Rhythms of the earth. I don’t pretend to know what they are. I’m just like every other person living in modern America: a machine washes my clothes, a machine washes my dishes, a machine heats my water, a machine transports me. And an itty-bitty machine does pretty much everything else. Without these machines, I’d be lost.
Yet at least once a week I try to escape these machines (except the little one—hey, it’s got GPS!) and immerse myself in the things that are more enduring: rocks, trees, flowers, ice, snow, clouds, water, air…
Yet at least once a week I try to escape these machines (except the little one—hey, it’s got GPS!) and immerse myself in the things that are more enduring: rocks, trees, flowers, ice, snow, clouds, water, air…
If you’re reading this blog, you’re probably a lot like me. We know we need to break away and touch the things that are real. But do we understand why? Oh, we’ve got lots and lots of “whys,” most of them transcendental. It challenges me. It refreshes me. It relaxes me. No pain, no gain. It touches my soul. I feel most like myself. It invigorates me. It tests my limits. It brings me to the edge. It brings me from the edge. The one that I use most frequently myself is, it helps give my life perspective.
And all of these are true. But I’d like to add that “getting in touch with nature” is a huge part of getting in touch with our human nature—not the soul, but the sense of where we belong in the continuum of the universe.
Before all our science and gizmos, before Google and GPS, before cars and washing machines, humans not only survived; they thrived.
Their thriving depended on understanding—and integrating with—the rhythms of the earth.
There was a time when humans predicted the weather by smelling the air, watching animal behavior, or watching the sunset.
People used to plant gardens and crops not according to date or grain prices, but by the signals the earth sent out, or by the needs of the soil.
They navigated the earth by reading the heavens.
They healed the body with plants and the human touch.
There was a time when humans were so in touch with the earth that they instinctively understood it, respected it, and moved in synchronization with its rhythms.
Something in the modern outdoor adventurer senses the underlying need to get in touch with these rhythms once again.
It’s our attempt to once again put our fingers on the pulse of the earth. To understand her rhythms and what they mean for us. Even though we use what we know primarily for a weekend’s entertainment, we understand that it is essential to survival.
And all of these are true. But I’d like to add that “getting in touch with nature” is a huge part of getting in touch with our human nature—not the soul, but the sense of where we belong in the continuum of the universe.
Before all our science and gizmos, before Google and GPS, before cars and washing machines, humans not only survived; they thrived.
Their thriving depended on understanding—and integrating with—the rhythms of the earth.
There was a time when humans predicted the weather by smelling the air, watching animal behavior, or watching the sunset.
People used to plant gardens and crops not according to date or grain prices, but by the signals the earth sent out, or by the needs of the soil.
They navigated the earth by reading the heavens.
They healed the body with plants and the human touch.
There was a time when humans were so in touch with the earth that they instinctively understood it, respected it, and moved in synchronization with its rhythms.
Something in the modern outdoor adventurer senses the underlying need to get in touch with these rhythms once again.
It’s our attempt to once again put our fingers on the pulse of the earth. To understand her rhythms and what they mean for us. Even though we use what we know primarily for a weekend’s entertainment, we understand that it is essential to survival.
We, in our smart cars with our smart phones are so smart, aren’t we? But strip us of anything with a cord or a motor, we’re helpless as newborns in the face of the earth’s awesome power. Maybe that’s what’s so appealing about the ruggedness of outdoor life; in the end, a smart phone won’t save us. Our knowledge, instincts, and ingenuity working in tandem with nature’s forces really matter. And isn’t that what we want? To stand on the summit and say, “I can do it! I can do anything!"