As a people genetically and spiritually descended from the English, we Americans love nature.  The United States is a land known for its natural splendor and beauty, and our entire history is one of constantly encountering, subduing, conquering, and/or making our peace with nature.  Frederick Jackson Turner in his famous “Frontier Thesis” argued that our young nation’s constant struggle against nature—the frontier—reinvigorated our democratic and republican spirit and institutions, as we constantly adapted concepts like liberty and constitutionalism to new, often hostile environments.

Yet we retain something of the (perhaps naïve) English notion of nature as fundamentally benign, a bounteous garden for our enjoyment and leisure, not to mention our sustenance.  We imagine rolling hills of lush greenery, absent of any nasty critters or conditions that might interrupt our bucolic stroll through the countryside.  Our conception of nature is thoroughly Romantic at times, feeling more like Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony than Vivaldi’s Four Seasons (although, to be fair, both feature massive thunderstorms!).

Of course, we Americans also know something our Anglo-Scottish-Irish friends don’t:  nature is a b*tch.

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