Excercise 2
May 19, 2026 By: Kayla Wassen
Some of my earliest ideas about the environment came from my Dutch family on my mother’s side. My maternal grandmother’s family immigrated to Canada from the Netherlands after the Second World War and eventually settled throughout the Fraser Valley around places like Abbotsford and Agassiz. Before immigrating, they lived in Vorden in the eastern Netherlands during the Nazi occupation of WWII. My grandmother would occasionally tell stories about Nazi soldiers searching their home. Living through war and occupation shaped the way her family viewed waste, work, stability, and survival long after they immigrated to Canada.
When they arrived in British Columbia, they settled in a landscape shaped by rivers, fertile farmland, forests, and floodplains connected to the Fraser River system. Although my family were tradespeople rather than farmers, they still lived closely alongside these environments. Over time, many members of my extended family became drawn toward quieter and more self-sufficient ways of living. Some now live partially or almost entirely off grid on islands, rural properties, and houseboats surrounded by forest and water. Several built their own homes by hand. Wood stoves, gardens, fishing, repairing things, and gathering around outdoor fires remain ordinary parts of life for many of them. They would never describe themselves using trendy environmental language or consider themselves especially “earthy.” They have simply always lived practically, creatively, and without much excess.
Rivers and water seem especially important within this side of my family. Many relatives are drawn toward rivers and islands, and much of family life still revolves around outdoor work and gathering spaces. Even their creativity feels connected to the landscapes around them through woodworking, gardening, homebuilding, and creating spaces that feel integrated into nature rather than separated from it.
Much of my own connection to the environment was shaped through spending time outdoors with my family. Between catching frogs in ponds, looking for snakes in tall grass, and making flower crowns with my cousins, I was also learning quieter skills without really realizing it. I helped pick blackberries, forage for wild mushrooms, weed gardens, and spend long afternoons outside simply observing the natural world around me. Gardening especially became something deeply familiar through family members who treated growing food and working outdoors as ordinary parts of life rather than hobbies or trends.
When I was a child, my maternal grandfather also became part of our lives, introducing me to a very different relationship with the environment. He lived an affluent lifestyle split between Vancouver and Los Angeles, California, where he kept a second home so he could access specialized medical care in Los Angeles. His life revolved around luxury, optimization, and access to what he considered the highest quality products and services available. He was intensely focused on health and longevity. Certain foods were shipped directly to his home from around the world because he believed they were superior quality. Everything seemed carefully curated around exclusivity, status, and control. Even the landscaping around his home reflected this distance from the natural world. A professional landscaper maintained an immaculate yard that I never saw my Grandfather use.
Looking back, I can see how differently class shaped environmental relationships within my own family. Some relatives built homes by hand, heated them with wood, grew food, and spent much of their lives outdoors. Others experienced nature more through aesthetics, luxury, and consumption. Growing up between these very different worlds shaped the way I think about the environment today.
My mother’s upbringing was shaped much more heavily by her Dutch immigrant family and their practical relationship with the environment. As an adult, she was drawn toward the comfort and stability of suburban life. I grew up in Fort Langley, surrounded by large yards, old trees, gardens, and open spaces everywhere. At the same time, we were still close enough to Vancouver that suburban convenience and consumer culture were simply normal parts of life.
Even so, much of my childhood happened outdoors. My family loved camping, and I spent endless afternoons climbing trees, wandering through fields, and exploring nearby creeks and forests with friends and cousins. Nature did not feel separate from everyday life. It was simply where childhood happened.
One of the biggest environmental changes I have witnessed in my lifetime has been the rapid suburbanization of the Fraser Valley. Places where I used to adventure as a child are now covered in tightly packed townhouses, parking lots, and chain restaurants. Areas that once felt wild now feel increasingly controlled, commercialized, and interchangeable. I also watched childhood itself become more indoor and screen-centered over time. Kids seemed to spend less time wandering outdoors and more time inside. As an adult, especially after moving to the BC Interior, I have found myself trying to reconnect with many of the environmental values I grew up around while still appreciating the stability and comfort that suburban life can provide. This balance feels important to me. I do not want to romanticize living completely off grid, but I also feel deeply drawn toward creating a closer relationship with the natural world in everyday life.
Gardening has become an especially important part of that connection. Over the last several years, my family has planted trees, built vegetable gardens, added pollinator plants, and started rewilding parts of our suburban yard. I have become much more intentional about creating habitat for birds, frogs, pollinators, and other wildlife, even within a suburban environment. In many ways, I think I am trying to bring some of the values I inherited from my family into a more modern suburban setting.
I now find myself wanting my own children to develop the same sense of curiosity and comfort outdoors that shaped so much of my childhood. I want nature to feel familiar to them rather than distant or inconvenient. I hope they grow up understanding how to garden, noticing birds and plants around them, and feeling connected to the landscapes they live within instead of experiencing the natural world mostly through screens or structured activities. Even now, I still catch myself looking for small traces of wonder outdoors, whether that means spotting frogs near a pond or noticing the perfect flower for a fairy to call home.
Looking back across generations of my family, I can see how environmental relationships are shaped by migration, class, survival, convenience, and changing landscapes. The environment has never simply been a backdrop to family history. It shaped where people lived, how they survived, what they valued, and what kind of lives they hoped to build for themselves and their children.