Seeing Rangelands Through a New Lens

When people initially asked me what I loved most about my Audubon Conservation Ranching (ACR) internship, I would always answer that I loved actually exploring California: racing down dirt tracts in the foothills, piecing together natural history as the landscape flew by my windshield, and asking ranchers questions as we flew through the tall grass in a 4X4. As time went on, I realized that what I was actually describing was the many amazing perspectives I’ve gathered along the way. The experience was not as much about discovering new beautiful places, but more about acquiring a new set of lenses to see the world through, altering my view of land management, wildlife, and my own relationship to Earth.

Getting to know Working Lands

My initiation into Working Lands was like a sudden jump into a quick moving current. Barely two weeks into my internship, I found myself thrown into the Society for Range Management (SRM) conference in Monterey, a forward thinking and high energy land manager gathering; a completely new experience where I learned more in a week than a course could have taught me in a month. I am so glad I said yes, as it turned out to be an incredible eye-opening experience.

The SRM conference introduced me to a model of conservation where land, wildlife, cattle, and community are inherently connected, and the health of one elevates the rest. I learned about adaptive managed grazing, management strategies designed to enhance biodiversity, and the dynamic ways livestock mimic natural disturbance; concepts I was completely unfamiliar with before.

Through these frameworks, I began to see how deeply interconnected this entire system really is. Birds, watershed health, soil, plant succession, livestock rotation, and human stewardship do not exist in isolation. Managing biodiversity does not have to be separate from running a cattle operation; it can be both, and that was a powerful realization. This integrative approach demonstrates that we can have environmental protection alongside productive land use, and  it gives me hope for a future where ecological health and agriculture actively reinforce one another and allow us and the planet to thrive vibrantly.

Besides my breadth of new concepts, I was struck by the deep, intergenerational knowledge held by the ranchers themselves. While some are newer to working the land, many that I had the chance to speak to were fourth or fifth generation stewards of the land passed down through their families. They wake up with the dawn chorus and watch the sun rise over the “country” they call home.

Ranchers know how it feels to watch the early golden light spill over the rolling hills, and fully understand the land's daily cycles. A rancher might not always know the formal scientific species name for Red-winged Blackbird, but they have spent generations watching that population cycle through seasons of drought and abundance. They know where the coyotes hang out on a hot day, where you will find an American Kestrel hovering on updrafts created by a steeper slope, or where the Western Meadowlark are nesting this year. This deeply tied relationship to the land, where daily life and practical observation allow holistic understanding of the surrounding ecosystem, was incredible to see first hand and brought me closer to the places that I call home.

That depth of practical observation changed how I view human involvement in natural systems. I began to realize the crucial human role in conservation, where humans themselves function as a keystone species within these ecosystems. This perspective connects back to Indigenous stewardship practices in California, showing that active human management has always been an integral part of maintaining healthy, diverse landscapes. Food production, community well-being, and ecological health do not exist in opposition to one another. When managed with intention, working lands create a vibrant, multi-layered mosaic where human livelihoods and native ecosystems support each other.

The secret world of birds

Developing literacy in bird species turned out to be like learning the secret language of the landscape. It is a technical skill that fundamentally rewired my brain. Birds occupy almost every available ecological niche, making them excellent indicators of ecosystem health. A sudden shift in species presence, nesting activity, or population density offers an immediate assessment of how the land is functioning long before those changes show up in vegetation or soil data. Also, if birds do not like a place due to poor habitat quality, overgrazing, or lack of water, they have the unique ability to fly in search of a place that can support them. Recognizing this dynamic, along with discovering an exciting new hobby in birding, led me straight into the world of birds.

Learning to identify species by sight and sound felt like finally understanding an ongoing conversation that had been happening around me all my life. A landscape is never just “nature” once you recognize the specific habitats, territories, breeding behaviors, and alarm calls playing out across it.

In April, during peak spring across California rangelands, I had the opportunity to spend time at a ranch near Lake Berryessa that had exceptionally pristine oak woodland, grassland, and shrub ecosystems and offered an incredible glimpse into California’s environmental history. There, I learned how to do bird point counts from new friends at Point Blue Conservation Science.

Identifying species by sound has become second nature as soon as I step outside. Now, an unfamiliar call in a new environment triggers an immediate reflex: I’m already narrowing down what type of bird it could be as I frantically pull out my Merlin app and uncap my binocular lens. I noticed that I began having acute observation skills in every aspect of my life, and I was focused on absorbing as much information from my environment as possible.

Slowing down

Learning to slow down is ultimately the only way to truly learn from the land. While I have always strived to practice presence in the outdoors, learning the deliberate act of sitting with the land and listening to what the birds were telling me proved to be eye-opening beyond belief. Modern life conditions us to move quickly, process information rapidly, and churn through tasks on a schedule. Environmental fieldwork asks us to sit with the natural cycles and observe the threads connecting the landscape.

It is remarkable how a single perspective shift like slowing down can reshape your entire view of the landscape. Conducting biological surveys requires stillness. During point counts, you stand quietly in a single location, allowing your physical presence to fade until surrounding wildlife resumes its normal behavior. In doing so, I began to understand how long-term land stewards perceive their environment.

A quiet afternoon at a ranch in Bodega Bay brought this lesson to the forefront of my mind. Mid-conversation with fellow stewards on a wind-swept ridge, the frantic, alarmed chip of a Savannah Sparrow pierced through the coastal breeze from the top of a blade of grass. We stopped, stepped back, and observed. By stopping what we were doing and tuning in to our surroundings, we realized the Sparrow was very likely reacting to our proximity to its ground nest, located close to where we were all standing. We all carefully stepped back and watched the bird subtly return to its nest.

That interaction demonstrated to me the importance of slowing down. Had we prioritized our schedule and efficiency, we would have missed the bird's vocal warnings entirely and disrupted the nest site. Slowing down allowed us to adjust to the needs of our environment.

Leaving with a new appreciation for California’s Working Lands

I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to work with such a passionate, welcoming crew at ACR. Their support accelerated my personal growth, and they made me feel at home from Day One of my conservation ranching training. I'm so grateful for every perspective I've gained over the last six months. The internship has officially ended, so I’ll be leaving the range as a new person. No matter what comes next, I’ll keep an open mind and a sharper eye for detail, practice patience and listen to the land, and carry with me a deep respect for California’s working lands and the vibrant community keeping them alive.