Preserving Our Treasures: Why National Parks Matter to Everyone

 Close your eyes and picture this: a place where the air is crisp and pure, where towering trees whisper in the wind, and where the golden light of sunrise stretches across endless mountains. Imagine the thrill of spotting a wild mustang galloping freely, or the quiet reverence of watching a mother grizzly nuzzle her cub in the early morning mist.

Even if you’ve never stepped foot in a national park—if you’ve only ever known the rhythm of city life—imagine standing there. No skyscrapers. No traffic. Just you, the earth beneath your feet, and the heartbeat of the wild all around you.

As a wildlife and landscape photographer, I’ve spent hours waiting for the perfect moment—when a Blue Heron locks eyes with my lens, when the last rays of sunlight kiss a lake edge, when an eagle spreads its wings against a sky painted in hues no artist could recreate. I capture these moments so others can see them. But no photograph can ever replace the feeling of being there—breathing it in, feeling your soul quiet as the world moves in its natural rhythm.

But what if these places were gone? What if, instead of the call of a loon over a still lake, you heard the relentless grind of drills? What if the rivers ran dry, the forests stood silent, and the creatures that once roamed freely had nowhere left to go?

This isn’t just land—it’s a legacy. A child who has never felt grass between their toes deserves the chance to witness a bison herd thundering across the plains. A teenager who has only ever seen stars through city haze deserves the chance to stand under a sky so full of light that it takes their breath away. Future generations deserve to know these places not just through pictures, but through experience.

Yet, right now, decisions are being made that could strip this away forever. The president’s push for drilling threatens to turn these sacred spaces into industrial wastelands, trading irreplaceable beauty for temporary profit.

We are at a crossroads. Do we choose destruction, or do we choose to preserve the last wild places that remind us of who we are?

Imagine, now, that same child who once marveled at the sight of a grizzly bear watching from a distance as the machines roll in. Their small hands grip their father’s as the first drills pierce the earth. The ground trembles, and with it, the wild things scatter—deer leaping into the brush, birds fleeing from their nests, a bear and her cubs retreating into the shadows. The air, once filled with the sounds of nature, is now drowned in mechanical noise. That child's wonder turns to confusion. Then, to sadness.

And one day, to silence.

This is our moment to stand for something bigger than ourselves. To ensure that long after we are gone, these lands remain untouched, wild, and waiting—for the next child, the next explorer, the next dreamer—to step into their wonder.

Because once they’re gone, they’re gone forever.