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“Smaller than a breadbox, bigger than a TV remote, the average book fits into the human hand with a seductive nestling, a kiss of texture, whether of cloth, glazed jacket, or flexible paperback”

– John Updike

No, Updike was not referring to a cell phone or tablet.  For me, I don’t suffer tablets well or is it vice versa?  More often than not, the first thing I have to do when I decide to pick mine up is to plug it into a charger.  My daughter gets the most use out of it connecting Netflix to the TV so she can watch Sponge Bob or Barbie.  I got ambitious once and downloaded six electronic field guides on trees, birds, insects, wildflowers, butterflies, and mammals.  The icons looked pretty on the screen but that’s about as far as it goes.

My cell phone is much the same.  If it wasn’t for the camera and weather alerts, I wouldn’t really need my smart phone, although it does make a good alarm clock.  The smart phone is a conversation killer.  I remember in college when you went into class there would be conversation among my classmates.  My son now tells me there is virtual silence before class starts as students are bent over at their desks, not talking with each other or reading a book, but banging out text messages, tweeting, or otherwise lost in the world of social media.  I am convinced that there will soon be a new ailment directly attributable to bending over while staring down at a screen, some type of scoliosis of the neck.  When I travel, I always try to do a quick count of the number of people that pull out an honest to goodness book in the airport or on the airplane.  I am pretty certain, at least as far as my unscientific study goes, that I am in the minority.

I prefer to cling to that thing that’s smaller than a breadbox and bigger than a TV remote – a flesh and blood field guide, my well-worn copy of Walden, Leopold’s Sand County Almanac, or Olson’s Reflections from the North Country.  Reading these classics on a tablet for me would be sacrilegious.  There are those who will say, “Oh, John, wake up to the 21^st century.”  In response, I say, I have but I am very happy having a foot back in the 20^th.  I still like to hold the morning paper in hand, even if I have to wash the ink off after I’m done reading.  When I walk into my den or living room and pull a book from the shelf, I feel the knowledge it contains.  Each animal seems poised to jump off the page of a field guide, I plumb the depths of Walden Pond, the smell of the North Woods wafts from Olson’s pages, and Sand County comes to life.  I stare at a Kindle and see a black screen, void of that kiss of texture and seductive nestling in the palm of my hand; void of the connection I feel with each printed page in a book.  For me, the pages turn and the fire still burns (Thank you, Goodnight Moon, written by Margaret Wise Brown and illustrated by Clement Hurd).

“To read well, that is, to read true books in a true spirit, is a noble exercise.” 

– Henry David Thoreau

Chuang Tzu and Hui Tzu
Were Crossing the Hao river
By the Dam.

Chuang said:
“See how free
The fishes leap and dart:
That is their happiness.”

Hui replied:
“Since you are not a fish
How do you know
What makes fishes happy?”

Chuang said:
“Since you are not I
How can you possibly know
That I do not know
What makes fishes happy?”

Hui argued:
“If I, not being you,
Cannot know what you know
It follows that you
Not being a fish
Cannot know what they know.”

Chuang said:
“Wait a minute!
Let us get back to the original question.
What you asked me was
‘How do you know
What makes fishes happy?’
From the terms of your question
You evidently know I know
What makes fishes happy.”

“I know the joy of fishes
In the river
Through my own joy, as I go walking
Along the same river.”

from The Way of Chuang Tzu by Thomas Merton (Abbey of Gesthemane, 1965)

This may seem like a strange time of year to ask this question, but after a recent visit to the Brown County State Park Nature Center and a face-to-face at look the resident timber rattlesnake (see below), I have to ask.  Do you suffer from Ophidiophobia?  After all it is one of the ten most common phobias present among humans.  Walking through the woods in spring, summer, and early fall, I often keep a close eye on the ground.  I am careful to watch the sunny side of logs as I step over them. I am also careful around rock outcroppings as I walk in the woods of southern Indiana.  Why so careful?  I am simply watching for snakes and avoiding a chance encounter with these terrestrial inhabitants.  Although I don’t think of myself as ophidiophobic, I do prefer to see a snake before it sees me.

For many the thought of a snake conjures up a primordial fear.  Ophidiophobia or also commonly called herpetophobia is an unhealthy fear of snakes.  We don’t have to look very far to see how this fear has been perpetuated through history.  Adam and Eve accepted the apple from the serpent and suddenly understand the difference of good from evil.  Medusa’s head swam with snakes.  The unbelieving Israelites were bitten by serpents in the wilderness.  More recently, Hollywood brought us Snakes on a Plane.  Throughout the religions and folklore of the world, the snake is treated as both good and evil.  In spite of our phobias and religious beliefs the snake plays a very important role in our natural environment, though we need to be careful around a few.

Indiana is home to four pit vipers or venomous snakes.  Often referred to as poisonous snakes, this is actually a misnomer.  If a snake were poisonous it would be deadly or otherwise detrimental to our health to eat one.  In fact, I have found rattlesnake on more than one restaurant menu during my travels in the southwest.  A venomous snake, on the other hand, is one that possesses a mechanism for delivering a neurotoxin into the blood stream of its victim.  These are the ones we need to be careful about, but not unnecessarily fear.

Of the nineteen species of venomous snakes found in the United States, the timber and massasauga rattlesnake, copperhead, and western cottonmouth (also called a water moccasin) are all found in the Indiana.  They are referred to as pit vipers because they each contain a small sensory pit below each eye that allows them to aim when striking warm blooded prey.

Listed as an endangered species in Indiana, the timber rattlesnake is present in south central and southern Indiana in areas with heavily forested hills.  Growing up to five feet long, this snake feeds on small mammals and birds.  Brown County is home to one of the larger concentrations of these snakes.  There have been a number of recent sightings in Brown County State Park and the nature center keeps a rescued timber rattlesnake on display.

The massasauga rattlesnake, was once present throughout much of the state but is now found only in northern Indiana. It is often found in grasslands, undergrowth in marshes, fens or lake margins, dry prairie, and hay and grain fields where it feeds on mammals, birds, and other snakes.  Growing from 19 to 25 inches long, it is an endangered species in Indiana like the Timber Rattlesnake.  A very secretive snake, the Massasauga feeds mainly on small rodents.

The western cottonmouth, rare in Indiana has been confirmed in two isolated spots near Jasper in Dubois County and the other in Harrison County.  I often have people tell me that have seen a cottonmouth in a local pond, lake, or river.  Instead of a cottonmouth, they have seen a northern watersnake.  This aquatic snake, growing up to 53 inches long, feeds primarily on fish, but it will also eat other snakes, amphibians, and small mammals.  It can be quite aggressive if disturbed and it will strike.  Other than there simply aren’t any cottonmouths in this area, pay close attention to the shape of the head.  The cottonmouth has the classic diamond-shaped head of the pit viper while the northern watersnake has a more oblong head.  Another differentiator is the swimming habits of each snake.  The northern watersnake will swim with just its head and neck above the surface of the water while the entire body of the cottonmouth appears to be floating on top of the water.

The last species of pit viper found in Indiana is the Northern Copperhead.  Of all the pit vipers this is the species we are most likely to encounter.  It is found in the Ohio River valley and north to Franklin County in the east and Fountain and Vermillion counties to the west.   Typically found in hilly and rocky areas they grow to three feet long and feed mainly on small rodents and insects.

I encourage you to do more research about our native pit vipers.  You can check out a few of the field guides and references I use in the Field Guide and Reference Library of my website.  Instead of letting Ophidiophobia overcome you, gain some understanding of these secretive reptiles and become familiar with their habits and habitat.  Respect them for the contribution they make to our natural environment and gain some healthy respect for their space in the outdoors.

Some take a stroll while others go for a hike.  In Australia, they have the walkabout.  Woody Guthrie sang about rambling in his song, Ramblin’ Man,

“My mother prayed that I would be
A man of some renown
But I’m just a railroad bum
As I go ramblin’ ’round boys
As I go ramblin’ ’round”

Henry David Thoreau wrote this about sauntering in his essay, Walking,

“I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks — who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering, which word is beautifully derived “from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked charity, under pretense of going a la Sainte Terre, to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, “There goes a Sainte-Terrer,” a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander.  They who never go to the Holy Land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they who do go there are saunterers in the good  sense, such as I mean.  Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre, without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere.  For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea.”

Walt Whitman wrote about perambulation-

“In our sun-down perambulations, of late, through the outer parts of Brooklyn, we have observed several parties of youngsters playing base, a certain game of ball…Let us go forth awhile, and get better air in our lungs. Let us leave our close rooms…”

Like Thoreau, I like to saunter, to seek out my holy land, but I am also equally at home with a good perambulation.  The Oxford dictionary says that to perambulate means to walk or travel through or around a place or area, especially for pleasure and in a leisurely way.  Meriam-Webster also adds that it involves making an official inspection on foot.

In Walden, Thoreau wrote,

“For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms, and did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then of forest paths and all across-lot routes, keeping them open, and ravines bridged and passable at all seasons, where the public heel had testified to their utility.”

So, when I am out in the woods, I prefer a leisurely stroll that allows me to make a close inspection of those things around me.  I often go perambulating or sauntering in Brown County State Park and at any moment in time, I am the self-appointed inspector of woodland ponds, wildflowers, birds, budding trees, rippling streams, box turtles, gray squirrels, insects, and chipmunks.  I do not merely walk through the woods rather I walk in them.  They become a part of me and each step is a new discovery.  I never feel more alive than I do than in these moments.  I am in my holy land, among the sacred, and in the presence of God.  For me, to saunter or perambulate means to walk with a spirit-sense where each step has meaning and results in the continuing revelation of the divine beauty of nature.  The greatest adventure of my life has been my voyage of self-discovery in the natural world.  So I will continue to go to the woods with no destination in mind, no race to run, but merely to learn what nature has to teach.

 

“How many flutterings before they rest quietly in their graves!  They that soared so loftily, how contentedly they return to dust again, and are laid low, resigned to lie and decay at the foot of the tree, and afford nourishment to new generations of their kind, as well as to flutter on high! They teach us how to die.  One wonders if the time will ever come when men, with their boasted faith in immortality, will lie down as gracefully and as ripe.”

– Henry David Thoreau

To me late fall and winter are the seasons of browns and grays.  The fall colors are gone, the leaves having fallen gracefully to the ground to return to the soil.  The winter solstice is just around the corner and with it will come the shortest period of daylight and the longest night of the year.  So do we now resign ourselves to that long slog to spring?

Perhaps we tend to spend more of our days indoors now, eagerly awaiting that first spring flower.  Our trips outside now might be a quick walk from our car to the store, home or office.  For me though, it is a great time to be outdoors and discover the sights and sounds of this new season. So just as much of nature has fallen asleep, so much more comes alive during the winter months.

On an early morning hike in Brown County State Park, I experienced the sights and sounds of the winter landscape.  I heard the rattle of the dry leaves of the pin oaks and beech trees in the early morning wind.  The pine trees hummed their beautiful melody as the wind passed through their branches.  I saw the greens of the cedar trees against the brown landscape.  I discovered a turkey feather, its dark brown and white hash marks contrasted against a soft bed of pine needles.  I heard the sound of sleet striking the dried leaves on the woodland floor.  The traces of the animals that call the woods home were exposed on the ground; the chipmunk’s excavations, a ground hog’s burrow, a snake skin, and the nest of a field mouse.  The skeletons of the goldenrod, winter sentinels, stood guard in a woodland meadow.

The leaves that once hid the intricate patterns of the tree branches were gone, exposing the unique shape of each tree.  The bird and squirrel nests that were built to nurture last season’s young were now easily seen among the branches.  The clouds hurtled through the sky and leaves tumbled along the ground, pushed by a brisk fall wind.  Picking up a sugar maple leaf, I was reminded of more than just the winter months that lie ahead.  I felt the spring sun, the nurturing rain, and saw the bright colors that will come once again and paint the land.  There will certainly be dark, cold, snowy days ahead, but before spring awakens let’s brave the elements and take the time to explore our wonderful winter world.  There is so much waiting to be discovered.

“When the leaves fall, the whole earth is a cemetery pleasant to walk in.  I love to wander and muse over them in their graves.  Here are no lying or vain epitaphs.”

– Henry David Thoreau

Man did not weave the web of life.  He is merely a strand in it.  Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself. – Chief Seattle

This post is of few words as I feel the pictures better capture the message.  I took these on a hike yesterday in Brown County State Park.  Indiana’s largest state park, it encompasses nearly 16,000 acres of beautiful, rugged hills just east and south of Nashville and a mere 25 minute drive from my home.  Sadly, I could have posted many more photos like these.

During my hike, I asked myself the question, Why?  Why do some feel compelled to scar the beauty of our land?  Why is it necessary for them to leave evidence of their passing?  Was it not enough for them to carry home the joy of the experience and leave only their shadows behind?  Perhaps S+B, L+V, MW, BH, JH, HM, or whoever could answer that question.  What would they say?

“In every walk with nature one receives more than he seeks.”  John Muir

Okay, so like many, I love a grand vista.  The view from the top of a mountain takes my breath away.  I remember reaching the top of Mt. Marcy in the Adirondacks and catching a view before the clouds socked us in.  I think back to the sunrise I saw over the Atlantic Ocean from the top of Mt. Washington in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  Watching the mountain casting its shadow to the west over Vermont made me feel quite insignificant.  A sunset over the hills of Brown Country can also be awe inspiring.  I am equally taken in by Ansel Adams’ majestic photographs taken in the Yosemite.  The sweeping bend of the Ohio River near Leavenworth, Indiana makes a fine backdrop for a good meal at the Overlook Restaurant.

But, equally inspiring to me are the small things in nature…those things that lie close at hand.  It takes a keen eye to spy them but there is so much to be discovered close to the ground.  By keeping my eye peeled I have discovered the unique bark on each beech tree; the smallest of mushrooms poking up through the leaf litter; an eastern box turtle lumbering on its way; the unique colors and shapes of the fall leaves that lie strewn across the ground; frost flowers; oak galls; bumble bees and butterflies on my garden flowers; a katydid on my daughter’s hand; a lizard hiding on the bark of a pine tree; and so much more, each a unique gift from nature.

Henry David Thoreau said, “Direct your right eye inward, and you will find a thousand regions in your mind yet undiscovered.”  I say also, look down and around you and you will truly see that small is beautiful and there are thousands of things before you yet undiscovered.

“There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”  Henri Matisse

Sanctum sanctorum is a Latin translation of the biblical term: “holy of holies” which generally refers in Latin texts to the Holiest place of the tabernacle of ancient Israel and later the temples of Jerusalem but it also has some derivative use in application to imitations of the tabernacle in church architecture.

The Tabernacle, according to the Hebrew Bible, was the portable dwelling place for the divine presence from the time of the Exodus from Egypt through the conquering of the land of Canaan.

Often, I am asked when I developed my love for nature.  That is a complicated question that still gives me pause and compels my thoughts inward.  To me, nature is religious, it is scientific, and it is the past, the present, and the future.  It developed from no singular moment in my life, no sudden epiphany.  As romantic as it would be to say that one day while walking in the woods I saw an apparition that suddenly endowed me with the depth of love I have for nature, it would simply not be true.  For I think that as much as I found it, nature rose out of my very being.  It is a part of my DNA, a connection to my ancestors that stretches back eons.  When I think about when the deep connection emerged in my life, I think back to my boyhood.  As I often say, years ago a young boy bounded out of his house barefoot on a summer morning full of wonder at the natural world around him and he has yet to come back inside.  But that is more a metaphor than a reality, for there were many summer mornings and for that matter winter, fall, and spring mornings when I ventured out in wonder.  Each of my days, morning, noon, and night, has been and continues to be a voyage of discovery.

Both my girls frequently go on hikes with me.  Often it includes a walk down the creek, which involves throwing rocks whenever possible.  The desire to throw rocks in water is legendary among children. Who hasn’t skipped a stone or two?  Being in the woods with a child teaches me to look at nature with wonder, as if I am experiencing it again for the first time.  A tabla rosa, if you will.  To see nature as a child is to see it without the prejudice that comes with age.  I discard that, oh I’ve seen that before attitude, and accept the reality that there are so many things that I can’t simply explain away by scientific fact or religious dogma.  It awakes the child in me where the seeds of nature sprouted generations before.  There is no greater experience than marveling with a child about the beauty of a walnut even underneath its dirty exterior; or picking up a stone from the creek bed and finding something unique about its appearance; perhaps it’s letting a millipede crawl on your finger; or it’s finding a tiny mushroom growing from a pine cone.  Without slowing down I risk missing these simple but beautiful things and the depth of the lessons they teach.  I thank God every day for allowing me to continue to view the world as a child.

When I go outside, it is really like going in.  I see God in all nature, from the tiniest flower, to the sunrise, and the night sky at the end of the day.  There is no other place where I experience His presence more than when I am in this natural cathedral.  Let me dispel the notion that I am a pantheist, for I am not.  I just see the divine in the things I experience outside.  It is my personal belief in God that is one of the foundations of my natural being.  My beliefs are not bound up in dogma, whether it is the big bang theory or the creation story.  Don’t get me wrong, these are all fascinating and relevant to various systems of belief and how we understand the world around us.  Equally compelling to me are the creation stories of native cultures around the world, including our Native Americans.  I don’t take my direction from the pulpit or the laboratory.  It wells up within me and is the product of my own faith and inquisitiveness.  It is deeply personal.  To me, if one gets lost in the world of religion or of science you are missing the point.  They are not mutually exclusive ideas, but both can contribute to a rich and full understanding of our natural world.  For me, when I step outside and look up into the sky I have entered my sanctum sanctorum and my tabernacle dwells within me.

Sometimes I get lost in the woods.  Not lost in a physical sense for I have always found my way home. My “lost” is more of a mental  lost in which I become so absorbed in my environment and the moment that I wouldn’t know if it was ten or four o’clock.  It is a wonderful way to escape from what Nessmuk called the, “debts, duns, and deviltries” of life.

There are certain ingredients that have to exist, I think, if one is to get “lost”.  First, you must be in the right frame of mind.  You must be willing to walk away from those things in your life that are weighing heavy on your mind.  Work, money, personal relationships, the past and the future must be left behind.  Lord knows they will encroach back into your conscious mind soon enough.

Next you must find the right place.  It could be your backyard but more likely it will be that special place in the state park, a canoe trip down the river, or the woodlot of a friend, a place you can go and enjoy some moments undisturbed in nature.  It might happen while you are leaning against a tree listening to the wind blowing through the branches.  It might happen when you are stalking a deer or watching a squirrel darting about.  Maybe it happens while you are out among the vibrant colors of fall or while celebrating the new growth of spring.  There are many such places and times for me and I hold each one dear.

The next thing you need is the right companion.  Perhaps the best companion at the time is yourself.  Thoreau once said, “I have not yet met the companion as companionable as solitude.”  If someone joins they should be of like mind and temperament.

I think of it in the same way I would choose a canoe partner.  Their paddle stroke must be compatible with my own and our conversation must flow easily and without effort. When we observe something more often than not we need say nothing for we both have the same feelings.  We understand each other’s likes and dislikes and our discourse reflects our similarities. At night around the campfire our conversation, more often than not, tends towards the philosophical.

These are a few of the ingredients that I need in order to get “lost”.  I am sure each person has their own recipe.  I urge you to take a walk in the woods and lose your compass and watch.  To paraphrase Thoreau, you might find a thousand regions of your mind yet unexplored.