Blogs

As a mother deer and fawn ruffle through the dry November leaves in search of acorns along my crumbling driveway, the mother’s alert movements hint her awareness of my presence. How could she see me with the setting sun shining on her face from behind me? I stand still in this position for a few minutes to observe their behavior until a quick dark shadow catches my attention from the kitchen window to the right of me.

My fellowship was inevitably going to require working on wild places from afar. Whether stationed at one Forest but working virtually with other distant Forests in a large state, or returning home to a different state to finish work remotely; my time in California and away from it were not all that different in how close I felt to wilderness. For the majority of the Pacific Southwest Region’s more than 60 wilderness areas, I was always going to be looking in from the outside: my view mediated by a glass pane or screen.

Growing up in the shadow of San Francisco and only traveling to rural America off of highway exits en route to other cities or National Parks, I had come to assume that quintessential small-town America had faded away sometime between the advent of McDonalds and Amazon Prime. My time as a Wilderness Fellow, living in various remote Alaskan fishing villages has happily proved me wrong.

“…we are pleased to offer you a job in the Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri.”

It didn’t take long for me to realize we can’t all be like Bob Marshall.