This book has really been a lifetime in the making. I’d never have become a tree hugger, nor a writer, without the love and encouragement of my parents, Bill and Chris. They turned me on to the mountains and the seas and everywhere in between. Writers both, they bestowed upon me a love of language and a yen for travel.
The kernel for the book took shape a decade ago as I wrote more and more stories about environmental issues bedeviling the South for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Many of the topics I covered—climate change, ecological degradation, natural-resource battles—evolved into this book’s major themes. I am grateful for the many talented AJC reporters and editors who educated and inspired me. I also give much credit to colleagues at newspapers and magazines in North Carolina and DC who taught me how to report and write.
I came to the US Fish and Wildlife Service at the cusp of the Trump administration and, boy, did I get an education. Conservation was no longer something somebody else did that I observed with detachment. I was now fully in the nature business, writing about endangered species, fragile ecosystems, and dedicated biologists. I am very thankful for the education and support I received from Jeff Fleming and Daffny Pitchford, in particular. And I’d be remiss in not thanking the countless Fish and Wildlife scientists who patiently explained Southern-style conservation.
And that goes for the biologists, hydrologists, climatologists, and others who work quietly, and faithfully, for the state and federal agencies—DNR, NPS, USFS, USGS—that play such a critical role protecting our public lands and at-risk species. They don’t get nearly enough credit. And neither do the myriad nonprofits—the Sierra Club, The Nature Conservancy, the Southern Environmental Law Center (Stacy Shelton, Amanda Garcia), and the riverkeepers (Tonya Bonitatibus, Merrillee Malwitz-Jipson) who willingly shared their time, resources, and insights.
I purposefully shied away from the Sierra Club in writing Southward. I didn’t want anybody thinking I was shilling for one of the nation’s oldest conservation groups, or that I was a Muir hagiographer. I did, though, at first, pore over the John Muir Exhibit, an online library of information and resources sponsored by the Sierra Club and edited by Harold Wood. I’ve also relied upon the wisdom of Sierra Club members in Georgia for years.
I owe a big thanks to most everybody I interviewed for the book. Some, though, deserve special mention: Mike Wurtz, a University of the Pacific professor and Muir expert; Dick Shore, a Muir “interpreter”; Chris Ulrey, a protector of rare plants; Shannon Hartsfield, an oysterman turned advocate; and Codey Elrod, my favorite marksman. Paul Wolff educated me about the Georgia coast over many years, as did Clark Alexander. Jamie Satterfield is a passionate journalist. Lilly Rooks should be governor of Florida.
The most special sources, to me, are the regular folks who’ve stories to tell. Tommy and Betty Johnson live a toxic nightmare with grace and determination. Melissa Turner handles disaster with aplomb. Casey Cox’s passion for the environment rivals her love of farming.
Chris Manganiello and Katherine Zitsch educated me on water and water wars. Sandy West was a one-of-a-kind environmentalist and philanthropist who saved an island. Charles Seabrook, a former AJC colleague, supporter, and sounding-board, is the éminence grise of Southern environmental journalism.
I can’t thank enough the folks at Island Press who steered Southward to fruition, especially David Miller, Sharis Simonian, and Jaime Jennings. A special shout-out to Erin Johnson, my patient, incisive, and compassionate editor who knows more about what I write than I do. And Mike Fleming, who expertly copy edited the manuscript and saved me from myself any number of times.
A book is a selfish endeavor, with all the time spent alone traveling, writing, and thinking ceaselessly about the work at hand. I am guilty of ignoring my boys, Sammy and Naveed, for days on end. I am also guilty of leaving them a world headed in the wrong direction. I’ve apologized for both of my transgressions and they’ve absolved me (or at least humored me). My hope is that maybe this book, in some small way, will make the world a better place for them in the future.
I couldn’t have written A Road Running Southward without the patience, support, and counsel of my wife, Bita. She always encouraged me, and never doubted me, and for that I owe her my sincerest gratitude and everlasting love.