In 1903, the President  of the United States took a three-day camping trip  in California’s Yosemite Valley. President Theodore Roosevelt slept  in a grove of towering Sequoia trees, camped in a snowstorm, and spent hours  talking around the campfire with his host and guide,  conservationist John Muir. Roosevelt famously loved the outdoors, but Muir had invited him there  for more than just camping: Yosemite was in danger. Though Yosemite became  protected land in 1864, the valley was still at risk  for overdevelopment in 1903. It was at the heart of a decades-old  struggle to set aside land for both preservation and public use— two goals that were much easier  said than done. The battle over Yosemite began  with the 1849 gold rush, when miners surged west, seeking gold  in the Sierra Nevada foothills. In 1851, a state-sanctioned militia, drove the Ahwahneechee tribe  from Yosemite Valley. Those who managed to return witnessed  white settlers claiming the land, felling giant sequoias,  and building hotels and saloons. In response, a small group  of concerned Californians lobbied senator John Conness to protect  the valley from private interests. In 1864, Congress passed Conness’ bill, granting the Yosemite Valley  to the State of California, marking the first time the U.S. government brought land under public protection. But the management of that land remained  an open question, one that would only become  more complicated as more lands came  under similar protection. Seven years later, geologist Ferdinand Hayden led an expedition  to the Yellowstone Plateau, which many Native American tribes used  for ceremonies, hunting, and trade. The expedition’s scientists and artists  brought back news of spectacular geysers and hot springs, inspiring widespread support to bring  Yellowstone under government protection— and restrict native people’s  access to the land. However, unlike Yosemite, Yellowstone  couldn’t be granted to a state— it was part of three U.S. territories  that hadn’t become states yet. Instead, Congress brought Yellowstone  under federal stewardship in 1872, creating the world’s first true  National Park. During his presidency,  Teddy Roosevelt was instrumental in expanding the lands  under public protection. By 1916, there were  fifteen national parks. But the problem of management  remained unsolved, and maintenance of the park  was handled haphazardly over multiple government departments. Straightforward tasks like building roads  and hiring personnel required inefficient  bureaucratic maneuvering. None of the departments had set rules  for conduct in the park, so hunters killed park wildlife,  cattle overgrazed fields, and visitors vandalized landmarks. The solution came from Canada, which had a highly effective  centralized park service. In 1916, the United States established  the National Park Service based on this model. To this day, the mission for the park  service is comprised of two goals that sometimes conflict: to conserve the parks for the future and to allow the public to enjoy them. That’s a delicate balancing act:  roads, trails, and other infrastructure make the parks accessible to visitors,  but also alter the landscape, while visitors themselves can contribute  to pollution, erosion, and damage of delicate ecosystems. The very history of preservation  can also be at odds with this mission. Many parks were not,  at the time of their founding, the uninhabited wilderness that’s become  the standard for their preservation. Instead, many were homes or places  of worship for native peoples, who lost access to these lands  in the name of public use. Only recently has  the National Park Service begun to reckon with this legacy  and engage Native Americans in park management. Around the world, indigenous communities  play crucial roles in land management and preservation. Today, there are thousands  of national parks worldwide, and each must balance public use with  historical and ecological preservation. Parks in New Zealand, Iceland, Australia,  and South Africa have experienced severe erosion  as visitor numbers have skyrocketed. Some, like Mu Ko Similan National Park  in Thailand, have closed sections to tourists entirely  to allow the ecosystem to recover. National Parks have preserved  irreplaceable landscapes for future generations. They also force us to reckon  with hard questions: what are our responsibilities  to this planet, and to each other?