Answering the Call of Our National Parks

In September, our family will hit the road for an adventure of a lifetime, cruising around our country in an RV and roadschooling our girls. We intend to learn as much as we can through “place.” That is, we hope to experience our country’s collective history, its cultures, the landscapes, and the natural world by experiencing them where they live. And so, a central focus of our exploration will be our country’s national parks, monuments, and preserves.  

There are some obvious reasons we are focusing on National Parks. There’s ready curriculum. The parks are free to our family next year. Those are sweet perks, of course. I mean, who doesn’t like free and easy? 

But more than that (and bear with me when I say this because I know it sounds a bit sappy, but truly), the parks are calling us. 

You see, Travis grew up spending his summers in his family cabin on the shore of Lake Kabetogema, one of the four lakes that make up Voyageurs National Park in northern Minnesota. Voyageurs is one of six National Park sites in our state. It’s a water-based park—like, a whole lot of water. So. Much. Water. So, naturally, this park is best experienced by boat. 

Trav was a dock boy on Kabetogema in the summer. I sometimes picture him back then, a gangly teenager with sunburned shoulders, running bait to resort guests, tying up boats, cleaning fish. Imagining those carefree, idyllic days of his youth tickles me. 

He also spent his summers roasting the obligatory marshmallows over fires and fishing with his parents, their boat weaving between islands smattered across the deep lake waters. He went on annual camping trips with his dad, trekking to an island that can only be reached by a hike, and then a canoe paddle, and then a portage, and another paddle. An island so rarely visited and serene that the bass practically jump right into your boat. He talks about his lake days with a wistfulness that wraps me in calm, happy images of sun-drenched summer afternoons. 

Trav's dad, Terry, paddling in Voyageurs National Park.

When we met, he took me to his lake and shared his love for the National Park with me. Together, we explored its many faces and discovered some of its secrets. It was on that lake that I first told Travis I loved him, sitting in a canoe after a tranquil weekend camping retreat. When our girls came along, we took them to the lake, let them splash in the cold northern water, taught them to cast a line, how to ride in a canoe. Travis was his most free and easy self whenever we spent time there. 

That National Park is in his blood. 

A quiet river day on the Mississippi.

Today, we live in a house just uphill from the banks of the Mississippi River. The stretch that runs beside us is within the Mississippi National River and Recreation Area, a 72-mile corridor of the river that is the only national park site dedicated exclusively to the river itself. We spend a lot of time on the river. Some days, we hike down to a quiet spot and stretch out a hammock to lay there and listen to the water flow in the summertime or hear the ice crack in the winter. We feel miles away from everything when we are out there, even though this is a truly urban national park that cuts right through the Twin Cities metro area.

When my grandmother passed away last year, just two months shy of her 100th birthday, my sister, cousins, and I scattered some of her ashes in the headwaters of the Mississippi, where the river starts to flow out of Lake Itasca. My Gram took us there countless times on our annual summer road trips when we were kids. Now, on quiet river days, I imagine my Gram making her way down from the headwaters, smiling at me from the water that flows by our home, the water my girls dip their toes into and skip rocks across. I feel her out there in the river. 

That National Park is in my blood. 

Across our country, people have similar tales about how our National Parks are in their blood. Natural and cultural heritage sites call to people like these two parks call to us. These places are woven into the fabric of people’s personal stories, just like ours. 

Which is no surprise. There are 63 National Parks in the U.S., but that's just a sliver of the wonder our National Park System holds. The National Park Service oversees 429 official units–parks, monuments, preserves, national seashores, battlefields, and historic sites across all 50 states, Washington D.C., and the U.S. territories.

Some of these places offer escape from the hustle of city life. Some of them are located in the heart of a city. Some of these sites feature stunning natural landscapes. Some of these sites feature urban landmarks. 

Above all, our National Parks are about preservation. They protect the breathtaking beauty of our natural landscapes, wildest regions, and most iconic vistas, delicate and vulnerable wetlands, and imperiled wildlife habitats. 

They also protect our history. Our parks preserve the things we are proud of and that we continue to celebrate, but they also highlight some of the ugly and sometimes unspeakable parts of our history that we have a duty never to forget. Places like Emmett Till and Mamie Till-Mobley National Monument, designated just recently in 2023 with sites in Illinois and Mississippi that are connected to the tragic story that catalyzed the modern Civil Rights Movement. And places like Amache National Historic Site in Colorado, which remembers the Japanese-Americans incarcerated in camps during WWII. Or the Trail of Tears National Historic Trail, stretching across nine states in the American South, remembering and commemorating the survival of the Cherokee people forcefully removed from their homelands. Places that remember bloodshed and countless lives lost on battlefields. Places that sit on land stolen from Indigenous peoples. 

National Parks preserve all of these spaces and offer us refuge, a place to reflect, a place to get quiet and learn about who we are, who we were in the past, and to explore the possibilities of who we can be in the future. To remember all of the beautiful, ugly things about ourselves as a nation. 

Pipestone National Monument, Pipestone, MN.

Taking our girls to the National Parks, preserves, and monuments, then, is not just something we think will be fun. Which, okay, is part of it for sure.

But getting our kids out into the parks is necessary. Imperative even. 

What better way to foster a love of our natural wonders? Reverence and compassion for our country's history and heritage? A desire to learn from the world around us? We want to nurture the next generation of stewards of our history, social justice, and the environment. And so to the parks, we go.

Our greatest hope is that by the end of our trip, the National Parks will be in their blood, too.