Love of Place
The mountain says you live in a particular place. Though it’s a small area, just a square mile or two, it took me many trips to even start to learn its secrets. Here there are blueberries, and here there are bigger blueberries ... You pass a hundred different plants along the trail—I know maybe twenty of them. One could spend a lifetime learning a small range of mountains, and once upon a time people did.”
—Bill McKibben
The other day I was sitting out by the lake near my apartment in the early morning. In the low light before sunrise, I can only see the silhouettes of the birds that pass by. Mallard goes by, wings flapping very quickly. Seagull soars over. Later Great Blue Heron moves across my field of vision, in a straight graceful line, unhurried. It came to me that, living by this lake for seven years… I know them. I recognize my neighbors.
Isn't that interesting? I don't wonder who they are, even in this low light. At one point, my mind would have said “bird,” but now we’re closer than that. I know Heron by his shape, by the way he moves, by his squawk, the same way I would recognize my friends from a distance by their voice, or their gait. It's hard to explain what this knowing means to me, but it means a lot, and it's not just knowing, it’s loving.
Topophilia (coined by Yi-Fu Tuan) means love of place– our mental, emotional, cognitive (and, I would add, spiritual) bonds to our surrounding environment. Biophilia is our “urge to affiliate with other forms of life” (E.O.Wilson). These inherent loves are wired right into us, as human beings on earth. So when we are separated from the land and all its beings, there is just something missing. Have you felt this – a sense of malaise, a deep longing, an unnamable sadness or loneliness?
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder” doesn’t fit at all here. Being separated from the natural world makes the missing or the longing become more painful, sure. But what really makes the heart grow fonder is drawing closer. The more we zoom in, the more time we spend paying attention, being awake and alive outdoors, the more our fondness, familiarity, and sense of belonging grows.
I’m currently taking part in a training as a Mindful Outdoor Guide, and I’m so pleased that this training is nudging me to get outside even more regularly, with even more intention to connect with the natural world, not just move around in it. I’m glad that I am being invited to read the research on what “nature” offers to each of us in terms of physical health, stress reduction, and cognitive refreshment…
But I don’t need statistics to tell me what I already feel: that being outside is really freaking good for me on every level. Being outdoors is like a date with a new and mysterious person, feeling the wonder of growing closer. It's like a meditation. It's like a treasure hunt. It's like a mystery, so much movement going on everywhere, so many lives being lived, and I only catch little clues. I feel in my bones a new vitality, a deeper peace, a feeling of being supported, and yes, love.
This time, autumn, is a colorful and interesting time to be outdoors, and I invite you, us to spend some moments to really soak it up, before the cold of winter comes and the time changes and the nights get longer, the mornings darker. At its very simplest, it's just spending time, maybe sitting on a bench watching what passes by or taking a slow meander. This is a special time to go out and fall deeper in love with the place where you are.
This month at the Studio, Marianne is offering invitations to draw closer to the natural world, and even to sit with the stars. And because you and I are “nature,” too, we invite you to explore the wilds of your own being: Join Jenn for journey meditation to Lower World, and join Katie to discover what lies within silence.
Whatever your adventures this season, we wish you well-being.
Katie
