letter to verlyn klinkenborg/ Leave No Trace

   Dear Mr. Klinkenborg,

      There is, I think, a Great Horned Owl living in the old growth oak and maple forest bordering my backyard. I have glimpsed and then followed this bird marveling at the enormous wingspan, thickly feathered body and hoping to see the passing stare of those huge yellow eyes.

      On one memorable walk with my dog through our park trail, this owl followed us and lead us; swooping low with outstretched wings while avoiding branches in an almost intuitive way. After a while, seduced, I followed it, not far off the trail, through a patch of Maples and saw my neighbor had actually tapped some of them.  The owl came back for me, standing distracted in front of a bucket, then swooped ahead into a thicker patch of undergrowth and trees. I turned back, worried the dog would end up in someone's back yard or tangle with the thick brush and not be able to escape.

      Following a creature whose presence seems the essence of silence reminded me of some wilderness learning of long ago. Leave no trace, we were taught. Bury your campfire. Only take dead wood. Don't go barreling through the undergrowth; find a deer trail or at least watch where you step.

     The whole idea of a walk in the woods is different when you don't think of yourself as "blazing a trail" but leaving no trace of a trail. Even here, where the trail is sometimes tarred, I can look on either side, seeing the narrow width of a deer trail and comparing the blundering, bent limb wandering of a human, myself now included.

     So much has been written about our lack of contact with nature and its effects. Mr. Klinkenborg, your column is about nature and the rural life. Rural life is not about leave no trace but about a daily relationship with nature based on mutual use.

     Here in a thin wedge of county park near my home, where houses stretch along every border, many children and adults claim a part of this park as their own; running, biking and playing. There isn't a lot of evidence of their use. I wish I could say that is good.

     What I wonder is how much is about going through versus slowing down. Getting a run or bike ride in and admiring the blur of green or Fall red, yellow or even the soft white outlines of snow is going through. A visit is also stepping on branches, pushing down fern undergrowth like me, only happening when following a wild creature to get some understanding of a wild life. A creature glimpsed through chance not slowing down.

     Part of what stops me or makes me follow is watching a creature whose connection with their home, this woods is finely tuned. Partly, because they need to eat regularly. Partly, because their knowledge of this place where I  frequently walk and live near, is so much more than mine. This is what I like about your columns. This difference which I try to work with between going through/ visiting and living with and even, at times, in nature.

     I work with stress related illnesses. Often, I teach people about mindfulness, meditation, relaxation. Going for a walk with the intent to saunter, to notice, to follow what makes us curious, can be just as relaxing especially if we can slow down enough to leave no trace, like the owl who flies, wings dipping and straightening silently, beautifully through the outstretched limbs of trees.

     Walking meditations are used in different countries and by different religions. Perhaps, an american version could be a slow saunter through a still wild park with a careful stepping off the path to better see that wild owl, that red tailed hawk or silent, ruffled fur fox. Maybe, that is what nature was to those of us living close, not so long ago. A place to be mindful, focused, to notice without worry or distracting thought what was happening here and now.  A place to be, not visit.