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.
Friday, September 10, 2010
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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