Named professorships provide a delightful mechanism for paying tribute -- in this to case to Sam Dana who was an inspired and inspiring leader not only of our School, but also on the national and inter-national levels. It has been most enlightening to learn about his foresight. Being honored with a named professorship is all the more special when it bears the name of a person who was held in such high regard.

Named professorships are also referred to as "chairs." These chairs, however, are invisible - neither thrones nor ergonomic wonders; they are occupied but not seen. In a sense the same invisibility applies to the person who shares in the honor represented by this chair. I want to take a moment to pay tribute to someone who has been central to my life and whose insights have inspired not only me but many others as well.

On our first date, when we were both undergrads at Oberlin College, I informed Steve Kaplan that I knew nothing about psychology -- his chosen field -- but had no positive feelings about it. It must have been the kind of challenge he thrives on! We found common ground when only a few months later we labored through our first joint writing project: a syllabus for a proposed philosophy of science course, quite a few years before Kuhn and paradigms appeared on the scene. Even then, in his senior year, Steve showed his incredible talent for rigorous, conceptual thinking. He was and is a big-picture person -- intensely abstract yet committed to application. He loves to play with ideas and spins them into wonderful coherent forms that help make sense of the world. I have learned so much from him. His contributions to my work and to my sanity have been boundless. Steve has been my partner in every endeavor -- except for writing these words -- for more than two-thirds of my life. I can imagine the Dana Chair only as a two-seater with my partner beside me.

I also want to thank the community of people who were involved in my being selected for this honor. I am in the awkward position of not knowing whom to thank, though I have been surprised to hear from people who seem to have participated. To my colleagues, former students, and everyone else who has taken part in this effort, my deepfelt gratitude. It's much more than that. I'm profoundly moved by your support.

My pleasure in being named to the Dana Chair is not only because of the honor it represents, but especially because of what it says about where we, as a School, have come. Up until now, the Dana Chair has been "in Outdoor Recreation," and that title was appropriate to my three predecessors. I joined SNR (as we were then called) as a member of the Environmental Education and Outdoor Recreation program; my work and activities, however, never fit the traditional "outdoor recreation" label.

What pleases me so much is that we are now acknowledging the broad and inclusive intent of the chair. Based on my readings about Sam Dana and Laurance Rockefeller (whose admiration of Dana led to the funding of this chair), I have no doubt that they both had a deep understanding of the pervasive ways in which our natural resources must nurture human well-being.

Laurance Rockefeller chaired the Outdoor Recreation Resources Review Commission, and Sam Dana was one of its members -- not just any member, but clearly one who made major contributions to the committee's work. The Commission was initiated by Congress in June 1958.

That was the very month when I went on my first camping trip. My mother-in-law, who had been professionally involved with the Girl Scouts, wanted to assure my proper training; I was instructed in how to soap the bottoms of pots and how to wash dishes at the field site. Steve and I dug a trench around our bottomless canvas pup tent which weighed more than a modern two-bedroom tent, and we slept in the sleeping bag I had made for the occasion. On that first adventure, camping struck me as more work than fun. What you now find in the REI catalogue and what hiking and camping were like forty years ago have only slight overlap.

Yet the Rockefeller Commission's charge was to anticipate what the recreation wants and needs of the American people would be in 1976 -- the country's bicentennial, and in 2000 -- the century's end in the distant future. Fortunately, their projected population trends were for substantially more people than has happened. Understandably, they could not anticipate how profoundly technology would lead to changed recreation patterns. Nonetheless, surveys over the years have shown remarkable consistencies. The most popular outdoor activities were then, and continue to be, driving and walking for pleasure -- both activities that occur relatively often and are available to large segments of the population.

What the Commission, and Rockefeller in particular, understood with great clarity is that recreation needs to be considered not only from the perspective of the natural resource, but in the context of the people who would use it. Years later, in his excellent book about Rockefeller, Winks pointed out that Rockefeller had brought "people into the environmental equation, where before they had been excluded both physically and from a policy-making point of view" (Winks, 1997, p.135).

The focus of our research has been precisely on putting people into the equation. More specifically, we have studied the role the natural environment plays in people's well-being. Throughout this time, for more than three decades, the U. S. Forest Service has provided modest yet steady funding for this research. We have been and continue to be most grateful for that support.

In the next few minutes I want to highlight three themes that come from this work and mention a few far-ranging implications.

The first theme is about the enormous and pervasive differences in what qualifies as "nature." While one would expect such differences based on background, travels, etc. the biggest source of difference stems from one's expertise. Many people involved in resource management, ecological restoration, and many other areas of expertise, have a concept of "nature" that is not the same as the view of nature shared by the so-called common folk. To many people in urban settings, "nature" describes things that grow. For them, flowers and grass, one tree or many, backyards and parks, are all part of "nature." Not only are they part of nature, but they are beloved and terribly important parts of nature.

Which leads to the second point, about environments that are preferred. Green things, trees, flowers, water -- many specific kinds of nature elements are sources of satisfaction for many people. But environmental preferences are not only about the plants and animals, they are also about the setting itself and how it is structured or organized. We have found that what people prefer in the environment is not all that different from what they prefer in other contexts. Preferences are not just about what's nice or aesthetically pleasing. They are a reflection of one's ability to make sense of one's surroundings as well as the perception that there is more to explore. That means that environmental preferences are not about amenities, but about creating places where people can function more effectively, where they can feel comfortable and competent.

That leads to the third theme, about the kinds of benefits that have been shown to be related to opportunities provided by nature settings. Even simple, nearby nature places, places that to some experts may not be worthy of the "nature" label, can lead to vital positive outcomes. We, and many in our large, extended family of students and former students, have demonstrated the powerful impact of having access to "nature." Having nature nearby leads people to be more humane and civil, healthier and more productive, with greater serenity and peace of mind. These are qualities that are in short supply.

What does this have to say to policy and to practice? Even though it is often quite straight-forward to create environments that would be supportive of human well-being, the lack of such supportive environments is rampant. Two of our former students, Bill Sullivan and Frances Kuo, have done an awesome job of documenting the importance of trees in the context of public housing. Think of how many urban places lack trees, and how many people have no opportunity to see any vegetation when they look out the window at work or even at home!

Seeing trees through the window is not part of outdoor recreation, but central to well-being. Participating in stewardship activities is not part of outdoor recreation, but leads to wonderful psychological benefits as well as benefiting the environment. The importance of the natural environment to human well-being extends much beyond amenity, beautification, and recreation. My hope is that in the next few years I can help to encourage changes based on these simple messages.

Rachel Kaplan
Samuel T. Dana Professor of Environment and Behavior