There is a lot that our U.S. biology and history books don’t tell us. Tracking the triumphs and travails of a multi-generational American family, this book sets the record straight.

From a biological perspective, many American colonists didn’t care about protecting our native wildlife or conserving our natural resources. Just think about the once abundant species that are no longer with us — the passenger pigeon, the eastern elk, the Carolina parakeet, the heath hen, the American bison (almost), and the black-footed ferret (almost). Then consider our native tallgrass and midgrass prairies — most of which were swallowed up by settlers’ plows and then blown away during the Dust Bowl of the 1930s. Finally, look at our air and water quality — both poisoned by industrialization and still trying to recover.

On the history side of the ledger, no group of U.S. citizens has ever been more disrespected and abused than our Native American tribes. They respected all species as equals and managed their lands not just in sustainable ways, but in ways that enhanced the flourishing of the ecosystem. Yet they lost both their ancestral lands and their cultural societies to colonial progress.

But — in the end — this book carries a very positive, hopeful message. We can still extract ourselves from our past faux pas. By shedding our polarized viewpoints and working cooperatively, we can still save our planet before it’s too late.

For both of us, this book is a career self-examination. For me (Budd) the text expresses many things I’ve learned about the natural world during my fifty years as a wildlife ecologist and resource conservationist. For me (Mariah), the book’s content captures the joy of the natural world that my dad (Budd) taught me, how that joy has shaped my career as an educator and science communicator, and how I hope it influences my children’s paths. We both see reflections of our past and visions of our future modeled in the multi-generations of families connected to nature.

Throughout this book, we also emphasize our lifelong beliefs in the sanctity and equality of all living things — both human and non-human. Our belief system encompasses all races, religions, cultures, and lifestyles — but especially those of the Indigenous (or Native) Peoples of the world.

As expressed in our main title, Coming Full Circle, our book’s central theme revolves around two primary terms — the circle of life and biodiversity.

Many of us — especially those with kids or grandkids — know the first term, the circle of life, as the mega-hit song from the Broadway musical and blockbuster movie, The Lion King. In reality, the circle of life is a symbolic representation of birth, survival, and death — which leads back to birth. For example, an antelope may live for years — grazing peacefully on African grasslands and producing several healthy calves. But — as she nears the end of her life and thus her speediness — a hungry lioness captures and kills her. The antelope dies, but the lioness brings her body back for the nourishment of her hungry cubs. In this way, the antelope’s death sustains the life of the lioness’s pride — or family of lions. Life is thus represented as a circle because it is a constant loop. The idea of life as a circle exists across multiple religions and philosophies. This belief was prevalent throughout the early Indigenous Peoples of Earth. Unfortunately — owing to what some may term ‘progress’ — this fervent belief in the circle of life is much less common in today’s world.

The second term — biological diversity, or biodiversity for short — is primarily used by biologists and ecologists. Biodiversity means the variety of life — the total number of species, both plants and animals — living on Earth. This includes everything from the tiniest microbial spores to the gargantuan blue whale. Generally speaking, the greater the biodiversity — the total number of species present — the healthier our planet.

As career environmental scientists, we believe that these two terms are very closely related. In fact, they build off of and intensify one another. Picture the diameter of the circle of life as the number of species that participate in that circle. In our antelope-lioness example above, the diameter would include the lioness and her pride, the antelope and her calves, the grass that the antelope eats, the vultures that feed upon the remainder of the antelope’s carcass, the decomposers that help break down what the vultures leave behind — and so on. In this manner, the circle of life is always intricately populated with species and interdependencies. The larger the circle — in terms of its diameter — the greater Earth’s biodiversity and vice versa. Because of this, we use these terms interchangeably throughout this text.

Unfortunately, the circle of life — or biodiversity — of the United States has decreased dramatically since the first European immigrants landed on our shores. By telling this fictional account — partially based on historical facts — of one multi-generational family of American immigrants, this book explores how and why this change has occurred and how we will — eventually — come back around to again achieve closure of the circle of life.

Our story begins with quite different — but keenly interrelated — anecdotes about two American heroes whose lives were separated by more than half a century.