A Love Note to My Son: Oh the Places You Will Go!

Kyla West is a wildlife biologist whose work has included ecology-based restoration, population monitoring, and human-wildlife conflict resolution.

I found out I was pregnant with you during the opening week of fall turkey season in 2019. Surprise, elation, and fulfillment overwhelmed me, and the spinning arrow of my internal compass stopped short, pointing me towards a bright future.

I was less than a month into my new job, working in the eastern part of Washington state, hoping to make a difference in the tensions between large carnivores and livestock. These were your father’s old stomping grounds: a semi-arid desert landscape full of pines, patriots, and public lands.

When you were the size of a blueberry, we scrambled across steep boulders and cliffsides by Vulcan Mountain in search of a bighorn sheep. This ewe was once fitted with a VHF radio collar, and had since returned to the Earth, but the collar could be used for good science again. When you were grown to prune-sized, we rode ATVs and rode horseback across National Forest lands, checking on cattle and looking for any sign that wolves had recently used the area.

In the fall, we went turkey hunting together, walking fields and forest roads across Stevens County in hopes of encountering a grouse or two. In the coming months, you soared over mountains and crossed nearly 3,000 miles of horizon to visit my hometown in Pennsylvania, where you helped us bring dinner to our family on our annual Thanksgiving pheasant hunt with Grandad.

Eventually, I ended up trading my field job for office work of the same caliber, and we settled into our cozy little nook in the world: a house just the right size for a growing family in Tacoma. While What to Expect When You’re Expecting didn’t have chapters on the devastating effects of climate change, political turmoil, global pandemics, toilet paper shortages, or murder hornets, we knew there was one thing to look forward to in 2020. We eagerly awaited your arrival in May.

Your father and I could hardly wait to bring you to wild places. When you were only 2 weeks old, we took you to the forests of Elbe Hills, the foothills of Mount Tahoma (Mount Rainier National Park). You heard your first ruffed grouse drum here, and received your first ‘baptism’ when your father dabbed fresh mountain springwater on your forehead. Only minutes from our house was Swan Creek Park, where we regularly hiked a swath of public land: home to the unique temperate rainforest known to western Washington. Along the creek, where salmon journey to spawn, you practiced taking wobbly steps forward, holding our hands tight.

You have shown us so much in your first year of life, from your determination and resilience, to your curiosity and attention to the smallest details. We’ve just set our stakes down across the border in Idaho and are so proud of how well you’ve handled all of the changes that came with it. This new chapter comes with an abundance of accessible public lands in every direction, which I think you’ll find to your liking. These days, you cry every time we take you inside.

Oh the places you have been, little Bear, and the places you will go. In becoming a mother, I’ve realized how important the lands are that built me, especially now that I know it is my job to leave them to you. It is my hope that in doing so, you get to cherish these lands, and that you get to see what is truly wild about the wilderness.

Though you have seen and done so much already, I can’t wait to experience the rest of the world through your eyes.

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Would you like to write about public lands that you cherish? Please email Mary Jo Brooks at brooksm@nwf.org for guidelines. You’ll get this cool sticker as a thank you.