Nearly two decades ago, Professor William Rees of the University of British Columbia was working on a concept he called “appropriated carrying capacity,” a way of measuring human impact on the environment. In one of those a-ha scientific moments, he came up with the alternative phrase “ecological footprint,” and a powerful metaphor was born, one that has informed subsequent public discussion of environmental issues. In Sandy’s Incredible Shrinking Footprint, academics Femida Handy and Carole Carpenter, along with collage artist Adrianna Steele-Card, have devised a story that introduces this powerful concept to the picture book crowd.

Pigtailed Sandy is walking along the beach when she comes across a pile of refuse left by an irresponsible picnic party. She is joined in her clean-up efforts by a grey-haired, bag-laden character known in the community as the Garbage Lady. This wise old woman explains the footprint concept to Sandy: “The footprint of your life is the mark you leave on the world. Its size depends on what you eat … what you play with … how you get around … all kinds of little choices can make your footprint smaller.” Sandy returns home and shares the news with her mother and grandfather, and together they put together a list of “footprint-shrinking” ideas.

An admirable concept? Worthwhile? Absolutely, and never more so than at this moment in history. But the challenges of such a book are twofold. The first is to find an actual story on which to hang the lesson. The emotional arc here involves Sandy’s initial fear of the Garbage Lady. (“Suddenly a shadow loomed over Sandy. Somebody was right behind her. Somebody big. Somebody HUGE!”) Unfortunately, there is no build up to this moment, and when Sandy recalls that her grandfather has reassured her that the lady is harmless, the problem simply evaporates.

The other challenge is to avoid the message that responsible ecological behaviour involves nothing but dreary admonitions. On this score, the book does a fine job in conveying the beauty, energy, and joy of the natural world, aided in no small part by its images. Collage illustrations – of textured and handmade paper, leaves, fur, and chenille in gorgeous deep colours – are given depth and texture by a use of shadow. Steele-Card uses footprints of all sorts – delicate bird tracks in the wet sand, galumphing puppy prints, a muddy mess in the front hall – as a unifying visual device. Text and images come together beautifully in the final scene, in which Sandy “got up and danced ever so gently around the room on her very small tippy toes.” The idea of dancing gently around the room that is our world is a lovely extension of the footprint metaphor.

Another issue that often dogs us, especially from a parenting point of view, is the question of children, work, and money. Does paying children for chores instill a sense of responsibility, or should they pitch in for free, or be released from chores entirely? Should allowance be tied to work? What about part-time jobs for kids – opportunity or child labour?

B.C. painter Maxwell Newhouse cuts through all such anxiety and waffling in The Weber Street Wonder Work Crew, a celebration of kids doing part-time work in their community.

Newhouse paints vignettes of an appealing neighbourhood, a mixture of cottages, low-rise apartments, and row houses in which kids are working. Sam and Len are cleaning out a garage, Barney’s babysitting, Sylvia is watering window boxes.

It is all very Sesame Street cozy, but what saves the book from sentimentality is that right from the outset it is clear that these kids are being paid: “Together we can earn money, have fun and make our neighbourhood shine.” The first-person plural point of view, the unforced diversity reflected in the folk-style paintings (Ava in her wheelchair troubleshoots the computer of elderly Mrs. Cline), and the pleasing plainness of Newhouse’s writing style – “Dogs like Max and Max likes dogs. He’s the best dog-walker in town. There are lots of wagging tails on Weber Street, thanks to Max” – all contribute to a sunny portrait of juvenile entrepreneurial spirit. The stories come together in a busy, detailed double-page aerial view of a neighbourhood garage sale and barbecue in which we can search for the various characters. The neighbourhood is lively and safe. Kids make some spending money. Dignity, especially that of the elderly, is preserved.

Newhouse presents an appealing and plausible model. I want to live on Weber Street, or at least hire Ava to come help me with PowerPoint.