They were young bulls, possibly even siblings, and their own full-fledged, testosterone-fueled combative rut was probably a full year away. Yet back and forth they jostled in our yard, testing each other not 20 feet from the backdoor, their antlers clattering against each other, steam flushing in bursts from their nostrils in the cold fall air as their gangly legs sought leverage in the not-yet-frozen ground.

Driven instinctually to demonstrate their male supremacy, the two gave and took as they shouldered their sheer bulk behind their antlers, searching for the tipping point. For more than an hour they kept at it, slowly crossing our yard, then up and over the small rise between houses, and into our neighbor’s yard.

Though I’ve seen similar battles on nature shows, seeing one waged in person had been unimaginable until that fall day. I had grown up in New Jersey, where the visible wildlife was usually restricted to deer and birds.

But as my life took me west, I encountered more and more wild animals. I’ve been treated to elk, bison, and even wolves roaming Yellowstone National Park’s northern range, humpback whales in Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve, a 6-foot Western rattlesnake warming itself in the morning sun in the backcountry of Zion National Park, orcas at work schooling salmon in the waters around the San Juan Islands of Washington state.

Not everyone is so fortunate.

Roughly 80 percent of Americans live in urban areas, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. Moose don’t, nor grizzly bears, or herds of bison or elk. The nation’s development forced the wild life out, into smaller, more remote parts of the country. For most Americans, that urbanization also pushed away our interaction with wildlife, our connection with the wild side of the world. It is a personal connection, one more important than many of us probably realize.

Richard Louv spent four years pondering the connection he specifically, and the rest of us in general, have with wildlife. In his 2005 bestseller, Last Child in the Woods, Louv painted a disturbing picture of how we're not just losing bits and pieces of our natural landscape to that urbanization. He underscored how we're failing our children by not working harder to introduce them to nature.

Louv’s message then was that through urban sprawl, through the mesmerizing and addictive magic and wizardry of the Internet, and through fear of many of the neighborhoods we call home, we were spawning generations of kids who don't know what it's like to have warm mud squish up through their toes as they wade in creeks to catch frogs, or to hear the gentle whooshing of a forest's canopy under the breath of the wind as they play hide-and-seek.

Today, Louv warns us that for a large segment of society, that disconnect with wildlife is multiplying our societal nature deficit. Especially today, as more and more of America is being told to stay home in a hopeful bid to stanch the viral march of coronavirus, the separation is growing. To better understand that growing void, I reached out to Louv, whose latest work, Our Wild Calling: How Connecting with Animals Can Transform Our Lives―and Save Theirs, examines the importance of wildlife to humans.

“It may be more necessary than I thought it would be because of the sense of isolation now people have to endure and the loneliness epidemic that’s now been squared,” Louv said of his book when I asked what inspired it. “Our connection to other animals, even if it’s outside our window, is I think more important than ever.”

Growing up in New Jersey, what wildlife there was was largely ubiquitous, not thought provoking. But as I left the East Coast behind, and moved closer to where the wild things are, they became more important to me, took on a larger role in my life. Knowing that there are annual migrations of thousands of caribou in Alaska is important. But more important is actually being present as herds of bison move almost as one across the Hayden Valley in Yellowstone, or to float quietly in a kayak on a finger of Glacier Bay as a humpback whale and her calf circle, occasionally surfacing to exhale a frothy breath in trade for some fresh air.

“We gain meaning from these encounters with other animals,” Louv told me. “And with our relations with our (domestic) companion animals. But these things that happen when we’re with wild animals, are particularly mysterious.”

Mysterious, yes, but it also triggers something within us. At least it does for me. Experiencing wild animals in their natural settings reinforces my own tie to nature. We are descended from prehistoric cultures that lived on, and from, the land, depending on it for their food and shelter. That tie resides within all of us; deeper for some than others. We are wild at heart. And Louv wants us to remember that.

Louv is ahead of most of us in understanding how impactful wildlife can be upon us, if we open our consciousness to them. Of his ten books, four have been specifically about our human connection with nature. He’s spent years analyzing our relationships, and his own, with wild animals. And he fears that our direct connections with wildlife are in decline. 

“The question I asked in Last Child, and in the others, is what happens to us? What happens to us psychologically, what happens to us physically, what happens to our social intelligence when we disconnect from nature?” Louv asked. “All of those things are involved. And what happens to our cognitive abilities? It turns out that this disconnect from nature has real implications.”

You can see that disconnect in Yellowstone, Glacier and Grand Teton national parks every summer as visitors approach wildlife – 2,000-pound bison and mountain goats with dangerous horns – much too closely to capture a photo or a selfie. They don’t see that truly wild animal filling their viewfinder; they envision a zoo creature, domesticated livestock. That disconnect stems simply from thinking park wildlife are somewhat tame. But the disconnect with the wild side of nature is deeper these days, and affects our understanding and appreciation of the significance of a bison herd, or a wolf pack, or a pod of orcas. For Aldo Leopold, an ecologist and nature writer in the early part of the 20th century, it took the death of a wolf to understand the connection.

We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes—something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters’ paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.”

Whether we actually realize our disconnect with wildlife is something each of us has to mull. But at the end of the day, Louv believes we long for the connection.

"I think it’s rooted in a deeper loneliness. Which is species loneliness. The urban parks, with the highest benefit for the human psychological health, turn out to be the parks with the highest biodiversity,” he told me. “I don’t think that’s an accident. We are desperate as a species, not just as individuals, but as a species to not be alone in the universe, to not feel alone in the universe. Why else would we look for Big Foot? Why else would we look for life on other planets, intelligent life, when people like Stephen Hawkin have told us that it might not be a good idea to find?”

As the human culture, we are wired to search for other life, Louv said, even when the life might be bison, or wolves, or moose.

“We’re surrounded by a larger family of life. We are surrounded by a great conversation going on all around us, wherever we are. Even in the densest urban neighborhood,” he went on. “The more we learn about other animals, the more we learn about their sentience, the more we learn about their intelligence, the more we learn about their ability to communicate with each other, and with us, between species, not only within their own species. And we can tap into that, even if we’re locked inside a house.  If we pay attention.”

I’m fortunate for where I live, that I may come into contact with wildlife … in the wild. Those two young bull moose tussling in the backyard reminded me of my fortune, and that wild connection.

You can listen to my entire conversation with Richard Louv in National Parks Traveler Episode 59 of our podcast series.