An evil squirrel, Bryan Adams, and reflections on the impersonal indifference ofĀ ānatureā
As I walked deeper into the woods on an overgrown path, spider webs clung to my face and the humid air made hair stick to the back of my neck. When I moved into the shadows under the thickest canopy, branches slapping my face and pulling at my skirt, I shivered with cold. I jumped in my skin as an animal screeched at me from rustling bushes only feet away. It sounded angry and aggressive, as if defending a territory or precious food cache - even if it was a cute lilā squirrel it was unlike any squirrel Iāve ever heard.
Last week when I walked into the woods to find a place to āsite-sitā and write my blog, I encountered this world; a world that rejected me.
We began the evening āeco-psychologyā lecture under a warm glowing sun in the gorgeous Japanese Gardens. Instructed to find a place to sit for reflection, I felt compelled to explore a path in the conifer forest across campus. I am so glad I did, because it was there that I had a very important moment in a very natural space.
I have never felt more separate from nature than in that moment. I was harshly reminded of my place in the world; one of cell phones and laptops, of modern medicine and airplanes. I did not feel a āpartā of nature at all. After a dreamy week of lectures under an apple tree and afternoons overlooking the ocean, I had allowed my perception of nature to be wholly incongruous with reality. I mustāve picked up a pair of rose-coloured glasses while waltzing through the rose garden.
Of course, nature is indifferent to my emotions. Thatās precisely what I pondered as I finally found a log to rest my butt on and pull the spiderwebs from my hair. Nature just is. A series of stochastic events hurdling in a direction not necessarilyĀ āforwardā at all. Natural selection, survival of the fittest. Even seemingly āaltruisticā or synergistic relationships between species or individuals are only self-serving evolutionary traits.Ā
At first, these thoughts inspired a profound feeling of despair. āBut, but, but... I looooove nature. Why doesnāt nature love me toooooo?ā. I wallowed in my own self-pity for a while, accepting that Spirit, Stallion of the Cimmaron would never love me so much he would risk his own life to ward off evil colonial assholes.
Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmaron. Itās a horse movie, so I love it. But it totally reinforces a troubling romanticized view of IndigenousĀ culture and the environment while allowing the viewer to escape accountability. But damn, that Bryan Adams soundtrack!
Finally, as the Bryan Adams soundtrack Ā slowly faded and the sound of the forest crept back into my awareness, I found a space for reverence and respect. Instead of focusing on the sad realization that I had beenĀ āDisney-fyingā the wilderness, I found comfort in the very natural, instinctual emotion of āfearā in nature. After all, Iām only here because thousands of generations of my ancestors were afraid enough to survive, and respectful enough of the natural world to benefit from itās resources.
I returned to the Japanese Garden and sat in a circle with the class on a soft grassy hill. I couldnāt help but notice how manicured and unnatural the garden was - the landscaping was breath-taking, but it felt artificial.Ā
Iām left with a lot of questions. In the Anthropocene, should we (as environmental educators) seek to instill a sense of wonder if it is founded upon an idea of nature that is unrealistic and artificial? Is promoting connection with a āBambi wildernessā more dangerous than helpful? How important is a sense of fear in respecting and loving nature?Ā
Iām eager to unpack this a bit more over the next two years of this degree.