I’m Kayla, based in western Massachusetts. I garden. I bike. I chase my kids around the yard. And like a lot of folks here, I’ve felt the warmer years roll in. It’s weird to say this, but a few parts of it have made daily life easier. Not better overall—just easier in small ways. You know what? That mix can mess with your head.
Here’s my honest, first-person take on the “benefits” I’ve seen, and why they never feel clean. For a deeper dive into the conflicted feelings that come with these small perks, you can read my extended reflection on the odd upsides of a warming climate.
Longer growing season in my little yard
My garden used to shut down by mid-October. Lately, it hangs on. Last fall, my basil was still pushing leaves the week before Halloween. I picked cherry tomatoes in a hoodie, not a coat. My neighbor even wrapped a fig tree and kept it alive in the ground. Figs. In New England.
Farm stands near me now sell okra and sweet peppers past the old cutoff. Our CSA tossed in extra rounds of greens. More frost-free days helps that. More “growing degree days,” too—that’s a farm thing that means enough warm hours for plants to mature.
But here’s the catch I can’t ignore: more aphids, more hornworms, and more drought spells. I watered more. I pulled more ticks off the dog. Still, on paper, the season got longer. That part helped.
Milder winters shaved my heating bill
One January, my gas bill came in about $30 lower than the same month a decade ago. It made me think about other money angles, like how some folks look to climate-themed investment vehicles—say, the GMO Climate Change Fund—as another way to hedge rising energy costs. I noticed because I’m that person who compares bills. The house felt less icy. We had more “sweater days” and fewer “two-blanket nights.”
I also kept the shovel in the shed more often. Less ice on the steps meant fewer falls. Small relief, but real.
Then the flip side showed up. Slushy freeze-thaw days chewed up the roads and made surprise black ice. Ski hills near us had patchy weeks, and friends with seasonal jobs felt it in their paychecks. Lower heat costs helped my budget, but it wasn’t simple joy.
More patio time, more shoulder season business
Cafés in Northampton kept patios open later. We ate outside in late October, watching leaves still clinging to the trees. I biked in March without numb fingers. Local trails thawed early, so weekend walks felt easy.
Shops said the shoulder season—those in-between months—brought steady traffic. I believe it. People stayed out longer. I did, too.
But then smoke days rolled in from wildfires far away. I remember canceling a park day because the air smelled like a campfire gone wrong. So yes, more patio time—until it wasn’t.
New crops creeping north
A farm stand near me tried peaches again and pulled it off for a couple of summers. I tasted one that dripped down my wrist. Sweet and strange, because ten years back, folks said peaches were a gamble here. I’ve also seen more cold-hardy grapes and even a few hobby olives tucked against warm brick walls.
That’s exciting if you’re a grower or a curious eater. New flavors. New business ideas. Also, new risks—late frosts still pop up, and when they do, they hit hard. One bad cold snap can wipe out blossoms in a night. I’ve seen whole rows go quiet.
And it’s not just backyard gardeners feeling the shift. Even the state’s famous cranberry bogs are adjusting to warmer, less predictable conditions, as growers juggle heat stress, changing bloom times, and water management challenges (National Geographic dives into what this looks like on the ground).
The small wins I actually felt
- More late-season tomatoes and herbs from my own yard
- A few lower heating bills during mild winters
- More patio dinners and long bike rides in spring and fall
- A taste of fruit—like peaches—that used to be rare here
These felt good. I won’t lie. They did.
The part that sits heavy
Here’s the thing: the “benefits” are uneven, short-term, and come with strings. My garden thrived while a friend’s basement flooded—twice. I saved on heat and then paid more for summer AC. I got longer hikes, but my kid’s asthma flared on smoky days. Farmers I know talk about whiplash—too wet, too dry, then hail.
So when people ask, “Are there upsides?” I say, sure, in little pockets. I’ve lived them. But the costs stack up, and they stack up fast.
My verdict, if you want it plain
As a lived experience, the warmer stretches gave me a few comforts: more fresh food, less ice, lighter coats. As a whole picture? It’s not a win. The harm is bigger, wider, and less fair.
If you want to see how communities are rallying around practical, hope-filled responses, check out Our Voices for firsthand stories and tools. Regional collaborations, such as the workmates at the Caribbean Community Climate Change Centre, remind me that coordinated action scales those neighborhood fixes.
The good parts feel like coupons taped to a bill you still can’t pay. It reminds me of those dating platforms that literally put a dollar figure on connection—momentary wins that can distract from the bigger picture, like What’s Your Price where you’ll find a detailed look at how the bidding-for-dates model works, what it really costs, and whether the quick payoff is worth the underlying trade-offs. Another parallel popped up when I read about the return of Craigslist-style personals: the Apex corner of Doublelist promises quick, friction-free matches, yet the trade-offs are real (see this deep dive into Doublelist Apex for insights on how the platform operates, the safety checks you should know, and whether the convenience truly outweighs the hidden risks).
Would I “recommend” climate change? No. I’d recommend noticing what’s changing on your block, talking with your town about heat, water, and trees, and backing the folks who grow our food. Plant shade. Save water. Check on neighbors when it’s hot. Small stuff matters, and it adds up.
I’ll keep picking late basil when I can. I’ll keep saying the quiet part out loud, too: these little perks don’t make the bigger storm okay. They just make it easier to see what we stand to lose.