The Last Earth Day

If only every holiday could be celebrated like Earth Day - with a hike through sublimely sunlit woods on a Saturday blessed with summer-like weather. On April 19, my husband and three-year-old and I decided to take an early walk through the Wharton State Forest before heading to Washington, DC for a concert by Cloud Cult, an band whose musical ingenuity is surpassed only by their dedication to the environment.


We pulled into the dusty parking lot of the Atsion station excited for our adventure and happy to be together after a week separated by work and preschool. Escaping to the quiet of trees and forests helps us reconnect without distractions. But the day turned out to have much more in store for us than a simple hike – we met several people who inspired us to continue trying to be as green as any suburban family could be. We’ll never live in an eco-village or give up using paper towels (I tried for several weeks, but it was just impossible. So I’m back to buying the recycled kind, and only use them when it’s absolutely necessary), but we try to live an eco-conscious lifestyle as much as possible.


After snatching up trail maps from the Atsion ranger station, we talked to the park ranger about the threatened status of New Jersey’s parks. Although his job seems relatively safe for now, he was still very concerned for his colleagues in other state parks. He told us about the April 23 rally in Trenton, Camp out at the Capitol, and said that NJ DEP Commissioner Lisa Jackson is expected to announce the DEP’s budget at the meeting, which includes funding for the state parks. He sounded hopeful that Ms. Jackson might have devised a way to preserve the parks. We talked about the history of this complex problem, and wished him good luck and good news before heading out of the old building.

By that time the temperature had climbed to the mid eighties; we walked in shorts and short-sleeved shirts. Before the woods would welcome our arrival with their shade, we walked through a large open field that stretched to the woods. Compared to the pristine landscape of nearby Medford, this field area introducing us to the park was dilapidated, littered with old buildings (one could have been beautiful if the money was available to restore it) and ruins. Towering trees were the landscape’s redeeming quality. The buildings looked tired, tired of living in a place where the environment gets no respect from the very people elected to fund and care for it. Even though this park isn’t on the chopping block, it was very clear that whatever the DEP’s budget would be, it wouldn’t be enough to care for any the state’s wild places with the respect they deserved.

For nine New Jersey Parks, this could be the last Earth Day they are officially considered parks. Politicians can strip them of their status as parks, but they will demand respect existentially - simply by existing as they have since before this land was even named New Jersey.

Dancing down the trail into the pine forests, we felt mixed emotions – glee that Mother Nature has given us this glorious day and sorrow for the many parks whose fates were in questions. I even felt guilt for hiking in a forest that will remain, instead of spending time in the parks that might be closed. But for us, this is the closest park and that says something. How many people have time to travel to a distant park if the ones around their houses are closed? These thoughts clouded my mind on the sunny day and Kai began to complain of feeling tired. So we decided to uplift our moods by playing a game.

“Kai, where's the next yellow square?” Nick quizzed him.

Kai brushed his long, blonde hair from his sweaty forehead and peered around. When he’s searching for something specific, say a Spider-man movie at the video store, his eyes rival those of raptors.

“There it is!” He shrieked in delight, pointing to a marked tree about 100 feet away. For the next mile we played this game, feeling like Hansel and Gretel following breadcrumbs as we hiked. It was strange for it to feel like summer but look like winter.

There were dozens of people enjoying the state forest, riding horses, canoeing on the Mullica River, hiking, driving SUVs and Jeeps. As we snacked on green apples and rice cakes we explained to our son the importance of cleaning up after ourselves and picking up any litter on the trails, even if it didn’t come from us.

By the time we reached a small beach at Mullica River bend, we were ready for a break. Kai had stopped walking long ago, and was enjoying the experience from the comfort of a hiking backpack. My husband needed to unload the 45 extra pounds.

As we walked closer to the beach, we exchanged friendly greetings with a family who was swimming in the tea-colored river. They had a beach blanket and three dogs.

“Is the water cold?” I asked the young daughter who was splashing in the river happily.

“Not once you get used to it,” she said.

The water looked more like tea, but it was very clean. How did it get like that? As the water runs through the roots of cedar trees, which function like tea leaves staining the water golden-red. There’s also iron in the river sand, deepening the color even further. It was exquisite. My husband explained that people used to make pilgrimages to this water, believing it had healing properties. He said that it’s one of the amazing features of the pinelands. New Jersey’s parks overflow with native species, the biodiversity that works like a unique thumbprint that gives us an identity. If we fail to protect and respect New Jersey’s state parks, our native gardens, than we forfeit our right to call ourselves the garden state.

The tiny blonde swimmer scooped up a pile of mac-and-cheese colored silt and showed it to my son. He dog ran over and sniffed it. Kai took a step back from the dirt and the dog.

“It’s great that your daughter is such a nature girl. I’m encouraging my son to be more like that,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s a heck of a lot better for kids than sitting in front of the video games. We come out to these parks all of the time. Do you guys know that all of the land around here used to be owned by one man, Mr. Wharton? He sold all of his land to the state for just $3 million dollars to make sure that it would always be preserved,” said the father of the swimmer.

“I wonder how he would feel if he knew about the parks closing?” I asked.

The family looked at me quizzically. “What do you mean?” the mother asked as she puffed on a cigarette from the beach blanket.

“Governor Corzine is closing nine state parks on July 1 to save $4.5 million dollars. I don’t know if any of them are Wharton’s land though. There’s a rally right now at Parvin State Park to support the parks,” I told him as I shot some photographs of some people paddling a canoe around the bend.

“Did you know Parvin State Park used to be a concentration camp? During World War II they rounded up all of the Japanese folks and made them live there. Nobody around here knows anything about that, but it’s for real,” he explained before waving to another canoe.

I saw that on the park's web site," I offered.

“You guys found the right guy to be answering your questions. My husband knows everything about South Jersey. Whereabouts do ya’ll live?” Asked the man’s wife.

“Medford, just a few miles away,” I responded. “Since your family uses the park for swimming and weekend vacations like this, you should get involved with the effort to save the parks. Just go to the New Jersey Sierra Club’s Web site.” More canoers glided past.

I unpocketed my cell phonhe to check the time; I was disappointed that we had to turn back now to get ready for our roadtrip to D.C., but happy that we had met some nice people and spent the morning outdoors.

It was my turn to wear the hiking backpack; I needed the extra exercise. We had decided to hike out of the woods via road instead of trail, to make sure we wouldn’t be late for our trip.

“Mommy, look out, car,” warned Kai from my back.

Nick and I moved to the side of the road as three old SUVs passed by, each occupied by families with their pets who waved as they passed us. The rug will be pulled out from under these people, I thought. How many people don’t even know what they might lose on July 1.

As I huffed and puffed down the trail, continually removing Kai’s Go Diego Go sneakers from my back, I thought about all of the people who use the parks and don’t even know about the fact that they’re closing. What’s going to happen? Will they pack up their beach blankets and swimsuits, hop into their pick up trucks packed with chips and coolers of soda, only to be turned away from their favorite park by No Trespassing signs? Or would they be allowed to drive down the dusty road, but be left on their own to deal with potholes, downed trees, and rocks in the road.

On this day, the Saturday of Earth Day weekend, I renewed my commitment to the trees and trails. The blueberries and the cranberries. The tea-like cedar water. The wild little nature girl and the nature lover I was hoping to shape my son into. If these parks close, there are so many children who will never have the chance to become nature lovers. I echo Richard Louv in asking: if there is no nature for our children, who will become the stewards of the earth, what will become of nature? What will become of children? If Governor Corzine closes New Jersey’s state parks, he will be cutting the cord between our children and nature. And that will have disastrous and lasting repercussions.

Let's make our voices heard on April 23 in Trenton.