BREATH LESS

We scramble up to our packs, chat, and eat as our sweat slowly stops pouring.

We look around, take stock of all the work we’ve done, and instantly notice our phenomenal setting. This vista takes my breath away in its still, silent beauty.

Just as I catch my breath again, lunch is over and it’s back to work.

Chainsaws rawr, boots shuffle in dirt, pulaskis fly, instructions are yelled out and metal clicks against rock.

I get back into the rhythm of being winded. Someday, I’ll breathe deep in this fresh mountain air.

But not today.

— By Danielle Herzner (she/her) Stewards Individual Placements Recreation Technician in the Tonto National Forest.

Igrew up thinking of forests as relaxing places to hike. I’m surrounded by trees reaching to the sky to shade the sun and logs perfectly placed to take a break on. What could possibly harm me? I was blissfully ignorant until I spent this past summer doing vegetation monitoring as a Scientist in Parks intern for the National Capital Region Network of the National Park Service.

The forests of the D.C. metropolitan area gave me a rude awakening. Possibly the least relaxing place we monitored was a forest along a highway leading out of the city. Entering the woods through a vine thicket, I immediately brushed up against a plant with the telltale three leaves. As we set up our equipment, my entire hand went into a huge swath of poison ivy. All I could focus on was how much discomfort I would be in for the next few weeks, but suddenly, my teammmate told me to look up at the sky. Through the tree line we saw a bird with a white head and brown body swoop over our heads. This bald eagle had no problem making its home in a place most people would steer clear of.

Later in the week, I found myself crawling on the forest floor to avoid rose thorns filling the understory as far as the eye could see. Any upward motion and I’d be snagged by the thorns. Attending social events after days like this, the scratches on my arms would prompt people to ask if I was attacked by a cat. As I pushed to get through as quickly as possible, I heard a team member call: “watch where you’re stepping!” I wanted to respond with something snappy. How could they expect me to think about anything other than not getting impaled on thorns? Then I saw it: a small creature with a painted shell and brilliant orange eyes. It was right in front of me. We were making eye contact. The box turtle wasn’t complaining about the uncomfortable conditions—in fact, it was probably happy to have cover from predators.

These were the two hardest days of the field season, but they taught me that even though these forests probably wouldn’t make it onto a postcard, they are still worth protecting.

D

— By Galen Oettel, Stewards Individual Placements Scientists in Park Ecology Assistant at National Capital Region Network, D.C.