Writing About Nature

Introduction

Henry David Thoreau writes about nature and one’s place within it as, “the indescribable innocence and beneficence of Nature—of sun and wind and rain, of summer and winter—such  health, such cheer, they afford forever! and such sympathy have they ever with our race, that all Nature would be affected, and the sun’s brightness fade, and the winds would sigh humanely, and the clouds rain tears, and the wood shed their leaves and put on mourning in midsummer, if any man should ever for a just cause grieve. Shall I not have intelligence with the earth? Am I not partly leaves and vegetable mould myself?”¹

Our seminar, titled “Writing about Nature” with Jill Campbell, introduced me to something I took for granted: the nature all around us, but more specifically in my case, the nature of the urban setting. By consciously slowing down, putting aside the hectic pace of our present-day world, we can immerse ourselves into the world of the observer. We have the opportunity to get closer to nature. To take notice. To pay close attention to sight, sound, scent, touch and taste. By finding your “sit-spot”, a teaching strategy introduced in seminar, we locate our perch, our own lookout tower you might say, and nature is now laid at one’s feet. The colors of nature seem to burst out of its crevices and hidings, to spring forth with all the shades of sky blue; the evergreen of leaves and foliage wrapped about you to a point of almost suffocation; the feel of the summer breeze on the scruff of your collar; the glare of morning sunshine as it soaks its warmth into every nook and cranny of your being. I find this a revelation.

As a teacher I need to have some sense of purpose and guidance. Not just inside my classroom and with my students, but on a deeper and personal understanding. As I reflect on the words of Thoreau, I cannot help to feel that I have stumbled upon a not so carefully hidden secret. That maybe I am a part of something bigger than what I once thought. On those days where loneliness and sometimes even despair crept into my life, I now can hopefully find some peace and solace in the experience of my sit-spot amidst nature. In some way, I now feel that I belong to something I still have a hard time understanding, but something which brings some sense of comfort and acceptance, this connection and awareness to all that is nature.

Before arriving on the metaphoric shores of New Haven to attend this latest of seminars, I had saddled myself with quite literally and figuratively too much baggage. Embarking from my home in tow with my extra-large rolling duffel bag, it seemed as though I had crammed everything humanly possible inside of it to survive the end of days. Note to myself: I am quite prepared for any catastrophe or social function which might arise. The figurative baggage which I also brought with myself as I disembarked the airplane I carried not in my arms and hands, but up top in the attic, upwards in my tangled nest of my inner self. I have been carrying this baggage for the greater portion of my human existence.

Ever since I was a wee bit muskrat, I seem to be searching for something I had lost, or even for something I never had to begin with. This idea of who I am. I don’t know why but I do recall those early days of trying to figure out meanings in solitude. At times of having these feelings of not knowing which way to turn, no one there to tell me, “This way son, come this way.” There were times of course when I was successful in stashing this baggage away into the corners of some basement closet, jammed into the furthest of darkened corners.

But like everything in life which matters and is of consequence, those things which gnaw at you and those things one tries to hide and forget about, they have the tendency to rise up out of the spindly shadows and break free into the daylight. The “Who am I” baggage of childhood, teenage-hood, and adulthood.

I still keep it stored deep in my psyche: The passenger riding shotgun, fiddling with the knobs on the radio; the rider sitting next to you on the roller coaster, white knuckles and all; the exhausted commuter sitting across from you on the local express, staring obliviously out a racing window of blur. As a middle-aged man, I should not be burdened with so much baggage, I have too many responsibilities. Too many people depend on me. The search for self-discovery. The game of filling in the blanks on a Mad Lib and everyone laughing at you. Oh bother, I’ve come full circle to where I began. Can nature be the guide which points me in the right direction towards self-discovery? To find out who I am and to find my place in this world? To help me fill in the blanks? I will move forward with this idea of self-discovery with nature as the centerpiece of this teaching unit, not just for myself but for my family, my friends, and my students.

With great thought and consideration I will attempt to bring an understanding of self-discovery through my introduction to the mythology and magic of the Aztec gods; the shared experience of the immigrants which ensnares the Hispanic tribe I find myself belonging to as well as the majority of students I teach; culminating with the tales of Latin American writers such as Marquez, Paz, and Asturio as they immerse us all into the mythical beauty of the literary genre known as magical realism. This journey of self-discovery will travel along the path of these three subjects—the Aztec gods, immigration, and magical realism—to explore and consider the role of nature and how it intertwines like roots buried beneath us, a path leading to clarity and acceptance. A path of discovery, and the clarity of belonging to one self and to the world.