finding my BEARings

Today we finished our first month of summer Sabbath. I have not been wanting to write because in part I feel “behind” on the blog, and in part I’ve enjoyed not thinking about an audience.

 I’ve reveled in the good company of Adam and Megan in Grand Forks, ND…

 …and then in the beauty and greatness of the Rockies as we made our way into another time zone.

Daniel and I spend three nights and two full days at Glacier National Park in western Montana. It was so peaceful to have two full days alone with Daniel in the mountains, unlinked from phone and internet.

As I’ve gained distance from the MN farm, I realize how I am seeing the things with an adjusted viewpoint. There are many things that may have bothered me before (such as the monstrous RV’s people set up and stay holed up in to ensure they don’t get too close to nature), and things that are new (such as the extra plastic bags Daniel and I were sure to preserve to reduce waste and use again). But there were two things in particular that both embarrassed me for my lack of oneness with the Earth, and also “put me in my place” within Creation.

#1: FIRE

After swiftly setting up our tent following a 13 hr. drive across ND and MT, Daniel and I wanted what every good campsite calls for: a fire. So we stopped by the mini-mountain grocer to pick up a bundle of fuel. After neatly stacking a tent of wood, we wadded up our recycled newspapers and let ‘er rip. About 30 minutes later, we decided that only the dry grass, newspaper, and anniversary cards (sorry fam!) had burned, and the wood wasn’t going to take. We went to bed defeated and cold (39 low that night) wondering how we could have strayed so far from the most momentous skill humankind has ever acquired in history: making fire.

After some additional help from the local grocer and some handy overpriced fire sticks, we made use of our bundle of fuel. As Daniel so aptly summarized, we got 1.5 fires out of 1 bundle of wood and 3 attempts! Remembering the MN farm which uses only wood to heat their home (read: one room), my mind wandered to all the things we use heat and fire for, and how little I know about it. What else have I gained allowed such distance from?

#2: BEARS

The second event that “put me in my place” was our encounter with bears. Actually, the park warnings alone about GRIZZLY COUNTRY had me gingerly taking my first step onto the first outlook point (500 feet into the woods). But we did encounter bears, six to be precise. The first was a cuddly black bear munching on the hillside as we rode past on bikes. Bikes are good – comforting! The second sighting was on our 10 mile hike to Iceberg Lake;  a mama and 3 cubs about 30 yards down on the hiking trail were digging for food. The park especially warned about the mamas! The third sighting was the 6^th bear, and the biggest. A huge grizzly about 15 feet to my right off the trail hidden in the trees until he heard my clapping (fear of bears) and turned away. 

Given our experiences you’d think it was easy to spot these oversized stuffed animals. But we ran into many jealous hikers who never saw one. They were eager to get a perfect shot, and willing to approach them to do so. All I wanted was to stay alive, and I couldn’t help but think that perhaps my appropriate fear of these animals lead me to moments of encounter. Alone in the medows, next to the fireweed and grizzly, I lost all sense of sitting at the center of the universe. If anything, the grizzly and the mountain seem to command that position with far more grace than me. I would like to say, I was a mere voyeur, but even that pulls me from the scene and either places me again at the center (because I have “developed cranial knowledge” about what I’m seeing) or outside of the system entirely.

Wendell Berry describes this position we’ve taken as watchers:

“Apparently with the rise of industry, we began to romanticize the wilderness - which is to say we began to institutionalize it within the concept of the "scenic". Because of railroads and improved highways, the wilderness was no longer an arduous passage for the traveler, but something to be looked at as grand or beautiful from the high vantages of the roadside...we no longer traveled in the wilderness as a matter of course...we forgot, indeed, that the civilized and the domestic continued to depend upon wilderness" (The Art of the Commonplace, p. 96).

(This picture was taken at 10:00pm)

So tonight, my last night in the park, I seek to sleep under the stars, knowing that the world is greater than me, definitely greater than my modern comforts, and I rest with gratitude knowing that conquering it, nor even saving it (though I should try), are ultimately up to me.