The joy and the fury.
As a child, valuing our natural world was ingrained in me through experiences. Hiking, skiing, camping, fishing. But also sitting in quiet places. Learning how to be with the landscape. I drew strength through my connection to rivers, mountains, ponderosa pines, junipers, meadowlarks, and magpies. But I yearned for more. When it came time to choose a college, I wanted to escape the mountain west. I longed for ocean, rain, fog.
1995 turned out to be a pivotal year in my life. It was my second year at the Evergreen State College. Like many kids, I wasn’t sure certain what I wanted to focus on in school. Evergreen was perfect for a motivated, yet curious student. My first year I took a core program that was an integrated exploration of identity. By the end of the academic year, after completing our yearlong project of an autobiography (which I did using photography), it was obvious that connection with the nature was a cornerstone of my identity.
In late spring 1995, I started dating this guy. For our first date we walked the trails at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge. I wasn’t a birder, but he was, and I was willing to go along even though I wore the wrong footwear and didn’t own binoculars. Also that year, I switched my academic focus to biology. As part of my program (because it was Evergreen and experiential learning was required), I began to work at the U.S. Forest Service. In 1996, I was the first individual Forest Service AmeriCorps placement in Washington state. I took a year off of Evergreen to serve my AmeriCorps appointment as a biological technician. My team was performing foundational conservation research on the decline of the Northern Spotted Owl. I was employed at the Forest Service through the remainder of college and after graduation, until I moved to Alaska. Working within an agency, with a dedicated group of professionals, on issues that really mattered; changed the course of my life.
Last week, we took a short vacation to the Sonoran Desert. We wanted to catch a glimpse of spring and hike and bike off some of our frustration with the state of the world.
As I hiked through the deep sand of the arroyo, I felt my anger rising again. I focused on the vibrant red flowers of the ocotillo, the thick strap of my binoculars around my neck. Ahead of me that same guy I met at Evergreen, paused to take a photo. We’ve hiked many trails together in three decades. And without ever discussing it directly, we’ve dedicated our lives to being voices for nature. All the jobs we’ve held, the images we make, the words we write, the hours we volunteer, are in service to nature. Although we initially bonded over our burning, youthful need to defend wild places (we read a lot of Edward Abbey in those days), over time, we adapted our efforts. We recognized that to be effective, we wanted to foster an appreciation and direct connection between people and nature. When people fall in love with a place, they are more likely to fight for it.
I come alongside Dave, and we scan the rocks of the canyon until we spot them. Ancient petroglyphs. A bird with a fan of feathers. A sun. Spirals. Waves of lines.
I’m so thankful to the Hohokam people who left these images. For Dave, who I get to share them with. For public lands where I can hike to find them hidden in a canyon. And at the same time, I am furious. Throughout the week we visited state parks and a national park. They were packed with visitors. And every one of the park staff had a hollow look in their eyes. I found myself scanning the groups of tourists enjoying their public lands wondering which of them helped put us in this situation. Which of them voted to take away the jobs of dedicated professionals that protect these lands? The same staff who welcome their families and guide them to experiencing the wonder of nature. There have been plenty of upheavals in environmental protections in the thirty years I’ve been dedicated to this path, but nothing like we are facing now.
Near the end of our hike, as we were winding our way through the saguaros, cholla, and ocotillo, I decided that I needed to learn how to hold the anger and the appreciation simultaneously. These people will not steal my joy. I will not allow it. So, I will practice balancing the fury with my unwavering wonder. Because no matter what they do, there are still hidden petroglyphs by ancient indigenous people that have survived through uncertain times. My job is to resist giving up hope, to protect that flicker that motivates me to defend the wild places. Those petroglyphs remind me that others have endured. And nature will. Just as we will.
Earlier in the winter we visited the petroglyphs at Seminole Canyon State Park, Texas, where we attended a ranger led hike. The expertise and enthusiasm of our guide and the two volunteers with her were an inspiration. It breaks my heart to think of programs like that being cut for no reason at all except to create some political theater for a handful of tech bro millionaires. Shameful.
In it together. <3