Growing up in the temperate rainforests of Washington State and hearing stories of the dangerous and venomous species in places like Florida and Australia, I felt grateful that I could play and explore outside, never worrying about the snakes I handled or bodies of water I swam in. As a five-year-old, I could walk right up to a garter snake and swiftly snatch it up, holding and staring in admiration despite the foul musk they would release to deter me.
I was an odd one out, with a particular draw to the less “charismatic,” species. Tarantulas, scorpions, geckos, bees, toads, and an alarmingly greater number found refuge in my room over the years after (and sometimes before) I convinced my parents. In elementary school, I taught my peers how to handle a tarantula and watched their perceptions change as their fear turned into excitement when a spider the size of both hands sat in their palms.
After living my whole life just outside of Seattle, I had no idea what to expect when I moved to Florida. My college is located in an area known for its theme parks, not so much for its ecosystems. From my first year, our classes took us out into the field, and I quickly developed a love and appreciation for wild Florida, from the longleaf pine ecosystems, among the most endangered ecosystems in North America, to the wetlands that make up over 31% of the state.
When I started researching freshwater turtles in Central Florida a little over a year ago, it was a necessity to wade into the murky water to set traps. By then, I had already assimilated, embracing the “Florida man” and field biology mentality of going full-send into questionable bodies of water.
Going out into the creeks and lake became a part of my routine, and something I looked forward to every day. When I’m alone with my feet sunken in the silt, listening to the wind play through the trees as a heron waits for prey with piercing patience across from me, every breath feels its fullest and deepest. It’s such a profound feeling of appreciation and deep richness fulfilled in my heart. And when I am out in the field with my friends, there are few memories that compare to one of us completely sinking or falling into the water unexpectedly.
When I’m sampling the turtles, I watch concern turn into genuine interest as families approach and ask what I’m doing. Most kids pet them hesitantly, jumping back if a turtle moves, but their eyes twinkle with fascination.
Now more than ever, it’s vital to instill awe and love for nature. Florida surpassed all other states as the fastest-growing state in 2024, and that significant growth is driving more development. Development, invasive species, extreme weather, saltwater intrusion, and pollution are draining wetlands, fragmenting waterways, and pushing species into shrinking refuges.
These ecosystems are critical to our world. They are highly productive ecosystems that support diverse plant and animal communities, including many threatened and endangered species. Wetlands also benefit people by supporting fisheries and other natural resources, providing recreational opportunities, and naturally protecting communities from flooding and other environmental impacts.
Wetlands are not spaces to drain and fill. They are alive; nurseries for turtles and fish, filters for water, buffers against storms, and sanctuaries for unique species. They are misunderstood, much like the animals I have always been drawn to. I have seen firsthand how quickly fear can turn into curiosity, and curiosity into care. I love the wetlands because they slow you down, pull you in, and remind you that nature is not separate from humanity.
Rachel Carson National Environmental Leadership Fellow Makenna Morrison Gary
Makenna Gary is a first-year Master of Science student at the University of Florida in the School of Forest, Fisheries, and Geomatics Sciences. Makenna graduated in 2026 from Rollins College with degrees in Biology and Environmental Studies, where she conducted interdisciplinary research in amphibian movement ecology, freshwater turtle health, and invasive species management. Her research and advocacy work have been presented at conferences, through public outreach, and in published environmental writing, including a recent op-ed in the Orlando Sentinel and The Invading Sea.