On a beautiful fall day one recent weekend I went running through a local park in suburban Maryland. I’ve been going to this park to run off and on since 1996. I know the trails well and the park doesn’t change. No matter where I’ve been or what life’s ups and downs have brought me, I know that if I go to this park the trails will be the same. This brings me a sense of stability and comfort. The seasons change, of course, and the park takes on the character of the current season – as well as the day’s weather – but the trails themselves don’t change. There is no construction in the park; no building of homes or gas stations; no supermarkets and no new roads.

The area around the park, however, has developed at an incredibly fast pace since I first took to the trails 14 years ago. The Washington metropolitan area’s growth has meant that the population of the surrounding towns and neighborhoods has exploded. New towns and neighborhoods have been built where there used to be only farms and forests. The park, though, has remained an island of natural calm in an increasingly busy and populated suburban sea. One of the reasons I like running through this park is because I rarely encounter anyone on the trails. I can run alone and let my mind wander. My feet know where the hills are and skip over the ground like they were reading braille – gathering information from the texture of the dirt, rocks, and roots that line the path while carrying me safely over the trails. The other day’s run, however, left me dodging not roots and rocks but bicyclers every other minute as they sped by in the other direction during a 60 km bike race. So much for letting my mind wander. The course had neon pink markers tied to trees along the trail and the event was complete with a bright tent near the start/finish line and the requisite cadre of vehicles, vendors, spectators, and that sometimes nauseating atmosphere of suburban America I had explicitly come to the park to flee.

I’m glad people were out in nature enjoying the park. I’m glad the growth of the DC area has meant income, jobs, and better lives for many people. I’m glad the park has remained unchanged in essence. Yet I’m sad to see encroachment eating away at the bubble of peace and quiet that used to surround the park. I’m disappointed that my selfish wish for the park to remain a hidden treasure has been rendered naive.

How do we maintain intimate access to nature when we live in larger clusters in and around expanding cities with dwindling parkland? Even if we keep or expand existing parkland, with more people sharing the same patches of nature, don’t we lose the ability to refresh ourselves if we can’t get mentally “lost in the woods” during a solitary, quiet run? America still has great expanses of wilderness, many great local parks, and natural beauty almost beyond compare, but I wonder if we are losing our ability to peacefully and intimately enjoy them.

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