Wonderland
Appreciation post for Mother Earth
Following a long day of trekking along the Cape Wrath trail, we began to set up camp. That afternoon we had been blessed with pleasant conditions, bursts of blue above us in the sky and some frogs living high up in the hills. Many things that we saw amazed and delighted myself and those I was with but not until the evening did I really feel that deep sense of wonder that lead to this writing.
Rain fell to unfurl a rainbow bridging mountaintops before the whole sky blushed a peachy-orange. Waterfalls peppered the rocks behind the tents and streams wound into a larger river which, according to our maps, soon joined the sea. The sound these waters made was reassuringly constant.
Everything about the place was alive and connected. I was reminded of how lucky we are to live alongside such huge forces and beings as waterways and sunsets and herds of deer who make this place their home. I was reminded of how precious and vital a moment with nature can be, and of how little I knew, how little I still know, about the Highlands.
Being attuned to nature tends to come more easily, generally speaking, as it is most visibly changing. Atmos, the magazine, recently shared a post on their Instagram in which the coming of Spring is described as a time to witness the “Earth in rebirth". We notice daffodils emerging and buds sprouting from branches. Blossom blooms. Daylight extends and with it we feel our energy changing. The effect these changes have on our lives is both personal and immeasurably powerful.
Reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s ‘Braiding Sweetgrass’ opened my mind further to the ways in which language both reflects a society's connection to non-human lives and its prospects of better protecting it. Essentially, language often delineates the limits of our imagination. Tell a child from birth that nature is ours to use and we will raise a generation that struggles to see the fault in their ways of living; a generation that cannot fathom the scale of transformation needed.
Now imagine a different story. Tell a child from birth that we share Mother Earth with many other wonderful beings; ask this child “who’s that?”, not “what’s that?” when you spot a beetle or a moth or an ant; share the knowledge that you have and acquire about plants and the weather and the earth. Do each of these things with the consciousness that subtle language shifts, like saying “who” rather than “what”, are powerful and important.
This arguably simple act is described with far more detail and eloquence by Robin Wall Kimmerer. She explains and explores the idea of the ‘grammar of animacy’ If you can get your hands on copies, the books ‘Braiding Sweetgrass’ and, the somewhat shorter, ‘The Democracy of Species’ are a wonderful place to start learning more about much I have mentioned. Both books illuminate the value of indigenous knowledge and practices, the ways in which they have been marginalised and how Western science, politics and societies writ large could learn from them.
In the top of my walking bag, I carried a small copy of ‘The Democracy of Species’. After an injury (nothing terribly serious but enough to throw a spanner into the mix) we settled by a small stream in the valley for an afternoon. Something about reading of connectedness to nature whilst so deeply immersed in it made it seem especially poignant.
In the days we spent in the Highlands, we passed a few other walkers and, of course, had one another as company. Compared to my regular days in busy Edinburgh, however, the place was so sparsely populated by humans. Still bubbling with the words of Robin Wall Kimmerer, I pondered: I don’t think one could possibly be 'alone in nature'.
I’ve heard that idea a lot…I’ve probably said it a fair few times too. We can only ever be 'alone in nature' if the only company that we value, the only things we class as living, are human. I, for one, think that I feel my most human in the company of wild creatures and features of an environment wilder than the city streets and park pathways I otherwise tend to find myself on.
The more I learn, and the more I listen to the words of those far wiser than I on these subjects, I feel like the wonder of the world is unfolding before me. Being human in a world where many members of the same species have tried desperately to detach from all non-human life can be a strange thing. Now, we must do the work to ensure we understand the wonderful wilderness before it is too late.
Imagining an earth more degraded than the one we stand on today, one of my greatest fears is that a child could not even ask ‘what happened to wonderland?’ because it will be long gone. The latest IPCC report left little to the imagination when it comes to the precipice we currently find ourselves on. We may argue about who or what has the power to spark and sustain the changes needed, but we must never dispute the fact that we need action, we need togetherness, and we need it more than ever.
Changing the language we use to address and describe non-human life may seem unnecessarily frilly. Maybe you see this as obsessive or unrelated to big questions of mass decarbonisation or battling deforestation. I’d argue quite the opposite. These subtle shifts are an indicator of a fundamentally transformed attitude. Better respecting the life-cycle of a river or of a bird, bug or mammal species starts within our minds. From here it can be woven into how we educate young people and into our legal and political systems. I hope you can sense the enchantment that I felt, and continue to feel, with the Earth and the intricacies and rhythmic changes we can observe each day. Even in a bustling city, you can catch these moments by simply looking up to the sky, and the clouds, colours and creatures held there.
Despite all humans have done, the Earth continues to dance and to flourish wherever possible. We must all be eternally grateful for that.
Lucy
