The boardwalk leads past stunted spruce, yellow lady’s slippers and boreal tamaracks, then over peaty turf punctuated with cotton grass, Labrador tea, and laurel. We came mostly to see the pitcher plants farther out in the sphagnum moss, a few with red petals still clutched like a fist on a slim stem above the tubed leaves. But many are dry from drought in this landscape where expected green has bleached to brittle brown, except for dips from frost heaves or missteps on the spongy mat that sank into tannic water. This remnant of glacial lake proved over and over unfit for human plans of extraction, despite attempts to drain it for farmland, despite bombs dropped on test sites that were swallowed up by flarks. Lowland, wasteland, wilderness, 5,000 years old— tread lightly and look for rare species. Survival in the future depends on adaptation to the present. Charlotte Melin Charlotte Melin has published widely about German poetry and the environmental humanities. Retired from the University of Minnesota, she lives in Northfield and has pivoted to writing projects that make space for poems.