Civilizations have withered and died because of salt. In ancient Mesopotamia several thousand years ago, farm fields became so saturated with salt that nothing would grow and the people had to move on. Not able to sustain themselves, they could not sustain their society either.

	Photo by Jason Lindsey.

In Australia today, one-third of the arable land may become barren and unusable due to salt. Food prices there may double. Fortunately, as we learned from a recent visit by Brian Scarsbrick, the CEO of an ambitious nationwide conservation movement called Landcare Australia, people are mobilizing in their communities to do something about it. They may be able to arrest the decline in the condition of their land — and ensure the health of their populace as well.

We, too, have a problem with salt, as Peter Friederici outlines in his article. At Lake Leopold in the Prairie Crossing community in Lake County, Illinois, Mike Sands has been monitoring water quality for several years. The lake is the site of a conservation project to reintroduce populations of several species of fish that are threatened in the state (CW, Summer 2002). It's also where stormwater drains after passing through wetlands and buffers. In 2001, Sands noticed a dramatic spike in the amount of sodium chloride — salt — in the lake's water. Why? The village of Grayslake had assumed responsibility for clearing the roads at Prairie Crossing and was using a lot more salt than the community's own managers had in prior years. So far, the fish are okay, but the rising salt levels are a matter of concern.

Sands was able to document this change and monitor the results because he is one of hundreds of people in Chicago Wilderness who are heading into the woods and waters of our region to take the pulse of nature — people who count, watch, listen, measure, and report on what they find. We've profiled six of these wonderful people in this issue, but there are many hundreds more engaged in monitoring birds, butterflies, plants, fish, stream creatures, amphibians, you name it. These people are helping us to understand what is happening, for good or ill, on our lands. The data they collect help us to manage better and to plan more wisely.

In rural Kane County, a handful of watchful neighbors learned that rare Swainson's hawks were nesting nearby. While more common in the western U.S., these inspiring raptors are found in a single outpost east of the Mississippi — here, in Chicago Wilderness. But a residential development is slated for the farmland now harboring the hawks and the neighbors are worried about the birds' welfare — and their own. So, they've begun to organize and advocate on behalf of preserving the hawks' habitat. They're seeking not to stop all development but to adopt plans that allow for people and nature to thrive. Sometimes this approach is called "sensible growth" or "sustainable development."

Some of these local advocates have even become involved in the political process because they want to have a voice in the future direction of their community. Today, one of the current crop of candidates seeking the presidential nomination of his party got his start in politics because he cared about quality of life in his community: he wanted to build a bike trail. Often, this is how civic involvement starts.

People who care about nature are unquestionably people who count. You can call them local heroes, as we sometimes do. You can call them friends and family. Public citizens. Just plain folks. So step outside. Meet your neighbors. Lend a hand.