Linda Littlefield Grenfell: A Child of Nature

November 18, 2022

By Susan Gallagher, Staff Writer

Linda Littlefield Grenfell grew up in “The Emerald Forest.” In truth, this magical- sounding place was just a field with a pine tree but to an imaginative child, it was special. There in Eliot, on an acre of land between a creek and a river, the young girl climbed trees and played on the banks of the Piscataqua. She started canoeing as soon as she could sit up between her father’s legs. “I was always outside,” she says.

How fitting that this child of nature would evolve into a Maine Master Naturalist, a licensed Maine Sea Kayaking Guide and an Environmental Educator at the Wells Reserve.

Her journey to reach these goals, however, would prove to be long and circuitous, leading her through hills and valleys of educational dilemma, spiritual discovery and personal grief.

At 19, the self-proclaimed hippy and college dropout headed to Sugarloaf Mountain to ski and spend time in the woods. After a time of reveling in what she calls her “adolescent rebellion,” Grenfell’s life was surprisingly redirected by “The Princess of Sugarloaf Mountain.” This sarcastically intended moniker referred to a thirtysomething woman, still dallying at the mountain and working at an inn. The young Grenfell looked at her one day and thought, “I don’t want to be that.”

She ended up at UMaine at Orono. Unsure of what to pursue, she became a Philosophy major, but she struggled personally. Living in a freshman dormitory, three years older than her classmates, Grenfell became depressed. Thankfully, her rescuer appeared in the form of one Kris Dahlberg, the Dean of Women, who took the floundering student under her wing. “She saved my life.” Grenfell says.

Dahlberg moved Linda to a graduate dormitory where a whole new world revealed itself. For the first time in her life, she was among people with differing lifestyles and ethnicities. She came to know students of diverse orientations and religious backgrounds, and found them to be wonderful people. “It was so grounding,” she recalls. Perhaps even more importantly, she discovered a love of learning.

Spirituality was an as-yet-unrealized entity in Grenfell’s life, but that was soon to change. She began taking Theology courses as part of her Philosophy major, but any theological interest she had was intellectual, not spiritual. She recalls how adamant she was in her lack of belief: “I wanted to argue against any faith at all.” And then, her father died. She was devastated. “Everything shifted,” she says.

Her deep grief set her on an unforeseen path to grief counseling and, much to her own surprise, ministry. After attending BU School of Theology, Grenfell spent a year in Denver studying Clinical Pastoral Care and doing an internship on death and dying. Here, while becoming a certified chaplain, she realized that comforting families during the dying process was not enough. As a pastor, she could continue to be with these families after the death, to offer more than just temporary consolation. And so, the girl who denied faith became the woman who embraced the title of United Methodist Minister, serving churches in Boston and southern Maine.

Linda’s winding journey led her to still more unexpected destinations. The young woman who began her college studies uncertain of her major would come to wear the mantle of college professor. Her curriculum at Unity College and then at Rhode Island College encompassed Religion, World Religions and Environmental Ethics. Naturally, her methods were a little unconventional, but befitting her. She informed her superiors that no matter what she was teaching, she would be taking her students outside.

One student’s fresh air learning experience would change Grenfell’s life. The professor assigned her students a ten-minute time period to sit up against a tree and just sit quietly, without distractions. After the sitting exercise, a young girl rushed in, brimming with tears, and exclaimed to her teacher, “I never knew there were birds on this campus!” For Grenfell, this solidified what she wanted to do from there on.

Now at the Wells Reserve at Laudholm, where she has worked as an Environmental Educator since 2014, Linda seems at peace with herself. She looks natural standing beneath the spreading boughs of the near-century-old Copper Beech tree on the Reserve’s campus, her face lightly kissed by ruddiness from a life lived outdoors. “She speaks to me,” she says of the big tree, “I call all the trees ‘she.’” She adds with a sly grin, “We need more feminine energy in the world.”

Since studying with the Abenaki tribe, of which she is an elder-in-training, she has learned to appreciate the real-world relationship we have with the living things in nature. “My deep nature connection has led me to appreciate and apply the Abenaki views,” she says. “We are in a relationship with these beings. They are not objects. They are worthy of our respect.” She goes on to say, “We refer to a tree or a plant as ‘it.’ It is much easier to destroy them when using ‘it’ instead or ‘her.’ The Abenaki don’t demonize nature; they respect it.”

For a retired Methodist pastor, Grenfell’s religious views are surprising. “I don’t like the word ‘God,’” she says, “I find the divine within.” Not surprising, however, is that her views are entwined in the natural world. “God is bound up in nature,” she says assuredly. “My spirituality is very much in the real world. We are not separate from nature. We see the divine in the night sky, in the ocean, within plant stems, in the leaf litter.”

Her experience as a grief counselor gives Grenfell a unique perspective on environmental issues. “We are in a climate crisis,” she declares. “We are all grieving. There is an unacknowledged grief over all the things we are killing.” Her grasp of the grieving process gives her special insight. She believes that grieving has a huge impact on society. “Grieving is the hardest thing we do as humans, and we don’t do it well,” she admits sadly.

Grenfell strongly admonishes us that it is time to take the climate crisis seriously. “Facing our grief,” she says, “may be the answer to solving this crisis.”

At the Wells Reserve, Environmental Educator is not her only title. Since her retirement from teaching, counseling, and ministry, she has become a Maine Master Naturalist and a Registered Maine Sea Kayaking Guide. She describes these two achievements as “a lot of work,” but says she is more proud of becoming a Maine Guide than of anything else she has ever done.

Linda’s time at the Reserve is spent leading nature walks and giving sea kayaking tours. “I teach people how to be outside,” she says simply. During three-hour trail walks, she shares her knowledge of the natural world with school groups and adults, and teaches them about the Abenaki presence, both past and present.

Grenfell displays her whimsical side when asked about her preference for the chipmunk as the Reserve’s mascot. As a child, she fancied herself a chipmunk. The youngest of four, she always felt like the little kid looking for the grownups. “Chipmunks,” she says, “are small and quick, very adept at surviving, like me.” She goes on in a playful tone, “My fantasy is to live like a chipmunk; in a burrow, sitting on a couch, reading silly novels and drinking tea.” She laughs, “That sounds like me in the winter.”

While she does not actually dwell in a burrow, Linda is happily settled with her husband in a Wells community of retired United Methodist clergy. Her five grown children are, she says, “off doing what adult children do; living full lives and raising wonderful kids.”

At the Reserve, surrounded by 2,250 acres of forest, marshland and beach, with seven hiking trails, Linda Grenfell is at home. “This job is perfect for me,” she says. “I belong here.” She adds with a smile, “I need to be planted.” Spoken like a true child of nature.