Losing Home and the Reconciliation Process

By Lidia Chalova, MSW Student

Rural America, particularly the heart of the Midwest, where golden cornfields sway in the breeze, cows graze peacefully in sun-drenched pastures, and rolling, unglaciated hills cradle the land, is a place of immense beauty. The shimmering Great Lakes glisten with swimmers, and while the mosquitoes buzz around us, they remind us of the vibrant life that fills our cherished home. Yet, this beloved landscape changes with each passing day, urging us to cherish every moment spent in its embrace. In 2003, Glenn Albrecht introduced the concept of solastalgia –“the pain or distress caused by the loss of, or inability to derive solace connected to the negatively perceived state of one’s home environment”.

Lake Wingra Heritage Plan - Friends of Lake Wingra

Over the past decade, each time I find my way back to my treasured hometown of just 1,300 people in rural Wisconsin, my heart feels heavier with the weight of solastalgia. The changes around me are stark and unsettling – the once lush forests are now sparse shadows of their former selves, our cherished sledding seasons shrink with the barely-there winters, summers feel hotter and more oppressive, and the vibrant wildlife that filled our days and nights has dwindled. This heartbreaking transformation isn’t just a landscape changing; it’s a piece of my own soul that feels like it’s fading away alongside it.

So, what now?

Starting in the mid-1800s, climate change data began to be compiled and standardized in order to track varying changes on the planet. Fast forward to the 2000s, intense flooding occurred in the Spring of 2019, which caused immense damage to communities along the Missouri and Mississippi River basins. This flooding resulted in destruction to millions of acres of farmland, thousands of livestock deaths, inundated cities, and complete loss of infrastructure. In Nebraska alone, 104 cities, 81 counties, and 5 indigenous nations received state or federal disaster declarations. FEMA approved over 3,000 individual assistance applications in Nebraska, with more than $27 million approved in FEMA Individual and Household Program dollars.” The same article goes on to say that, “by mid-century the intensity of extreme precipitation events could increase by 40% across southern Wi sconsin”, Southern Wisconsin is where I have called home base for two decades. Wild rice, which is an essential resource to many indigenous nations in Wisconsin, is at risk for being moved North, aka out of the state, due to the rising temperatures, increased humidity, and shifting lake levels. Farmers who have been in the state, farming the same land for over a century, are at risk of stressing their crops and livestock due to the increase in extreme heat conditions as well as extreme precipitation events, promoting plant pests, disease, and invasive species. Further putting strain on the ecosystem by negatively impacting water quality, harming fish, plants, wildlife, livestock, and people.

Who is heard the loudest when land is at risk?

When people think of Wisconsin, they envision farms and cows. These farms are often small, generational family farms rather than large corporate operations, with little emotional or financial loss to risk. Rural communities face many struggles, including a lack of resources, infrastructure, and political power sufficient to influence environmental decisions. Family farms are frequently operated by low-income farmers and indigenous communities, who make up nearly 2% of the state’s population, and are likely to be impacted the most by the changing climate—once again, these populations typically lack the influence needed to shift the political decision-making landscape for significant change. More frequently, those in power are corporate and urban populations—those with little connection to what makes Wisconsin the Dairy State.

Social Work Implications

Micro –

Depression, anxiety, substance use, and generational trauma can all manifest as symptoms of environmental grief.
Rural clients (ex., farmers or indigenous people) will often not call these feelings “climate grief” but may discuss stories of times when things felt better and how they miss those seasons of life.
What can social workers do? –> Name this as climate grief, provide psychoeducation on any diagnoses, validate the emotions, all through a trauma-informed lens, utilizing cultural responsiveness and narrative therapy as deemed helpful.

Mezzo –

Mutual aid groups that support in times of natural disaster to help rebuild communities, prioritizing food support, potable water, and a place to come to be together.
What can social workers do? –> Facilitate community dialogue through support groups, healing circles centered on grief, resilience, and mutual aid. Collaborate with local leaders (ex., faith groups, teachers, political leaders, business owners, etc.) to normalize responses to environmental change. Encourage communities in rural areas to organize around land stewardship, regenerative farming, and climate resilience.

Macro –

What can social workers do? –> Advocate for rural environmental justice at the local and state level through funding for flood protection, farm transition programs, and land access for young/BIPOC farmers to ensure the continuation of generational farming. Center and utilize rural voices in climate change policy. Encourage Indigenous stewardship.

Every time I depart from my family’s property, I pause to absorb the magnificence around me—the trees swaying gently, the familiar sounds of nature, the scents that evoke childhood memories, and the overall atmosphere that feels like a warm embrace. I grieve the thought that this could be the last time I witness my home in its glory. Yet, in this grief, I find strength; I learn to embrace hope and strive for a future that is not just okay, but better. This profound sense of solastalgia fuels my passion and serves as a constant reminder of why we must fight for our environment and our roots. As a daughter of this land and a social worker dedicated to both its people and the land, I believe it is vital for us to acknowledge this sorrow and teach others to sit with it also. While we sit with this grief, we also must take decisive action. Together, we can honor what has been lost while striving to protect what remains.