I’ve always found it interesting that morning train cars full of commuters are rather hushed. You may hear the occasional flip of a newspaper page, but conversation is largely lacking. The expectation that more people equals more conversation is a flawed intuition. In fact, the opposite is true.

And so, I was surprised the other morning at the train station when, expecting my typical silent commute, a woman turned to tell me that she had found a cardinal’s nest in her hedges with three black-spotted, blue eggs inside. She described her love of examining abandoned nests and of the skill and artistry of the birds, who sometimes recycled old cigarette stubs and candy wrappers to support the careful lattice of their nests.

Suddenly overcome with embarrassment, she abruptly paused to apologize for interrupting the morning peace. But instead of feeling frustrated at losing the quiet of my commute, I was now flooded with my own similar memories; I responded to her apology with a nature encounter of my own. I described the white-tailed deer family that once jumped over our backyard fence, galloped across the yard, and then cleared the opposite fence. The spectacle had been graceful and acrobatic, seemingly choreographed to each individual step. As the train arrived, we both laughed in unison, before rejoining the pack of silent bodies.

These unguarded moments, away from the stiffness of a crowded train car, allow people to connect in ways not possible on the train itself. Even more, it was a mutual affection for nature and wildlife that enabled such candid conversation—an affection we all have as occupants of our world. While we may come from different backgrounds and creeds, which can render us hesitant to engage in conversation with strangers for fear that these differences are insurmountable, we all share in this universal language of nature.

But all too often, we are hung up at the onset of conversation by trivial differences. We discover someone is from a certain geographical area, and suddenly predetermined assumptions sculpt an instinctual, yet hollow, first impression—and alas, our mental defenses go up.

Instead, we should recognize the universal language of nature as a starting point for conversation and understanding. One thing that most of us probably take for granted is the vast wealth of nature that spans America, from small neighborhood parks to the boundless national parks checkered throughout the country.

Our national parks, in particular, provide a stomping ground for us all. Millions of people journey from far-off places to share in this common experience; not even colossal ideological differences can taint their commonality. This may be the best and most unrecognized benefit of the national parks.

Even during a period of bottomed-out Congressional approval ratings, the National Park Service has garnished a remarkable 75 percent approval rating as of late 2015, making it the second highest rated federal agency. More impressive still, NPS sites recorded a record breaking 307.2 million visits in 2015. For reference, the population of the United States is about 322 million people, meaning NPS sites are undoubtedly loved and frequently visited.

Curiously, despite our love of the national parks, they have rarely garnered widespread national attention or care. In 2014, President Obama created the world’s largest protected marine reserve, but the news was quickly brushed aside by the following day’s news. Two years later, the 2016 election cycle has provided scarce—if any—mention of the national parks, despite the National Park Service’s ongoing centennial celebration.

Moreover, the state of our national parks is poor and continues to decline. The past decade has overseen a National Park Service budget growing incrementally insufficient and a maintenance backlog bulging to a weighty $12 billion. This funding is imperative for repairing crumbling infrastructure, improving the visitor experience at increasingly crowded and popular parks, and restoring historic monuments, such as Ellis Island and the missions of San Antonio.

Why, then, hasn’t the National Park Service been provided deserved funding and attention in light of the public’s overwhelming support? Unfortunately, I don’t have a good answer. Nevertheless, during this politically derisive and hostile season, rescuing the National Park Service may be the moonshot we need to rediscover our common thread as Americans.

Luckily, history suggests our parks have always possessed a unifying element. Since 1906, 16 presidents, Democrat and Republican alike, have used the Antiquities Act to preserve our national treasures, from the Grand Canyon under Woodrow Wilson to the Freedom Trail under Gerald Ford. Eisenhower called upon all countries to “set aside their most magnificent scenic areas as national treasures” while Kennedy defended parks and reserves so that “future generations may know the majesty of the earth as we know it today.”

I always smile when I hear about politicians talk about the grandeur of the parks—or better yet, when they vacation to the parks because it reminds me that they are normal people; regardless of ideology, we ultimately experience and enjoy the same parks. Politicians should especially take note of this as congressional gridlock continues to dominate because the parks can provide the unifying element needed to get the wheels turning.

America’s landscapes, monuments, museums and battlegrounds ultimately bear witness to our common history, but they also teach us about our current state and can help write a future in which we all thrive. Physical and human nature combined remind us that we are capable of frequent and fervent encounters on a highly personal level, whether sharing stories about a cardinal’s nest or a recent trip to the Grand Canyon. Thus, the power of the parks is not only that it reminds us who we are as citizens, but that it inspires us to love the world and the people with whom we share it—a passion so strong that it can transcend the divisive conventions of everyday life.

When we broaden our perspectives and share the common experiences of our environment, bridges will span ideological voids and train cars might not be so quiet.

Ryan V. LaMonica ’18 is a mechanical engineering concentrator living in Mather House.