27/10/2025
Sometimes I have to step back from the inbox, the campaigns, and the constant digital buzz and remember why I’m doing this work in the first place.
This autumn, I spent time in the wilder landscapes of Biebrza and Białowieża. It reminded me how much of the wild still endures and how fragile it has become.
In Biebrza, elks have moved into the woods because of first frosts. Wolves are already pairing up, marking their ground for the season ahead. The marsh itself feels ancient, yet it’s disappearing fast: four metres of peat already eroded, and it grows at just one millimetre a year. When it’s gone, it will turn into birch forest, then pine, another step away from the uniqueness of this place.
In Białowieża, bison wander through the village as if they own it, and maybe they should.
Being there made something stir. I enjoy the work I do, telling the stories of rewilding, helping others see the value in restoring nature, but part of me aches for more direct connection. To live slower, wilder, more honestly within the very systems I advocate for.
There’s a tension I haven’t quite resolved: the wild that still exists out there, and the tame routines I return to. Perhaps many of us in conservation and restoration feel it, the paradox of working for nature while living apart from it.
I don’t have clarity yet on what needs to change. Just a growing sense that the wild isn’t only something to communicate about or protect, it’s something to remember how to belong to.