Journal 4

Joe Hartshorn

Dr. Dan Williams

19 September 2017

Nature Journal 4

            This week we ventured over to Overton Park for our class discussion of the readings for this week. I had no clue that Overton Park was but ten minutes from campus, and was surprised to find that such a park had been right next to me for the past three years. We met in the parking lot and ventured along the trail into the depths of the park. We quickly became engulfed in many different species of trees, and I soon felt as though we weren’t in Fort Worth at all. We sat in a grassy in the shade under a grove of trees for our discussion. The shade from the trees above was a wonderful break from the Texas heat. As we began reviewing the readings, the aspect of our shaded patch of grass in Overton Park that caught my attention was leaves falling from the surrounding trees.

            While leaves were not falling in bunches from the trees, it seemed that there was a steady pattern of leaves falling to the ground every now and then. There was a slight breeze whistling through Overton Park that appeared to contribute to the falling of these leaves. The leaves weren’t large by any measure, but the ones that I was watching were a dark tint of green. The leaves were oval shaped and looked similar to the stereotypical picture of a leaf that children might draw in elementary school. However what caught my attention the most was the fact that these leaves fell so gracefully. It appeared as if the leaves were floating down to the surface of the earth willingly, and doing so in a purposefully elegant manner. When I think of the concept of falling from a considerable height, falling comes to the mind with such a negative connotation attached to it. Falling isn’t naturally regarded as an act that is desired. In our daily lives, falling in any capacity carries a negative meaning with it, both physically and metaphorically. Both a fall down a flight of stairs and a fall from the grace with a group of friends are considered undesirable “falls”. However in this instance, the leaves falling felt right. The leaves fell to the earth as if they had a parachute attached to them, floating with bliss similar to the feelings sky diving advocates receive from the activity.

            While I pondered the act of the leaves falling steadily to the ground, I was also listening to one of the groups discuss the readings for the week. Of all the readings for this week, one line from chapter four of Wilderness and the American Mind stayed with me for some time. On page 79, Nash discusses one of Cole’s poems that essentially states that “Wilderness alone could not cheer and revive; love and friendship were necessary too.” This line struck a chord in me, as I have spent this semester evaluating what I believe wilderness’ role is in humanity’s experience on earth and in my own life. Many of the readings thus far have been somewhat charged with feelings of disdain for the relationship humanity has developed with nature, as many nature writers believe that humanity has taken advantage of the wilderness and not engaged in a mutually beneficial relationship with the wild. However Cole’s poem alluding to the idea that friendship and love must be a part of the equation for humanity to find vitality brings in an idea that hasn’t been discussed thoroughly with previous readings. While wilderness must be protected, preserved, and appreciated, how do humanity’s inter-personal relationships come into play? Are friendship and love able to coexist with a world that values wilderness highly enough to seek individual revival from experiences with nature? How do the two balance? My initial thought is that our relationships with other humans are our primary and instinctual source of revival, so I would agree with Cole that our inter-personal relationships must be an aspect of our own relationship with nature if we are seeking contentment from the wilderness.