Many of my happiest childhood memories are of summers spent on my granddaddy’s farm.   My granddaddy and all of his siblings, my daddy and my aunts and uncles were born in that farmhouse.  The farm seemed huge to me, and always busy.  Granddaddy plowed with a mule, raised chickens, ducks, cattle, sheep as well as cotton, peanuts, and soybeans.  Grandma’s large vegetable garden was a source of wonder for me with its endless variety of shapes and colors.  My cousins and I were shaped into the adults we are today by this rural southern heritage. 

  Today, my daddy owns the farm and supervises the more modern agricultural practices used to produce cotton, peanuts, and soybeans.  Though the old farmhouse isn’t permanently occupied, it is still comfortable and still welcomes those of us who can arrange eagerly anticipated visits.  Sunsets from that front porch across the lazy fields are precious to me.  The old-timers immediately know who I am when I identify myself as Earl’s oldest girl. 

  About 20 years ago I spent several weeks traveling around Alaska.  Once again, the land had an abiding impact on my psyche.   Powerful, immense, and almost overpowering, the wild landscape of Alaska taught me the small niche that humans inhabit in the grand scheme of time and place.  I left Alaska convince d that such wildness should always be there, a potential experience for all people yet to come.  Or, even if never visited by people, it should be protected to prevent diminishment of Earth.

  The interaction of people and land is very complex.  Our impact on the land is obvious.  The land’s impact on us is much more subtle and deep.  My commitment to the land trust movement lies in the grass root values implied by local people working hard to preserve land and conserve community, sustaining a quality of life so valuable that you desire it to be there for those who come after you..