South Carolina is losing about 200 acres of forest every day. That sounds scary, doesn’t it? The good news is that at the same time, conservation groups across the state are working hard to protect land that matters most: places that safeguard our drinking water, reduce flooding, support wildlife habitat and biodiversity, and provide public access to nature.
We can’t save everything, so that makes choosing the right places to protect even more critical.
As we leave behind another holiday season and enter a new year, it’s important to count our gifts and blessings. One of my blessings is that my childhood inspired the work I do today. I had parents who gave me time, trust and freedom to roam. Much of that roaming happened outdoors on the Santee Delta and on a property called Kinloch Plantation, where my dad, a wildlife biologist, managed habitat for wintering waterfowl and other species.
It was on the Santee Delta, long before I understood words like conservation or stewardship, that I learned to pay attention to nature. We swam, hunted, fished, caught shrimp and crabs, and explored the many creeks and quiet places hidden along the Santee River. It was magical but also had its challenges. Growing up on the delta, you had to accept mosquitoes and yellow flies nine months out of the year as part of the deal.
As a kid, time outdoors didn’t just mean hunting and fishing. Sometimes it was observing. I had a favorite spot at the edge of a rice field, where hand-built dikes provided access to the marsh. I’d scare up ducks and wait for their return. Not to shoot; just to watch them and enjoy a quiet place. Even then, I knew something important was happening. I didn’t have the words for it, but I was developing a respect for nature and solitude. Those values still guide me decades later.
What I didn’t realize then was that this landscape, like so much in the Lowcountry, carried a deeper human history. Enslaved people shaped much of what we now value, using knowledge brought from West Africa that still defines our coastal environment. Protecting the Lowcountry involves not only safeguarding its natural features but also recognizing this profound, indelible human history — a living testament to the knowledge and labor that shaped the coastal environment we value today.
Protected land gives us options and improves our quality of life. It provides us with places to walk, hunt, paddle and fish. It keeps working lands working. It preserves views that make this region feel like home, even as growth continues. And once land is protected, it stays that way, forever. That permanence matters more than ever.
From my new office in the Lowcountry Center for Conservation, I hear pileated woodpeckers and receive visits from Carolina wrens. It’s a reminder that land is an active part of daily life. This place and the neighboring property, now owned by Charleston County Park and Recreation Commission, look the way they do today because a landowner made a deliberate choice to protect prime West Ashley land for future generations to enjoy. That is truly a blessing.
Some of the most powerful conservation successes don’t look dramatic. They often don’t look like anything at all. No houses on the horizon. No docks or factories when you gaze across the marsh.
I remember fishing with my dad and brother on the Santee Delta one afternoon when he asked us to describe what we saw. We listed trees, water and birds. Then he pointed out what wasn’t there. Because of conservation, I can take my own children to that same spot today, and the view is unchanged. This is not by accident: It’s the result of people deciding this land was worth protecting for future generations.
During the holiday season, many of us gathered with family, shared meals and retold old stories. Some of us spent time on the water or in the woods, even if only for a quiet walk. When we enjoy time outdoors, we’re benefiting from decisions made to protect land not just for wildlife, but for people.
Land shapes us, whether we notice it or not. We’re giving future generations the chance to have their own early mornings, their own favorite spots and their own sense of belonging. That’s the real value of land conservation in the Lowcountry. It’s something worth valuing and a blessing we should count.
