It’s nearly winter now. We don’t get snow here, but it’s cold all the same. I’m shivering in my winter jacket, scarf wrapped tight around my neck as I write with bare hands. I hear the leaves rustle, those that still hang on to the tree while their friends litter the ground. I hear the faint chirp of the last birds of the fall, waiting until the last second to leave their home for the winter. I understand their reluctance to flee the nest; I, too, miss my home when I’m not there, even though I know how important it is to get to know myself away from my place of comfort. That’s what I’m doing here, in Aix-en-Provence, where it doesn’t snow (unimaginable, to a Michigander). I’m sitting in a public park that is locked, fermé à clef, from 6 in the evening to 10 in the morning, something that is hard to understand for me. If it is public, if it is a space for all, why is it surrounded by walls? Who truly gets access to these green spaces — those that don’t have work, that are free during the day, that have free moments to sit, peaceful, in le Pavillon Vendôme like me?

Aix is une ville bourgeoise, a city of tourists and wealthy residents and of course students, many of whom live in Marseille because of the lower cost of living. We do have a reliable bus system, which is more than my hometown can boast, but it is nowhere near free (around $2 per ride). Right now, the neighborhood that I live in here in Aix is undergoing a huge renovation, starting in 2025 and planning to go until 2029. It’s called the naturifiaction of the neighborhood, aiming to introduce more green spaces and improve the walkability of the area. All I can think about are the people who will be displace: the unhoused man who lives on the main street, le Cours Sextius, taking cover under the overhang of a building. Those who will be priced out by the beautification of the neighborhood, an already expensive place to live. In Aix, and in many places across the world, nature is becoming a privilege. This had made me reflect on my own relationship with nature; how it has made me into the person I am today, nourishing my throughout my childhood. I was lucky enough to grow up in a town named after the large number of trees it held, where I spent summers outside in the grass and on the sand dunes. Who would I be, without this childhood? Who would I be, without the summers I spent working up north on the shore of Lake Michigan? I’m not sure I would exist, as I am today.