There is no escape from the fact that we live in a world of noise. It is with us wherever we go. As I type these words, the TV spews the latest gibberish, the dishwasher drones, the furnace bellows, the clock tic-toc’s on the wall, and the refrigerator hums. I walk outside and hear the piercing sound of a siren, the hum of the street lamp, a distant train whistle, and the noise of traffic on the road. Even at night, the relative silence can be interrupted by a barking dog or jet flying overhead. Early morning can bring some respite from this cacophony as the birds awaken and begin to sing, but this too gives way to the perpetual hum of civilization. Nature seems 1,000 miles away at times as we face a day full of more of these distractions.
Noise is just one of the things that separate us from a deeper communion with nature. The smells and sites of our lives also sever this connection; cars lined up at the drive-through windows of the fast food restaurants spewing out their smelly exhaust, trash on the playground at our local school, a pile of cigarette butts left on the ground at an intersection, or pet waste on the people trail. The detritus of the urban environment is, for me, the antithesis of what I experience in nature.
One must work hard in an urban environment to tune out the distractions that attack our senses. It is often easy to be overwhelmed. My backyard and garden or the local parks can offer some refuge but even this can be a challenge. Simply retreating to one’s house is often insufficient. For these reasons, I have always sought the solace of the woods, of wild places, where I am exposed to as few man-made interruptions as possible. The “noise” of nature is so profoundly different from that of human beings.
When I am out in nature, I rely on each of my senses to feed my perception of the moment. I refer to it as, “Hiking with all 5”. Taste, sight, touch, smell and sound help me become more acutely aware of my surroundings. I am able to connect physicallly and spiritually with where I am and be totally separated from the dust of the other world. Each perception, each thought gathered with my senses, connects me to the moment and with nature.
More often than not, I find solace in Brown County State Park near Nashville, Indiana. I have been visiting the park since I was a child, my parents taking me and my siblings here often to camp, hike and picnic. A mere 25 minute drive from home, its 16,000 acres offer ample opportunity to escape and commune with nature. Nessmuk, in the book Woodcraft, summed up perfectly what Brown County State Park has meant to me –
“Wherefore, let us be thankful that there are still thousands of cool, green
nooks beside crystal springs, where the weary soul may hide for a time, away from the debts, duns and deviltries and a while commune with nature…”
Recently, I took another sojourn there and had these thoughts (continued below)…
Turning off Highway 46, I pass through the north entrance of the park and drive through the covered bridge over Salt Creek. After passing through, it is as if I have entered another world and I am suddenly put at ease. In spite of the cold, I roll down my window and take in the sounds and smells as I drive the park road towards my destination. As I gaze into the woods and ravines my mind is flooded with the memories of the wonderful times I have spent here. I park at Strahl Lake, where not another vehicle is in sight. I open the door to the sound of water falling over the lake’s spillway; the sound of water in the wild, whether a falls or rippling creek has a profound soothing effect on me. Birds dance through the trees singing their songs.
Putting on my pack, I grip the hiking staff made by my grandfather, put the leather strap around my wrist, and walk across the road. I am immediately struck by how my feet feel as I leave the parking lot and hard pavement and begin to walk on pure earth. I cross a small stream, dry now, and feel the sandstone gravel give way beneath my boots. Ascending a short hill into a pine grove, I am immediately struck by its peacefulness. My footsteps are silent on the soft bed of pine needles, with the only sound the rush of the winter wind through the pine branches. The sound and smell in this grove immediately put me at peace.
Occasionally, I feel the bite of a briar as I wind my way down the game path. I know by the feel of a few of the thorns on my legs and arms that they will serve as a reminder of my time here. Soon enough, I find the trail that will take me further on my journey. I can smell the decaying leaves of the maple, birch and oak trees and taste the smell of their tannins in my mouth. I pick up an occasional leaf and feel its texture in my hand. I pass a beech tree and feel its smooth bark and then the rough bark of the oak. I see the shagbark hickory with its telltale skin.
I pause at a woodland pond and lean against a red oak, its bark comfortable against my back. I pour a cup of coffee, watch the sunrise, and snack on a little salami and cheese. I hear a crow cawing in the distance, the chickadees and titmice sing their songs in the branches above me, the drum of a woodpecker sounds in the distance. The smell of my fresh coffee is like incense in a holy place.
Somewhat reluctantly, I arise to continue on my journey, but as I do my communion with nature deepens. The sound of my footsteps are more profound, the smell of the woods more crisp, things on the woodland floor more vivid, each sound more intense, the touch of nature tender in my fingertips. I lose track of time, but my senses remain fully aware of where I am and the joy of being here; they have not betrayed me. Soon enough, I will leave these woods and return to the world, but I will always know that I was truly in a holy place.