blog 10

    In the clearing, empty gallon jugs hang from the limbs of a tree, and a pile of unique rocks are gathered on an old stump. Certain trees are caged, and bird feathers are stuck in the wire. Trees have been axed down,and dragged into odd positions. Bundles of vine lie around the lawn of grass, roped together. Shards of tree bark are arranged under some of the spruce trees. Stones are rearranged into steps. There's a pair of boots and a few plastic bags resting on a rock, and in one tree, hanging from the upper limb, is a bundle of rocks, a railroad spike, and a long piece of scrap metal. The odd object hangs with surreal intentionality. All these changes are inexplicable.

     With no explanation, it all seems so strange to observe. Rocks are tied to tree branches, and materials are gathered in strange ways. It reminds me of Andy Goldsworthy—almost purposeless intentionality. The reason for these choices are hard to comprehend. Near the trail, there's a large limb tied to the upper branch of a young tree, weighing it down—bending its growth away from the trail? I don't know. It's a guess about this unique manipulation to the clearing. Do we all have such idiosyncratic relationships with nature? Do we all bend the trees and rearrange the rocks and gather the most unique stones?

    From our short survey of nature writing, it's clear we all approach the physical world differently. We connect with certain animals more than others. We can despise whole categories of insects and animals. We can love dogs over cats, cats over dogs, or not like pets at all. Some people connect with wild animals in symbolic ways. Some of us love the sun, but hate the bugs. Some of us camp and roll in mud, while others love National Geographic. Some like the ocean and sand while others enjoy bow-hunting. And writers experience nature, then write about it. We tell stories. We share science. We share experience and philosophy. We share religion and worldview. We share understanding and connection. But it's clear we pick and choose our nature. We choose backgrounds and sounds and sights and feelings. We prefer different temperatures and different vistas over others. At times, we have the will to make nature fit our preconceived notions.

    Our views of Nature, as a whole and as multivalent manifestations, are formed by thought, experience, family, religion, reading, and many other influences. When I walk around the clearing, I try to make sense of the random changes, of what seems random—bending trees, hanging rocks, stepping stones, felled trees, bundles of vines, and branches hung with empty jugs. I'm not sure this place will ever make any sense, though, or form a story. It's already a poem, an abstract expression of one person interacting with the physical world.  Similarly, each blog, each reading, each author bends the trees, colors the sky, and rearranges bark to bring others closer to nature.