You stomp on the accelerator to pass that 18-wheeler just in
time to make your exit. The kids are fighting in the back seat. You
have to drop them at school and make your meeting in San Jose in 45
minutes. The radio blares traffic conditions, stock quotes and the
weather forecast in between endless commercials and chatter. Then
your cell phone rings with a call from work.
You stomp on the accelerator to pass that 18-wheeler just in time to make your exit. The kids are fighting in the back seat. You have to drop them at school and make your meeting in San Jose in 45 minutes. The radio blares traffic conditions, stock quotes and the weather forecast in between endless commercials and chatter. Then your cell phone rings with a call from work.
This is not far from everyday life for many of us. Between meeting all of our commitments and the constant din of our electronic toys, we lead a frantic and noisy existence.
We can’t escape it, and in an odd way, I wonder if we even crave it. Even the inactive moments are not quiet ones – the TV on in the background, the phone ringing, the Internet, etc.
When was the last time you were by yourself in a forest or a meadow without a Walkman, without a book, of without someone to talk to? Could we bear to be truly alone with nature’s subtle presence, or out of habit would we long for the radio or the book?
In the same way that the bottle beckons the alcoholic, the constant bombardment of noise and information are becoming irresistible to us, and we are losing our quiet connection to the natural world. Booze kills the alcoholic’s body. Our forsaken relationship with the natural world is wounding our spirit.
Though most of us have neglected this relationship, I truly believe that we all deeply long to nurture it. The best way to kick-start this process is go out and meet some of our local nonhuman neighbors. Look outside. Is that a hawk or a vulture up there or maybe a Golden Eagle? How can I tell? What kind of bushes are those on El Toro? What are the names of those birds in my backyard? What kinds of wildflowers are growing on that road cut?
True, it’s not cheetahs on the Serengeti or killer whales in the Gulf of Alaska, but this valley and the surrounding Coast Range offer many interesting natural inhabitants with stories to tell. Just over your back fence or even in the vacant lot you pass on your evening walk, there are things to pause for and appreciate.
Did you know that pronghorn have been re-introduced into nearby hills? Did you know that this area has one of the highest densities of mountain lions in the western United States? Recently, a friend of mine saw a peregrine falcon perched on a power pole in Morgan Hill. Last spring, on a trip to the interior of Henry Coe State Park, two friends and I found several new populations of a wildflower that until then was known to grow in only three other small locations in the Hamilton Range and nowhere else in the world.
Here we don’t have the flamboyant natural displays that will earn us a National Geographic special, but subtle wonders abound. With an open heart and a sense of awe and wonder, we can meet these neighbors and perhaps rekindle that stirring inside that is barely audible over our noisy busy-ness.
The next time you have nothing to do, consider doing even less. Sit silently under a valley oak, hear the wind move through its leaves, and feel what John Muir felt: “Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.” John Muir.
~This column was originally printed on
Nov. 26, 1999.
