One of my favorite pictures of myself was taken this past summer, by my sister and her little Fujifilm instant camera. In this picture I stand, body twisting to smile back at the camera, on a path by the banks of a stream that winds through what can best be described as a meadow. You can barely see the edge of my brother in the background, hopping along the path on rocks he seems to blend into, mountains and pine trees and grass cluttering up the landscape. The colors are vibrant, but even they don't do justice to the beauty and wonder my family saw that day, as we meandered like the wild goates we are through Rocky Mountain National Park, only maybe an hour west of my father's birthplace. It's one of those pictures that you love not just because you like how you look in it or because you're with your favorite people, but because of how it makes you feel. And it's one of those pictures that makes you feel good not just because of the memory of that place or that moment or that day, but because the picture itself brings back those feelings of wonder and amazement, of breathing fresh air and being free. Simply seeing that picture does not make me miss it, it makes me excited for all of the times I get to do that again. I've spent a lot of time at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, and my favorite exhibit is one that has since disappeared. It was a photography exhibit on American Wilderness Areas, showcasing the best images of mountains and rivers and animals found across the protected lands of this country. Standing in that room, with a video chattering in the background on the importance of wild lands, looking at the several-feet-tall pictures of mountain goats and red rocks and night skies, I could almost pretend I was there myself. Those pictures gave me the same feeling that the earlier described picture of myself gives me; that feeling of fresh air and a cool breeze and grass or sand or dirt between your toes. It's the kind of feeling that almost sounds cliché, like you're in some sitcom trying to relax and your friend/therapist/hypnotist says "Now imagine you're in a tree-lined meadow... There's a cool breeze, and you take a breath of fresh air..." and then you open your eyes and say something along the lines of, "This is total bullcrap." But the thing about these photographs, and the wild places in which they were taken, is that they aren't just some magical place to go in your dreams. They aren't just a place you can imagine is real. And they definitely aren't just total bullcrap. I am such a firm supporter of the National Parks. It is amazing to be able to look up and see the stars, free from the constraints of light and air pollution, like I have camping at the Badlands. The sense of accomplishment that comes from looking down a mountain that you just summited against all your thoughts to the contrary is not one I would ever trade. And the awe that you feel, the awe of all of these beautiful things that artists are always striving to replicate, is such an important feeling. The world likes nature. We base so many things off of it. We use wood instead of metal for furniture because of the aesthetic it provides. We envy the penthouse apartment with the great view, the one that spans all the way to the ocean. We put flowers in vases and wear floral print leggings and use the golden ratio -- found in nature -- to design business cards. Clean air and fresh water: these things are good for us. We want them. Everybody does. There are few things which will always make me sad: young children dying, young siblings being left out and not knowing why, the impracticality of death, and people mistreating our earth. And this is not sadness like if I dropped my ice cream on the ground, this is sadness that goes to the very bottom of my metaphysical heart. This is a pang of despair, this is a loss of hope. When people mistreat our earth, throwing trash on the ground or boring deep holes into its heart for the purposes of exploitation, I lose a little hope. When people send large masses of trees to their deaths, I lose a little hope. When the state of Utah refuses to shut down coal power plants that affect the air of seven different national parks, I lose a little hope. And when the government stops the EPA from being able to do really anything that makes the EPA, well, the EPA? I definitely lose hope. But there are a few things that bring me hope. When Obama designated 29 new national monuments during his time as our president, I was brought hope. When I read about the successes of John Muir and the Sierra Club over its 124 year lifespan, I am brought hope. When I stand in wild places or hear about people who want to go camping or hiking when they haven't before, I am brought so much hope. And I want to say that as long as we all keep fighting for our dear Mother Earth, everything will be fine. The sun will rise over our mountains and valleys and rivers. Birds will fly and bears will continue peacefully hibernating and REI will keep having devout customers. But I have both read and watched The Lorax countless times, and I have seen WALL-E and Over The Hedge and Hoot, and they scare me. They scare me because the destruction to their worlds is not only possible, it's happening. It's happening right now. And there is no part of me that wants to die in a world where I can't see the trees.
1 Comment
Valerie Goates
1/27/2017 08:50:37 pm
Gorgeous.
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I'm Audrey, a college student and existential rambler.
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