Being With Nature

While in Georgia, I spent most of my time at Ma Rabu Farm in rural western Georgia. Shana, who is building the farm on land she is renting, is a friend of a former colleague and was a gracious host and housemate during my time there. Shana has taken a winding path to where she is, having completed a Master’s in social work before deciding that farming was her passion. She served as an apprentice on several farms before this opportunity presented itself, and she embarked on the journey of creating a farm aligned with her personal vision. But this post isn’t about my time at Ma Rabu, so I must move on.

When it came time to depart Ma Rabu for my drive up to Virginia for the holidays, I decided to leave a day earlier than planned in order to visit northern Georgia’s Chattahoochee National Forest. I did a touch of research and found a spot for car camping and a cozy hike nearby. Shana and I said our goodbyes, and with shouts of “You’re welcome back anytime!” I made my way north.

I drove on winding mountain roads for at least an hour before arriving at Indian Grave Gap Rd, which proved to be an even-more winding unpaved road up a steep mountain. Early in this drive up Indian Grave Gap Rd, I encountered a lively stream crossing the road that rattled my determination. I surveyed it this body of water, determined it wasn’t too deep and had rocks on the bottom, and decided to put my all-wheel drive to the test. The minivan held up marvelously, but as I wound my way up the unpaved mountain road, I was sure I was the only idiot that would be attempting this trek. Boy was I wrong. The trail head parking area was full of cars (admittedly, most had a higher undercarriage than my minivan – though not all)!

The High Shoals hike led down the mountain into a ravine and toward waterfalls that were the central aim of that particular trail. As I descended, I was soon surrounded by towering rhododendrons, which was a striking experience, as I’ve mostly only seen them in gardens, and most memorably in my mother’s front yard. Nany of the larger trees that surrounded me felt ancient, majestic, and wise.

It had been some time since I’d been alone in this type of remote nature that is most common of state or national parks and forests. It felt so homey and comfortable to be back within this ecosystem. I felt compelled to connect with the trees. I said hello, touched them, gave them some “om”s. See, I had a thought about a year ago that we have so little conception of how trees perceive the world, because they are such different creatures than us. We’re learning more about them every day – how they communicate, feed, spawn, and more. I realized that trees move around just like we do (with the limitation of being rooted in the ground, of course), but their time scales are so much longer than ours. If a tree wants to move to the left, it does so in a few years. It is slow, wise, deliberate, and it takes its time getting where it needs to go. What if trees could also perceive sounds in long timescales? I wonder, if I played a long drawn-out “Hello” over the course of a year on loudspeakers, maybe the tree might appreciate the acknowledgment?

The more I learn, the less I know;
The more I live, the less experience I have.
I find myself talking to Trees,
knowing that I do not Know
that they can hear me.
Or feel me.
Or sense me.
I wonder what a sight I must be
to the teen boys on the trail, 1,000 feet behind.
I was once a teen boy,
So certain about the world.
So certain of how little this man knew
When he talked to the trees.

I rarely give space to thoughts like these when I’m caught up in the hubbub, noise, and anxiety of human society. Being in nature is a true balsam to the cluttered mind. But as I passed the occasional fellow hikers, overhearing snippets of conversation about their weekend plans or social gossip, I realized that being in nature isn’t quite what does it for me. While being in nature may soothe the mind, being with nature brings wholeness to the spirit.

Some people go for walks in nature, holding their spirits firmly within the frames that they came with. Perhaps they expect a simple change in scenery may mend their overtaxed minds through osmosis. But other people (of course, I fancy myself in this camp, though I’m sure I vary), go for walks with Nature. We seek to access our primal connection with and true belonging with the beautiful living equilibrium that is Nature.

As I sat journaling by the waterfall, I was humbled by my insignificance in that context. Humbled by the indifference that the space, the biome, held toward my very existence. It quietly whispered “You are nothing to me,” while holding me in its loving embrace. It felt good. Yet despite my insignificance, or perhaps because of it, I had a profound sense of belonging. I felt profoundly home.

I am at home at the core of my being;
At home in the quivering of my cells,
Resonating with the sounds of rushing water,
And the creaking of the proud trees.
I am more at home than I could ever be,
Surrounded by brick,
by poison-infused wood,
by right angles.
Angles that aim only to distract me from my
quiet yearning to be home.
A yearning that so often goes unnamed, unnoticed, unheeded.
A hard pit in all of my cells,
longing to quiver and resonate once more.