We are shaped and tempered by our exposure to nature and wildlife—by the opportunity to rub shoulders with the trees. As Wallace Stegner, Pulitzer Prize–winning writer of the American West, put it, “We all need something to take the shrillness out of us.”¹
Considering the shrillness of our modern society, how grateful we should be that national parks dot the land. When we get caught up in self-important deadlines and schedules, the pinnacles of Bryce Canyon, the wildlife of the Everglades, or the depths of the Grand Canyon can enlarge our perspective and invite us to contemplate our true place in the universe, and the consistency of Yellowstone’s Old Faithful can teach us that alarm clocks aren’t the only way to measure time.
Every once in a while, we need to see the raw courage of a flower pushing through a boulder. We need to see the elegant cactus in Saguaro National Park confirming that life can thrive in the hardest of conditions. We need places set apart where we can witness for ourselves that some things are most beautiful without our interference. And sometimes we need to see with our own eyes how many stars there really are in the night sky—without competition from the city lights.
The tranquil vistas of the Great Smoky Mountains, the pristine beaches of Cape Cod, and the backwoods of the Appalachian Trail—to name just a few—remind us to check our pace and take time to be awe-inspired.
Indeed, “all things bright and beautiful”² are a blessed contrast to the monotony, the confusion, and the complexity of our demanding modern world. Nature renews and balances, Stegner contended, “even if we never do more than drive to its edge and look in.”³
Program #4069
1“The Geography of Hope,” http://www.wilderness.org/OurIssues/Wilderness/wildernessletterintro.cfm.
2 Cecil Frances Alexander, “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” Children’s Songbook, 231.
3“Wilderness Letter,” http://www.wilderness.org/OurIssues/Wilderness/wildernessletter.cfm.