nature

Confession time: I'm more at home in the woods than the city, these days. As some of you know, I spent 6.5 months hiking the Appalachian trail last summer. I am an avid long distance backpacker and canoeist and have been fortunate enough to spend a lot of nights under the stars in various parts of the country.

That said, I have a hard time isolating a single experience outside of human civilization that has been particularly high-impact for me. Probably my favorite recent experience was the 100 Mile Wilderness in central Maine. The Wilderness is the last section of the Appalachian Trail, a remote stretch of woods with no roads, buildings, or other traces of civilization for a hundred miles (about a week of hiking).

I was fortunate enough to hike through the Wilderness in early October, when the leaves were changing and the crowds were nonexistent. Seeing as it was the tail end of my long journey, it was especially profound for me: the silent beauty of Maine's evergreen woods and emerald lakes was the perfect backdrop to contemplate what my next step would be, when the trail ended. The woods taught me to quiet my mind, and humbly appreciate my place within something bigger than myself.

This is why it is absolutely imperative that we not rest until we have guaranteed the safety and integrity of our wild places. They are our oases, places we can go to get in touch with our true selves, to recognize our role as tiny, short-lived creatures drifting in infinity. This revelation may sound depressing, but for me it is liberating and awe-inspiring. The woods are proof that we are all immortal, even if that immortality is no more than the humble carbon cycle that recycles our bodies into new life. Our species, for all its technological prowess, will be a grim failure indeed if we manage to complete our destruction of the grander world around us.