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Fall
2000
 ome
years ago, while researching an article on America’s
national parks, I began to collect examples of Funny Questions
Visitors Ask. Some examples of this genre include:
"When
do you lock up the wildlife for the night?"
"When
do the deer turn into elk?"
"How
much of this cave is undiscovered?"
"Why
were all the Civil War battles fought in national parks?"
These
examples give us a chuckle. But they also reveal our ignorance—and
the experience of park rangers suggests that it is widespread—of
natural processes, wildlife biology, and our own history.
But
ignorance in this arena, as in any other, merely describes
a lack of knowledge. It carries (or should carry) no shame
attached. I’ve certainly learned as a reporter over
the years to swallow my pride and ask questions, the only
dumb question being the one I’ve neglected to ask.
However, ignorance sidles up to stupidity when we refuse
to learn or to change our views in the face of ample facts
to the contrary.
Our
widespread lack of knowledge about the history of this region
is demonstrated by the near-disappearance from our cultural
lexicon of Donald Culross Peattie and Louise Redfield Peattie.
Once the highly popular and nationally-renowned author of
books such as An Almanac for Moderns and A Prairie Grove,
Donald Peattie today is nearly forgotten and his works are
out of print. Fortunately, in this issue, writer Peter Friederici
has performed a fine public service in re-introducing us
to this early and spirited celebrant
of Chicago’s wilderness.
Our
ignorance about wildlife biology is reflected in Jerry Sullivan’s
stories of people’s interactions
with local wild animals. Are they pets—objects
of our affection and devotion, yet completely subject to
our mastery and whim? Are they dependent, parasitic pests?
Or are they truly wild creatures?
And
what happens when the boundaries of dependence and independence
blur as they certainly do in our urban/suburban/wild intersections?
What happens when we fail to acknowledge the differences
between pets and wild animals and seek to domesticate creatures
that had formerly been wild (as some would have us do with
the white-tailed deer)?
Even
wild creatures become subject to our will and the effects
of our enterprise when developers fragment habitats. When
we eradicate predators or let invasive species destroy ancient
ecosystems, we disrupt our wild neighbors in ways large
and small. Our relationship with other animals is necessarily
driven by complex feelings. But our dominance in the natural
world, though unavoidable, need not be absolute and need
not be hostile.
In
fact, the paradigm exemplified by Chicago Wilderness suggests
a new way by returning us to a place in nature not as master
or subduer but, rather, in the role of caring stewards.
The Chicago Wilderness paradigm recognizes that human intervention
is essential if our remaining natural areas are to become
healthy habitat for entire suites of birds and bees and
butterflies, snakes and salamanders and savanna blazing
stars.
But
the Chicago Wilderness paradigm also carries with it enormous
humility and respect. It acknowledges that we humans are
one species with the unparalleled capacity to alter our
landscape and, thus, have a solemn responsibility to use
our power for good. It also means that we will need to make
hard decisions and do hard things, such as cutting some
trees to allow whole natural communities to thrive, or reducing
the numbers of deer, or setting fires under controlled conditions.
We have to do these hard things because that’s part
of being responsible stewards, owning up to our actions,
and making amends. It’s part of being fully human.
This
issue features dispatches from the front—on developers,
deer, fire, and bird poop. Living with nature challenges
our culture. The mammals and plants and insects and fishes
with which we share our metropolitan habitat are, in many
respects, our distant kin. If we learn to be wise about
it, we can take great joy in having these neighbors. From
an affectionate and respectful distance.
Debra
Shore may be reached at editor@chicagowildernessmag.org.
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