I find it hard to believe Jane Goodall is gone. She was more than an icon to me. She was a friend, a mentor, and someone whose presence—whether with presidents, students, or my own children—felt like both a gift and a lesson. Our friendship began in the most Jane way possible: an email that opened, “Yes, this is the real Jane Goodall,” followed by a request that I not share her “secret email address.” She said she admired Mongabay and wanted to meet. That message was the start of thirteen years of laughs, tears, and conversations that often stretched late into the night over vegan Indian food and a glass of whisky in her hotel room—even though I rarely drink or stay out late. Jane Goodall. Photo courtesy of JGI Jane had a way of making every encounter feel personal. When she first met my children, she lit up as if she had been waiting her whole life for them to enter the room. She crouched to their level, told stories, and pulled up YouTube videos of rats performing clever tricks. “Aren’t they marvelous?” she said, with the same awe she once expressed for the chimpanzees of Gombe. She told my son he was an inspiration for starting a trash cleanup at his school. It was a small thing, but Jane noticed. She always noticed. She believed hope was not simply a feeling but a tool. Hope, she would tell me, creates agency. The larger the crisis, the more powerless people feel. But small,…This article was originally published on Mongabay

From Conservation news via this RSS feed