Malcolm Margolin at his home in 2021. (Christopher Michel via Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0)

When I heard the news last week that Malcolm Margolin had died, it stirred up a flood of memories of the intense and ultimately fruitful partnership that led to the launch of Bay Nature in 2001. 

I was one of many Bay Area residents who first encountered Malcolm following the publication of his classic books, East Bay Out and The Ohlone Way, in the mid-1970s. And I’m far from the only one who can say that those books changed the way I looked at the landscape and the history of the Bay Area. What had been for me, until then, a collection of lovely natural parks that offered fine settings for recreational hikes with friends, became rich spaces filled with the stories of the people who had inhabited them and lived off them, as well as the wild species that still thrived on them. In the early 1980s, I went to several talks that Malcolm gave and was—like so many others—utterly charmed by his storytelling genius, deep wisdom, sly humor, and commitment to fostering knowledge about the original peoples of this region.  

Fast forward about two decades: I was transitioning out of 15 years working on publications about the movements for human rights and democracy in Central America and wondering what to do next. During one particularly gorgeous early winter hike at China Camp State Park, I came up with the idea for a publication that could explore the natural world of the region. I envisioned a magazine that would take readers deeper into these landscapes and the natural processes at work in them, through first-class storytelling and accessible natural science. But I didn’t have the resources or connections to pull this off by myself. So I decided to write a letter—yes, in an envelope with a stamp, sent via the U.S. Postal Service—to Malcolm (who, at the time, didn’t do email or even have a computer). A few days later, to my surprise and delight, I got a typed letter back from Malcolm inviting me to come by to talk it over. So on January 28, 1997, I went to meet with Malcolm in his office in the old Koerber Building on University Avenue in downtown Berkeley. 

It turned out that he had had a similar idea several years before and had attempted to raise money for it. But other projects took precedence and the idea lay dormant, until my letter came over the transom. What followed was more than three years of somewhat regular planning and strategy meetings, many of which were conducted over lunch at a nearby restaurant, which for Malcolm invariably included a glass of white wine. 

I found my notes from that first meeting. The first paragraph reads:

“Malcolm thinks there is an enormous potential for such a magazine, both in terms of readership base and advertising revenues. Has to have its emphasis on beauty, history, natural phenomenon. Should shy away from directly or overtly political, though should have a regular column/section on political/environmental issue/s.” 

And the final paragraph: “Goal to bring together, stitch together, a community of people all working in various aspects of studying, protecting the Bay Area environment.” Some 28 years later, with Bay Nature going strong and at the center of a community of folks passionate about the region’s natural areas, I think it’s safe to say he nailed it. Though it wasn’t all smooth sailing at first.

It would take up too much space here to detail all the dozens of difficult decisions that had to be made over the next three years to get us from concept to launch. But I’d like to highlight three that, for me, speak to Malcolm’s genius as a creator and his savvy as an entrepreneur. This latter trait of Malcolm’s doesn’t get as much attention, but was an essential element in his multi-decade success in bringing beautiful and meaningful books and culture into the world.

The first decision was a kind of back-of-the-envelope exercise to see if there might be a viable financial model for this venture to succeed beyond the one-year mark (when many publications run out of their initial round of subscription income). With the help of Michael Glickson, publisher of Yoga Journal (whose office was also in the Koerber Building), we came up with a set of ballpark income and expense projections that showed an annual deficit of around $50,000. I assumed that meant we’d have to abandon the whole project. Malcolm, on the other hand, said it showed we could make it work, relying on philanthropic support to close the gap. 

Over the previous three decades of running Heyday, Malcolm had developed an enviable Rolodex of connections within the local foundation community, and he had a sense that if we could show them a viable business plan that demonstrated a path to self-sufficiency, we could obtain the philanthropic start-up capital necessary to launch the project. Over the next two years, we worked with local fundraising consultant Marilyn Smulyan to come up with a viable business plan, while Malcolm and I also worked on crafting a “blad” (sample magazine) to demonstrate concretely what we had in mind. By September 1999, we had a fundraising proposal that was solid enough to shop around and a beautiful 8-page sample magazine with sample articles and a gorgeous donated Galen Rowell poppy photo on the cover. With these elements in hand, we were able to secure funding from several foundations in 2000, including a $200,000 two-year grant from the Packard Foundation. We were on our way.

In the meantime, while we embarked on developing the business plan, Malcolm suggested that we present the concept to the local environmental community, to win their support and make it clear that we weren’t going to be in competition with them, nor align ourselves with any one group. Again, drawing on Malcolm’s connections, we pulled together representatives from more than a dozen local environmental groups for an introductory meeting. We explained we were going to work from the concept that you can’t save what you don’t know; our role would be to develop greater understanding and love for our local landscapes and habitats and in that way, contribute to their invaluable work protecting the local environment. Blessings received. 

Malcolm also called on his longtime connections with the leadership of the East Bay Regional Park District and succeeded in cajoling them to put up $20,000 a year in return for regular coverage of the regional parks. These long-term positive relationships with local environmental organizations and land management agencies have proven to be a critical element in Bay Nature’s success and survival over the past 25 years. 

David Loeb and Malcolm Margolin in 2009, during an overnight trip to Angel Island, organized by Environmental Traveling Companions, that featured Malcolm’s storytelling. (Diane Poslosky)

Finally, Malcolm—a self-described “beauty junkie”—understood the importance of creating a product that was so beautiful that people wouldn’t be able to take their eyes off it. So finding the right graphic designer would be critical. That led us to David Bullen, a designer who had never worked on a magazine before but whose gorgeous book designs matched the aesthetic Malcolm had in mind. Dave proved to be the perfect person to craft an elegant and inviting visual look that reflected the natural beauty of the Bay Area’s landscapes and telegraphed the magazine’s quality and values before folks had read a single word.  

Malcolm always loved a good party, so we officially launched the magazine in January 2001 with a gala party attended by some 150 people at the San Francisco Public Library, which set the stage for the success that continues today. Malcolm stayed on as part-time publisher of Bay Nature for the first three years, while I worked as full-time editor, and we operated under the Heyday umbrella. In 2003, Malcolm made the wise decision that Bay Nature should leave the Heyday nest and fly off on our own, as an independent nonprofit institution. On the one hand, as a businessman, he was concerned that Heyday would be financially responsible for any unfulfilled subscription liabilities should Bay Nature go under. On the other, as a creative genius, he saw that Bay Nature needed its own full-time leadership, with its own nonprofit board of directors, with the ability to chart its own course. So our institutions parted ways, amicably, though Malcolm remained on the Bay Nature Institute board for four years thereafter. 

Now, in 2025, 25 years after Bay Nature’s birth, I hope I can speak for the current board and staff and say that Bay Nature is proud to be a part of the invaluable legacy of beauty and deep local knowledge that Malcolm Margolin fostered and left behind for the Bay Area.

David Loeb with Malcolm Margolin at Bay Nature’s 15th anniversary. (Scott Braley)