National Parks Tell the American Story
What 30 years of exploring has shown me about how these spectacular landscapes reflect the people, resources, and ideals that built this country
Few moments of clarity come to us in life. Mine came in Rocky Mountain National Park at a high-altitude glacial lake three decades ago.
As I hiked a wooded trail with majestic elk grazing in the distance, I pondered my future. After earning an ecology degree, working in a zoo, and managing a Chicago nature center, I already knew I loved animals. But standing amid that vast Colorado landscape, I could focus more clearly on the big picture. Animals need their habitats. And people need to protect those habitats and the environment as a whole. This, I told myself, is what I want to do.
In the ensuing 30 years, my career took me through many environmental conservation jobs. And my passion has carried my family and me to more than 50 national parks and publicly protected lands. To me, these special places are home. They offer comfort, peace, belonging, and a profound sense of who Americans truly are.
This year, as the nation marks its 250th anniversary, some people point to democracy and other ideals as the defining feature of this country. But I believe it’s the landscapes.
History is etched in these lands—stories of discovery, tumult, development, and fortunes gained and lost. Much of that history centers on how people leveraged natural resources—the original infrastructure. Communities grew near reliable waters and rich soil. Rivers became highways carrying people, crops, timber, and goods. Fertile valleys gave rise to farms that fed growing towns and cities. Forests fueled early industries—providing timber for homes, ships, and railroads.
The nation’s landscapes also reflect the rich history of their inhabitants: Indigenous peoples who have lived on and stewarded these lands since time immemorial; early explorers who mapped vast expanses; and families that rode wagon trains into uncertainty and opportunity.
And, of course, the land carries a deep natural history—of pristine rivers and abundant fish, endless woodlands and bison herds that stretched to the horizon—and of how over the past century people have worked to restore what was lost and to protect what remains.
Many of these stories can still be experienced today in our national parks. They are accessible and open to everyone who wants to enjoy nature and learn about the people, resources, and events that helped build the nation.
Conserving some of America’s most spectacular landscapes says something valuable about this country—that its people have determined that some of its most special places are off-limits, not to be sold or diminished. It’s a reflection of American values, part of the national ethos.
And while these landscapes tell the American story, they also have shaped my own. I’ve stood in awe at Old Faithful eruptions, the jagged peaks of the Grand Tetons, the otherworldly rock formations at Bryce Canyon, and the bison and moose strolling across the Western plains. Years ago I stopped asking myself why I’m so drawn to these places. It’s simply who I am. The parks help me slow down, clear my mind, and open my senses to the sounds, smells, and scenery of the natural world. My family has shared in the journey.
For my husband, an Army veteran who served as a military police officer and guarded outposts during civil war in Honduras, the parks offer quiet. For our three children, they became places for unstructured time for exploration and discovery, whether chasing fish in a river or scrambling over rocks—and for valuable life lessons, such as wearing the right shoes for a hike. Their experiences endured. Two of my children, now ages 20 and 27, are carrying forward a love of nature and environmental stewardship into adulthood, one leading hiking and camping trips and the other moving to Denver from our home in Washington, D.C., so she can spend her weekends in the outdoors.
And my experiences over years spent in the parks have also given me a front-row seat to change. I’ve seen where glaciers have receded and where forests, scarred by wildfires, might have benefited from a controlled burn. Visible erosion along rivers has probably been shaped by forces beyond park boundaries. And I’ve observed fewer insects where they once seemed to be everywhere. These changes are reminders that even the country’s most treasured landscapes are not immune to the challenges facing the broader environment.
As the nation approaches its 250th anniversary, preserving these places requires both appreciation and investment. It necessitates sound environmental policies that balance recreation and resource use with the needs of wildlife and healthy ecosystems. And it demands caring for the infrastructure—roads, trails, boardwalks, campgrounds, visitor centers, bridges, and water systems—that allows millions of Americans and people from around the world to safely experience the national parks each year.
Half a decade ago, in recognition of those needs, The Pew Charitable Trusts played an integral role in the passage of the Great American Outdoors Act in 2020, which provided billions of dollars to address long-standing infrastructure maintenance backlogs across public lands. Continued investment, through proposals such as the Legacy Restoration Fund, are vital to ensuring that those critical repairs and restoration efforts continue for the protection and preservation of the visitor experience and the natural resources.
As the country celebrates 250 years, the national parks evoke not only its history, but also how important its natural resources still are today. These cherished places have given me and my family adventure, perspective, education, and peace. And all the parks created memories and deepened our appreciation for the environment and our country’s history.
Those moments at Rocky Mountain National Park helped inspire my life’s work. But the responsibility to protect these treasured landscapes belongs to every American—to ensure that future generations can experience the same wonder, discover the same lessons, and inherit places that remain worthy of the nation's enduring promise.
Jennifer Browning leads The Pew Charitable Trusts' U.S. conservation project.
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