I stumbled upon an interesting opinion piece from a recent copy of The Boston Globe. The author talks about Thoreau’s in-depth journaling often centered around observations that he was making about changes in climate patterns and how it effected the nature around him.

For years, Thoreau monitored the plants and animals around him, noting how the weather affected them. He kept detailed logs of these patterns which are now being used by climate scientists and students who are examining the impacts of climate change on New England’s environment. Pretty cool!

The author wrote this piece (which paints Thoreau as an climate change pioneer) in response to a recent article in the New Yorker, which takes shot at Thoreau as a person. The author from the New Yorker was not very fond of our friend Henry. (See below)

“The real Thoreau was, in the fullest sense of the word, self-obsessed: narcissistic, fanatical about self-control, adamant that he required nothing beyond himself to understand and thrive in the world. From that inward fixation flowed a social and political vision that is deeply unsettling. It is true that Thoreau was an excellent naturalist and an eloquent and prescient voice for the preservation of wild places. But “Walden” is less a cornerstone work of environmental literature than the original cabin porn: a fantasy about rustic life divorced from the reality of living in the woods, and, especially, a fantasy about escaping the entanglements and responsibilities of living among other people.”

Like most articles in the New Yorker, it’s a pretty long read. However, if you find the time, both articles are pretty interesting and paint very different pictures of HDT.

https://www.bostonglobe.com/opinion/2015/10/21/sorry-new-yorker-thoreau-more-relevant-than-ever/XsF28iSLPwrLkiNZIpHmoI/story.html#comments

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/10/19/pond-scum

“It was vast, Titanic, and such as man never inhabits. Some part of the beholder, even some vital part, seems to escape through the loose grating of his ribs as he ascends” – HDT

This trip to the Catskills was a pretty humbling experience this weekend. I think the long drive was definitely worth the trip, as we got close it was like looking at the sides of the mountains on fire. The burnt orange leaves transitioning to bare trees.

The trip was extremely rewarding for myself and I really felt connected to some of the pieces.

I’m continually reminded of the Thoreau quote on Katahdin, especially at the views from the Giant Ledges, that talks about the ancient power and presence in the mountains. These moments and views that were removed from human contact really gave this impression.

During the hike, my ears were keenly searching for nonhuman sounds such as a leaf rustling, a bird chirping, the ground being disturbed. Occasionally my vigilance was rewarded as a squirrel or the occasional dog on the trail made their presence known to me, but I was hoping for more.

The ravens racing amongst the trees, dancing with one another and singing to their heart’s content, gave me the feeling that I was immersed in land that was not my own, not for animals, but for all of us, on equal footing. The benefits of the land for the ravens were the same as those for me, we shared an appreciation for the habitat, as I was awed by the views, and they were able to call it their home. But still, I was hoping for more sound. I was surprised by where we found it.

Half asleep in the back of the van, I was jolted to being woken up at a rest stop on the way back to campus. Some people were getting drinks, others using the restroom, and as such, I decided to stretch my legs before we made the rest of the trek back to Easton. Outside of the rest stop a lone tree stood; it was obviously placed there for decoration’s purpose, and there were no other trees within sixty yards of it, as highway and parking lot surrounded the complex. As I walked by the tree, I could not believe my ears.

Countless birds were sitting in the tree, squawking away, talking to one another about prospects for food in the lot, or dropped items that could make for a good snack. More birds than I had encountered on the entire hike were sitting in this one tree in the parking lot of a rest stop, and it made me sad.

I wanted to tell them, “Go to the Ledges! You will be happier there”. I wanted them to see what I had seen that day, and not where we happened to stop in the car for a break. I wanted them to call home where the ravens call home, but unfortunately this was not the case. Funny the way some things work out, as all the birds were far from nature, and the contrast throughout the day was striking.

“Wilderness is a loaded word. It fits nicely into the founding mythology, conjuring up a vision of a forest primeval full of formidable creatures and humans who were not civilized enough to be called anything but savages. Demonizing the landscape and its occupants helped justify their conquest and destruction, which was the first step in the creation of a new Eden.” – Jim Sterba, 22

I was really intrigued by how Sterba explained the colonists’ interpretation of wilderness. Today, we usually think of wilderness as an image of perfection and a dwindling gift that we want to cherish. However, to the founders of this nation, wilderness was scary, burdensome and in the way of development. This passage clearly shows the difference in understanding and respect for natural resources that separates the past from the present. Back then, people saw the world and its resources as limitless. Today, we understand that everything on this planet is finite and that our actions play a role in the planet’s climate. I think that this passage does a cool job of juxtaposing two different trains of thought.

I was also interested to learn that the indians would burn millions of acres of forest for many different and often insignificant reasons.

“One of the great historical ironies of Mount Desert Island was that its natural beauty was being destroyed just as it was being ‘discovered’. Until the mid-nineteenth century, the idea that ‘wilderness’ could be appealing was bizarre to most people. But Thomas Cole, the landscape artist, and other painters of the Hudson River school, helped change that notion. Cole visited the island first in 1844. Other painters followed. They glorified the island’s rugged beauty and its people’s simple life, portraying in their brushstrokes both the raw landscapes and the lives of farmers and fishermen who lived by the sea.” (Sterba, 13)

Upon reading this passage, I paused my reading in order to understand what was being discussed. I was intrigued at the mention of Thomas Cole after our previous discussions of his work, so I searched for a painting of Mount Desert Island by him. The image below truly does capture the rugged beauty of the island.

The website where I found the image also included the following quote from Cole’s journal: “A tremendous overhanging precipice, rising from the ocean, with the surf dashing against it in a frightful manner. The whole coast along here is iron bound, threatening crags, and dark caverns in which the sea thunders.” 

http://www.albanyinstitute.org/details/items/frenchmans-bay-mount-desert-island-maine.html

Seeing the same bit of nature at different times can be such an interesting experience. Over years, over seasons, and even over just the course of one day, a nature scene can change so much. The change in the nature of our trail that I observed over the course of our hike was fascinating, and showed me how dynamic nature can be.

Starting up the trail in the morning the trail seemed so quiet with the exception of some fellow hikers and their canine companions. About thirty minutes into the hike I realized just how quiet it was. I had not yet heard the call of a bird, the leaf-rustling of a chipmunk, or even the buzz of an insect. I continued to notice there were very few sounds to be heard besides the noise of our steps, conversation, and the rustling of leaves in the wind.

However, upon our return back down the trail I noticed the forest seemed to come alive. The forest was bustling with chipmunks scurrying back and forth, more birds were to be heard, and for the first time ever I heard a chirping squirrel? Yes this hike was a hike of firsts, not only because I had never been on the trail, but because I had never heard a chirping squirrel.

It was interesting to see the activity of the forest change. To see if go from a place of quiet filled with dormant life when we started out, to one full of various noises from the active and awakened life along our return.

Usually I can’t wake up for my 9 am class, but Saturday morning at 6 am, somehow I was able to hop out of bed like a rabbit on the first warm day of spring. I opened the door to the outside to discover that the sun had not yet awakened. It’s always disorienting for me when I step outside to start my day and the sky is still dark. Despite my conflicting excitement and disorientation, I trekked to Wawa for some sad, yet essential, scrambled eggs and then walked with Jackie to Williams Visual Arts Center.

I was fortunate enough to be surrounded by those who fear sitting behind the back tires, so I was able to stretch out in spacious, albeit bump magnifying back seat. I slept wonderfully, with the exception of one bump that awakened me mid-air, and was ready to attack the trail once we reached the entrance.

I started out a little overconfidently. This has not been one of my most physically active semesters, so by the time we ascended up our first steep piece of the trail, I was winded and peeling off my outerwear as much as I could. Just above that steep bit was when we encountered the delightful 77 year old man and the first trail-pup. It was so early in the hike, and I was already inspired by our natural surroundings and the people who were sharing them with us.

As we got further into the hike, I enjoyed conversations with various members of the class, exchanged greetings with other hikers, and let myself be revived by the crisp air, striking colors, and invigorating exercise.  The vistas we imbibed while standing on the cliffs were breathtaking. Although the sky wasn’t perfectly blue and the longer we stood, the more uncomfortably cold we became, my senses were wholly satisfied. It’s a shame that some people sigh in disappointment at a grey sky. So many beautiful places have a perpetually grey sky. Wouldn’t a departure from that perhaps take away some of the true essence of that place? I’m tempted to say that a bright blue sky on a cold fall day would have disappointed me, but we all know that’s not true.

While sitting on a boulder eating GORP, gouda cheese, and granola, I felt tempted to lean back on the mossy, lichen covered surface and invite insects, twigs, and plant matter into my hair and jacket. I always find that the deeper I get into a hike, the less averse I am to touching everything. While we were standing discussing how our readings relate to the experience, I was playing with the branches above me and surveying to see if there might have been a branch strong enough for me to hang on. During that discussion, I also felt a strange phenomenon that only occurs when I’m in nature or on a stage: an ability to focus so precisely while also allowing myself to observe and be distracted by everything else around me. I find myself much more able to carry multiple streams of thought when I’m in nature.

On the way back, the bright red leaves that littered the trail captivated me. At the time, the only way I could express this was telling Andy that those leaves “were really doin’ it for me.” I enjoyed Jeremy and Dave’s company for the first part of the way back and was reminded of how much easier it is to converse with someone while walking with no intention of diverting courses. There’s no speeding up your last thought because you soon have to peel off in another direction or find yourself only half-listening because you have to focus on getting to where you’re going in a timely fashion.

There’s something so powerfully relaxing and nourishing about climbing up and down rocks, planning your next steps, breathing in fresh air, participating in unhurried conversation, and ignoring being not entirely comfortable. I am doubtful, anxious person. I constantly question if I’m using my time effectively, making the right decisions, and retaining some sense of being true to myself. When I hike, I have no doubts. I don’t question if I’m spending my time effectively, because I know I am. I know I’m being true to myself because it just feels damn right. Even if I get winded and need to sit or slip and have to catch myself, I still feel nourished by my action coupled with the balanced surroundings around me.

I need hiking. Perhaps some people don’t, but I know I do.

Let me start by saying that I really enjoyed yesterday’s hike. As I mentioned during our mountaintop discussion, our trip gave me an opportunity to escape the often overbearing Lafayette bubble and retreat into the environment where I feel most alive.

Although this hike was similar to countless other hikes that I’ve done, I found myself more aware of the abundance of people on the trail. I noticed how packed down the trail itself was and how at times, our rest points felt more like a Manhattan intersection than a protected wilderness reserve. It was great to see so many people out enjoying “nature,” but the packed wilderness area really drove home Cronon’s argument that man and nature cannot exist separately.

Another funny moment for me occurred when the large group behind us emerged onto the first ledge. Without a moment of hesitation, one of the teenagers in the group exclaimed “This view is nothing, I’ve been to the grand canyon!” I couldn’t help but laugh as this notion was almost identical to many of the discussions that we have had in class this year. Can we really place different levels of value on different “wilderness” locations? I found it amusing that this individual was so quick to brush off the beauty of the moment with a comparison of one piece of nature being better than another. I guess I’ve always placed value on the moment and place that I am in rather than comparing one place to another.

One final thought from that kid’s exclamation ties back into our most recent paper topic, Nature as Cathedral. Had the roles been reversed, and Panther Mountain was dubbed one of America’s most splendid national parks (instead of the Grand Canyon) would that kid have had the same reaction? Was he looking at the his trips for the experience in nature or for the title and reputation that they carry? Something to consider…