A Reflection: Halfway Down the Trail

Seven camps. Seven national parks. Two hundred seventy-five campers. As I sat quietly after Rocky Mountain Family Camp, I realized those numbers tell only the smallest part of the story. They measure attendance, but they can never measure transformation. We are just over halfway through our summer with STEAM in the PARK, with five more camps still waiting for us, and already my heart feels fuller than I know how to put into words.

This summer has taken us from the misty mountains of Great Smoky Mountains National Park to the windswept beaches of Assateague Island, through the rushing waters of New River Gorge, into the incredible wilderness of North Cascades, beneath the towering trees and rugged coastline of Olympic, among the impossible hoodoos of Bryce Canyon, and this week into the alpine beauty of Rocky Mountain National Park. Every park has been wildly different. Every ecosystem has told a different story. Every group of campers has brought their own personalities, gifts, and experiences. Yet somehow, every single week has ended the very same way—with hugs that linger a little longer, tears that surprise us, and promises to see one another again.

I keep thinking about a little girl who walked into our first gathering at Rocky Mountain Family Camp. She looked around the circle, saw nothing but strangers, and quietly said, "Everyone looks so happy. I hope that's what happens all week." She couldn't have known she was speaking for all of us. That's exactly what we hope every single time we pull into another national park—that strangers become friends, that educators rediscover why they teach, that families laugh together in ways they haven't in a long time, and that children discover the kind of wonder that only happens when they put down a screen and pick up a magnifying glass, a fishing rod, or a hiking stick.

We've watched synchronous fireflies dance through the forests of the Smokies. We've celebrated sea turtles, wild horses, and salt marshes at Assateague. We've paddled, explored, and learned beside the rivers of New River Gorge. We've wandered through ancient forests in North Cascades and Olympic where silence itself seemed to teach us something. We've laughed beneath Bryce Canyon's towering hoodoos, and we've stood together in Rocky Mountain National Park watching elk, learning to fly fish, riding horses, smelling ponderosa pines, painting with nature, and sharing meals around picnic tables that somehow always seemed big enough for one more person.

None of this happens because of us alone. It happens because America's national parks continue to open their gates and their hearts to learning. It happens because park rangers generously share not only their knowledge, but their passion. Week after week, they have welcomed our campers as if they were welcoming old friends. They have answered a thousand questions, led hikes, shared stories, taught us about wildlife, geology, history, conservation, and stewardship, and reminded us that these parks are so much more than beautiful places to visit. They are places that shape us. We are deeply grateful to every ranger, volunteer, educator, conservancy partner, and National Park Service team member who has invested in our campers this summer. You are helping create memories and connections that will last a lifetime.

What continues to amaze me is that the national parks are only part of the story. The real story has always been the people. It's the educator who arrives exhausted and leaves inspired. It's the family pitching a tent for the very first time while another family they've known for only ten minutes grabs a mallet and says, "We've got you." It's children cheering for one another, adults sitting around campfires talking long after the activities are over, and complete strangers becoming the kind of friends who already know they'll meet again somewhere down the trail.

I think that's why this work has never felt like simply leading camps. Every week we watch something beautiful unfold. We create the schedule, gather the supplies, and invite incredible park rangers and partners to teach alongside us, but somewhere in the middle of the week something happens that none of us could ever plan. Walls come down. People slow down. Conversations become deeper. Laughter comes easier. Wonder begins to feel contagious. Before anyone realizes it, a community has been built.

It's not over yet but we had to share our gratitude. We still have five camps ahead of us. Five more national parks. Five more opportunities to welcome new educators, families, and friends into this growing community. If these first seven camps have reminded me of anything, it's that hope is still alive, kindness is still abundant, and our national parks continue to be among the greatest classrooms—and greatest gifts—our country has to offer.

To every one of the 275 campers who has been part of these first seven adventures...thank you. You haven't simply attended STEAM in the PARK. You have shaped it. And because of you, we cannot wait to see what these next five camps have in store.