Down by the Banks

In Michigan, they say that you’re never more than five miles away from a major source of water. Water is a source of vibrancy, verdancy, and vivacity. Streams and river flow through forests, hubs of life that are vital to any ecosystem. The freshwater sources we have in Michigan support life from the smallest insect to moose and other large herbivores to bears and pumas. The entire life cycle can be encapsulated by a gently flowing stream.

              My family owns a fairly large tract of wilderness, and I spent my childhood clambering all over every inch of it. The entire property is webbed with streams; little things that are a foot and half deep at most, barely puddles in some areas. However, when my cousins and I played on their banks, they were vast rivers, luxurious pools, and bottomless oceans. We would sit in the grass, dangling our bare feet in the cool water, feeling it slick past our feet on its way to some unknown destination. We built forts and bases all along them, feeling all the world like pioneers along the banks of the Mississippi. Other times we were fairies, dipping our feet in the water and pretending flowers grew where we walked. These streams were a huge part of my childhood, and the life that sprung up around them shaped me as a human being. Without them, I would have grown up vastly different. I relate to the trees because I, too, grew and was nourished by the streams and ponds that flow through my childhood home. My relationship to nature was entirely shaped by the streams that I call home. 

Weaving Webs

              The separation between us and nature sometimes seems daunting. But other times, being close with nature can be as easy as sticking your head out the front door. At my parents’ house up north, it was often that easy to connect with the spiders that set up shop every year in the spring. Chubby and unassuming, they weave webs with shining strands of sticky spider lace in the kitchen window and under the eaves on the porch. The webs make a pretty addition, like monochrome stained glass designs just outside our windows. I’ve always loved them, watching them as they work on their webs, taking in a strand here or there, wrapping up a morsel for later, or sitting in the middle of their simple castle. They fascinate me to this day, and they return year after year, always in the same spots and always around the same time.

              Living in a rural area, I was able to explore nature to a greater extent than someone who grew up somewhere suburban. However, the spiders in the windows always seemed so observable to me. There was a connection between nature and my home that was so close it was nearly integrated into our lifestyle. We allowed the spiders to stay, and so the spiders kept flies, moths, and other bugs drawn to the lights within from entering our house. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. You keep disgusting and filthy bugs out of my home, I ignore the fact you have eight legs and consume liquefied innards for lunch. But more than being an example of a symbiotic relationship between a human and a tiny little creature, it seemed to me an example of how humans aren’t separate from the natural world. We often consider it a case of “us” versus “nature” when in reality we are an innate part of nature, just like the trees and the animals and even the bugs. Having that relationship with such small creatures led me to conclude that humans are just another part of nature, rather than something apart from it. To the spiders, we are not so different from them.

Getting Back to my Roots

I grew up in a rural area. My friends and I would often joke about there being more cows than people, which became even funnier when we looked it up and realized that there were indeed more cattle on a single farm than there were people in the whole town. It was the classic Small American Town, in which everyone knew everyone and everyone’s worked on a farm at some point in their life.

              Being in such a tight-knit, secluded little town, my perception of the world at large was a bit limited. It was unheard of for me to not know everyone you meet one way or another; my friends and coworkers often remark on how I seem to “know everyone.” In reality it’s just a leftover from living in a small town. I file people away in my head and while I may not remember their names or where I know them, I do remember meeting them and I’m sure to give them a hello and a smile. Kindness and hospitality are priorities, which comes from living in a place where anything you do is going to spread like wildfire. You also have to take care of each other in a small town, where community is everything. So it’s been second nature to me to offer help and get to know people.

              Because of where I live, I also feel very connected to nature. It’s part of me; my family owns a large tract of wilderness that I grew up on, darting through trees and bushes with my cousins like wild things. We would play in the dirt and the puddles, tracking through the dust with wet feet and smearing ourselves with all sorts of filth. During the summer we would spend hours rooting through blackberry bushes and gathering them in great numbers, eating a few here and there and returning most to our parents for the sake of blackberry jam and pie. Growing up in the woods gave me an appreciation for solitude, and I now value introspection and quiet. There’s something about being out in the woods that makes you a part of it, not something separate but something that belongs. It’s a wonderful feeling of belonging, and that sense of being where I was supposed to be helps me to feel at home as long as there’s a tree around. 

Sage Stories

       Coming into the new school year, I was excited for my class lineup. My general education requirements were, for the most part, out of the way, and I was able to set up a schedule that consisted mainly of English and Writing classes. A dream for me, though I knew the sheer amount of writing that would be required would weigh on me at times during the semester. Coming into English 382 was particularly exciting, as someone who grew up around nature and feels incredibly connected to it. The professor introduced herself and brought up something interesting: a blogging project.
I have a little blogging experience, but nothing quite so organized as a project. I usually blog casually, using my blog as more of a personalized and highly hodge-podge journal than a systematic documentation of my experiences. But when the professor brought up the blogging project, I was excited. I knew exactly what sort of things I was going to write about. A place where I can wax as poetic as I want about the nature I observe on a daily basis? It’s a dream come true.
I’m very hopeful about this project, and I’m excited to start putting up posts. I already have ideas bouncing around like bunnies in my head, and I’m looking forward to putting them down on the page for my professor and my classmates to see.