Nevada State Parks recently invited the public to suggest names for its new acquisition, 1,600 acres of land along the Carson River in Lyon County. My stepson, 9, and nephew, 10, took the assignment seriously after learning its history. In the 1940s, a divorce ranch operated on this land, and an old well on the property is believed to be where newly unhitched women tossed their wedding rings.

The boys were excited. (Among their ideas: Second Chance State Park and Ring Toss State Park.) In their words, "There's tea here." I thought to myself, yes, there is, and the whole pot now belongs to Nevada. Every one of us gets a cup.

Watching two kids argue over what to name a place they've never set foot in, I reflected: When did this park become mine to care about?

I was born in San Jose, California, and came to Nevada in 2018 as a student at UNR. For a long time I hesitated to call myself a Nevadan, as though the word had a residency requirement I could not meet. 

But that changed with every hike to Kings Canyon Waterfall or every Saturday dip in the Truckee River, each close enough to reach before lunch. Time on this state's public lands taught me what I now believe sits at the heart of Nevada identity: We are the people responsible for this land. Becoming a Nevadan is something you can choose. You choose it by showing up for places like this one. My kids, filling out a naming form at a kitchen table, were choosing it too.

While the naming process is an opportunity for every Nevadan to show up, it should also be a chance to listen. This land carried meaning for millennia before anyone branded a heifer or filed a divorce decree on it. It sits within the traditional homelands of the Northern Paiute and Washoe peoples. As Nevada State Parks moves from naming this land to writing its master plan, that process should include formal consultation with these tribal nations, not just public comment. 

Naming is an act of stewardship, holding the full depth of whom this land has belonged to. What the park is called should reflect that community consultation actually happened, not just that it was invited. 

Beyond the local lore of wedding rings and Pony Express riders, the land itself makes its own case. The park runs along 4.5 miles of Carson River frontage, sheltering riparian habitat that fish and wildlife depend on, a short distance upstream from the Carson River Delta Important Bird Area. In the West, a healthy, working river is a dwindling resource. Securing this land is a victory, but it is also a reminder of what we stand to lose if we don't manage these assets correctly.

According to a 2025 analysis by the Nevada Division of Outdoor Recreation, outdoor recreation is a $24 billion industry supporting more than 75,000 jobs. Its contribution to Nevada's gross domestic product has surpassed mining. A park with this much of a story will draw visitors that a standard trailhead never could, and those visitors buy gas, eat meals and book rooms in Dayton and Silver Springs.

Credit is due to Gov. Joe Lombardo's administration, the Western Rivers Conservancy and the landowner who prioritized legacy over profit. Conservation remains a rare bipartisan success story in Nevada and this park proves it. 

There's one problem. We should be alarmed that our next great park relies on a seller's altruism rather than a deliberate system.

The property was valued at $6.9 million, yet the state could only scrape together $5 million, primarily from the federal Land and Water Conservation Fund. That's a pot left half-empty. We secured this land only because the seller chose to donate the $1.9 million difference. While that generosity is a gift, it is an unreliable public policy strategy. 

Nevada has more than one structure for funding conservation and land acquisition, including the Conserve Nevada bond program and Nevada's outdoor recreation infrastructure account created through SB21 in 2025. All of them are stretched thin, and SB21's account, intended for infrastructure rather than acquisitions such as this one, currently holds nothing at all. Prioritizing funding for conservation during the 2027 session is how we ensure there's enough to serve the next generation. 

You can vote on the park's name through Aug. 14. Bring your kids to the table like I did and teach them that we are part of this landscape. Then tell your representatives that our public lands are worth investing in. We cannot expect private donors to do the work of the state indefinitely.

My boys are already asking when they can visit the new park and see the well. I want the answer — for every Nevada family — to always be: soon. 

Trystin St. Denis-Roberts is policy and advocacy associate at the Nevada Conservation League, where she works on public lands and outdoor recreation policy.