The Peregrine Falcon is, in fact, an afterthought in the chapter Williams devotes largely to starlings. What struck me most about this chapter was the acknowledgement of the fact that Williams is without a doubt interested in starlings even though she doesn’t seem proud to be interested. She recognizes that starlings are universally loathed by the very people that provide for their existence and reliance. Starlings thrive in environments containing the left behind, such as the junk yard that Williams describes.

She further discusses how hypocritical it is for there to be such a negative stigma around starlings when we as humans have more in common than we would like to admit. They represent what we, as humans like least about ourselves but also our strengths. There is beauty not only in the iridescence of the plumage of the sterlings, but in their ability to adapt to changing and damaged environments, and their ability to work together and flock together as one. Perhaps that is why Williams is intrigued by them, because under the surface they represent the truth and both the good and the bad qualities of human kind.

I live in a small town that really loves being a small town. Willoughby is the kind of place that has heavy regulations about new construction. They don’t mind that it happens, but they are very particular about the way the buildings look. Historical integrity, according to them, must be maintained, and any new buildings must be in the style of the already existing structures. This has always seemed a bit ridiculous to me. I understand updating already existing historical buildings to keep their integrity, but new buildings made to look like old ones are almost never convincing.

To add to the complexity of my town’s urban planning, the downtown area sits on a riverbank. The immediate vicinity of the riverbed is prime space for restaurants. The idea with building restaurants on the river was to give diners a beautiful natural space to sit and eat. As more and more pseudo historical restaurants go up, however, restaurant-goers only get a small window into the natural, now surrounded by too many buildings all hoping to accomplish the same thing. In an effort to bring the natural world into the everyday my small town does the exact opposite. One restaurant on the river was enough. Now because there are so many, it seems as though there are none.

I will admit that reading Walden was not always easy for me. Half-way through “Economy” I found myself getting constantly distracted by my own thoughts about deadlines, social events, and meetings . I would have to read and re-read paragraphs until I finally payed enough attention to comprehend the words in front of me. It was tedious, but ultimately worth it because, once I made it through “Economy”, it was much easier for me to get lost in the rich writing instead of just being lost.

In the following chapters I found much of what Thoreau wrote connected to modern life. Sure he spends a lot of time on a high horse, and sure it might not be possible for all of us to run into the forest as a societal experiment, but there is something to be said for the insight that Thoreau provides in recounting his experiences. In fact, I believe Thoreau made one particularly valuable and applicable point about knowing one’s self in the closing paragraphs of the chapter entitled “The Village”.

Here Thoreau states, in a number of interconnected ways, that you must get lost to ever truly know yourself. Over the summer my mom offered me some advice that I think speaks to a similar idea. She told me that sometimes you will break, but in mending those breaks you will learn and you will grow so that you might not break again. Both her words and the words of Thoreau have helped me put a lot into perspective. In both breaking and being lost you are forced to learn. It might be uncomfortable, but in the end you will be confident in knowing who you are and where you are, whether that be emotionally or physically.

In both my visits to Johnson’s Woods and Brown’s Bog I was struck by how abruptly the forest broke out of the farmland. It seemed as if there were carefully plowed fields as far as the eye could see until suddenly there was a small pocket of forest. At home, I am surrounded by forest. In fact, homes and small developments break through the forest of my home town in much the same way that small bundles of forest seem to break through the rural areas surrounding Wooster. It is because these forests seem to pop out of nowhere that I am reminded of the sense of novelty that roadside attractions provide.

In a way, Brown’s Bog does operate like a roadside attraction–and not just because the abundance of ferns remind you of that one generic roadside attraction you most likely have driven past with all the giant plastic dinosaurs. This place is a place to escape every day life and to get away from the miles of cornfields that, for those who farm them, dictate everyday life. Here you can see plants that are not for profit and animals that are meant to be wild. Much like plastic dinosaurs on the side of a highway, Brown’s Bog is a little bit unusual when compared to its surroundings, but that only makes it all the more enjoyable.

Brown’s Bog offers an immersive escape from the norm. It is lush, it is beautiful, and it is certainly more natural than the plowed and maintained farmland that encircles it. Sure you might hear the occasional tractor drive by even when your far along the boardwalk (it isn’t deep in the remote wilderness), but you will also hear the chirp of cicadas, the rustle of scampering chipmunks, and maybe even the croak of a frog at the edge of the bog. Whether it be titled nature preserve or roadside attraction, Brown’s Bog is well worth a pull off the main drag.

While walking along the path at Johnson’s Woods I was struck not only by the constant presence of a wide variety of insects, but by how many chipmunks were running from tree to tree and beneath the boardwalk. As I reached close enough to see the stripes on these chipmunks’ backs they would scurry away out of site. I began to wonder as I walked if my being on this boardwalk–or the boardwalk itself being there–caused the chipmunks significant distress.

My human presence, however, was not the only thing that could have upset the chipmunks otherwise peaceful day basking in the sun at the foot of a tree. My four-month-old goldendoodle puppy could have also been an unwelcome intruder into the chipmunks’ habitat. The boardwalk was also an unnatural barrier to the chipmunks having free reign of the woods which they so bountifully occupied.

I suppose that, in living in an area such as this, humans and other unnatural visitors and features have become part of the daily routine for the wildlife of Johnson’s woods. The chipmunks, insects, greenery and other flora and fauna are thriving despite visitors and structures that occur unnaturally. Were there a few chipmunks who were frightened to death by a giant (to them) puppy? Possibly. It is also possible that the natural and the unnatural live in a balanced harmony within Johnson Woods.

I’ve spent at least one day at the beach each summer since I’ve been able to get myself there. It is routine, it is calming, and it is the same thing that the people I’ve grown up with have done every summer. Spending time at the lake is a luxury that we Clevelanders all take for granted, a normal part of our summer routines. But one aspect of growing up on Lake Erie is abnormal. Warnings about lake pollution and bacteria levels seem nothing out of the ordinary. In Cleveland there are constant jokes about the cleanliness of the lake and rivers. “Well, at least the river isn’t burning” or “The lake might actually be safe to swim in today” are phrases not uncommon in the casual summer conversation of a Clevelander. It is this cavalier attitude that I have only recently begun to question, why are these water conditions taken so lightly? Why don’t the people around me take the care of the largest source of fresh water at their disposal seriously?

Also, why don’t people stop to think before dropping cigarette butts, plastic bottles, or candy wrappers (all things I’ve found a plethora of at beach cleanups) in a place that has given them nothing but pleasant days in the sun? Questions like these lead me to consider not only what more I could do to improve the condition of Lake Erie and its tributaries, but also how I could talk to the people around me about why they take these resources for granted. In summers to come, I hope to convince those around me to look into what these bodies of water mean to them. It is my hope that, in doing so, attitudes toward the protection of this beautiful water might change.