An evil squirrel, Bryan Adams, and reflections on the impersonal indifference of ‘nature’
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 lil’ squirrel it was unlike any squirrel I’ve ever heard.
Last week when I walked into the woods to find a place to ‘site-sit’ and write my blog, I encountered this world; a world that rejected me.
We began the evening ‘eco-psychology’ 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 ‘part’ 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 must’ve picked up a pair of rose-coloured glasses while waltzing through the rose garden.
Of course, nature is indifferent to my emotions. That’s 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 necessarily ‘forward’ at all. Natural selection, survival of the fittest. Even seemingly ‘altruistic’ or synergistic relationships between species or individuals are only self-serving evolutionary traits.
At first, these thoughts inspired a profound feeling of despair. “But, but, but... I looooove nature. Why doesn’t nature love me toooooo?”. 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. It’s a horse movie, so I love it. But it totally reinforces a troubling romanticized view of Indigenous culture and the environment while allowing the viewer to escape accountability. But damn, that Bryan Adams soundtrack!
Finally, as the Bryan Adams soundtrack 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 been ‘Disney-fying’ the wilderness, I found comfort in the very natural, instinctual emotion of ‘fear’ in nature. After all, I’m only here because thousands of generations of my ancestors were afraid enough to survive, and respectful enough of the natural world to benefit from it’s resources.
I returned to the Japanese Garden and sat in a circle with the class on a soft grassy hill. I couldn’t help but notice how manicured and unnatural the garden was - the landscaping was breath-taking, but it felt artificial.
I’m 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 ‘Bambi wilderness’ more dangerous than helpful? How important is a sense of fear in respecting and loving nature?
I’m eager to unpack this a bit more over the next two years of this degree.
