Wild Places Offer Us Something in Return

Growing up in the Bay Area, nature came with a schedule and a set of keys. For my family, it always took planning, packing and driving. 

Nature was weekends and summers, mostly spent at my family’s cabin on Fallen Leaf Lake in the Sierra Nevadas. That cabin, nestled in the pines with water cold enough to steal your breath, is where I first learned to love the quiet, the scent of sun-warmed wood, and the feeling of being tucked into a place that doesn’t ask anything of you but to simply be.

But once we drove back down the mountain, it was back to city life: sidewalks, sirens and stop lights. That pattern followed me through college in Boulder, Colorado then Eugene, Oregon until I ended up in Portland—where I spent nearly a decade. 

I realized that I always chose cities with easy access to the outdoors, but still, I lived with one foot on pavement and the other in the forest. Nature was something outside of my everyday life—beautiful, refreshing, but peripheral.

This changed when I met my boyfriend, Chris, in Portland back in 2023. He was visiting from Libby, Montana (which I definitely had to Google) on a boys' weekend trip, and against all odds, we hit it off. We did the long-distance thing for a while—me riding the Amtrak Empire Builder east from Portland, him coming west. The train passed through breathtaking stretches of wilderness and every time I stepped off at the tiny Libby station, it felt like entering a different world.

Eventually, I came to visit Libby for what I thought would be a few weeks. I didn’t realize I was doing a trial run of living here—but that’s exactly what happened. I went to outdoor concerts. I helped in the garden and built a fence. I got way too invested in the local grocery store’s cheese selection. I started learning the names of the mountains and how to tell different birds apart. I stayed longer. And one day, I realized I wasn’t counting down the days until I went “back.”

So when a job opened up with Friends of Scotchman Peaks Wilderness that fall, I applied and got it. I started in November, and by February, I’d moved the rest of my stuff and made it official—Libby was home. 

Living in Libby has shifted how I see nature—not as a weekend destination, but as something I’m surrounded by every day. I don’t have to plan a trip to feel like I’m in the wilderness. It’s right here. In the backyard. Literally. Sometimes there are turkeys in it.

I still miss certain things about city life—mostly food-related—but I’m really starting to understand the appeal of a slower, wilder pace. I didn’t move here to “find myself.” I kind of just… stayed. And in the staying, I found something better than a dramatic transformation: a surprising sense of belonging.

What I’ve learned is that wild places don’t just need our protection. They also offer us something in return: perspective, humility and a sense of belonging that can’t be replicated by city lights or crowded trails. 

Earth Day isn’t just about remembering to recycle or plant a tree—it’s about remembering that we are part of nature, not separate from it.

And that sometimes, the biggest shift is not in where you go, but in how you choose to live.

Isabelle Manning is a member of The Friends of Scotchman Peaks Wilderness team, overseeing its outdoor youth education program, Winter Tracks, and coordinating outreach events in Lincoln County.