There’s one place that means a lot to me: D.W. Field Park in Brockton, Massachusetts. This park is the refuge in my life, a quiet getaway from the hustle and bustle of the city. Growing up in Boston, I’ve always needed to be with nature, and D.W. Field Park became a land where I could breathe and release everything. It’s where I go walking when I need to clear my head, where I’ve jogged innumerable times, and where I’ve spent meditative afternoons contemplating on life. During the summer, I would go on morning runs with my brother and his friends. There’s just something about the park’s trails, ponds, and wooded areas that make it feel like a sanctuary to me, especially when I need an escape from the city.
In some respects, D.W. Field Park does serve as a rock of democracy, that sort of space Williams describes, where people can come together and feel part of something larger than themselves. It’s a public space, meaning anyone can access it. It’s not a perfectly managed or curated park, but in being in its natural, unpolished state, it reminds you that this land is available to everyone. It is a place for people of all walks of life to come together, to share space, and experience nature in an environment free of barriers. In that way, the park is a reminder that you can feel part of a community simply by participating in the quotidian business of appreciating the land.
I agree with Barbara Kingsolver that we need wildness. Nature is so humbling; it doesn’t give a rip about the plans we have as humans or any of our expensive dreams. That wildness reminds us that we’re one small part of a much larger whole. We think we’re in control, but nature sends the message that we’re not. When I consider the moments I’ve spent in nature, whether at D.W. Field Park or elsewhere, I feel like it helps me step out of myself and recognize I don’t have to have anything figured out. It’s also a reminder of how significant our decisions are. Wildness invites us to live intentionally, to value the land, and to think about how our actions will affect generations to come. It reminds me of the wider world — how we’re all connected and must care for the earth for generations to come.”
Despite living in a city, I have been able to maintain a connection with nature. Although it’s not the same as having a lot of open space right outside my door or living in the wild, I’m never too far from nature. A quick drive gets me to parks like D.W. Field Park, where I can escape the concrete jungle and find some peace. I feel more connected to the land than I do to a city, even when I’m close to a small patch of trees or a pond.
It’s not only spending time in nature, however. Art and stories seem to bridge that gap between the city and the earth, I’ve found. Whether music, literature, or even visual art, these means of expression allow me to engage with nature and history in a way that feels real and personal. Consider Cait Nishimura’s Lake Superior Suite. I’ve never even been to Lake Superior, but through her music, I feel like I can be connected to the land. It’s a way to bring a little of the rest of the world, even though I’m not there in person.”