Protecting a neighborhood could change the world. Protecting a national park could save an entire ecosystem—something else I told my staff. We were in the “parks are forever business.”
I once lived underneath the last home of Edgar Allan Poe.
“As my husband and I drove through the Texas Panhandle, the bobbing and clacking of the pump jacks, oil derricks, greeted us...We hadn’t realized previously that Palo Duro Canyon is the second largest canyon in the United States. We drove down to our primitive campsite in the Cactus Camp Area for the night.”
“In 2017, at the age of 70, I hiked from Georgia to Maine on the Appalachian Trail; I fell down more times than I had fallen when I was a toddler learning to walk. I also spent more time alone than I ever had before. The relationship between those two experiences is worth pondering.”
We are delighted to host our third annual poetry series.
Enjoy the winning essays from our fall writing contest.
We’re thrilled to share a feature we wrote (as Amy Beth and Derek) for Southwest: The Magazine, celebrating the 50th anniversary of the U.S. National Trails System for the October issue.
Travel with Lauren Smith as she finds a sense of home on the road, much like the migrating birds she studies. "The month after I moved to Montana I went to an environmental conference in Waterton Lakes National Park, Alberta. There, I heard a Blackfeet elder say this: “We are bound by breath to honor and take care of this place.” The elder was speaking about conservation, and how it is important to care for all parts of an ecosystem—the watershed, the soil, the plants, the animals. To care, the elder said, you need to settle in a place and let it settle in you. Once this happens, you are bound by breath to honor and care for that place." Click here to continue.
We are delighted to host our second annual poetry series, in honor of National Poetry Month. Poetry presents an extraordinary lens through which to explore public lands, the outdoors, and our instincts for adventure and self-reflection.
An hour later and I'm clinging to a cable on the side of the mountain, treading a path so narrow my feet no longer fit side by side safely, but only one in front of the other. There is a steep, almost vertical drop to my right hand side. Indeed, at one point there is only a metal bar sticking out from the sheer rock, bridging the next bit of narrow path. Don't look down, I think. Hang on to the cable with both hands. Phew. Done.
"When I typed in "West Coast Writers' Retreats," Taos appeared, a well as Santa Fe and Seattle. Then the search took a leap to Ireland...and a writers' workshop on the southwest coast of the Beara Peninsula and a place named Anam Cara."