As a child my father and I would go to Tinkers Creek in the early mornings before school. I was in the second grade, so then the only purpose for going there was for brief play before school. However now that I’m older this I recognized that it served as a place of relaxation and prayer for my father. Nevertheless, I found myself driving to this creek 11 years after my fathers passing. I couldn’t help but notice the current of the creek lessened, and the wildlife was minimal. It lead me to question what happened up the creek that made such significant change to this area of the creek. Was it a history of things that created change? Was it man-made damage or a natural ecological issue?
The creek changed but so did I. My persona, my outlook, my perception all changed, so while I question the creek maybe I should question myself.

I notice that everything we call natural is full of a plethora of intricacies that we can relate to. This realization was sparked by Annie Dillard’s Pilgrimage at Tinker Creek. Take the tree for instance, their roots run deep to hold their ground. Their trunks tell  their life’s story and their branches provide shade and habitat for others. They give to all unceasingly by providing oxygen. They change throughout the seasons by shedding all their leaves with immense beauty in the fall. What is most interesting about this change is that they remain stark throughout the harshest winters, continue to hold their ground, and reestablish their leaves in the spring. To some the functions and structures of a trees mean nothing. However is it too daring to relate these traits to our own lives? Our values, morals and experiences, are we not rooted by them? Are they not our foundation and something that we stand by for life or until we are reconditioned? Don’t we have a story to tell? Similarly to trees, some people stand tall without sign of struggle and some are broken yet still standing. Isn’t it interesting that we can be broken and continue to stand, reestablishing ourselves and our relationships, similar to the remnants of a broken tree reestablishing it’s leaves in the spring? Chop a tree down and it’s rings will tell its history, learn and observe a man and his actions will tell you the same. Can we give unceasingly to others regardless of demographics, origin, or wrongdoing? Can we not survive life’s hardships until we reach our goals? Wouldn’t you want to be similar to a tree in these aspects as it relates to your life?

 

In the midst of a tedious assignments, arguments, training, travel and work Brown’s Bog was the a great change of pace to my week. I boarded the bus extremely exhausted and nervous. My nervousness was much more subtle on this trip than our previous trip the Johnson’s Woods. I’m not sure if this lack of nervousness was from my utter exhaustion from the week’s events or from some awareness of what I was getting into. When we arrived the brief disclaimer of the presence of poison ivy and sumac seemed to be the only things that made me eerie. My feelings of exhaustion and fear quickly changed once we entered the woods and were surrounded by beauty. I couldn’t help but admire how the sun’s rays peeked through the leaves of the trees, or the leaf litter that I playfully kicked. I used this time to break away from my stresses and really experience and explore the open land as much as I could before returning back to reality. However, it was a bit difficult to explore the limited to the boardwalk. The reasoning (safety and protection of wildlife) was explicitly understood and respected but I’m sure I would have learned more if there were no restrictions.

 

Johnson’s Woods. It was quite a unique experience for me. The woods were about a fifteen minute drive from campus, and each minute intensified my nervousness. I can boldly admit that I am a “City-girl”. Growing up in the city of Cleveland and it’s suburbs I had never experienced being in the woods, at most I rode or walked along side of the wooded Metropark in my area. Never the less, this trip was quite peculiar. On the ride out we passed vast farmlands seemingly a native sighting in the City of Wooster, but as we approached the woods more closely there was only a patch of wooded land in comparison. Though I knew that Johnson’s Woods were over two hundred acres of land its comparison to the farmlands made it seem so small, which soothed my nervousness minimally. Standing across the street looking into the woods proved that my perception of the woods coming in was not the same. The trees seemed to stand nearly one hundred yards and my nervousness quickly returned. I noticed that I do love nature, but only from arms length. Which I find both humorous and sad. As we progressed into woods and the vibrate blue skies turned to a dense mass of tree canopies my nervousness turned to amazement. It was a very nice sighting. The suns rays peaked through small cracks between the trees hit the wildflower beautifully. The birds sang with out a caring in the world. Soon, however, my view of the woods were tainted by the bugs swamping my head, and the underlying thought that I did not belong there. The chipmunks seemed to confirm this idea in their frantic sprints and cries.

In the first passage of Bill McKibben’s The End of Nature, the writer attempts correct the misconceptions of time and lifespan of earth. He explains that the perception of Earth’s age as prolonged is a falsification developed throughout time and establishes the idea that Earth’s age is vast an well beyond what many perceive it (earth’s age) to be. He supports this idea with substantial evidence of generational processes. McKibben writes very bluntly throughout the beginning of this book, which in my opinion is very beneficial to the audience, due to clarity and precision. However, as the reading progresses into the issues of the vast coexistence of humans in nature McKibben’s seems to really neglect his own contribution to nature’s detriment, largely lacking humility in my personal opinion. Being that even as an observer in nature, his presence is still an outlier in the natural processes that occurs in the very nature he is observing.
Just earlier this week, I found myself in an odd encounter with nature. I was studying Bill McKibben’s The End of Nature, outdoors in the city of Wooster. The air was crisp and the beamed down at its highest point. While sitting on the front steps of my temporary home I noticed a unbeknownst ant inches away. There it sat small and black with it’s antenna blowing in the wind, facing the street as if it was watching students and motorists pass us. In hindsight I can depict this ant perfectly; it was a profound experience, the ant and I sitting there. In that moment however, my inadmissible fear of bugs got the best of me resulting in the flicking of this ant across the sidewalk. In retrospect, I find myself asking if the ant posed any form of a threat to me in that moment and why that split second of tranquility turned detrimental so quickly for this ant.