The Boreal Forest

Go to the Woods
By Robert A Murphy

When I was young, maybe 6-8, my family lived in a house with a significant field behind it. For those years this field was my playground. I built paths through the tall grass from the garage to the woods a few acres back. I would spend all afternoon back there, forging away through through my imagination and any scenario that would come to mind. ANYTHING was possible as it was all created. Now my world is made of concrete and brick. New paths are roads I have never walked on and the noise and chaos, as beautiful as it is, keeps my eyes pegged to the walkway looking three steps ahead for oncoming bicycles and pedestrians.

Harvey Cox once defined pre-modern man as living in a magical glen where the very rocks and trees had fiendish properties that would either make or break you. The Babylonian prophetesses of Ishtar would partake in ritual copulation, hoping their act would inspire the gods of rain to do their work. The cave drawings of Lascaux, France are said to be a form of sympathetic magic, meaning the act of drawing one's self killing an animal inspired the action to occur in reality. The point is that for so long humanity saw itself as a series of interactions between nature and humanity. Neither one controlled, but both played a part in what became. Nature was every bit as alive as flesh and blood.

There is something overwhelming about the outdoors: the organic systems in place, the flow of material and energy (not necessarily in the new-age sense), the awareness of your fragility. You know that you can not control. When you are camping and cooking over a fire you have to first build something. You don't just flip a switch. You can't just turn on an oven. You have to perform an action. It is you interacting with what is around you.

When I'm in the woods I carry a knife. Not for defense, but because I'm beginning to believe it is symbolic. The tool is a segue between man and nature. It is a simple way of breaking a divide between who we are and what our species came from. It is difficult to consider and thoroughly grasp the idea that we are tied in with our ecosystem. We are told that. We know that. But do we really know that? I for one, despite my experience outdoors, think in terms of man and nature. Two separate entities metaphorically separated at birth. But when you cut something real to build a fire you are changing the variables. You rely on it directly.

Being enchanted with nature is an old idea. Thoreau defined this poetically. He wanted to live deep, suck the marrow out off life. He wanted his interaction with the world around him to be meaningful. He wanted to take the actions that led to learning and find what he felt was missing. He is not alone. Why in a world of houses and hotels do people still camp? Why do people build fires on the beach? Why if we can see it on a screen would we step out in the cold to watch the northern lights? We are missing something deeply human.

When my parents lived in Alaska I visited a small pond behind their house a few times in the winter. At 40 below zero I laid down in a foot of snow and watched the sky for as long as I could take the cold. The sky was so bright and it was so quiet I could literally hear the snow land on my hood and around me. I felt so deeply satisfied.

I don't have any problems with cities. I love the resources, the cultural events, people, and interesting food. But it isn't enough. We, or I, need to be outside among the trees.

About the Author:
Robert A Murphy http://willtravelforfood.net/