Perhaps from the beginning of our existence, humans have been fascinated by fall leaves. We drive to Shenandoah, the Blue Ridge Parkway, the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We travel the globe in search of fleeting colors, paper-like formations, with unique veiny patterns falling from the sky and blanketing the ground with their layers of softness. Stepping upon these fallen leaves, the gentle percussive sounds of fall remind us that what grows from the ground eventually returns there.

But for a few fleeting moments, leaves float from the sky with a kind of cadence and slowness we rarely experience in our daily lives — the world in slow motion. Nature’s confetti. There is something deeply beautiful about watching an individual leaf drift through our shared atmosphere and down to our feet.

The journey typically transpired something like this: Two minivans packed with seven middle-schoolers, three or four adults, and their gear depart Holland, Michigan. They drive some 700 miles to a pre-selected section of the Appalachian Trail. Upon nearing the destination, the vans diverge and travel to two trailheads roughly forty miles apart. Then, two groups begin a four-day trek along the Trail, walking towards each other until they meet somewhere in the middle. They spend a night together at the same campsite, sharing stories of their adventures and vying for the chance to talk. The next morning, the adults swap car keys and each group proceeds to the other group’s minivan. Eventually they all meet up at a motel on the drive back to Michigan — where pizza and pool time are prerequisites.

That path? The butterfly leads and biologists follow. The resulting habitat restoration is finely tuned over time. Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC) staff and partners have pulled invasive barberry and bittersweet, planted nectar wildflowers, and felled single trees to create sunny glades within the hardwood forest canopy. Each tweak to remove a threat or enhance metalmark habitat results from what the butterflies teach the scientists.

At first glance, a northern metalmark appears the opposite of a monarch reigning over wildflowers in a royal cloak of orange wings etched in black. Where the monarch is a long-distance migratory champion, the demure metalmark is a stay-at-home specialist few people will ever see. Monarchs face dangers from Canada to Mexico; a whole colony of metalmarks can be eliminated in one fell blow (as happened in Connecticut at a rock quarry). However, the two butterflies share striking qualities as pollinators reliant on one kind of caterpillar host plant. For the monarch, it’s milkweed. For the northern metalmark, the host is roundleaf ragwort. Both butterflies are at high risk of vanishing forever unless people care enough to take meaningful actions based on science — not just once, but over the long run.

These are just a few of the most common questions asked by people who come through the doors of the newest Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC) visitor center — located in the heart of Damascus, Virginia. Visitors hail from as close by as across the nearby Tennessee state line and from as far away as Alaska, Brazil, Germany, and Sweden. In total, more than 1,700 people visited the center in its first six weeks after opening on August 27, 2022.

MacKaye did not envision a trail serving the desires of a privileged few, but rather the needs of the average person. From its inception, therefore, the Appalachian Trail was intended to be a welcoming place for all — regardless of ability, experience, or various other factors.

Fulfilling this vision of inclusiveness in the early decades of the 21st century remains a challenge. And yet, there are countless stories of people who experience on the Trail something akin to what MacKaye intended: a sense of peace, rejuvenation, and communion with nature and one another. One such story took place last summer in northwest Georgia.

What inspired human rights and environmental justice advocate Audri Scott-Williams to walk across every continent except Antarctica to promote peace?

The Appalachian Trail.

What excited health, wellness, and aging coach Carolyn Hartfield so much that after her first-ever hike at fifty-six years old, she formed a hiking group and has led thousands of people on hikes across the U.S. and multiple other countries?

The Appalachian Trail.

What empowered long-distance hiker and outdoor diversity champion Daniel “the Blackalachian” White to decide to live off the grid and devote his life to educating the public about how to live more sustainably?

The Appalachian Trail.

What made local, state, and national park advocates/supporters Tanya and Larry Pender decide to form “Pathways to Parks” and attract Black and Brown Americans to the A.T. and other trails?

“Thank you for your service” is a sentiment that I hear — and say — often. Lately, I have been thinking a lot about service. This issue of A.T. Journeys comes to you around Veterans Day, a holiday that is especially meaningful to me. I am writing this, however, in mid-September when two events are dominating the news. This first is the anniversary of 9/11, which annually causes me to reflect on the service and sacrifice of so many people on that awful day. The second is the death of Queen Elizabeth II. She was no doubt a woman of privilege, but one who devoted her whole life to serving the British people. Each of these converging events remind me that there are many ways to serve.

The Appalachian Trail has a long history of being a place of solace, refuge, and healing for veterans. Earl Shaffer leads a long list of veterans who have used the Appalachian Trail to “walk off the war.” While some may proudly show their colors as they hike, there are many others out there just quietly using the Trail. As is so often the case, you may never even know they are veterans. I think there may be no higher purpose for these public lands than to be a resource for those who have served us all.