Nature Bites Back

	Photo by Blaire Skinner

The future of nature is in our hands — and nature doesn't always like it.

Government agencies are preparing for the coming season of spraying — for gypsy moths — and for mosquitoes that might carry West Nile virus. Forty years ago, marine biologist Rachel Carson documented the devastating effects of the widespread use of the pesticide DDT on birds, fish, and many other wild creatures. Her book, Silent Spring, showed us that sound science, articulated powerfully and simply to a general audience, can change the course of history. Arguably, Carson's book gave traction to the environmental movement and led to the establishment of the Environmental Protection Agency. It certainly led to the banning of DDT use in the United States.

Last year, with the best intentions of saving trees from gypsy moths, poison was sprayed in our forest preserves that is believed to have been destructive of many rare butterflies. And with the best intentions of protecting people from the spread of West Nile virus, many communities, caught unawares, were not able to mount effective, targeted control of mosquito larvae, and instead sprayed broadly to kill adult mosquitoes, and more. Arthur Pearson explores the merits of such a course in his article in this issue, but the effects of that spraying on this region's birds, fish, and other mosquito predators remains largely unknown.

How much easier it might seem to dispense with nature and kill every troublesome thing! How much simpler it might be to get rid of those things that bite us. Retaining wild nature in the midst of a metropolitan area is a challenge. But the salvation of the world may well lie in our culture's response to such challenges.

Take Waterfall Glen in DuPage County, a 2,500-acre preserve surrounding Argonne National Laboratory. It is an area rich with plant and animal life, with rare oak woodland and savanna habitat, and dolomite prairie. Its hilly trails are popular with hikers and birders. Two decades ago, Waterfall Glen was the site of one of the world's first oak woodland restorations. Land managers began removing invasive brush, conducting oak woodland burns, and controlling the deer population to foster ecosystem health. It's also at Waterfall Glen that conservationists over the years have defended ourselves from critics who've argued that we should not cut trees, kill deer, or conduct controlled burns. Most of us wish on some level that nature could be left unfettered, to be as free and pure as possible. We'd be happy if wolves did all the deer control — that's nature at work. But we don't want wolves around our pets and children. In the absence of wolves, neither the deer nor the rest of the ecosystem can survive in balance if we just leave them alone. We know that too.

That's where Chicago Wilderness comes in. We are the urban and suburban pioneers of nature stewardship. We the people of Chicago Wilderness are the cutting edge of humanity's quest to figure out how to collaborate with nature. Nor is nature a trivial partner — rather, one that's powerful, unpredictable, largely unknowable. We have to listen, think, respond. Like the bird bander handling a rose-breasted grosbeak in the photo above, we have to realize that nature has a mind of its own. A great many of them actually.

Still, the future of nature is in our hands. We ignore the risks at our peril. Chicago Wilderness celebrates the warblers' return here, at this time and in this place, where spring is not silent and where people struggle to learn to be partners with the rest of creation.