We have an older sister who gets pregnant easily. So Emily and I

Hear, O children of time, the words of Martie Maguire: “We have an older sister who gets pregnant easily. So Emily and I think there may be an environmental cause for our problems. Neither of us were very old when we started trying. But we've lived very parallel lives. We've been in a band together since I was 12 and she was 10. We can't help but wonder, did we stay in a hotel near a power plant?” At first, these words seem like a lament of sisters burdened by sorrow, yet within them lies a profound truth about the hidden forces that shape human life: the unseen bond between environment and fertility, between the choices of industry and the destinies of families.

For the ancients knew: man is not separate from the world he dwells in. The air he breathes, the water he drinks, the soil he tills—all these flow into his blood, into his children, into his lineage. To live near a power plant, to breathe the fumes of industry, is not a passing circumstance, but a covenant of risk. For what man releases into the air does not vanish; it lingers, it enters, it changes. Thus, Martie’s wondering is not mere imagination, but an echo of wisdom: that when the earth is poisoned, its children too may be touched by unseen harm.

Consider the tale of the ancient city of Rome, whose aqueducts brought water to millions. Yet when lead pipes carried this water, slow poison seeped into bodies. Scholars have long debated whether this weakened the empire itself, striking at health and fertility alike. Whether true in full or in part, the lesson is clear: the hidden dangers of environmental exposure may alter not only individual lives but the destiny of entire peoples. What seems small in a moment—a pipe, a factory, a chemical—may reverberate across generations.

Martie and Emily, bound by music and sisterhood, lived parallel lives, sharing not only stages but also burdens. Their words remind us that suffering is not always born from fate alone, nor from age, nor from choice, but from the invisible hand of the environment that touches all. And what is most grievous is this: that while one sister bore children easily, the others bore the weight of uncertainty, their paths diverging not by will but by circumstance beyond their control. Such disparity within a single family is a mirror of the wider world, where environmental harm falls unequally, where some suffer deeply while others pass unscathed.

Yet within sorrow also lies courage. To ask, “Did we stay in a hotel near a power plant?” is to pierce the silence, to question what many accept blindly. It is the act of seeking cause, of refusing to blame the self alone, of demanding that the world be examined for justice. For too long, people have borne illness and infertility in silence, thinking it their own fault, when in truth, the world around them was tainted by greed and neglect. Martie’s words awaken us to this truth: that health is not merely personal, but communal, shaped by the air we share and the soil beneath us.

The lesson is thus: be vigilant stewards of your environment, for its health is your health, and its harm is your harm. Do not assume that poisons poured into rivers or smoke released into skies are distant—they come back in food, in water, in wombs. Demand accountability from those who build without care, and support those who seek clean energy, safe water, and unpolluted soil. For just as a sister’s fate may be altered by unseen toxins, so too may a generation’s destiny rise or fall by the choices made today.

Practical action lies before you: learn where your power comes from, where your water flows, and what industries breathe into your skies. Support leaders and laws that protect not only profit but life. In your own dwelling, conserve, reduce waste, and seek to live in harmony with the earth. And when others suffer, do not turn away, but walk beside them, for their struggle is a warning and a guide.

So let it be remembered: the pain of these sisters is not theirs alone, but a parable for all. Environmental harm does not end with landscapes—it enters the blood, it touches the cradle, it shapes the generations. Guard the earth, and you guard your children. Neglect it, and you imperil the very future of your family’s song.