the good you are doing, and come up with new ways to reduce your ​footprint at the end of all of this.

All of this rambling is just to say that you don’t have to have one and only one value that rules your life. In the midst of a ​crisis, it’s okay to shift your priorities. It doesn’t mean that I don’t value sustainability and zero-waste living because I’m ​buying plastic and creating waste. It just means that in the face of a global pandemic unlike anything I’ve ever seen in my ​lifetime, other things have to come first. In this moment, my focus is the health and safety of myself, my loved ones, and my ​community. But make no mistake, I’m still an eco-warrior at heart and at the end of all of this, I will throw you some shade ​for using that plastic straw.

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My Wild Neighbors

Hi friends! This blog post is the beginning of a campaign I’ve started for a class project to highlight the importance of urban ​wildlife conservation. If this is something that interests you and/or you’d like to see your social media feeds clogged with ​cute animal pictures, feel free to follow along with my project on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter @MyWildNeighbors.

My first experience with wildlife rehabilitation was a rather guilt-ridden one.

I was somewhat of a “stray cat collector,” and I had just “adopted” a young tabby whom I named Lena. She was a sweet cat ​who loved to curl up on my lap, but when she wasn’t lounging in luxury in the house, she was leading an entirely different ​life outside. I started finding feathers scattered around the back porch, remnants of her hunt. I felt a little bad, but if all I saw ​was feathers, that could mean the birds got away, right?

I was somewhat of a “stray cat collector,” and I had just “adopted” a young tabby whom I named Lena. She was a sweet cat ​who loved to curl up on my lap, but when she wasn’t lounging in luxury in the house, she was leading an entirely different ​life outside. I started finding feathers scattered around the back porch, remnants of her hunt. I felt a little bad, but if all I saw ​was feathers, that could mean the birds got away, right?

That may have been the truth in the beginning, but over time, Lena’s hunting skills inevitably improved. There was a little ​alcove tucked away in the corner of the porch that became the perfect hiding place for her freshly caught prey. That corner– ​which was permanently stained red no matter how many times my dad made me power wash the concrete– came to be ​known in our household as “the cove” (if you’ve seen the documentary, you know).

After many attempts to stave off Lena’s killing sprees (including a series ​of ridiculous bells, collars, and bibs), I decided the next best thing I ​could do was offset her hunting, but how? My answer came after a ​(fortunately) failed attempt to catch a blue jay that left the poor bird ​pretty ruffled and banged up. I scooped him up in a shoe box and my ​dad and I set off to TWRC Wildlife Center in Houston.

As soon as I walked into the center, I was in love. The lobby was full of ​animals, from turtles and snakes to squirrels and opossums and even ​an owl! I looked around in amazement as I carried my precious cargo ​to the front desk. After filling out an intake form detailing the nature ​of the bird’s injuries (erm… bad kitty…?), I was asked to make a ​donation to “help provide care for the bird I rescued.” A very effective ​guilt trip, as I promptly emptied the entire contents of my wallet on ​the counter. Once all the housekeeping was taken care of, my little ​bird was whisked off to the back and I was handed a copy of his ​intake number so that I could check up on his progress throughout ​the rehab process (regrettably, I never did).

On my way out of the center, a stack of flyers caught my eye: ​“Volunteer with TWRC! Hands-on rehabilitation of wildlife!” Hmm…

It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with rehab. I started out as a volunteer in the bird program– hand-feeding, cleaning ​cages, running around with a net to catch the occasional escape artists. Eventually, I moved up to the baby squirrel program, ​where I really hit my stride. After a few years of volunteering, I eventually started working on staff and expanding my range of ​care to include all small mammals and birds (think bunnies, opossums, squirrels, ducks, raptors, etc.). It absolutely blew my ​mind that I was getting paid to take care of baby animals all day. Now that’s not to say that it wasn’t hard work. As cute as ​opossums are, they are MESSY. And they STINK. And it broke my heart every time we had an animal that we weren’t able to ​save. But it only made me more dedicated to saving the ones I could.

Things got even messier when I ​decided I wanted to do more. We ​often got neonatal (aka “pinky”) ​babies in that required round-the-​clock care beyond what we could ​provide at the center. Those ​animals typically went home with ​seasoned rehabbers, who had ​much more time and space to care ​for the ones that needed extra ​attention. Now, I didn’t have an ​entire room in my (parents’) house ​dedicated to wildlife care, but I had ​a little extra space in my bedroom. ​How much room could tiny baby ​animals need?

Fast forward a few weeks through some training, permitting, mentoring, and acquiring the necessary supplies, and I ​was headed home from work with a pile of baby opossums in my passenger seat and no prior warning to my family ​(sorry Mom).

Despite certain challenges, I found the work to be rather therapeutic and extremely humbling. Waking up in the ​middle of the night wasn’t hard when I knew I had a bunch of tiny babies counting on me for their midnight snack. It ​felt good to be needed (Enneagram 2s, where you at?) and the whole process gave me a great sense of responsibility ​and maturity.

Though caring for animals that most people regard as “pests” might seem small and insignificant, when those little ​opossums grabbed my finger and looked up at me with barely-open eyes, I felt the enormity of what I was doing. I ​was making a monumental impact in their lives; I was essential for their survival.

People have asked me why I bother rehabilitating some animals, like opossums and grackles. ‘There’s tons of them.’ ​‘They’re annoying/ugly/gross/diseased.’ ‘Why does it matter, it’s just an animal.’ Hearing these responses from people ​is maddening, and one of the primary reasons I’m so passionate about wildlife conservation. I want to change the ​conversation, to show people that it’s not just the big cats in Africa or the wales in the Arctic that need protection. I ​want them to see the need for conservation in their own backyards. I strive to help people understand and ​appreciate what role these creatures play in our urban ecosystems. You don’t have to think opossums are cute (let’s ​agree to disagree) or think the squawk of a blue jay is beautiful, but at least recognize that a life is a life, these ​animals have a role to play, and some of those roles might even benefit you. Let my story serve as a humble ​reminder that no life is too insignificant, and that even the tiniest creatures matter. #MyWildNeighbors

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