Creative

Nature Memoir

I wrote this in my Green Rhetoric Class. Green Rhetoric turned out to be one of the best courses I have taken thus far at DU, and so I enjoyed all of the assignments! This nature memoir was one of my favorite assignments because I was able to pull some inspiration from John Muir, an environmentalist author we studied in class, and synthesize that with some of my own personal experiences.

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Wide View

“When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty.” -John Muir

I was born and raised in Annapolis Maryland, a quaint historic town which sits right at sea level and is nestled on the Severn river. I have always thought that the waterfront houses on our river with the sand 30 feet from their step looked so cool and my friends who lived in those waterfront houses and I would make our famous waterslides off their front lawns all the way down into the water.

“When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty.” -John Muir

However, my mom always said she liked the wide view of the river from up the hill. We live on a wider part of the river, meaning it is not backed away in a creek or where the house across the river is rock-skipping distance. We can still see the other side, but it seems much further, and the river seems to stretch far in each direction. My parents talk about wanting to move into downtown Annapolis; but again, my mom insists on staying where we are at that wide view.

“The world’s big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark.”-john Muir

When I moved to Colorado for college four years ago, something that shocked me was the vastness. That wide view from back home did not seem so wide anymore. Replacing the tall holly tree with its enormous twisting trunks and our old rope swing posed in front of our glittering river outside my front windows is now enormous snow-capped mountains and flat, dry, grassy plains. The roads seem like pulled taffy, stretched straight out before you can see them turn, and if you drive outside the city 12 miles, you wouldn’t be able to tell you’re even remotely close to civilization. That to me is such a wild thing: the feeling like you’re in a desolate place, when you can actually be so close to a city. And I love it.

“The world, we are told, was made especially for man – a presumption not supported by all the facts.” -John Muir

You hear of Colorado people and being outdoors and being closer to the wilderness and nature out here. However, I’ve come to realize that with the rise of social media specifically, the idea of the wilderness has faded. Not much is raw, not much is desolate, not many places are untraveled. Nature is now about the synthetic capture of a single moment’s view. Nature is so volatile and changing, but these photos limit that freedom to one frame, one moment, and no movement. This wide view that is now Colorado for me seems not so wide, when it can fit on the background of my phone. It is so upsetting that lots of people experience nature not to enjoy it, but to find that perfect photo opportunity. It’s not about the action of the hike or walking in nature, but about reaching that perfect spot; and instead of breathing in that fresh air and feeling butterflies at the top of an overhang where one misstep could toss your body down a mountainside, it’s about taking a phone out and looking at that view through a tiny lens.

“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.” -John Muir

One weekend, a friend of mine was in town and asked me for some fun “Colorado things to do”. I did not even think twice when she asked me this, because I just listed out for her the things my friends had always suggested to me. These things were always along the same lines: activities that were “outdoors” but not necessarily in the wilderness. These were also things that were spots that you could drive to and not really have to do too much walking or too much work. At the same time though, these were places that were incredibly beautiful.  I told her that some good things to see were red rocks, garden of the gods, and Saint Mary’s Glacier. I thought those were some good ideas for some places that were easily accessible, and I assumed she would just want to drive to some spot to see some “cool spots”. A few days go by and I see her Facebook post with her beautiful photos from all of the places I had recommended. There were photos out the windshield of her car of those wilding mountain roads through dynamite-smitten canyons, of the walk up the pathway, and then obviously at the top of the red rocks steps, on the stage, in front of the massive skating rink blanketing the freshly frozen glacier, and in garden of the gods. In each frame, I noticed how many people were in the background. I thought to myself, wow, I sent her to the most touristy spots I could think of, what I knew she would like to take pretty pictures of. Her trip was boiled down to these 4×6 images. I didn’t even think to mention any of the tiny spots I have discovered over 4 years of being out here. I felt as if I had failed her, as if I failed to give her a wide view.

This doesn’t have to be all sad because I sent her to some popular spots, I mean, they’re popular for a reason, right? Photos are not bad. They can capture an incredible moment, and better yet, preserve them. These photos she took can remind her of the beautiful vastness and the enormity that is Colorado. But for what?

“We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us.” -John Muir

A few months ago, I did my first 14er. It was at the end of the fall, there had been a good number of big storms, and everyone said that it was too late to do it, but I have always wanted to see what it was like. Mount Bierstadt is said to be one of the easier ones, so I chose this to be my first one. I woke up around 4:45 and picked up my friend. We got our early morning Starbucks and bacon egg and cheese bagel sandwiches on that chilly November morning. My eyes were still puffy, and I still had lines on my face from my sheets, but I was excited. I’ve always loved hiking, all of it: even the cramped calves and the thin air. I hadn’t done a really long or difficult hike in while, but I thought, ok, how hard could this be.

We get to the lot, and the sun is just starting to peek above the tree line, a blood orange wave hovering over us. We get out of the car and throw our coffee cups away, before starting in on the ramp. These grasses reached up above my waist and there was a ramp made from shambled wood planks indicating the trailhead. It was an exhilarating feeling to know we were the first hikers and we were alone. The trail started off flat and windy; we were approaching the mountain ahead of us. The orange glow now enveloped us, granting us trespass to the mountain before us. Madeleine is a fellow teammate, and an insane athlete. She has done over 25 14ers in Colorado, and this was only my first. I am pushing to keep up with her because she is practically sprinting. We begin our gradual incline. The terrain starts to change from those dancing high grasses to shorter rougher blanket, more and more rocks littering the trail. At this point, I’m still keeping up with her for the most part.

As the sun gets further overhead and a blue sky begins to emerge, it is now getting steep. She is racing ahead, and I am practically jogging these switchbacks. The rocks are turning to boulders. Every 30 minutes or so she stops and lets me catch up with her, and at these moments I am able to look back behind me for a moment and see what I have accomplished thus far. I can’t even tell if I’m getting higher, but each time I look back it’s different. Seeing the zigzag of the trail makes me dizzy. Each brief stop has its own fleeting beauty. At this point, I have been completely humbled by this mountain, and I am working very hard to keep up this insane pace. After a while, we get to the last leg, which is basically just all rock, and I’m using my hands to hoist myself up onto the larger boulders. My hands are inside by jacket, and so numb that I can’t feel the cold slate under my palms.

The end is in sight! The summit sits like a king, rough and sharp and majestic, and glowing. The wind is picking up and as it whips right through my jacket I’m wishing I came more prepared. When we finally reach the top of the precipice, I felt like I was on the moon. It was absolutely incredible. There was not a single human being in sight, and I have not felt like that maybe ever in my life. We were both so freezing we couldn’t even speak to each other, we just looked around in a full 360. Down the backside we could see turquoise pools down below with bony trees surrounding them. Down the front we marveled at what we had just overcome. I was really proud of myself for what I had just accomplished, and man was it worth it. Up there, the winds were whipping and my blood was pumping. We didn’t stay up there too long, not even long enough to take a photo. And I was okay with that.

I do not have a photo from that hike, but the image from that summit is still more familiar to me than any other hike. Now that….. is a wide view.

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity”- John Muir

            I would challenge you to try to go on your next adventure without your phone. Society is so dependent on photos to quantify experiences, and I would hate for your existence on this earth to be confined by photo dimensions.

“Only by going alone in silence, without baggage, can one truly get into the heart of the wilderness.” -John Muir