In reading the last section of Thoreau I found myself looking towards my nature walk for inspiration. I took off to class and headed down the road, umbrella in hand with the rain lightly sprinkling on the tips of my pink shield from rain. I take a new path to class this morning, a new road that I have not taken before. I am walking slower than usual to take in the scenes. I find myself realizing how bad the sidewalk is deteriorating, bumps and cracks everywhere. I look to the houses, not recently painted and obviously owed or lived in by a younger generation. I watch my feet as a walk, for some reason this walk feels different. It is weird but there is no one walking near to me on this road, I can see people in the distance, but they are not taking the same “path” as I am taking. I feel as if I am seeing everything for the first time. I actually notice a huge tree and not because it is in the path of my walk but because it is overgrown and the leaves are huge. I surprise myself because I am really looking at the trees and the things around me. I wonder if I should have even brought my umbrella. The rain, although coming down, will most certainly ruin my hair and make me wet, isn’t that the point, seeing things from another view. I wonder why I am so against getting wet and why we rush through our days when it is raining to escape the rain. I take down the umbrella when I am almost at my class, thinking that I am chicken for not wanting to get wet. But I realize that finally seeing the rain for the first time like this, as something happy not as a “dreary, miserable wet day”, I am finding something more for myself and realize I am more of a dork than ever before for wanting to go play in the rain like I am five again.
I think that even though I see these things around me as one way, everyone else is seeing these trees, houses, sidewalk as something different. I bring back to mind a quote from Thoreau saying “may there not be a civilization going on among brutes as well as men?” (257) Are there really “worlds” out there of animals, other peoples, and “beasts” that live similar yet separate lives as I do? I think to myself that this selfish thinking , that my world is “the” world and other people, places, and animals are merely “different” is probably got Thoreau thinking of finding solitude in the first place, wondering where man has taken himself and his role in nature. We see, through another section Thoreau reveals that “Nature puts no question and answers none which we mortals ask.” (265) He realizes that man has to answer the questions of life for himself. We must awake everyday to new unanswered questions of life. When we see that “Heave is under our feet as well as over our heads” (266) Finding our grounding or our inner depth, as Thoreau relates to the depth of Walden Pond, allows us to see our true character. (272-273) Once we have found this depth we are now able to take in the scenes around us, to fully allow others to see us as we should be seen, at our core.
Throughout the last sections of Thoreau we see that water and time, looking through the generations of the past and their mark on Walden and on the world, there is a connection to our spiritual life. Water and time are mirrors, as mentioned many times throughout the sections, and they reflect our inner selves, our souls. If we are to take the theme of water and time “deeper” we see that we are now looking into what we call our nature. Mother nature and nature of our own character, we are looking to find the one in which we build our lives, our homes in the world. Thoreau ends the book with a feeling of change. A change must be made to the self in order to find the answers to our questions and to fully awake every day. I feel that Thoreau is telling us to not change where we are physically, our scenery, but instead our selves, our thoughts and actions in the world which ultimately reflect upon nature itself.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
A Man Born in the Wrong Time Period
Thoreau is really a very interesting character to me. I find myself often baffled by the things he says. Not because I find them to be offensive but rather because of my complete opposite reaction. I agreed with what he had to say in economy and I agreed with much of what he says to say on the unalienable rights and freedoms of man. I find myself smiling at his depictions of the woods because they remind me of what it was like to visit my dad every weekend on Verona Island. There is a certain quality in those woods, much like in Thoreau’s, that makes a person wonder at how small we really are. In comparison with the woods we are a mere fraction of the second. It throws into sharp reality all of the comments that Thoreau makes against following society. I think he says it best on page 305 when he says, “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measure or far away.”
All of the agreeing I did made it hard for me to understand why the critics were, and still are, so hard on him. I mean sure, he said he lived all alone in the woods for two years when in reality he was only a couple miles from town and maybe he is very egotistical but he makes a lot of good points. While I was on my walk mulling this over, it hit me. Thoreau has a lot of good ideas and they make sense to me because I am a product of my generation. Thoreau was living in a time when society was everything to everyone but himself. He is a writer who in many ways is way ahead of his time. He actually says this for me on page 305 when he writes, “If the condition of things which we were made for is not yet, what were any reality which we can substitute?” He was made to live in time that had not happened yet.
This of course brought me back to the introduction of the book that we read at the beginning of our discussion on Thoreau. Bill McKibben definitely seems to agree with me here. McKibben says, “He [Thoreau] posed the two intensely practical questions that must come to dominate this age if we’re to make those changes: How much is enough? And How do I know what I want?” (xi). These questions, (at least in America) have a lot to do with our culture of consumption. Thoreau is completely against doing what society expects us to do. He wants us to spend more frugally, he wants us to love the Earth we live on, he wants us to reserve our company only for those we enjoy and he wants us to treasure our freedoms enough that we want to share the, with all. He does not want us to just along with things because that would be the easy thing to do. He wants us to love our lives. This is completely against everything going on in his time period.
All of the agreeing I did made it hard for me to understand why the critics were, and still are, so hard on him. I mean sure, he said he lived all alone in the woods for two years when in reality he was only a couple miles from town and maybe he is very egotistical but he makes a lot of good points. While I was on my walk mulling this over, it hit me. Thoreau has a lot of good ideas and they make sense to me because I am a product of my generation. Thoreau was living in a time when society was everything to everyone but himself. He is a writer who in many ways is way ahead of his time. He actually says this for me on page 305 when he writes, “If the condition of things which we were made for is not yet, what were any reality which we can substitute?” He was made to live in time that had not happened yet.
This of course brought me back to the introduction of the book that we read at the beginning of our discussion on Thoreau. Bill McKibben definitely seems to agree with me here. McKibben says, “He [Thoreau] posed the two intensely practical questions that must come to dominate this age if we’re to make those changes: How much is enough? And How do I know what I want?” (xi). These questions, (at least in America) have a lot to do with our culture of consumption. Thoreau is completely against doing what society expects us to do. He wants us to spend more frugally, he wants us to love the Earth we live on, he wants us to reserve our company only for those we enjoy and he wants us to treasure our freedoms enough that we want to share the, with all. He does not want us to just along with things because that would be the easy thing to do. He wants us to love our lives. This is completely against everything going on in his time period.
Response to Rachel's Solitude- by Lizzie
I really enjoyed your post Rachel, nice job! I too found myself thinking similar thoughts about being alone and the “norms” of our society today. Thoreau seems to have retained or maybe found something that we, as citizens in a fast-pace, technological society aren’t willing to discover. I was brought back to the footnote that read “Just as true silence is hard to come by, astronomers report that real darkness has all but vanished as well, that even deep in the woods the sky glows with urban wattage.” (pg. 123) We replace the starlight with the light of our houses filled with people, electronics, and clutter of our lives. Our society has seemed to have taken the solitary out of solitary confinement. Looking at this term, solitary confinement, as a positive experience (not as in relating to prison!) we in our time period, can imagine that being alone, no contact with others, would be “psychological torture”. But why is this so horrible to comprehend? Being in a place by yourself, all alone, nothing but you and the world or nature for that matter, to form a bond and finding yourself being swept off your feet by the “thing” around you of which we take for granted, how can this be a “weird” or bad experience? Our culture confines each individual to their own section of the world, impressing upon them to experience some form of nature- to be “enlightened”, if you will, yet all the while we remain in a crowd of hundreds continually searching to find that “perfect” experience. By all of us trying to be alone, we are all together. Why have we lost Thoreau’s idea of solitude, of being alone and experiencing whatever comes along?
Thoreau had the right idea, we must give up parts of the world, of society, materials and in exchange receive nature, letting go of all that is unimportant. We don’t “need” a lot to survive but our world has transformed the mind into thinking that more is better. The cycle mentioned earlier on in Thoreau, we work for money, money that is used to buy more things, but the more we have, the more we want, and thus the more we must work. We lose all solitude, all relation to our own self and to nature when we exchange going for a walk for watching episodes of “Sex and the City” (yes I am guilty). Through working with the land, planting, growing, living, Thoreau expresses the thought, “What shall I learn of beans or beans of me?” (146).This seemingly insignificant sentence brings be back to the beginning of the reading and to your comments Rachel. Being alone, finding a place in the world where we are content by ourselves, choosing to see “solitary confinement” not as being forced to be alone but as a different state of “aloneness”. It transforms from us merely learning about the land to us “being” with the land and in another more profound experience the land is “with” us.
Why can’t be put down the TV changer, the ipod, the music and magazines and exchange them for some solitude, confining ourselves to the outdoors, to nature’s changes, to the music of the trees, and the “readings” we can do of all the animals we see. Thoreau found something that we lack today. If a man or woman were to confine themselves in the woods, alone, just to “experience” nature, we would call them crazy. But Thoreau could have called them scholars, maybe poets, maybe even the alternate to the “savage”. How can we get back to this time? Until I can learn to let go of “Sex and the City” and get outside into nature alone, I will forever be ignorant to the things I could experience. But as many, my excuse, with the learning words from society, would of course be, “I’ll miss the good episode!” What about the episode of nature taking place everyday right under my nose? I am missing all the good parts.
Thoreau had the right idea, we must give up parts of the world, of society, materials and in exchange receive nature, letting go of all that is unimportant. We don’t “need” a lot to survive but our world has transformed the mind into thinking that more is better. The cycle mentioned earlier on in Thoreau, we work for money, money that is used to buy more things, but the more we have, the more we want, and thus the more we must work. We lose all solitude, all relation to our own self and to nature when we exchange going for a walk for watching episodes of “Sex and the City” (yes I am guilty). Through working with the land, planting, growing, living, Thoreau expresses the thought, “What shall I learn of beans or beans of me?” (146).This seemingly insignificant sentence brings be back to the beginning of the reading and to your comments Rachel. Being alone, finding a place in the world where we are content by ourselves, choosing to see “solitary confinement” not as being forced to be alone but as a different state of “aloneness”. It transforms from us merely learning about the land to us “being” with the land and in another more profound experience the land is “with” us.
Why can’t be put down the TV changer, the ipod, the music and magazines and exchange them for some solitude, confining ourselves to the outdoors, to nature’s changes, to the music of the trees, and the “readings” we can do of all the animals we see. Thoreau found something that we lack today. If a man or woman were to confine themselves in the woods, alone, just to “experience” nature, we would call them crazy. But Thoreau could have called them scholars, maybe poets, maybe even the alternate to the “savage”. How can we get back to this time? Until I can learn to let go of “Sex and the City” and get outside into nature alone, I will forever be ignorant to the things I could experience. But as many, my excuse, with the learning words from society, would of course be, “I’ll miss the good episode!” What about the episode of nature taking place everyday right under my nose? I am missing all the good parts.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Interesting Article
http://www.pressherald.com/business/despite-economy-americans-shun-jobs-in-farm-fields_2010-09-28.html
This is an interesting article I read today and while I'm not due for a blog post, I thought I'd pass it along. It makes me think about the disconnect between Americans and their land. Even with unemployment skyrocketing, Americans are still "above" working in the fields and on farms, so illegal immigrants readily scoop up the positions.
Food For Thought:
How many people around you constantly complain? How many are unhappy? I've seemed to notice this a lot recently. I think it comes down to recognizing the difference between "meaningful" and "menial" work. Many of the most grueling jobs are often the least compensated and therefore deemed least significant...but by whose standards?
As for myself, in high school I worked two summers for the Presumpscott River Youth Conservation Corps, performing manual labor in the hot sun, day in and day out. In college, I worked at Whole Foods Market. Both jobs provided great experiences. Working retail paid better, I was in air conditioning, and there were excellent benefits. Working for the corps, I didn't make as much money, but it was more fulfilling. I could look at something I had accomplished at the end of each day and could leave with the satisfaction that I made somewhat of a difference for the environment. Working at the grocery store, I was surrounded by organic food and lots of positives as far as corporations go, but was ultimately standing long hours ringing up and bagging groceries for customers who usually had something to complain about (A customer once asked me while I was taking out the trash, "Do you have a college degree to do that?")
I couldn't become as enthused in telling strangers to "have a great day," like I could be about jumping in the river after a day of wheelbarrowing piles of rock and mulch.
In connection to the article, I also found it interesting that the jobs deemed more grueling were given to immigrants. I have friends who work in Prep Foods, which is a department involving heavy lifting, washing, and serving, as well as friends in the Housecleaning Department, who come from places like Somalia, Afghanistan, and Mexico. However, the Customer Service Department, of which I was a part, consisted of mostly all white Americans. The starting pay rate is the same for all positions. I'm curious to know the statistics behind this, as I applied simultaneously for a position in Customer Service and Prep Foods and happened to get an interview for Customer Service.
Anyways, some connections to think about. Like Thoreau, I'm often battling with myself in regard to the simplicity of nature and desire for intellectual stimulation. I think the age-old question that has faced man from the beginning is: what is happiness and how can I obtain it?
So we continue to search, to wonder, to dream.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Demolition Derby Night :(
Even though it was warm outside tonight, it was very foggy and a little “rainy” (what I mean is it was not really raining, but there was a mist that hung in the air). I had a difficult time seeing because the fog/mist was so thick. I had a hard time concentrating because of the sounds from the fairgrounds. The demolition derby must have been tonight, because I kept hearing loud engines and announcements in the distance. I thought about Thoreau and the section in Walden where he wrote that his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the train in the distance and that this caused him to realize how much time had passed. The sound of the demolition derby made me think about how humans have advanced so much that we do such silly things to entertain ourselves. Even during Thoreau's time I am sure that there were plenty of people (farmers and even housewives) who did not have time to become bored. I sometimes think that animals have it easy because the are too busy surviving (and intelligence is a factor, too) to become bored, angry, depressed, or lonely. I then thought about how some domestic animals, like dogs, can actually suffer from depression and boredom. Is this because they have become too domesticated?
Thoreau had written that, “He [man] has no time to be any thing bu a machine” (4). I feel like I both agree and disagree with this statement after going over some of the ideas I had thought about on my walk. People have too much time, now. I of all people know what it is like to have multiple things going on at once. I work 40+ hours a week as an assistant manager, I go to UMF full-time, I have a husband, dog, and apartment to take care of, and I try to cram in things like exercise into my week. When I really think about it, though, the only reason I “need” to do these things is because of how much luxury humans now have. I don't have to pump water from a well by hand and boil it to wash (well, unless my landlord is having trouble with the water heater). My husband doesn't have to go hunting (funny how that is now a leisure activity, by the way) and I don't NEED to spend hours cooking if I don't want to; I can buy food that is already cooked from a variety of restaurants and markets. I feel so spoiled when I think about how easy life actually is. I go to college so that I can leave my soul sucking job for one that I can get enjoyment out of. I don't NEED to be a full-time student in order to simply survive. At the same time, the economy and society make me feel like I do need to do what I'm doing to live a happy life. So, I do feel like a machine very often because at this point in my life I have little time for fun.
On my walk I thought about how Thoreau made it his routine/ritual to bath in the pond every morning. To me, this seemed like a way of “awakening” himself for every new day. I am contemplating coming up with some sort of daily/morning routine of my own. Having a morning routine might be a good way to remind me that it is a new day and not to take “life” too seriously. I find myself very stressed out by the busy life I am currently living, so some of Thoreau's words have really been burned into my mind.
Thoreau and the senses
I'm a very sense-oriented person. This is especially apparent on walks like the one I took this week in the late afternoon a few days ago. I like to focus on the sights, the sounds, the smells. I like to revel in them, focus on them, and let them take over. It helps to calm, center, and focus, like a peculiar kind of meditation. Fresh air in and out of my lungs, sweeping everything away, perhaps leaving a cool burn in the back of my throat. The slanting sunlight. The crunch of gravel underfoot. The crisp, tangy smell of pine needles, the loamy, earthy smell of wet soil. The sound of a songbird, of my own heartbeat.
Since all of these sensory perceptions are so integral with the way I interact with nature, it surprised me that Thoreau was apparently very suspicious of them, of people who choose to focus so intently on the senses as opposed to the mind. This reaction of his makes sense in the context of the French Canadian logger he talks about in "Visitors". This man, though living out in nature as Thoreau so expounds upon doing, content with his lot in life, happy and jovial, is constantly described throughout by Thoreau as "simple" and "animal": "In him the animal man was chiefly developed. In physical endurance and contentment he was cousin to the pine and the rock... But the intellectual and what is called spiritual man in him were slumbering as in an infant" (138-9).
For some reason, this man of nature and contentedness was still not good enough for Thoreau to be up to his standards, considered a whole or proper man. After class discussion today, I got to thinking about why that was the case. Surely this Canadian man had found the secret to being happy and living in nature? Just because he wasn't as intelligent or focused on the realm of thought as Thoreau, who spends so much of his time earlier in the book chastising and challenging students to experience life and not be wholly consumed with thoughts or theories?
And then it occurred to me that relating his experience and interactions with the French Canadian acted as a sort of counterbalance to his critiques and judgments on contemporary village existence. This man in the woods would then serve as a limiting factor, the example on the opposite end of the spectrum to shy away from. Thus, with the narrative's inclusion, Thoreau could further prove his point that he was indeed the correct and perfect balance between the supposed simpletons and the more "civilized" man chained down by his belongings.
Since all of these sensory perceptions are so integral with the way I interact with nature, it surprised me that Thoreau was apparently very suspicious of them, of people who choose to focus so intently on the senses as opposed to the mind. This reaction of his makes sense in the context of the French Canadian logger he talks about in "Visitors". This man, though living out in nature as Thoreau so expounds upon doing, content with his lot in life, happy and jovial, is constantly described throughout by Thoreau as "simple" and "animal": "In him the animal man was chiefly developed. In physical endurance and contentment he was cousin to the pine and the rock... But the intellectual and what is called spiritual man in him were slumbering as in an infant" (138-9).
For some reason, this man of nature and contentedness was still not good enough for Thoreau to be up to his standards, considered a whole or proper man. After class discussion today, I got to thinking about why that was the case. Surely this Canadian man had found the secret to being happy and living in nature? Just because he wasn't as intelligent or focused on the realm of thought as Thoreau, who spends so much of his time earlier in the book chastising and challenging students to experience life and not be wholly consumed with thoughts or theories?
And then it occurred to me that relating his experience and interactions with the French Canadian acted as a sort of counterbalance to his critiques and judgments on contemporary village existence. This man in the woods would then serve as a limiting factor, the example on the opposite end of the spectrum to shy away from. Thus, with the narrative's inclusion, Thoreau could further prove his point that he was indeed the correct and perfect balance between the supposed simpletons and the more "civilized" man chained down by his belongings.
Claiming
I’ve been breaking a lot of rules today. Firstly, I didn’t walk this week, I sat outside after having driven home from what was most certainly, a long and tedious day. So tedious, I didn’t feel like walking. Anyway, I settled for watching the woods behind my house waiting for something interesting to jump by or something. In the end, I ended up being mesmerized by the massive colony of spiders that have all decided to live on our shingles and telephone wires, and door corners, and windowpanes. I realize spiders don’t actually live in communities, they’d eat each other, but it feels like ours do because they’re all at least as big as y our eyeball and build these massive webs that are of varying sizes and locations, but ultimately look exactly the same, which is quite a feat considering they’re all unique.
Then, to my dismay, I almost quoted Thoreau to myself when he talks about solitude: “There is commonly sufficient space about us. Our horizon is never quite at our elbows. The thick wood is not just at our door, nor the pond, but somewhat is always clearing, familiar and worn by us, appropriated and fenced in some way, and reclaimed from Nature.” (123) Clearly, though entirely hostile to one another, (so says the Discovery Channel anyway and possibly Animal Planet, I love their specials..) the spiders have achieved this weird taking back of my building for nature, and have appropriated their own space side by side in an interesting and sufficient harmony of space. Nature reclaims us too, as it definitely reclaimed the butt of my skirt with grass stains and mud and rainwater. It got me thinking about the vastness of where I live, in Mt Vernon, which is a relatively small town with an even smaller ‘downtown’ but so many people live along rte 41 without realizing they are neighbors because there is just enough in their way that they feel isolated. We’ve completely fenced in the wilderness with ourselves that it is wildly at our doorsteps, while still remaining completely unowned and being reclaimed by nature by the spiders and the dirt that creeps in anyway. We creep in with fences; she creeps in with small pests. (I actually really love spiders)
“As I walked in the woods to see the birds and the squirrels, so I walked in the village to see the men and boys; instead of the wind among the pines I heard the carts rattle” (158). This passage is weird to me, because he personifies nature in a way that I’m not sure he intends to. The men and boys are not birds and squirrels, but he watches them the same way and the village is its own kind of wildness for him, although, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t consider nature to be wild. The idea of wildness intrigues me, and I’ve always wondered what he thought of it, especially in the sense that men claim pieces of Nature that she takes back, like the spiders taking over the outside of my building, and yet mimic it in the way we move around in packs or in villages. What would Thoreau think of subways? Would he actually compare them to ants in the forest, or would he scoff at man’s level of transportation and decide it is something entirely different, and not a strange sort of mimicry. He builds his house on Walden, and he talks about sweeping his floors and planting his beans and bringing in pond water to measure the temperature of. He talks about himself being caged listening to the birds, but he never mentions nature coming back to claim parts of him.
Power and Affect
As I walk, I look at the footprints I leave in the sand, the twigs I break as I step, and the dying leaves I pluck from fallen branches. Leaving our mark is something that is inevitable when we enter nature, or anywhere for that matter. In a crowd of people, we leave our memory: something we said, did, or perhaps the memory of what we were wearing. In nature, however, we leave our mark by interrupting the process that takes place when we are not looking: an indent in the sand, the shattering of crispy leaves, or the removal of natural objects from their place of origin. Thoreau notes in Nature, "When I return to my house I find that visitors have been there and left their cards, either a bunch of flowers, or a wreath of evergreen, or a name in pencil on a yellow walnut leaf or chip. They who come rarely to the woods take some little piece of the forest into their hands to play with by the way, which they leave, either intentionally or accidentally. One has peeled a willow wand, woven it into a ring, and dropped it on my table" (123). It happens. We touch things, we take things, we look at things, we take it all in and call it the experience of nature. Tiny mementos that we bring back to the civilized world to remind of the wilderness that lies beyond the outskirts of our city or town.
While we have this power over nature, the most powerful affect is that nature has over us. Nature might not pay attention to a broken twig or a footprint in the sand, but we sure notice what it drops off at our doorstep. "Some of my pleasantest hours were during the long rain storms in the spring or fall... In one heavy thunder shower the lightning struck a large pitch-pine across the pond, making a very conspicuous and perfectly regular spiral groove from top to bottom, and inch or more deep.... I passed it again the other day, and was struck with awe on looking up and beholding that mark, now more distinct than ever, where a terrific and resistless holt came down out of the harmless sky eight years ago"(125-126). It is this splendor that we see and take as in impact on our lives. We are so in awe of the power that nature has to affect itself because we know that if lightning can strike a tree, then it can strike us.
It is when we witness what nature can do to itself, that it makes a greater impact on us. Although we have the power to disintegrate a mountain in moments, it is when a heavy rain takes away that same mountain with it's power that we see how strong nature is. There is such a difference when we examine the affect that we have on nature and when nature takes its toll upon itself. It makes us feel small and vulnerable even though we are capable of the same things.
On another note: This is beautiful
http://www.goodmorningandgoodnight.com/?p=4305
While we have this power over nature, the most powerful affect is that nature has over us. Nature might not pay attention to a broken twig or a footprint in the sand, but we sure notice what it drops off at our doorstep. "Some of my pleasantest hours were during the long rain storms in the spring or fall... In one heavy thunder shower the lightning struck a large pitch-pine across the pond, making a very conspicuous and perfectly regular spiral groove from top to bottom, and inch or more deep.... I passed it again the other day, and was struck with awe on looking up and beholding that mark, now more distinct than ever, where a terrific and resistless holt came down out of the harmless sky eight years ago"(125-126). It is this splendor that we see and take as in impact on our lives. We are so in awe of the power that nature has to affect itself because we know that if lightning can strike a tree, then it can strike us.
It is when we witness what nature can do to itself, that it makes a greater impact on us. Although we have the power to disintegrate a mountain in moments, it is when a heavy rain takes away that same mountain with it's power that we see how strong nature is. There is such a difference when we examine the affect that we have on nature and when nature takes its toll upon itself. It makes us feel small and vulnerable even though we are capable of the same things.
On another note: This is beautiful
http://www.goodmorningandgoodnight.com/?p=4305
Nature and the Art of Conversation
First off, I must start off by saying that I had another satisfying stroll the other night. This time instead of walking through court street, I decided to explore Abbott Park -- at night. I'm not entirely sure why that was a smart idea, because simply put, it wasn't. Perhaps at the time I thought it was wise to go out at night, because similar to Thoreau's rants in his chapter The Village -- where he goes on to make fun of people being afraid of the woods in the dark (bottom of page 161-162) -- I thought it would have been fun to challenge Thoreau's curmudgeon-like ideals.
The bottom line of trying to prove to Thoreau that I wasn't afraid of the woods in the dark was that I should not do it. I ran into a raccoon and a skunk within five minutes.
Regardless of failing the challenge, the portion of the reading the stood out for me the most was from the section Visitor; in which he goes into great length about how society views etiquette, conversation and the nature of loneliness. On page 132-133 he states that "One inconvenience I sometimes experienced in so small a house, the difficulty of getting to a sufficient distance from my guest when we begin to utter the big thoughts in big words. You want room for your thoughts to run a course or two before they make their port. The bullet of your thought must have overcome its lateral and ricochet motion and fallen into its last and steady course before it reaches the ear of the hearer, else it may plough out again through the side of the head."
This quote strikes me as a very candid view of how our society is run by getting things done quickly (as Thoreau also make note of in the section The Bean-Field) and not taking the time to properly formulate big ideas so that they can stick with us. This to Thoreau seems very unnatural. Nature is something that takes it's time and works at its own pace. It waits for no one nor does it rush for anybody. This idea strikes me as a true absolute.
I believe if we actually take the time to formulate, not just our thoughts and ideas; but our desires and drives, we'd be able to fully reach the full capacity of our well-being. We often take this truth for granted and ignore it as a mark of Nature, for when we think of Nature, we only think of a setting. Perhaps, under the preachy direction of Henry David Thoreau Nature should start of a careful mental construction of our trifectoral (I made that word up) modes of living, before we can make any sort of opinions about our environment and "nature".
The bottom line of trying to prove to Thoreau that I wasn't afraid of the woods in the dark was that I should not do it. I ran into a raccoon and a skunk within five minutes.
Regardless of failing the challenge, the portion of the reading the stood out for me the most was from the section Visitor; in which he goes into great length about how society views etiquette, conversation and the nature of loneliness. On page 132-133 he states that "One inconvenience I sometimes experienced in so small a house, the difficulty of getting to a sufficient distance from my guest when we begin to utter the big thoughts in big words. You want room for your thoughts to run a course or two before they make their port. The bullet of your thought must have overcome its lateral and ricochet motion and fallen into its last and steady course before it reaches the ear of the hearer, else it may plough out again through the side of the head."
This quote strikes me as a very candid view of how our society is run by getting things done quickly (as Thoreau also make note of in the section The Bean-Field) and not taking the time to properly formulate big ideas so that they can stick with us. This to Thoreau seems very unnatural. Nature is something that takes it's time and works at its own pace. It waits for no one nor does it rush for anybody. This idea strikes me as a true absolute.
I believe if we actually take the time to formulate, not just our thoughts and ideas; but our desires and drives, we'd be able to fully reach the full capacity of our well-being. We often take this truth for granted and ignore it as a mark of Nature, for when we think of Nature, we only think of a setting. Perhaps, under the preachy direction of Henry David Thoreau Nature should start of a careful mental construction of our trifectoral (I made that word up) modes of living, before we can make any sort of opinions about our environment and "nature".
Walking the Walk without Talking the "Talk"
I stepped outside and I broke the rules. I’m not supposed to go on these walks with people, but I think that Thoreau wouldn’t have condemned me for taking my roommate. We both knew where we were going, and we both knew what we wanted. We didn’t need to talk because we could hear each other perfectly, as Thoreau says, “…speech is for the convenience of those who are hard of hearing.” (133)My roommate didn’t need to exclaim at how awake I was for such an early hour of the morning, because she could tell, she could see it by the extra energy in my step, by my wide eyes, and by my eagerness to get moving. I didn’t need to ask her if she was awake, because I knew she wasn’t, her tired eyes told me everything that I needed to know. If only humans could partake of this conversation more often, I think that we’d notice nature more.
It was cold when we stepped out of the door, and everything was illuminated in thin, grey, morning light. It made the leaves that much more noticeable on the trees, highlighting the new red bleeding through on otherwise green leaves. I started thinking about my marine biology class for a minute, trying to remember what made seaweed certain colors. I knew that high concentrations of chlorophyll made something look green but I couldn’t remember what it was that made something look red. I shoved the thought aside, because I knew that I’d remember eventually, and right now knowing what the name of it was did not matter. All that mattered was that I had seen the red.
People were out, but not very many, and none that made any measure to communicate in speech. It seems the language of the morning is a mixture of head nods, waves, and smiles. I started to see what Thoreau liked so much about mornings.
When I go for walks by myself I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something. Humans are just animals after all, and we’re quite the social beasts when we want to be. I think Thoreau knew he couldn’t be a recluse for the rest of his life and I think he even came to the conclusion that humans are nature too. Perhaps he thought that it was necessary to immerse yourself in what you thought was nature only to discover that what you left behind could also be a part of nature. In Solitude, he says, “In the midst of a gentle rain while these thoughts prevailed, I was suddenly sensible of such sweet and beneficent society in Nature, in the very pattering of the drops, and in every sound and sight around my house, an infinite and unaccountable friendliness all at once like an atmosphere sustaining me, as made the fancied advantages of human neighborhood insignificant, and I have never thought of them since.” (124-125) He says that he’s “never thought of them since”, but later on page 168 in his chapter entitled The Village, he says, “Every day or two I strolled to the village to hear some of the gossip which is incessantly going on there, circulating either from mouth to mouth, or from newspaper to newspaper, and which, taken in homeopathic doses, was really as refreshing in its way as the rustle of leaves and the peeping of frogs. As I walked in the woods to see the birds and squirrels, so I walked in the village to see the men and boys; instead of the wind among the pines I heard the carts rattle.” He is acknowledging that being among society can be as “refreshing” as being among nature. He observes it as he does nature, but even though I know that he feels society is too cheap, I can’t quite see him totally disregarding it as some unfixable evil (129). I think that he sees that there is a possibility of improving society, and that perhaps through the very writing of Walden he is communicating this hope, that his self-banishment to the woods is his way of saying that we really can live another way and perhaps be even happier, but in order to see this, we have to remove ourselves from what is common and observe our lives as we do trees and their leaves. We can’t get all caught up in the “talk” that we forget to observe that which surrounds us, including each other.
Alone in the Woods
Some people will tell you that I am dramatic, they are most likely correct. So, when I walk alone in the woods, sometimes I think that a serial killer could make an appearance. He would jump out with an overgrown beard with leaves in it, missing teeth, wearing plaid, and carrying a big knife. It is a truly awful thought, the idea that you all alone, with no one around to hear you scream. I might stop watching police procedurals, as they have affected my view on the world.
I relax into the colors of the changing leaves, hearing water run by me on my right, and thinking that I should have worn sneakers. I also think that next time I go on a walk I will wear something in the color of “please don’t shoot me orange”. I have no idea when hunting season starts, but I do not want it to start with me! Mid worry I realized that I rarely walk alone anymore, especially in the woods. As a child I was told never to go off by myself. I could get lost; get hurt, or some other thing to scare me out of being in danger. Then walking further I realized that Henry David Thoreau would never think about the woods this way. He would have loved my walk, the changing colors of the leaves, the animals scampering. He would have found perfection, where I found anxiety.
Thoreau didn’t feel this way about being alone in the woods, he wanted to be alone, he craved it. He did not have images of serial killers dancing in his head (thank you Criminal Minds)! He did not come from a culture where worrying is a national pastime.
“I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in company, even with the best is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone, I have never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude” (128). Being alone was freeing for him. He was able to think and appreciate what was occurring around him. He does talk about being lonely but he says that people are more likely to feel alone in a group than they are by themselves. He was his own companion, which I think, grounded him.
At first Thoreau’s entire perspective on being alone mystified me, as I myself enjoy being around people. As I thought about it I realized that being alone is looked down upon today. We as a culture are supposed to be involved, with people, work, and various other things in an effort to seem normal. For Thoreau this idea would not have been normal, it would have been crazy. I was nervous about being in the woods by myself, I did not need to be, perhaps taking a page out of Thoreau’s book wouldn’t be a bad thing. We as a culture should take some time for ourselves, to think and reflect on what we want. In doing this perhaps, we can fix some of today’s problems.
The Trouble With Reality
For the past month, I’ve been living without the Internet. When I return home at night, I can contentedly relax among the books and music and movies I’ve deemed important enough to purchase. Without any television stations or websites to scroll through, I’ve avoided hours of advertisements and instantaneous new bits, headlines, and sound bites.
Or, at least I did.
Yesterday, I finally succumbed to the blinking modem box. Why? Out of necessity. I don’t say this light-heartedly, as I have had to work diligently for the past month in order to maintain my college identity by walking several times a day to the library or computer center to remain “connected” to the University. Case in point: the other day I waited until evening to check my e-mail. One day. Simply a number of hours. And to my dismay, I discovered not one, not five, but eighteen e-mails. Eighteen! Most of them, contrary to popular belief, were not junk mail, but correspondence from professors, peers, coaches, and administration.
Homework assignments, practice times, bill statements, refund checks, degree requirements, online banking, submission deadlines, and must I add, blog posts all consume my time…online.
Thoreau would say this is fickle. He would respond to these communications just as he writes in “Solitude” by stating, “Society is commonly too cheap” (129). He believes that our relations with one another are superficial and fleeting, mostly lacking substance and thought. He quips, “We meet at meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old musty cheese that we are” (129). This makes me wonder if valuable, substantive relations can truly be maintained while enrolled in school. It seems as if I’m always too busy, consumed with the systematic routines that academic life demands.
So, when the Internet guy showed up to my place, he hooked up the modem, but not the router. I still can’t get it to work. Right now, instead of having my own password-protected connection, I’m piggybacking on someone else’s named GreenFish (who I hope doesn’t create a password anytime soon). I spent hours trying to get it to work, unplugging cables and restarting things, and of course there isn’t a tech support number on the router’s box, rather, you have to go online and “troubleshoot.” I finally decided to forget it, grabbed my jacket and went for walk at 10:30 at night.
I’ve always enjoyed strolling the streets at night alone. The quietness provides a hospitable solace; a calm stillness envelops the air, as families settle into their homes. Down Main Street, trucks and cars still filter in and out, though the traffic is lighter, and a few passersby wander to their respective dwellings. Lights glow from the bookshops and clothing boutiques and florists. As I wander out further from the center of town, I notice everyday things that I always pass by and seem to miss noticing. A mailbox. A streetlamp. A pay phone.
Tonight, the moon is full and she sends her beams dancing about the picket fences and open fields, bouncing off of rooftop shingles and front porch steps. Alone at night, I am not lonely. Thoreau, my man, you are right, “Tonight is a delicious evening” (122).
In a short while, I’ll shuffle back to my apartment where I, too, live alone. It is here I am able to “work” in my “field” and “chop” in my “woods” (128), as Thoreau describes the life of a scholar. I cannot escape reality. It follows me in my days. It wraps its cords around my wrists and sometimes I must oblige.
Still, there is comfort in the moonlight delights in nights as delicious as these.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Solitude
"In the midst of a gentle rain while these thoughts prevailed, I was suddenly sensible of such sweet and beneficent society in Nature; in the very pattering of the drops, and in every sight and sound around my house, an infinite and unaccountable friendliness all at once like an atmosphere sustaining me, as made the fancied advantages of human neighborhood insignificant, and I have never thought of them since" (125).
I broke one of my own rules when I headed out for my walk last evening down what folks where we live call "the Intervale" (a wonderfully archaic word for valley). I had my son, Wyatt, with me. Since Wyatt doesn't talk yet, walking with him is more like walking with a dog than like walking with another person -- a comparison which, as will soon be clear, I mean as a compliment. Wyatt and I are used to being alone together. We've been that way for longer than he's been alive. We are aware of each other -- warmth, heartbeat, movement, the ebb and flow of physical needs -- but our communion is without words, without even the internal chatter we call "thinking." We have a few months left -- 2 or 3 at the most -- of this perfect, wordless companionship, before we will be two separate consciousnesses, two talkers, and we will not be able to be alone together anymore.
Of course, I will celebrate Wyatt's learning to talk. In other moods I stare at him and mouth over and over again the word "Mama," waiting for the magical moment he will name me and we will fall into a whole new relation. But yesterday, I recognized our aloneness-together as its own kind of rare gift.
We made our way down to the Temple Steam, and looked out at the mountains, and I can't tell you what happened then because it happened outside of words: it happened between me and Wyatt and the stream and the mountains and none of us said anything.
I am a literature professor: I am a word person. But sometimes, like yesterday, I want to remember that I am also an animal, a participant in nature, an element in an ecosystem. I want to feel that "infinite and unaccountable friendliness all at once like an atmosphere sustaining me." At such moments, I, like Thoreau, have to turn away -- not so much from people as from words.
Later, though, I want to write about it.
I broke one of my own rules when I headed out for my walk last evening down what folks where we live call "the Intervale" (a wonderfully archaic word for valley). I had my son, Wyatt, with me. Since Wyatt doesn't talk yet, walking with him is more like walking with a dog than like walking with another person -- a comparison which, as will soon be clear, I mean as a compliment. Wyatt and I are used to being alone together. We've been that way for longer than he's been alive. We are aware of each other -- warmth, heartbeat, movement, the ebb and flow of physical needs -- but our communion is without words, without even the internal chatter we call "thinking." We have a few months left -- 2 or 3 at the most -- of this perfect, wordless companionship, before we will be two separate consciousnesses, two talkers, and we will not be able to be alone together anymore.
Of course, I will celebrate Wyatt's learning to talk. In other moods I stare at him and mouth over and over again the word "Mama," waiting for the magical moment he will name me and we will fall into a whole new relation. But yesterday, I recognized our aloneness-together as its own kind of rare gift.
We made our way down to the Temple Steam, and looked out at the mountains, and I can't tell you what happened then because it happened outside of words: it happened between me and Wyatt and the stream and the mountains and none of us said anything.
I am a literature professor: I am a word person. But sometimes, like yesterday, I want to remember that I am also an animal, a participant in nature, an element in an ecosystem. I want to feel that "infinite and unaccountable friendliness all at once like an atmosphere sustaining me." At such moments, I, like Thoreau, have to turn away -- not so much from people as from words.
Later, though, I want to write about it.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Walking the Fields and Recollecting on Thoreau's "Economy"
I took a walk after my rugby practice the other day after the team left because I found it to be the most alone I had been all day, free of most noises, free of people and free to be alone with my thoughts. The sky was turning an eerie gray and I felt little raindrops begin to fall on my skin as I started to walk towards the surrounding tree line. I came to the assumption that most people who had been in the same situatio would have turned around and walked home or to the nearest shelter for fear of being rained on. There was something that made me stay though. I was intrigues by the way the slight breeze would weave its way through the trees and how the leaves would turn and quiver, as if shivering. The sky became darker and the raindrops more frequent, and as I continues to walk, I became more and more entertained, listening for the slightest sound or change in the surroundings. I looked up to the sky to feel the rain on my face. What I came to notice was that the more the sky opened up and the more it rained down, the more I began to feel insignificant. Even the trees seemed to huddle and pull together and the grassed reached up as if eager to quench its thirst. I stood there, clearly amazed as what was going on. In those fifteen minutes, the earth has completely changed from being calm and completely came to life. I became what felt like the smallest, most insignificant organism caught in the chaos that we call "mother nature."
I really enjoyed Thoreau's peice and was especially interested in the idea of necessity versus luxary and the idea that, "Most of the luxuries, and many of the so called comforts of life, are not only not indispensible, but positive hindrancesto the elevation of mankind" (pg 12). My first question is how do we seperate the comforts of life away from the necessities of life? If we consider clothing, shelter and food the necessities of life, then do we consider finer clothing, gourmet food and more extravagant forms of shelter the comforts of life? The conclusion that I drew from Thoreau was that this is indeed the case, claiming that, "When a man is warmed by the several modes which I have described, what does he want next? Surely not more warmth of the same kind, as more and richer food, larger and more splendid houses, finer and more abundant clothing, more numerous and more incessant fires, and the like" (pg. 13). The idea that humans are constantly wanting something more and better than what they have I feel has become such a pressing problem in our current society, especially with the increase in technology. People are never satisfied with what they have and I feel like this is what Thoreau spends a good amount of time digging into, claiming that, "By the words, necassary of life, I mean whatever, of all that man obtains by his own exertions, has been from the first, or from long use has become, so important to human life that few, if any, whether from savagness , or poverty, or philosophy, ever attempt to do without it" (pg. 10). I think that by forgetting what the "necassary of life" include, we lose sight of the bigger picture, trying to make ourselves bigger and better than anything. Because of this, I think that most of us rarely encounter moments like i did on my walk, realizing that humans are merely a fraction of what Earth gives life and sustanability to and because of our constant greed for the next best thing, we are ruining what necessities we do have. I think sometimes that if we could do something similar to Thoreau and simplify our lives, we would learn to appreciate the small things more and find our place in nature, rather than be in constant struggle to prove how great we are.
I really enjoyed Thoreau's peice and was especially interested in the idea of necessity versus luxary and the idea that, "Most of the luxuries, and many of the so called comforts of life, are not only not indispensible, but positive hindrancesto the elevation of mankind" (pg 12). My first question is how do we seperate the comforts of life away from the necessities of life? If we consider clothing, shelter and food the necessities of life, then do we consider finer clothing, gourmet food and more extravagant forms of shelter the comforts of life? The conclusion that I drew from Thoreau was that this is indeed the case, claiming that, "When a man is warmed by the several modes which I have described, what does he want next? Surely not more warmth of the same kind, as more and richer food, larger and more splendid houses, finer and more abundant clothing, more numerous and more incessant fires, and the like" (pg. 13). The idea that humans are constantly wanting something more and better than what they have I feel has become such a pressing problem in our current society, especially with the increase in technology. People are never satisfied with what they have and I feel like this is what Thoreau spends a good amount of time digging into, claiming that, "By the words, necassary of life, I mean whatever, of all that man obtains by his own exertions, has been from the first, or from long use has become, so important to human life that few, if any, whether from savagness , or poverty, or philosophy, ever attempt to do without it" (pg. 10). I think that by forgetting what the "necassary of life" include, we lose sight of the bigger picture, trying to make ourselves bigger and better than anything. Because of this, I think that most of us rarely encounter moments like i did on my walk, realizing that humans are merely a fraction of what Earth gives life and sustanability to and because of our constant greed for the next best thing, we are ruining what necessities we do have. I think sometimes that if we could do something similar to Thoreau and simplify our lives, we would learn to appreciate the small things more and find our place in nature, rather than be in constant struggle to prove how great we are.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Entropy
“I have learned that the swiftest traveler is he that goes afoot” (48).
I will take that advice, then, and set upon my prescribed walk. Thoreau’s parable of the two travelers—one by foot, and one by manmade contraption—illustrates a problem that men face in nature. Increasing the potential for work within a system requires energy. Energy is not free. So, while it may seem profitable to move oneself with the speed of a locomotive, in a closed system where one must somehow provide the energy to create that speed, (or—if my analogy may extend to cover a broader sense of human economics, as Thoreau’s does—pay someone else to harness that energy) it can never be faster.
“And so, if the railroad reached around the world, I think that I should keep ahead of you” (49).
In fact, Thoreau argues that it will always be slower! Converting energy from one form to another always involves waste. If I may again extend this natural law to the realm of economics, one can see it at play in Thoreau’s story. Spending the day, for example, picking apples in an orchard, then giving them to a man, who gives them to a driver, who takes them to a grocer, who sells them to another man, who gives the grocer money, who gives the driver money, who gives the orchard owner money, who gives the picker his share of the trickle to give to a man who will then let him on a train, seems so obviously unprofitable when compared to simply walking the distance.
“Such is the universal law, which no man can ever outwit.”
Systems tend to disorder. Entropy is impossible to fight at a profit. I admit that my walk through nature this evening afforded far less attention to the natural world than might be hoped, but there lies around my feet an abundance of potholes—proof that someone has paid a least a small attention to the laws of nature. I would much prefer if men came monthly, weekly, or even daily to fill in these gaping holes (one might begin to call them abysses at this point!) in my path. Someone has decided, however, it is better that my journey be bump-ridden than it is wasting the energy smoothing it.
“To make a railroad around the world available to all mankind is equivalent to grading the surface of the planet.”
The moon starts to show, and I wonder if the heavens deceive us on purpose. Their bodies move, silently, seemingly ceaseless, without provocation. This smiling man never sees need to walk to and fro. We find ourselves trapped by the imagination that we might one day do the same, held down by the folly that we might forever fall.
Thoreau and Human Contact
I live on Broadway and my first thought when I set out for this walk was, "Where do I go to get away from people?" I live literally in the middle of town. Eventually I decided to just start walking and to see where that gets me. I ended up walking down several random side streets. There were a lot of houses on these side streets and they were all very close together. Nothing at all like the places where I grew up. I grew up surrounded by trees. So many trees that I couldn't see the neighbor's house or my house if I was standing in among them even though it was only a short walk through them to the neighbor's house. This made me think about whether or not I agree with Thoreau. In many ways I do. Thoreau says, "Not long since I was present at the auction of a deacon's effects... As usual, a great portion was trumpery which had begun to accumulate in his father's day. Among the rest was a dried tapeworm. And now, after lying half a century in his garret and other dust holes, these things were not burned; instead of a bonfire, or purifying destruction of them, there was an auction, or increasing of them. The neighbors eagerly collected to view them, bought them all, and carefully transported them to their garrets and dust holes, to lie there till their estates are settled, when they will start again" (63). I have often wondered at the way humans do this. We collect all this stuff around us even though we know it is useless, even though we know we are going to eventually die and that stuff will no longer be ours. We have this inability to stop collecting stuff.
Thoreau makes a lot of good points also about how man could easily live less expensively and more simply. I agree. However, Thoreau describes the effort he goes to in order to live so simply. I think in many ways people would find that to difficult. People like convenience. They like to not have to think too hard about things but rather to have things be easily done. Why else would we have washers, dryers, dishwashers, running water, telephones, the Internet. He spends much of his time chastising his fellow many for not wanting to live in much the way he does. But I imagine that for many living in a log cabin in the woods would seem very lonely. Why else would the streets I walked on have houses that were so close together. All humans long for human contact. Even Thoreau himself does. He says, "To meet the objections of some inveterate cavillers, I may as well state, that if I dined out occasionally, as I always had done, and I trust shall have opportunities to do again, it was frequently to the detriment of my domestic arrangements" (56). If dining out is to the detriment of his domestic arrangements why else do it but for the comfort of other humans?
I agree with the introduction in that I believe we do have much to learn from Thoreau. However, I think Thoreau sometimes takes his statements too far. i think he forgets that all people, including himself, fall trap to a longing for human comfort.
Thoreau makes a lot of good points also about how man could easily live less expensively and more simply. I agree. However, Thoreau describes the effort he goes to in order to live so simply. I think in many ways people would find that to difficult. People like convenience. They like to not have to think too hard about things but rather to have things be easily done. Why else would we have washers, dryers, dishwashers, running water, telephones, the Internet. He spends much of his time chastising his fellow many for not wanting to live in much the way he does. But I imagine that for many living in a log cabin in the woods would seem very lonely. Why else would the streets I walked on have houses that were so close together. All humans long for human contact. Even Thoreau himself does. He says, "To meet the objections of some inveterate cavillers, I may as well state, that if I dined out occasionally, as I always had done, and I trust shall have opportunities to do again, it was frequently to the detriment of my domestic arrangements" (56). If dining out is to the detriment of his domestic arrangements why else do it but for the comfort of other humans?
I agree with the introduction in that I believe we do have much to learn from Thoreau. However, I think Thoreau sometimes takes his statements too far. i think he forgets that all people, including himself, fall trap to a longing for human comfort.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Walking with Me & Talking with Thoreau
I began my walk at my house, in the field out back. The land stretches for several acres and its mostly open land except for a single apple tree that happens to stand in the middle of the farther back field on top of the final hill. I walk in a weird pattern across the field and I realize as many times as I have seen this land, walked right “by” it, and gone in and out of the house, it seemed quite ordinary to me. I suddenly field dumb for walking across this open field, looking like I am completely “lost”. But I realize that this is exactly the point. I WAS completely “lost” because I couldn’t allow myself to actually take part with the land. I continue walking toward the tree and as stupid as it sounds I can sort of relate to this tree. Standing alone above the fields, the tree and I look out and I feel that there is a sense of “vastness” that I have never seen before. I think, “this field is pretty”, and I notice the cows from the farm up the road (since this is on a road partly in the “country” but with surrounding houses and their own fields and farms). I take a seat and think, “what the hell am I doing in the middle of a field?” I don’t like nature, I have never been camping, I don’t like bugs, and I hate being dirty. Ok so I am not an “outdoorsy” person, but then I start to think that it doesn’t really matter, this is why people like nature, because it has something that other places, things, and people don’t, it is different because of this right here, my feeling. I think after trying to figure out what to write that, that “wow!” I sound cliché. But I think that makes the point, we all want to “feel” something for nature, to connect, and just maybe I am starting to do that. Maybe one day I will go camping after all!
Thoreau’s “Economy” discusses the ideas that made him decide to live at Walden Pond for a little over two years. In this first chapter we see many themes but the most prevalent of these are the things that man does to aid in and ultimately hinder his survival. The core pieces to man’s survival are food, shelter, clothing, and fuel. But the problem with these, as Thoreau suggests is the way in which man has transformed them. I find myself thinking that instead of these things now, in our “civilized” world, as being crucial they are merely more “things”, becoming luxuries, made bigger and better by the moment. One is never enough, therefore man has taken the simple and “savage” way of living and transformed it using these four tools not just for living but for creating another problem in the journey from “savage” to “civilized”.
Man works so hard for these things, for more materials to fill the houses they build and yet the possessions which he works so hard for actually hinder him by “degrading” their life. Thoreau suggests, “Shall we always study to obtain more of these things, and not sometimes be content with less?” (pg. 32) How can man build these homes upon the idea of “things” and not man himself? We then find Thoreau to say “Most men appear never to have considered what a house is, and are actually though needlessly poor all their lives because they think they must have such a one as their neighbors have.” (pg. 32) Wanting more, envying what others have leads us in a circle of working more, getting more, wanting more, then having to work more and so on and so on, in a pointless circle. Unfortunately with all of the things man has done to “civilize” himself it is not enough because “While civilization has been improving our houses, it has not equally improved the men who are to inhabit them.” (31) Thoreau’s ideas of living the way he did on Walden Pond make me realize that man has created this problem of irony that through progression comes regression. How do we solve this and how can we move forward without hindering out future?
Thoreau’s “Economy” discusses the ideas that made him decide to live at Walden Pond for a little over two years. In this first chapter we see many themes but the most prevalent of these are the things that man does to aid in and ultimately hinder his survival. The core pieces to man’s survival are food, shelter, clothing, and fuel. But the problem with these, as Thoreau suggests is the way in which man has transformed them. I find myself thinking that instead of these things now, in our “civilized” world, as being crucial they are merely more “things”, becoming luxuries, made bigger and better by the moment. One is never enough, therefore man has taken the simple and “savage” way of living and transformed it using these four tools not just for living but for creating another problem in the journey from “savage” to “civilized”.
Man works so hard for these things, for more materials to fill the houses they build and yet the possessions which he works so hard for actually hinder him by “degrading” their life. Thoreau suggests, “Shall we always study to obtain more of these things, and not sometimes be content with less?” (pg. 32) How can man build these homes upon the idea of “things” and not man himself? We then find Thoreau to say “Most men appear never to have considered what a house is, and are actually though needlessly poor all their lives because they think they must have such a one as their neighbors have.” (pg. 32) Wanting more, envying what others have leads us in a circle of working more, getting more, wanting more, then having to work more and so on and so on, in a pointless circle. Unfortunately with all of the things man has done to “civilize” himself it is not enough because “While civilization has been improving our houses, it has not equally improved the men who are to inhabit them.” (31) Thoreau’s ideas of living the way he did on Walden Pond make me realize that man has created this problem of irony that through progression comes regression. How do we solve this and how can we move forward without hindering out future?
Thoreau: Economy
The day that I actually got out of the apartment and spent some alone time in the middle of the biggest field I could walk to made me think and feel a lot of things, but for the most part I was annoyed with the shrieks and random unintelligible yelling from the group of drunken students hidden somewhere deep in the woods nearby. Don't get me wrong, I am just as sociable as the next guy, but I am unfortunately also three times as cynical. I think that, though for meditation purposes my walk was a failure, it seems being interrupted by a few of the millions of people that always seem to be in my way put me in the right mood for beginning Walden. I found myself sympathizing with Thoreau, not so much for his reclusive tendencies, but because of his indifferent frustration with the state of man and man's disconnectedness from our world. I was trying to make sense of it all out there in the faded glow of the clouds at sunset, trying to listen behind the ambient noise of the town behind the trees and the cars on the highway half a mile away, wondering how long I would have to sit before I could get centered. But all I got was frustrated and some poison ivy on my arms.
As for Economy, I really enjoyed the prevailing concern with having more than we need. Thoreau is so quotable that for every passage you think you can use to illustrate an idea, there are ten more that could illustrate it much more clearly, but I'll recite a few that I found humorous and thought-provoking, at least.
A great example of Thoreau's irritation with over-indulgence is that of the clothes we wear. He says that he sometimes puts people through a "test" by asking them, "Who could wear a patch, or two extra seams only, over the knee?" Naturally, though Thoreau clearly embellishes the usual answer, the people he asks seem horrified, or they at least act as if it would be an annoyance, to go without buying a brand new pair of pants altogether. In describing a man such as this, Thoreau says "...he considers, not what is truly respectable, but what is respected" and adds "We know but few men, a great many coats and breeches" (19). Not only had I never considered the role that fashion plays in our society's inane preoccupation with our appearance in the eyes of others, but I never really thought about how pervasive this problem is. Though examples of this issue are abundant in Economy, I thought one of the more glaring parallel passages was his distaste for the "ornaments" that a man might build on the outside of his house. The pith of this passage would have to be Thoreau's summation that "'carpenter' is but another name for 'coffin-maker'" (44). I believe that in this passage, as in all of his other passages concerning our infatuation with outward appearance, Thoreau channels his life's experience and all of that eastern philosophy that he read, concluding: try as we might, none of our worldly fascinations will mean anything when we're in the ground.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Response
Response to owning the landscape.
I have to admit I was skeptical about taking a class based on Emerson, Thoreau and others who write about nature. My first real experience with nature writing was in my 11th grade English class. Our teacher’s ideas of experiencing nature extended to physically hugging a tree and keeping a journal about it. Let’s just say this did not sit well with me at the time. High school, in my experience, was a time for technology. I got my first cell phone, first car, first laptop and more. I was not interested in going for hikes or walks in the woods. I didn’t care about how beautiful the lake appeared as the light from the stars sparkled off the calm surface of the water. I think back to those days and wish I had appreciated what the outdoors had and continues to have to offer. I feel that as we have gotten older we become more aware of the simple beautiful things nature has to offer us.
I enjoyed Rebecca’s perspective on land, especially the separation between viewing the land you own up close and personal and then looking at it from a broad perspective. When seen from a broad perspective, at least in Maine, it is like a glimpse of history. That is perhaps one of my favorite things about going for a hike or walk in the woods. From the top of the mountain as Rebecca says you see the land as a whole. The fields and the forests are interconnected and criss-crossed and spotted with lakes and rivers. In the fields the stonewalls are the remnants of property and field lines are the last sentries of another age when we lived with nature not just in nature. These are some of the things I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older. As Rebecca mentioned not everyone’s experiences are the same and often times they are not. But I feel it is important that everyone bridge the gap between their ideas of nature and what nature really is. And some may be able to do it more easily than others but if one takes the time nature really can offer a lot.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Response to Sarah's Nature Walk- by Lizzie
This was a really neat post Sarah! I found your post particularly interesting because I can completely relate to the major points of your thoughts. I myself have many fears of nature or shall we say the “wilderness”. I must admit, that I am still terrified of the dark. For me to be able to do anything when it is dark out, such as a walk, or when the power goes out, or even if the lights in the house happened to be turned off, it is a major hurdle. There are many genuine concerns I have with the “darkness” that I never really considered to explore until your post. One idea that captured me was the point you made about overcoming your fears and really letting nature take a hold of you, sinking into the surroundings. So I stopped to ask myself, “what is it that scares me so much about the dark, about being in the wilderness when it is dark out, about nature itself”. I wonder how something as natural as darkness could scare me so much. I have resolved that it is simply the fear of the unknown. I have yet to let myself go, to understand the things around me in nature, so I may know them, become comfortable enough to lose the fear. I take sunshine, the simple yet complex and natural part of nature, for granted. I never stop to think what life would be like without the sun, without light. Similar to Emerson’s view, “But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds will separate between him and what he touches. ……. If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown!” (Emerson, 5) Here we see him saying, that because the stars are always there, we take them for granted, we do not understand the incredible phenomenon that they have always been. But if they were to disappear and never return or if they were to occur once in a “thousand years” our view of them would be so different.
As I have begun to realize that I take nature’s natural occurrences for granted and understand that although darkness may seem scary, if I could let myself understand nature, try to explore the animals, the plants, and the scenery, just maybe I could feel comfortable enough to be in the dark. There is always the ability to overcome, but having first, the willingness to understand something outside of me, realizing the possibility that I may not find answers for it all, is the first step in “finding” nature. I have failed to see, as you seem to have done on your walk, the beauty in nature at many times and places. I see nature as beautiful, but in my own manipulated, man-made way. I see nature as beautiful when man has “made” it that way. I have seen things outside my house as beautiful when it is sunny and bright out with a light breeze, flowers blooming, etc. However, I have failed to see the beauty in the rain, the thunder storms, the leaves blowing around, because I focus too much on the fact that it is not “pretty” out. Emerson so kindly points out that “Even the corpse has its own beauty.” (Emerson, 9) Similar to what we discussed in class and your thoughts, it takes us realizing that I must see connections between myself and nature not as a match, being pitted against one and other, but rather a difference in two natural forms of life. Is there really a separation between nature and us or do we put it there? We search to find answers for things, such as you suggested with our “whys”. However, we should really be looking to accept not interrogate nature, to find the “whats”- what connection does nature have to me, or myself to nature. Accepting the beauty of the scenery around us, “blink our eyes or draw breath” and discontinuing the research but rather focusing on what is already there, what is within ourselves, to find something more than facts, this can lead to us finding beauty in and at all times. Just maybe this is the answer to my fear of darkness, to understand my own sense of the dark, and realize that “I am not solitary whilst I read and white, though nobody is with me.” (Emerson 5)
As I have begun to realize that I take nature’s natural occurrences for granted and understand that although darkness may seem scary, if I could let myself understand nature, try to explore the animals, the plants, and the scenery, just maybe I could feel comfortable enough to be in the dark. There is always the ability to overcome, but having first, the willingness to understand something outside of me, realizing the possibility that I may not find answers for it all, is the first step in “finding” nature. I have failed to see, as you seem to have done on your walk, the beauty in nature at many times and places. I see nature as beautiful, but in my own manipulated, man-made way. I see nature as beautiful when man has “made” it that way. I have seen things outside my house as beautiful when it is sunny and bright out with a light breeze, flowers blooming, etc. However, I have failed to see the beauty in the rain, the thunder storms, the leaves blowing around, because I focus too much on the fact that it is not “pretty” out. Emerson so kindly points out that “Even the corpse has its own beauty.” (Emerson, 9) Similar to what we discussed in class and your thoughts, it takes us realizing that I must see connections between myself and nature not as a match, being pitted against one and other, but rather a difference in two natural forms of life. Is there really a separation between nature and us or do we put it there? We search to find answers for things, such as you suggested with our “whys”. However, we should really be looking to accept not interrogate nature, to find the “whats”- what connection does nature have to me, or myself to nature. Accepting the beauty of the scenery around us, “blink our eyes or draw breath” and discontinuing the research but rather focusing on what is already there, what is within ourselves, to find something more than facts, this can lead to us finding beauty in and at all times. Just maybe this is the answer to my fear of darkness, to understand my own sense of the dark, and realize that “I am not solitary whilst I read and white, though nobody is with me.” (Emerson 5)
Friday, September 10, 2010
Sarah's Nature Walk With Cronen and Emerson
I went on my nature walk after reading the Cronen article, but before reading Emerson, which I feel gave me a unique perspective. After reading what Cronen had to say about the wilderness, and how the "wilderness, in short, was a place to which one came only against one's will, and always in fear and trembling" (71), I felt many of those same emotions. I took my walk after dark, and although I was in my own neighborhood, I found that I had to overcome an innate fear that I had about being alone in the 'wild', even though I knew I was perfectly safe. The wilderness, and nature in general, has very truly in my mind always been a mixture of beauty and danger. Once I had overcome those fears, I found myself almost sinking back into the scenery, becoming a part of the systems of life I could sense and hear around me. Although Cronen states that as humans we "leave ourself little hope of discovering what an ethical, sustainable, honorable human place in nature might actually look like" (81), I felt a part of the ecosystem, acknowledging not only the natural but also nature's reaction to my own presence as a part of the beauty and adaptability of the landscape. I feel that one of the most incredible things about nature is its ability to overcome, like a river that changes its course for the easiest passage as land changes, or a pigeon that learns to build nests atop large buildings. Was not my presence, rather than unnatural, as natural as anything can be? The animals, insects and landscape surely did not see me as an insurmountable unknown, but rather as another variable to enter into their ever-changing equation of survival and life.
After reading Emerson, I found that rather than thinking about nature's reaction to my presence, I began to think more about my reaction to the presence of nature. As a teacher of English, I found that what Emerson had to say about how we frame our own thoughts after natural examples very interesting. Emerson said that "words are signs of natural facts… we say 'heart' to express emotion, the 'head' to denote thought" (18). It made me think of the quote that was mentioned in class that the colors of nature are the 'true' colors, and everything we as humans create that is of color is simply a chemical recreation of these natural colors that occur as if by a miracle everyday in the natural world. The same is true of our own perceptions of beauty, of the mysterious, and of the mystical. Emerson states that "all science has one aim, namely, to find a theory of nature" (8). I find that so incredible when truly contemplated, that we as human beings research continually to discover the 'whys' behind what occurs as simply and subtly in nature as we blink our eyelids or draw breath.
After reading Emerson, I found that rather than thinking about nature's reaction to my presence, I began to think more about my reaction to the presence of nature. As a teacher of English, I found that what Emerson had to say about how we frame our own thoughts after natural examples very interesting. Emerson said that "words are signs of natural facts… we say 'heart' to express emotion, the 'head' to denote thought" (18). It made me think of the quote that was mentioned in class that the colors of nature are the 'true' colors, and everything we as humans create that is of color is simply a chemical recreation of these natural colors that occur as if by a miracle everyday in the natural world. The same is true of our own perceptions of beauty, of the mysterious, and of the mystical. Emerson states that "all science has one aim, namely, to find a theory of nature" (8). I find that so incredible when truly contemplated, that we as human beings research continually to discover the 'whys' behind what occurs as simply and subtly in nature as we blink our eyelids or draw breath.
Post 1 - Emerson
This week was not the week to go on a walk.
Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy walking, especially because doing so helps to alleviate the depressive moods that I'm prone to. Growing up in Southern California, however, I'm really rather averse to rain and cloud cover (then why am I going to school in Maine? Well that's another story altogether).
But a-walking I did go, and it was so uncomfortable. I've never experienced that before, considering that when I ruminate on and experience nature on my walks, my feeling is much akin to that of Emerson in the first section of Nature: "In the woods, too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever in his life is always a child. In the woods is perpetual youth" (6). I find that when I go for walks in natural settings I'm able to see things more clearly, have a boost in energy and all in all feel exhilarated and alive. Having grown up in a suburban area, not used to the woods being at my doorstep, my only experience prior to my attending here was camping in the remote wilderness hours from my home. And there is one very important rule when camping in the wilderness: never go anywhere alone.
So now suddenly I was supposed to walk out on my own in silence, without communication?? I have a very overactive imagination and during this particular walk in the local woods I was consumed with worries--so much so that it barred me from truly enjoying the experience. I hope this sensation fades over time and the more I go out there as the semester marches on.
But that's enough about me.
The thing I wanted to address about Emerson's Nature is his penchant to idealize and perpetually highlight the beauty of it. While this is all well and good in small doses, this idea infuses Emerson's work to the point that I felt the picture he was attempting to paint of the natural world and the inherent goodness and spirituality that may be found there ultimately rings hollow and false. The moment the facade first started breaking was in the third section, "Beauty" where he writes: "There is no object so foul that intense light will not make beautiful. And the stimulus it affords to the sense, and a sort of infinitude which it hath, like space and time, make all matter gay. Even the corpse has its own beauty" (9, emphasis mine).
I'm sorry, but that's just stretching it. It reminded me of Petrarchan love sonnets in which the poet so idealized the object of his love and affection that the poem ultimately served as a hollow tribute to the subject's true beauty and became more about the poet's words and fame through the writing of it. Here Emerson, while full of good intent and a longing to share with the world his philosophies and new ways of interacting with and experiencing nature, in my opinion cheapens the true beauties and wonders of nature through his representation and idealization of it. And, while I did enjoy reading this (once I figured out what he was talking about, anyway), this aspect of the work didn't exactly sit right with me.
Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy walking, especially because doing so helps to alleviate the depressive moods that I'm prone to. Growing up in Southern California, however, I'm really rather averse to rain and cloud cover (then why am I going to school in Maine? Well that's another story altogether).
But a-walking I did go, and it was so uncomfortable. I've never experienced that before, considering that when I ruminate on and experience nature on my walks, my feeling is much akin to that of Emerson in the first section of Nature: "In the woods, too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever in his life is always a child. In the woods is perpetual youth" (6). I find that when I go for walks in natural settings I'm able to see things more clearly, have a boost in energy and all in all feel exhilarated and alive. Having grown up in a suburban area, not used to the woods being at my doorstep, my only experience prior to my attending here was camping in the remote wilderness hours from my home. And there is one very important rule when camping in the wilderness: never go anywhere alone.
So now suddenly I was supposed to walk out on my own in silence, without communication?? I have a very overactive imagination and during this particular walk in the local woods I was consumed with worries--so much so that it barred me from truly enjoying the experience. I hope this sensation fades over time and the more I go out there as the semester marches on.
But that's enough about me.
The thing I wanted to address about Emerson's Nature is his penchant to idealize and perpetually highlight the beauty of it. While this is all well and good in small doses, this idea infuses Emerson's work to the point that I felt the picture he was attempting to paint of the natural world and the inherent goodness and spirituality that may be found there ultimately rings hollow and false. The moment the facade first started breaking was in the third section, "Beauty" where he writes: "There is no object so foul that intense light will not make beautiful. And the stimulus it affords to the sense, and a sort of infinitude which it hath, like space and time, make all matter gay. Even the corpse has its own beauty" (9, emphasis mine).
I'm sorry, but that's just stretching it. It reminded me of Petrarchan love sonnets in which the poet so idealized the object of his love and affection that the poem ultimately served as a hollow tribute to the subject's true beauty and became more about the poet's words and fame through the writing of it. Here Emerson, while full of good intent and a longing to share with the world his philosophies and new ways of interacting with and experiencing nature, in my opinion cheapens the true beauties and wonders of nature through his representation and idealization of it. And, while I did enjoy reading this (once I figured out what he was talking about, anyway), this aspect of the work didn't exactly sit right with me.
Owning the Landscape
As I read this week’s reading and went for my walk, I thought about the first time I ever read Emerson’s Nature. My seventh grade teacher, Mr. Feenan, handed us a copied version of this text and marched us down to the soccer field to read it. We could sit as close to the woods as we wanted, we just couldn’t be within arm’s reach of another student. That was the easiest part. Next, we had to actually read the essay. Today, I am proud to say that I had an easier go of the reading. Perhaps that comes from Nature being required reading in many courses since then. Maybe it’s because I’m older and wiser. Maybe it is because it now pertains to my life in an “I need to graduate” sense. Whatever the case, it went better this time. Throughout this reading, I had so many different thoughts. Many of them pertained to things I liked about what Emerson wrote.
One passage that made me think a lot about what I see on a daily basis begins, “The charming landscape which I saw this morning is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape” (5). To me this is so true. According to the law, those that have paid for a parcel of property own it. They belong to each other; one in the same. It is when we step back and look at the scene before us, that it is indistinct as to who owns what. We see a grander picture, and not a puzzle of lands pieced together by deeds and taxes. Emerson continues, “There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men’s farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title” (5). I think that this is an interesting statement. When we are on a piece on land we can associate a name to that land, but when we view the same land from a distance, it becomes a part of something entirely unique. This is a fact that has always baffled me. When I am standing in the middle of the corn on my family’s farm, it is mine. It is beneath my feet and is tangible. But that piece of land over there, that is not ours. I have no claim to it. But, when I climb Mount Mansfield, I can see where those patches of land meet and become one with a greater whole. I know that not all of it belongs to me, but this picture is one that only I can appreciate and keep as my own. Even though the next person to climb up this mountain may stand in this exact spot, they will see it differently. They might gaze across the land on an overcast day. They might enjoy the winding Winooski River more than the different patches of green. The next person might look to New York and completely gloss over the farms, rivers, and roads that sprawl like veins beneath the shadow of the mountain. In each of these new views, a new piece of land is created and given a new owner.
One passage that made me think a lot about what I see on a daily basis begins, “The charming landscape which I saw this morning is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape” (5). To me this is so true. According to the law, those that have paid for a parcel of property own it. They belong to each other; one in the same. It is when we step back and look at the scene before us, that it is indistinct as to who owns what. We see a grander picture, and not a puzzle of lands pieced together by deeds and taxes. Emerson continues, “There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men’s farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title” (5). I think that this is an interesting statement. When we are on a piece on land we can associate a name to that land, but when we view the same land from a distance, it becomes a part of something entirely unique. This is a fact that has always baffled me. When I am standing in the middle of the corn on my family’s farm, it is mine. It is beneath my feet and is tangible. But that piece of land over there, that is not ours. I have no claim to it. But, when I climb Mount Mansfield, I can see where those patches of land meet and become one with a greater whole. I know that not all of it belongs to me, but this picture is one that only I can appreciate and keep as my own. Even though the next person to climb up this mountain may stand in this exact spot, they will see it differently. They might gaze across the land on an overcast day. They might enjoy the winding Winooski River more than the different patches of green. The next person might look to New York and completely gloss over the farms, rivers, and roads that sprawl like veins beneath the shadow of the mountain. In each of these new views, a new piece of land is created and given a new owner.
My Walk to Nowhere (Plus Some Reactions to Emerson)
Walking, for me, is a form of transportation. I walk to get somewhere, or to get away from something, and depending on the place I want to go or the thing or person I want to get away from I might go a little faster, maybe even a lot faster. So I don’t really consciously notice the environment I’m walking through until I have to, like when I think a car might run me over, or when I might run into a tree or slip in a puddle or all that jazz. Emerson might call me someone who does not have an “attentive eye”, or someone who is not a “poet”. He says that, “To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before and which shall never be seen again” (10). This very sentence inspires such awe in me because I know that I will forever be comparing what I am seeing to what I have seen before. I will compare this autumn to last autumn and such until they run together and blur into one autumn. I have no doubt that each autumn is different, but aren’t the leaves always going to change, and essentially aren’t they always going to change in a similar manner? Sure, we are always viewing them under different light. Things look different in the morning than they do in the afternoon, and different when they are bathed in candlelight than flooded with fluorescent. Is this what Emerson was talking about? Is this what it means to have an “attentive eye”, because I can’t help but think that he means more than that, but then again perhaps he doesn’t. Almost anyone can notice that something looks different, or feels different at different times and depending on different conditions. I almost think that the key to this phrase is that the idea that you will never see it again. What does he mean by that? My simple mind wants to ask “Does he think you’re going to die tomorrow?” but in reality I know that it’s something much more along the lines with, “You’re constantly changing, so you aren’t going to look at things the same way ever again”. Except we do. Something about us is stable, even Emerson points it out: “a low degree of the sublime is felt, from the fact, probably, that man is hereby apprized that whilst the world is a spectacle, something in himself is stable” (26). There is some reason why we don’t go walking around looking at the world upside down. I mean we can, we have the ability (well, the walking part might make it interesting…) but we choose not to. So how can we be constantly changing when there is in fact something about us that is stable? Or do we consist of parts, and are there certain parts of us that change and others that remain the same?
Anyway, to get back to the beginning of my discussion, I walk to go somewhere so I frequently don’t notice where I am until I get to where I am going. I took a solitary walk (as solitary as it could get here) and couldn’t help noticing how hard it was to get away from people, or even just human influence. For the majority of my walk there was someone in front of me and I kept hoping that they didn’t think I was a total creeper. I wasn’t following them, but I wasn’t supposed to say anything so I couldn’t tell them that. Under my feet was pavement, but around its edges were nice green things, some that I knew the name of like the wild asters and others that I didn’t like the weird vine I thought might be poison ivy but wasn’t really. I wanted to walk on the grass (not near the suspicious plant that could quite possibly make me itch all over), just to get further away from people, from things that they had made, but I couldn’t find a path. I know this sounds ridiculous because of course a path is man-made too, but I felt awkward about walking where there wasn’t one and there was already so much tar, almost as if they put the tar down to keep us from walking on the already willing green grass. So instead of coming back from my walk to nowhere refreshed as I expected, I came back frazzled. I didn’t reach the place that was disconnected to the human world, I didn’t reach that Nature, but who’s to say that the place I was walking in wasn’t nature? Humans are a part of nature, just perhaps not that Nature…
Walks, Rain, And Emerson
Someday I hope to be as swept away by something as Emerson is about nature. In reading his essay, I was genuinely surprised that there were not more exclamation points at the ends of his sentences. Sadly, my post will not be as passionate.
I would first like to say that I like the rain- it often suits my moods. I like being prepared for rain, with my cute pink puddle jumpers and umbrella. During my walk, I found myself wondering why I had not taken Meteorology as a science when suddenly I was caught in the middle of a deluge of rain, sans umbrella or rain boots. Predicting the weather would have been useful there; I mean in Emerson’s day, I might have gotten a chill and died! Thankfully, I don’t seem to have a chill. Anyway, the whole experience made me think about the unpredictability of nature. When I left my room the sun was out and the world was happy. On the green, people were playing Frisbee, and I had no qualms about wandering away from campus. As I walked by the Sandy the skies darkened and then opened up. I was annoyed by this; in fact, I almost broke my fifteen minute vow of silence with a few well chosen expletives.
I refrained, because my walk made me think of Emerson. He said, “In the woods we return to reason and faith.” Well, I reasoned that the sun in the sky meant no rain, and I had the faith to walk without rain gear. It turns out perhaps Emerson is a little off his mark. I know that he had a different meaning behind his words, as they were not meant literally, but in a religious sense. He does go on to say that reason “is not mine, or thine, but we are its.” Emerson means God is reason- he built nature, and thus we must have faith in it. I am not sure that I found God in the woods, but after my initial gripe about the rain I was able to enjoy it. I might even say that I was “refreshed” in some way. I was, in that moment, able to get away from the “too muchness” that Cronon writes about in his essay.
Emerson writes about nature in such away that he is able to make the wildness of the landscape Godliness. Christianity brings some order to a seeming unpredictable place. He acknowledges that “an occult relation between man and vegetable,” perhaps a brief shout-out to paganism, but he points back to a “higher power” as the cause for this phenomenon.
Emerson has such blind faith in nature and God that he was compelled to write this testament. I know that I will never feel the same passion that Emerson feels about nature, but I admire his gumption. His life had meaning and he found it in nature, his tangible expression of God.
Weekend in Waterford
Over the Labor Day weekend my family and I gathered to camp out and celebrate my grandmother’s 90th birthday on land we own in Waterford. The land is on what some might call a small mountain; others might label a hill leading to the forest. The open field that we camp out on overlooks neighboring mountains such as Shawnee Peak and we visit the land in all seasons of the year to hike, camp, hunt, and snowshoe. The land is dubbed The South Side, as it is literally the southern part of the land my grandmother grew up on. It’s a peaceful place to unwind without the disturbances of “regular” life and for the brief time I get to spend there on different occasions, I embrace the fresh air wholeheartedly.
Walking around the property, Emerson’s words filtered in and out of my thoughts. I find it interesting that he suggests nature as being fluid and that everything is interrelated. He writes about seeking knowledge through the teachings of nature and muses, “It shall answer the endless inquiry of the intellect—What is truth? And of the affections—What is good? By yielding itself passive to the educated Will. Then shall come to pass what my poet said: ‘Nature is not fixed but fluid. Spirit alters moulds, makes it.” (Emerson, 39) Fluidity seems like an appropriate word to associate with nature, as it is constantly in flux, changing. Furthermore, those changes affect all beings—living and nonliving.
Emerson also explains that this fluidity overlaps across time and space. He connects the past to present and future, explaining, “All that Adam had, all that Caesar could, you have and can do. Adam called his house heave an earth; Caesar called his house, Rome; you perhaps call yours, a cobbler’s trade; a hundred acres of ploughed land; or a scholar’s garret. Yet line for line and point for point your dominion is as great as theirs, though without fine names.” (Emerson, 39) This suggests that we, the people of the current time in 2010, have the same capacities as all who came before us, and share a similar space on Earth. This is an important concept for individuals as well as societies to realize and I think it’s one that has not been fully understood by the majority of humans. We are a world that loves to classify things. We classify people and animals and plants. Politics are red and blue or black and white. Religions compete against one another. Even the “rights” movements have all be susceptible to divisions: feminist rights, civil rights, gay rights, land rights, indigenous peoples rights. Instead of looking at the big picture in what makes us connected, as Emerson acknowledges, we focus on the differences.
This is also something that applies directly with the scientific community in that scientists often dissect issues into specific areas of specialization, rather than incorporating the larger concepts into their methodology. David Suzuki writes about these same ideas in his book The Sacred Balance: Rediscovering Our Place in Nature. Like Emerson, he discusses the parts verses the whole, identifying a key term called worldview. A worldview, Suzuki states, is “a story whose subject for each group is the world and everything in it, a world in which human beings are deeply and inextricably immersed. Each worldview was tied to a unique locale and peopled with spirits and gods. At the centre of the story stood the people who had shaped it to make sense of their world. Their narrative provided answers to those age-old questions: Who are we? How did we get here? What does it all mean? Every worldview describes a universe in which everything is connected with everything else. Stars, clouds, forests, oceans and human beings are interconnected components of a single system in which nothing can exist in isolation.” (Suzuki, 12) I believe that Emerson rattles off his worldview throughout his essay on nature, which is dense and complex in many places, but which overall basically asserts that the spirit of things flows through all creatures and land forms, and humans use nature to make sense of the world through literary metaphors, allegories, and allusions. We personify nature and it personifies us.
So, while walking along the land that my grandmother grew up on, I immersed myself in that feeling of a place. I listened to her stories of living on the farm and working as hired help at the age of fourteen and then going on to pursue a career in nursing. I think about my father who grew up in South Portland but frequented the farm, working during the summers in Waterford. I think about myself, retreating to the comfort of The South Side, accompanied by a good book, a warm fire, and close family. And I think about Emerson and Suzuki. We are all connected, through time and space. It’s difficult to find land that has been in one family for multiple generations in this day and age, especially, I’ve noticed, in southern Maine. So, I’m grateful for this piece of history, this connection to where it is that I come from.
Ralph Emerson, Willie Cronan and the bliss of Sumblimation
Hello gang,
I feel it quite necessary to weave all reading this blog, a minute yarn about my endeavor that I had with nature the other day.
I was somewhere on Court St. when I stumbled upon a hill that was decorated on both sides with trees that we dressed in their fall attire, which immediately made me think about the passing of time (something that I mentioned on the first day of class). I couldn't help but also take the time to listen to the light breeze blowing in between the trees as I was prompted to look up and see the clouds above, threatening a rainstorm of sorts. On this semi-abandoned street I even managed to see a racoon scamper across someone's driveway and rush headlong to a place where human technologies (such as cars, bicycles, etc.) could not reach it.
This racoon darting away got me thinking a bit about William Cronan's essay about how our perceptions of nature are all wrong and misguided to begin with. He states on page 69 that "American wilderness stands as the last remaining place where civilization , that all too human disease, has not fully infected the earth." Seems like an incredibly harsh thing to say, but it also made me ponder if it was true or not. Maybe that was why the raccoon ran away from the quiet little street that I found myself on. Perhaps the raccoon was able to recognize a certain blight that I myself or the everybody else is unaware of.
Normally when I go into nature, I like to take in the sights, the trees, the humidity, the chill autumn air or the animals that surprise me every now and again. In other words, I tend to regard nature in the eye of the sublime (another idea that Cronan talks of). My walk was pleasant and I enjoyed taking in the sweet sights and sounds that are apart from the things I normally hear in a classroom or college campus in general (also as a random sidenote, don't you think it's fascinating that college campuses go out of their way to try to make the grass, flowers, trees, etc, look as appealing as possible for newcomers?).
Though I may be victim to the notion of sublimating nature, I really like the main point that Cronan makes about nature at the end of his essay when he states that, "It means never imagining that we can flee into a mythical wilderness to escape history and the obligation to take responsibility for our own actions that history inescapably entails." (90). This point brings me back to the whole idea of how we manipulate nature to our liking (like with the college campus example I gave). Why do we decorate college campuses the way we do? What exactly are college kids running away from? Is there an innate history in which we are all running from or is it only found in certain people? And what exactly was the raccoon running away from? It's past?
I guess I found his concepts of wilderness vs. history and escape the most compelling because I myself never thought that I was personally escaping anything. I walk all the time so the nature walk wasn't really anything I considered out of the ordinary.
Emerson's ideals were also similar to that of Cronan, except that his writings WERE INCREDIBLY HARD TO FOLLOW...at times that is.
However, amongst his unrelenting rant, the most fascinating part about it was how he talked about language and how it is prove that we as humans are naturally imbued with the gifts of nature. On pages thirteen and fourteen he states that, "Right means straight; wrong means twisted; primarily means Spirit means wind... An enraged man is a lion, a cunning man is a fox, a firm man is a rock,a learned man is a torch."
Now I've always been aware of the certain comparisons between man and beast, but never really noticed the parallels of natural symmetry with the formation of language. This newly cemented concept is something that I wish to take with me and make note of on the next nature walk that I take, because I'm curious to see if I can gather a sense of nature on a communicative level. It seems like Emerson managed to in someways so maybe I can as well.
All in all, I preferred Cronan over Emerson because he was more clear and concise and also, because of his clear division between that of the sublime and that of the frontiersmen.
Very fascinating indeed.
I feel it quite necessary to weave all reading this blog, a minute yarn about my endeavor that I had with nature the other day.
I was somewhere on Court St. when I stumbled upon a hill that was decorated on both sides with trees that we dressed in their fall attire, which immediately made me think about the passing of time (something that I mentioned on the first day of class). I couldn't help but also take the time to listen to the light breeze blowing in between the trees as I was prompted to look up and see the clouds above, threatening a rainstorm of sorts. On this semi-abandoned street I even managed to see a racoon scamper across someone's driveway and rush headlong to a place where human technologies (such as cars, bicycles, etc.) could not reach it.
This racoon darting away got me thinking a bit about William Cronan's essay about how our perceptions of nature are all wrong and misguided to begin with. He states on page 69 that "American wilderness stands as the last remaining place where civilization , that all too human disease, has not fully infected the earth." Seems like an incredibly harsh thing to say, but it also made me ponder if it was true or not. Maybe that was why the raccoon ran away from the quiet little street that I found myself on. Perhaps the raccoon was able to recognize a certain blight that I myself or the everybody else is unaware of.
Normally when I go into nature, I like to take in the sights, the trees, the humidity, the chill autumn air or the animals that surprise me every now and again. In other words, I tend to regard nature in the eye of the sublime (another idea that Cronan talks of). My walk was pleasant and I enjoyed taking in the sweet sights and sounds that are apart from the things I normally hear in a classroom or college campus in general (also as a random sidenote, don't you think it's fascinating that college campuses go out of their way to try to make the grass, flowers, trees, etc, look as appealing as possible for newcomers?).
Though I may be victim to the notion of sublimating nature, I really like the main point that Cronan makes about nature at the end of his essay when he states that, "It means never imagining that we can flee into a mythical wilderness to escape history and the obligation to take responsibility for our own actions that history inescapably entails." (90). This point brings me back to the whole idea of how we manipulate nature to our liking (like with the college campus example I gave). Why do we decorate college campuses the way we do? What exactly are college kids running away from? Is there an innate history in which we are all running from or is it only found in certain people? And what exactly was the raccoon running away from? It's past?
I guess I found his concepts of wilderness vs. history and escape the most compelling because I myself never thought that I was personally escaping anything. I walk all the time so the nature walk wasn't really anything I considered out of the ordinary.
Emerson's ideals were also similar to that of Cronan, except that his writings WERE INCREDIBLY HARD TO FOLLOW...at times that is.
However, amongst his unrelenting rant, the most fascinating part about it was how he talked about language and how it is prove that we as humans are naturally imbued with the gifts of nature. On pages thirteen and fourteen he states that, "Right means straight; wrong means twisted; primarily means Spirit means wind... An enraged man is a lion, a cunning man is a fox, a firm man is a rock,a learned man is a torch."
Now I've always been aware of the certain comparisons between man and beast, but never really noticed the parallels of natural symmetry with the formation of language. This newly cemented concept is something that I wish to take with me and make note of on the next nature walk that I take, because I'm curious to see if I can gather a sense of nature on a communicative level. It seems like Emerson managed to in someways so maybe I can as well.
All in all, I preferred Cronan over Emerson because he was more clear and concise and also, because of his clear division between that of the sublime and that of the frontiersmen.
Very fascinating indeed.
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