Here’s what recent research reveals.
Sometimes serenity hides a silent whisper of imbalance.
There’s something soothing about the color green.
It softens the noise of the world, quiets the pulse of the city, and invites the body to exhale. I’ve always found peace in open green spaces — the stillness of a park at dawn, the quiet hum of sprinklers, the smell of damp soil after rain.
But a few weeks ago, a study changed the way I see that peace.
It wasn’t about war or famine or a futuristic invention. It was about golf courses — places we often associate with wealth, order, and tranquility.
The research revealed something unexpected: people who live near golf courses have a significantly higher risk of developing Parkinson’s disease. The suspected reason is long-term exposure to pesticides and herbicides, the very substances used to keep those green surfaces flawless.
That finding lingered in my mind.
Not just because it involved a disease as devastating as Parkinson’s, but because it carried a deeper metaphor. We humans often mistake order for health. We believe that if something looks clean, it must be safe; if it looks green, it must be natural. But the earth doesn’t always speak in appearances. Sometimes, it whispers through imbalance.
Science beneath the silence
The study, published in JAMA Network Open, examined thousands of people living across Minnesota and Wisconsin. Researchers discovered that those who lived within one mile of a golf course were more than twice as likely to develop Parkinson’s disease compared to those living several miles away.
Even residents up to three miles away faced higher risk, though to a lesser extent. And in areas where groundwater was more vulnerable to contamination, the association was stronger still.
No, the scientists didn’t prove direct causation — they rarely can, at least not yet. But the patterns were too consistent to ignore.
To understand the connection, we must think of how these spaces are maintained. Golf courses rely on precision — every blade of grass trimmed, every patch treated, every insect controlled. That level of perfection demands a constant flow of chemicals: herbicides for weeds, fungicides for turf, and insecticides to keep the green uniform.
Over time, these substances don’t stay confined to the soil.
They drift silently with the wind. They seep into rainwater. They sink through the earth and into the groundwater we drink.
And as they move, they enter us — quietly, invisibly, steadily.
The human nervous system is a delicate instrument.
Parkinson’s disease begins when certain neurons in a part of the brain called the substantia nigra start to die. These cells produce dopamine — the chemical that allows us to move, speak, and express emotion with ease. When dopamine falls, movement slows, speech softens, and tremors appear.
Pesticides such as paraquat and rotenone are known to harm mitochondria, the energy-producing centers of our cells. When these microscopic engines fail, the neurons dependent on them begin to degenerate. Over the years, that slow damage can manifest as Parkinson’s disease — a body losing its rhythm one tremor at a time.
So, what seems like a distant environmental issue becomes a deeply personal one.
The air we breathe, the water we drink, and the ground beneath our feet — they write invisible stories inside our cells.
The lesson in reflection
When I read that study, I found myself staring out of my window. There’s a park across the street from my apartment, a beautiful one. Children run barefoot on the grass. Couples walk their dogs at sunrise. On certain afternoons, I see the gardener with a bright blue sprayer, tending to the plants with quiet precision.
I never thought to ask what was in that canister.
That afternoon, I did something I hadn’t done in years. I walked across to the park and simply sat there — not scrolling, not thinking — just breathing. And as I breathed, I realized how much we take for granted the spaces that nurture us. Read More….
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I’m a semantic scholar and researcher with over a decade of clinical experience, sharing real-world insights through the art of storytelling. My writing goal is to inform, educate, and inspire my readers.
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