By Dr. Daniel Hanks
Tired. Dirty. Thirsty. Hungry… Proud. Satisfied. Happy. Connected.
Over the past several years, volunteering in the Clemson University Forest has become something deeper than an activity or a commitment—it has become part of the rhythm of my life. What began as time spent helping with trails gradually turned into a broader offering of myself to the Forest: to the trails, to the people who care for and use them, and to the ecological community that exists largely beyond our notice but sustains everything else. With time, I found myself not just showing up, but paying closer attention—learning, practicing, and developing skills that I hope contribute, in some small way, to the long‑term well‑being of the Forest and the many connections that make it meaningful.
My alma mater, Presbyterian College (yes, I’m a Blue Hose), holds to the motto dum vivimus servimus—“while we live, we serve.” It’s a phrase that has followed me more closely than I once realized. Presbyterian’s approach to service emphasizes being engaged, purposeful, interdisciplinary, and connected. Those ideas have quietly shaped how I think about volunteering in the Forest. Engagement asks that we bring what we know and what we can do. Purpose reminds us to think beyond the moment and toward lasting relationships. Interdisciplinary work acknowledges that no single perspective is sufficient. And connection calls us to recognize the communities—human and ecological—that intersect in shared spaces.
Service is often framed as something we give away, rooted in altruism and oriented toward others. I still believe that to be true. Yet, through my time in the Forest, I’ve come to understand that service also gives something back. Some of that is obvious—working on trails I later ride or walk makes them more enjoyable. But much of what I’ve received is harder to quantify and more enduring.
Connection to purpose – Volunteering has given me a sense of purpose—something steady to return to, something to work toward without expectation of recognition or reward. That sense of purpose has brought clarity and satisfaction, especially in the quiet knowledge that small, consistent efforts matter. Improving the Forest’s trail system has offered a tangible focus, but the deeper reward has been the feeling of contributing to something larger and longer‑lasting than myself.
Connection to nature – Trail work is often physically demanding. It leaves me tired, thirsty, dirty, and hungry. And yet, those days almost always leave me feeling restored. Being immersed in the Forest—moving slowly, working with my hands, noticing soil, water, trees, and terrain—creates a connection to nature that feels grounding and necessary. There is something deeply rejuvenating about being outside in a natural place, something that settles the mind and reorients perspective. I find myself leaving the Forest more present than when I arrived.
Connection to place – Over time, this work has also shaped my sense of place. The Forest is no longer just a landscape I pass through; it is a place I know, care for, and feel responsible toward. That familiarity has fostered a deeper sense of belonging. As my connection to the Forest has grown, so too has my understanding of where I fit within it—not as an owner or controller, but as a participant and steward. That bond has become meaningful in ways that are difficult to articulate but easy to feel.
Connection to community – Perhaps most unexpectedly, volunteering has woven me into a community. Through trail maintenance and shared workdays, I’ve formed relationships that likely would not have existed otherwise. These connections—built through effort, conversation, and shared purpose—have grown into friendships. They’ve given me a sense of being known and of knowing others who care deeply about the same place. In that way, the Forest has not only shaped my relationship with the land, but also with people.
In serving the Forest, I’ve found purpose, connection, and belonging—often on days when all I expected was to feel tired. And maybe that is what service looks like over time: a quiet exchange, where what we give and what we receive become increasingly difficult to separate.
So I often return to that familiar sequence: tired, dirty, thirsty, hungry—and somehow still proud, satisfied, happy, and connected. There is something honest about the task itself: showing up, doing the work that needs doing, and trusting that small, physical efforts add up over time. Conan O’Brien often shares the simple advice to “work hard, be kind, and amazing things will happen,” and that sentiment feels especially true in the Forest. The work is rarely glamorous, but it is meaningful. Well‑built and well‑maintained trails endure long after the day’s fatigue fades, quietly carrying hikers, runners, bikers, horseback riders, and families for years to come. There’s comfort in knowing that care given now continues to matter later, long after we’ve packed up tools and headed home.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s work, but what makes that work worthwhile and even richer are the people alongside me. The Forest has introduced me to a remarkable group—thoughtful, generous, hardworking people who have, without trying, made me a better person. Working together toward a shared purpose creates a kind of connection that feels increasingly rare: one built through effort, conversation, laughter, and mutual respect. This is where the circle closes—back to connection, back to community. Volunteering in the Clemson University Forest is an invitation to belong, to contribute, and to be part of something enduring. If you’ve ever wanted to feel more connected—to a place, to people, or to purpose—I can think of few better ways than picking up a tool, joining the work, and seeing where the Forest leads you.
Yes, Tired. Dirty. Thirsty. Hungry but MOSTLY proud. Satisfied. Happy. CONNECTED.
