NEWS & PUBLICATIONS

   Ten years ago, I started a journey with my husband that has led to some of the most extraordinary places in the country and a lifealtering passion. Frank’s idea was to travel across the country over several months and camp in the national parks and hike, birdwatch, and take photographs. It wasn’t until we were midway across the country, after five weeks of blissful exploration, that it dawned on me how these natural jewels are more than isolated wonders. As part of our National Park System, they represent 388 areas of unspoiled beauty, ancient artifacts, and historic significance vital to our national identity.

If we had been given a magic key to the kingdom, we could hardly have been more elated. Along with the vast panoramas of unimpeded nature, we were amazed to find a legacy from our African American ancestors and other people of color in the most unexpected places. In Biscayne National Park, we discovered the amazing story of Sir Lancelot Jones, descendant of a pioneering family, who resisted the blandishments of developers and sold his island to the National Park Service to be protected for posterity. In Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks, we found that in 1903, Col. Charles Young and the Buffalo Soldiers were indispensable in protecting the 2,000yearold giant sequoia trees from ranchers and loggers.

Yet, during our maiden voyage to 14 national parks strung out across 12,000 miles, we saw only two other black people in the parks. I suppose we shouldn’t have been surprised at the low numbers. Despite ample evidence to the contrary, in focus groups conducted by the National Park Service some years ago African Americans said they felt as though these special places did not relate to them. And the alarmed, fearful reaction of our friends and family when we announced our plans a decade ago bear this out. In fact, before we embarked on our trip, my husband’s mother, then in her mid70s, promised to spend days and nights in prayer until we got back.

Yet what we discovered on our crosscountry journey was not only the scenery and history the parks had to offer, but also kindred spirits who traveled to the national parks to enjoy the scenery, share their experiences, and forge their memories.

At a campground in Acadia National Park in Maine, the white family in the campsite nearby brought us firewood, and we sat around the campfire talking well into the night. While out for an early morning drive to admire the cliffs in Zion National Park in Utah, we came upon a young white woman thumbing a ride. Frank and I momentarily looked at each other, wondering how she might respond to the unexpected sight of two black Samaritans. Then we pulled over to give her a lift. She happily hopped into the truck, and we talked as if we’d known each other for years, only stopping when we arrived at the trailhead where she was meeting her boyfriend. In Yellowstone National Park, a visitor from Germany spent his entire morning trying to find us: We had left our keys in the back of our truck, and he wanted us to know that he had turned them in at the visitor center. At the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, a woman told Frank that she had come to the park once a year for the past 25 years, and she intended to continue for the rest of her life.

The exciting physical journey was matched by an unexpected internal journey. The intimacy of the cab and the endlessly unwinding road awakened deeply buried memories from our childhood, and we learned more about each other and ourselves than may have been possible under other circumstances. I learned to whip up rice or potatoes on the hibachi perched on the back of our truck, while Frank made perfect steaks on the grills available in every campground. We saw great herds of wild bison and our first wolf among the world’s largest collection of geysers in Yellowstone National Park. We observed a family of mountain goats up close along the road at Mount Rushmore National Memorial and kept a wary eye out for bears in Yosemite National Park as we slept in the cab of our truck the night of our anniversary. Simply put, we became fans of the National Park System for life.

“He or she is a better citizen who has traveled the national parks,” said Stephen Mather, the first director of the National Park System. Frank and I can certainly attest to that. Shortly after our journey ended in 1995, we began publishing the newsletter, Pickup & GO!, to get the word out and to promote the relevance of the parks to all Americans. We collaborated with groups such as NPCA and helped organize large national conferences to bring members of communities of color, public land managers, and environmental groups together to strategize about how to improve relationships.

To my (admittedly) impatient eyes, even after ten years, issues of race, class, and privilege still continue to determine who “belongs” in the Great Outdoors. Numbers gathered by the Park Service suggest that attracting diverse visitors and employees remains an elusive goal. But it should be crystal clear to anyone that this sterling legacy of a National Park System cannot be sustained if the fastestgrowing demographic groups have no connection with them.

I know from personal experience the ease with which this connection can be forged. Friends living within 30 minutes of Everglades, who had never visited before, became hooked once we took them to the park, and testified in support of protecting it when the need arose. Other groups we’ve introduced to Zion, Bryce, the Grand Canyon, or the Timucuan Ecological and Historic Preserve have the same fascination and developed similar commitment.

Those of us who love the parks must spread the word to all Americans that the National Park System is our collective natural heritage, that it belongs to everyone, and that all are invited to partake and enjoy. More than ever, today Americans sorely need the inspiration from these timeless icons and historic sites that show how each racial group played a role in creating the America we enjoy in the 21st century.