The Value of Land

By Ariana Zimney

During the summer of my middle school years, when I wasn’t at the beach or traveling for summer softball, I remember spending time in a makeshift fort my sister and our neighbor friends made in the woods just off our backyards. This fort was our sanctuary to explore. A place of learning teamwork and patience, and decoding the complex biotic communities around us, all under the safety of a green-lit canopy. Almost sunup to sundown, I was in the fort, building shelters underneath the thick branches of honeysuckle limbs, cooking stews with hose water and honeysuckle berries, and climbing the snarly branches of those same honeysuckle giants. Come to think of it, my entourage and I probably contributed largely to the continued strength of the honeysuckle population in that area to this day—spreading seeds, planting twigs, and crashing around on the rich soil.  

I remember “sweeping” the floor of our fort to make it presentable for visitors, normally our parents, who probably wondered what on earth we were shrieking about (my hunch is that it was probably a snake we were trying to catch or a huge worm we found while digging in the dirt).

These moments remind me of the pure joy I got from the outdoors at that age. Where looming deadlines were non-existent, and love came in the form of parents bringing us lunch and Capri Suns. Much of the same still stands true for my love for the outdoors. It is through that affection for the outdoors that I am here, writing this blog post, listening to the swirling ideas of my co-workers trying to better the world around them. This love of nature did not stumble into my life without reason. I was taught at a young age to appreciate the little things—memorize the smell of leaves after a rainstorm, find magic in the sight of a young fawn crossing my path. This affinity for all things “natural, wild, and free” has always been a stronghold in my life. One that I am truly thankful for.  

But to behold all this wonder and simultaneously watch it be paved over is heartbreaking. As I enter the workforce and am exposed to the harsh realities our lands face, I lean heavily on my love for the outdoors. I bask in the laughter my sister and I shared in our fort, and I hope that others experience that same devotion to place as we did.

A specific quote from A Sand County Almanac is what jump-started this stroll down memory lane. The quote goes like this:

“It is inconceivable to me that an ethical relation to land can exist without love, respect, and admiration for the land, and a high regard for its value. By value, I of course mean something far broader than mere economic value; I mean value in the philosophical sense.”

This quote is in one of the last essays in A Sand County Almanac, The Outlook. We have already been through a crazy journey to get to that point in the reading—committed to memory 65290, the banded Black-capped Chickadee who became friend and confidant; fretted alongside Leopold about the potential extirpation of Sandhill Cranes; waded through the thick philosophy of the land ethic, something so rich and wide that one cannot fully encompass the idea in a week, month, or year. We have been through all of that, and hopefully have seen or experienced the value of those creatures and ideas.  

For many, seeing value in the land is easy. We use its natural resources, we recreate on it, and we build our houses on it. And that is not a bad thing, if it is done respectfully and with the overarching intent to not harm. But philosophical value is another thing completely. Philosophical value is listening to the land and being patient enough to wait for an answer. It is watching the pieces of the land interact perfectly with each other—after all, they were beautifully designed to fit together.  

My ethical relation to land was crafted through the love I have experienced in and around the land all my life. My love, respect, and admiration of the land continues to grow as I watch the seasons change and the sandhills soar overhead, heeding the call of redemption on their wings. Love is a foundation for so much, but regarding how we view land, love is a sense of belonging to a place ― and wanting to do good by that place.  

My fort is, realistically, horribly overrun by honeysuckle at this point, but so much growth occurred under its canopy. Now, I find value when I walk down any trail, hear Dark-eyed Juncos chittering in morning fog, and breathe in the dewy goodness that has settled upon the landscape. I find love and admiration here too. Within the treetops of bur oaks and in the presence of a doe and her fawn. These moments put things back into perspective—there is love everywhere around us, if we are willing to seek it out. This relationship with the land starts, first, with love, respect, and admiration, and can only expand from there!  

An ethical relation to land is deeply rooted at the Aldo Leopold Foundation, and we enjoy meeting like-minded individuals who want to join this growing thinking community. Joining this team filled with other stewards and caretakers is rewarding and inspiring. It allows all of us to work together to reach new heights. So, as we integrate love, respect, and admiration for the land into our daily lives, we too can grow into our own land ethic, living it out, just as Leopold did.