Reckless Creatures
An Essay on Wilderness
There's a place for each person where they can go and feel comfortable surrounded by things that are loved and familiar. Many people I know find that place within their homes, others find it in their city, still others find it deep in the wilderness. I grew up running through the hilly forest behind our log cabin so the place where I feel the deepest connection to my childhood is the eastern Ohio woodlands. I grew up watching the seasons change, and I remember vividly how slowly this happened. The great anticipation of spring, building like the roaring culvert in the corner of our yard, our excitement as powerful as the water pushing through the melting ice. The summer was hot, full of bee stings and endless cicada songs resonating from the cherry tree in our back lawn. Me and my two elder sisters spent hours, days, in the creek at the edge of the trees, observing the fish, frogs, and snakes that cowered underneath the edges of the stream. The trees would burst in a great flurry of color and send mountains of leaves spiraling through the early fall breeze, and some years there would be a cold snap and death came for the trees on silent feet. They would be green and living one night, then the cold would set in overnight, like a biblical thief in the night, and the leaves would fall silently to the ground. Winter was normally icy, wet, and brown, but some years we would be gifted with satisfying, glittering snowstorms. Those turned the muddy yard into something new that prompted us to wrap warmly and tumble out the back door, spending hours in the fresh snow. If it was cold enough we could walk on the frozen creek, although more often than not we fell through and became soaked.
Our woods were full of wildlife, more than I see anyplace now. We knew the local whitetail deer population so well that we had names for the distinctive ones. The bird population was of even greater value to us, being that my eldest sister is a passionate ornithologist. I did my fair share of birdwatching over the years. During my early teens years I never missed a spring, warbler migration. When I was twelve my family moved from the cabin to a large farm, which was deep in the heart of the backwoods, undisturbed by much human contact. In the early spring I would rise before the sun, snatch my binoculars, and head down the winding driveway. I crossed the road and settled myself underneath the tangle of crab-apple trees to wait. As the sun came above the horizon, melting the crisp frost away, the trees would come alive. Warblers were, and have always been my favorite bird, and I still contest that those little birds are pure magic. They would rise from the trees, squabbling and singing among themselves, of all shapes and sizes. It is a sight that has to be seen to be really appreciated, but it is one that I suggest everyone try to experience. I held my breath, surrounded by too many birds to number, and simply took in the pure vibrancy and aliveness of them.
I went to Cabela's recently and the many displays of deer, birds, turkey, and other animals made me think. Not long ago James Audubon wrote that the sky was black with passenger pigeons, and yet I have never seen one. In a matter of about twenty years, those birds, which were so numerous once upon a time, are simply gone without an echo. The familiar faces that I saw while perusing the displays at Cabela's represent a living presence, the deer that fill our woods, the fox, the turkey. Yes, they are numerous now, but it is always possible that our grandchildren will only read about them in history books. This is a worry that presses on me when I return home and I see the rise of industrialization in my Ohio Valley, the worst of it being the natural gas drilling that has swept the area. Just down the road from the cabin where I grew up there is a large, fracking pad, surrounded by a chain link fence. It has filled a field that I remember once held Whitetails, trees that once were full of birds. Sites like these are springing up with alarming regularity, and it makes me wonder, even as I turn my stove on, using the same gas that they are drilling for. We are reckless creatures, humans, and we build and expand with impunity, but we are compassionate despite our apathy. There are still those who wonder if one day they will wake up and find that no warblers rise from the trees as the sun warms their feathers. Yes, many of us know that there is a great chance that we will one day have a 'silent spring'.
All photos in this post are from: http://www.pexels.com/ and http://www.freestockimages.co.za/
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