For most of my life I have lived in the wooded Midwest, where sunlight streamed through thick leaf cover and the sky was hidden by tall branches of elm and maple. That is why, once a year, I always drove west across the Missouri River to get my fill of big-sky country.

It was one of those evenings when the warmth of the day lingered over the land, and a slight breeze murmured through the bluestem and Indian grasses.

Every day I read articles about climate change and the dire consequences of not addressing it. I worry that the articles are lost on a public that wants easy answers to complex problems and refuses to believe the work of serious scientists. Perhaps people cannot relate to the topic due to the distractions of their busy lives. Maybe there is just something too distant about those Greenland ice sheets.

It is wild country and I have a chance to lose myself in it for a while. I am thankful for this privilege. In particular, I am thankful for this park,