Karla Sanders

An Impossible Hope?


an impossible hope?


In history the blue rose has been a symbol of Romanticism, a significant period of artistic expression linking individual thought or the self with our natural world. Romanticism dwelled on emotion and the exaltation of the past and nature, in part a reaction to the Industrial Revolution and the more rational period of the Age of Enlightenment. Thought and individual contemplation were also valued characteristics of this time period.

Romantic artists were enthralled with the sublime beauty of nature, aiming to draw out powerful emotions such as love, awe, as well as fear and repulsion. My inner romantic tends to dwell in a more idealistic realm, so I admit to my own admiration of this time period.

The blue rose symbolizes impossible hope, just as I hold an impossible hope that we may live a balanced life with nature.

In this piece the lone bison - one of my most beloved species - represents what we call nature, while the rose represents human hope.

Yet I do not wish to give the impression of idealism here. Here I continue to reflect on the meaning of nature and our bond with it. So in true Romantic fashion, I look back in time to some of my previous writing, and share below an excerpt from a story I wrote in 2016. The original appeared on nationalparkquest.com, it is called The True Nature of Nature. You will find I have mentioned again my most favorite essay by Aldo Leopold, which has greatly influenced my worldview.

The true nature of mountains is this: they can only survive if the habitats within them are balanced. They are harsh places where only the fittest survive, thanks to the fittest of other species. I thought about this while enduring freezing winds atop Sundance Mountain, realizing there were no bunnies and rainbows to idealize in that setting. Our Instagram shots don’t show my face, probably because it was covered with a layer of snot from the cold. I just wanted to get the hell OFF that mountain. The honest truth is that I sighed with relief when our car came back into sight. I was humbled.


As we head into Yellowstone and wolf territory, I can’t help but think of our relationship to these animals. It’s easy to forget that it’s a wild world out there in our cloud of Starbucks and Whole Foods. Since the beginning of civilization humans have tried to conquer the wild, fearing it, killing it, and caging it. Then some people realized we should preserve the wild. So we built fences in the Rocky Mountains to protect plants from elk rather than reintroduce wolves. Remember, we killed the wolves in the first place. We created green zones so animals have room to migrate without getting hit by our cars. For other “non-wild” animals we built fenced zones so we could pack them in like sardines and then eat them from packaging covered with happy cow faces.

Recent events in the news describe story after story of some bizarre or tragic encounter with an animal that led either to the demise of the human or animal in question. It seems we are having a hard time balancing with the wild nature of nature. We want elk selfies without getting charged by them. We want to save bison calves, not realizing they don’t need saving. And most of us want to feel safe on mountain trails.

Over the years we destroyed predators, eradicated grizzlies and wolves so we could build homes and “raise” cattle. Society blossomed with the false illusion that we can control nature to some extent. Aldo Leopold wrote about the taming of wildness in one of my favorite essays, Thinking Like a Mountain. He wrote of his trigger-itch, his youthful desire to kill every wolf in sight. Then he wrote about the result of that hunting mania. That by destroying all the wolves we took out a key player in an environment of interconnected pieces. Nothing illustrates this better than a recent short film I watched called How Wolves Change Rivers.

As we sit safely in our cars shooting wildlife with our cameras, I can’t help but question my own tendency to romanticize these beings. I put my own emotions into them. Yes, I would probably cry if I watched an elk calf get torn up by a pack of wolves. Considering I cried the first time I hooked a worm on a fishing hook.

But then I think of Leopold’s conclusion, which will hopefully inspire you to read the entire essay:

We all strive for safety, prosperity, comfort, long life, and dullness. The deer strives with his supple legs, the cowman with trap and poison, the statesman with pen, the most of us with machines, votes, and dollars, but it all comes to the same thing: peace in our time. A measure of success in this is all well enough, and perhaps is a requisite to objective thinking, but too much safety seems to yield only danger in the long run. Perhaps this is behind Thoreau’s dictum: In wildness is the salvation of the world. Perhaps this is the hidden meaning in the howl of the wolf, long known among mountains, but seldom perceived among men.


It’s respecting the rights of other animals. It’s respecting boundaries in parks. It’s respecting the fact that nature is harsh, while beautiful. It’s respecting the balance of elk and wolves. It’s respecting the idea that too many people on this earth isn’t a good thing. That our cities are crowding out the habitats sustaining our cities. And that we need greater education to realize our balance with other species.

In my utopia we would live in balance with the wild. The truth is that we – lovers of our natural world – are living a life out of balance, and the signs of this are all around. We cannot see ourselves as conquerers of nature. There is nothing sustainable about that. As I’ve written about before, we are part of nature, not above it.

So the true challenge we face is this: how do we live a life of balance?

More importantly, how do we convince the unconvinced?

These questions, they come from an impossible hope.