When we went to print last month with “APOCALYPSE NOW” splashed across the cover in 138-point type above a raging Canadian wildfire, I wondered if people would think we were being alarmist. Little did I know that the cover would prove timely.
It wasn’t just the smoky air from those Canadian fires haunting us. It seemed like one climate-fueled crisis followed another: oppressive heat waves, unbreathable air, flash floods. Until a few weeks ago, I’d never even heard the term microburst — a violent downdraft capable of producing winds as strong as a weak tornado. Then one ripped through my neighborhood, snapping mature trees in half and uprooting giants that had stood for generations. I continue to look in disbelief when I see houses in plain view that were very recently hidden behind leaves and branches. But it really happened, and those trees are gone.
For a while, it felt as though we no longer had weather. It was more like one assault from nature after another.
Fear has a way of getting our attention. Maybe living through summers like this will finally convince us to examine human beings’ place in nature more deeply. But fear isn’t the only reason — or even the best reason — to care.
The same systems that can overwhelm us are the ones that nourish us. A forest is not just a place where fires burn; it is also a place of beauty, refuge and renewal. A river or stream is not just a threat during a flood; it is a living system that has shaped our communities for generations.
This month’s issue is about rediscovering something we all need: the quiet joy of being outside.
We often talk about nature in practical, almost utilitarian terms. Yes, trees cool our neighborhoods, filter our air and reduce flooding. Those benefits are essential, but they aren’t the whole story. Spending time outdoors also changes us. It lowers stress and quiets the mind. As we mingle in an ecosystem teeming with life, it reminds us that we’re part of something larger than ourselves.
Researchers have found that people who feel connected to nature are more likely to protect it. That makes intuitive sense. We fight for the places we love, not just the ones we’re told are in danger.
As the climate becomes less predictable, that connection may be more important than ever. If we want people to care for the natural world, we also have to help them experience it — to paddle its rivers, walk beneath its trees, watch its birds and discover the quiet satisfaction of simply being outside.
The crises aren’t going away. But neither is the beauty, wonder and connection that make this planet worth protecting.
