April 2026: Joy & Agency

I’ve been wanting for some time to highlight the ways that good people are engaging the world and doing what they feel called to do. Fortunately, I don’t have to look any farther than the names and faces of fellow meditators and yogis that I see on my Zoom screen on a regular basis.

With the hope that sharing just a little bit about their work inspires all of us to continue to lean toward the good, I present the first of what I hope will become periodic reflections on conversations I’ve had with fellow practitioners. I’ve prepared an edited transcript of the conversation here, which I highly encourage you to read. In it you’ll find practical advice, inspiration for the journey, and the voices of two wonderful humans.

But for now, I want to tell you, in my own way, about Kathy Shollenberger and Barry Stahl.

Kathy and Barry are the founders of the Audubon Wildlife Habitat Program in Prince George’s County, Maryland, an all-volunteer effort that helps people transform yards into living ecosystems. Over the past several years, they’ve trained dozens of volunteers and conducted hundreds of home visits, walking with people through their own spaces and helping them imagine what might be possible if they introduced native plants.

Their work is an equal measure of education and encouragement. They meet homeowners one-on-one and come to understand how each person’s interests intersect with what the environment needs and what their space can provide. Working with Kathy and Barry is a joy, as I’ve learned from personal experience.

Both began with a conventional approach to gardening, planting what was familiar and appealing according to a traditional aesthetic. Barry worked for many years as a horticulturist, trained in ornamental gardening. Kathy, a retired teacher, followed a similar path and later trained as a Master Gardener.

But over time, something shifted. As Barry described it, they began to see just how much had been overlooked. Native plants, and the rich network of life they support, had largely been absent from the way he had been trained to see a garden.

This new way of seeing opened into a new way of relating. The more one’s perspective opens, as Kathy pointed out, the more the relationships between plants and insects, insects and birds, and between humans and ecosystems become apparent. Furthermore, a native or wild garden is not something to control, not a kind of aesthetic achievement to be managed, but something to participate in. It’s a place where we align our human efforts with nature and make room for her to bring the magic.

That feels like a powerful model, not just for gardening but for satisfying living. There is something essential about setting aside the need to control and shifting toward participation or collaboration. It echoes what many of us encounter in meditation: that life becomes richer and more meaningful when we relax efforts to direct everything and lean toward relationship with what is.

Once you begin to understand even a small piece of the relationships revealed by native plants, it opens into a sense of wonder and joy. For Kathy and Barry, those good feelings are poured right back into their work, helping to inspire the same from gardeners of all levels.

On the practical side, I’m struck by how accessible their work is. They emphasize beginning small with a few plants in a small patch of soil, or in a container on a balcony. There is no pressure to do everything at once. The invitation is simply to begin. 

When so many challenges appear large and abstract, this feels like a way of acting locally that is both tangible and connected to something larger.

And further, there is something quietly radical woven through their work. It rests on the simple but powerful idea that we can take responsibility for the small pieces of land we inhabit, and that, collectively, our small acts of care begin to matter. As Kathy put it at one point, with sincerity and a hint of humor, there’s a feeling that “we think we’re saving the planet.”

Conversations like this remind me that the world is not only open to our engagement, but in some sense waiting for it. It is responsive and generous, ready for us to step into relationship with it. 

And maybe there is a kind of relief in that realization too. I don’t have to figure it all out on my own. I can look to others, see how they are working together, and begin, in my own small way, to do the same. And then, nature steps up.