Upon graduating the University of Wisconsin this spring, I was filled with a variety of emotions. Of course there was the excitement, pride, and relief that I had made it out alive. However, closing out my time studying natural resources and ecology also left me with a sense of sadness, anxiety, and even despair upon learning how much humans have devastated our environment. We have lost so many species of flora and fauna, and will continue to endure such losses. A nature lover who grew up watching The Lion King, this concept is painful to ponder. However, my time at the Discovery Center has helped to restore a sense of hope by serving as a shining example of how humans can come together to heal the wounds we have inflicted on this planet we call home. The center’s committed individuals treat not only the people, but also the plants and animals that reside in the Northwoods as family, as integral parts of a complex and interconnected community. This, to me, is stewardship.
One idea that is discussed profusely in the classrooms of universities around the country (including my alma mater) is that of a sense of place. After sitting for 500 hours at boat landings this summer conducting Clean Boats, Clean Waters surveys, I understand exactly why this topic is so prevalent in the curricula of environmental educators, scientists, historians, and ethnographers alike. I have learned to love these boat landings, these seemingly insignificant places, by simply observing the wildlife, the silent magic in the transitions from irises to asters, gaywings to goldenrod, throughout the course of the growing season. I have heard the wind in the pines, the call of the loon, and the sound of the waves washing the shore. I have felt the joy of watching warblers forage in their treetop kingdom. I have witnessed a dragonfly emerge from its nymph form, sun itself, and take flight for the first time. I have seen the excitement on the faces of adults and children alike as they describe their catch out on one of the many beautiful lakes in Vilas County. I have learned about the edible and non-edible plants, lichen, mushrooms, and mosses. I have had the privilege to help protect these waters for future generations to enjoy, and I couldn’t be more grateful for this summer’s 500 hours of “weed patrol.”
I strongly believe that a highly internalized sense of place, of knowing not only the people and economics of an area, but familiarizing oneself with the complex ecology as well, is essential for the health of the planet as a whole. Sitting at boat landings for 500 hours has taught me patience, has revealed nature’s many avenues for exploration, and has instilled in me a deep sense of respect, not only for the land, but for the people who love this place and call it home. It has even helped to cure my wanderlust. Of course I would love to take off and hike mountains, learn to surf, or soak in a hot spring in some far-off land. However, the enchanting beauty, biodiversity, and serenity of the Northwoods have assured me that learning about the wonders of my homeland is something that must be shared in order to help individuals, families, and communities grow sustainably.
I will end this reflection on my time at the NLDC with the words of that one wise song from The Lion King:
“There is far too much to take in here, more to find than can ever be found.”
Abundant thanks to the North Lakeland Discovery Center for reminding me of this and helping restore in me a sense of childlike curiosity about the world around me.
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