I
have been thinking a lot about landscape lately. Go figure. But these particular
thoughts have been different. And I have been turning them over and over again
like a pile of autumn leaves—gathering my thoughts, then jumping into them to
see how they fly, then gathering them once again. This in part because I have
been given the opportunity to write an essay about landscape and in part
because of my recent conversation with Beth Kephart.
Much of what Beth said resonates for
me. But especially this: I would suggest
that what happens [when we become familiar with a place] relates to a sense of
belonging. When we belong somewhere, we can slow down, take note of
receding details, stand there and watch the shadows without having to snatch up
the exotica. Time within a landscape yields a depth of understanding—of
the place and of ourselves. Yes! Yes yes yes! I couldn’t agree more—I
couldn’t feel the truth of this in my bones more—and I have been wondering why
this is true. I am especially curious
about why, out in a landscape we know and love, we are able to gather that
greater depth of understanding of ourselves.
My daughter recently reminded me the
air we breathe was once inside the leaf of a tree. We inhale as the trees
exhale. Such a simple truth, such a simple exchange, and yet—it means
everything. It means we are connected.
I feel this connection when I go into my woods, and trek down to my river. I feel my senses—my ears and
eyes and nose and skin—open wider and grow stronger. And in that open state, I am
able to take in things like a broken egg in a nest, a pattern dug into the bark
of a tree, a rock formation, a bee hovering over a flower—those small, amazing
details that live in abundance throughout nature. I once spent a morning
deciphering the footprints of a red fox along a trail, following it to the
river where another fox joined it for a drink, and then back to the trail. By building
a relationship with a place and organically allowing my senses to become wildly
alive, I am then able to turn my attentions inward, to begin to recognize my own landscape, to take in one tiny
detail that is a part of me. My
relationship with landscape has been a pathway to my salvation—or my selfation as my husband recently coined.
And this, I believe, is why.
We are able to mimic the way we see the
details of landscape as we begin to find and name and celebrate the tiny parts
of ourselves that make us who we truly are.
I would love to hear how other people
find that depth of understanding of themselves…
With thanks and gratitude to you, Beth,
and to you all.
Tam
Thanks for sharing this with us! Some really amazing features.
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