I was making my way along a trail in the Touch the Earth Natural Area. It was a beautiful spring day — warm and the sun shining in a bright blue sky. Although it hadn’t rained for a few days, my feet sank into patches of mud. I tried my best to avoid the larger puddles on the path, but in some places there was no way around it. I heard the squishing; I felt the water seeping into my shoes.
I soon came upon a pond, just a little off the trail. I paused to listen to the orchestra of frogs, insects, and birds. I so wanted to see a frog jump into the brown water or a turtle sitting in the mud. For a few blissful seconds, there were no text messages, no emails. The pressures and problems of everyday life were gone. During these moments, I feel the presence of a higher power.
Little has more impact on our lives than the natural world. It keeps us alive. When we abuse or destroy nature, we will eventually feel its wrath. That revenge has taken the form of devastating wildfires, rising sea levels, and droughts. The Kankakee River in northern Indiana is taking back what once belonged to it.
From reading descriptions by American Indians and early settlers, forests and wetlands once made up most of Indiana’s landscape just a few hundred years ago. In terms of how the natural world marks time, that is a blink of an eye. It doesn’t take much or long for us to dramatically and irrevocably change the environment. That landscape, the environment is our heritage — and we are its stewards.
The settlers drained marshes, changed the paths of rivers, and chopped down the forests. They transformed the state into farmland. Later, we paved farmland into interstates, strip malls, and parking lots.
How many buildings across our fair state that once promised economic vitality for generations now sit empty and dilapidated? Do you ever see a vacant lot topped with crumbling concrete and filled with rubble? Do you wish that it was green space instead?
The amount of trash along some places of the People Trail is stunning. What could be breathtakingly beautiful is often polluted with plastic bags, empty bottles, and cigarette butts. In the creeks and streams, we are treated to views of rotting stagnant garbage instead of swimming fish.
Indiana must protect its wetlands. We need that land — not just for recreation and natural scenery, but for our survival. Once nature is destroyed, it is difficult, if not impossible, to restore.
Future generations will either condemn us or celebrate us depending on how we take care of our part of the world today.
Have you stood on the banks watching a turtle perched on a log? Have you cast a line in a lake while standing in the reeds, your rubber boots sinking into the marsh? Have you watched the delicate ballet of a flight of ducks landing on a pond? For those who have never done any of those things, I feel sorry for them. If they have and still don’t appreciate their majesty, I pity them.
Aaron Miller is one of The Republic’s community columnists and all opinions expressed are those of the writer. He has a doctorate in history and is an associate professor of history at Ivy Tech Community College — Columbus. Send comments to editorial@therepublic.com.
