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Cleansing by camping
August 25, 2008

We spent five days happily scrambling up rocks, walking on pine-needle-padded-and-scented trails, wading in crystal clear streams and generally wallowing in dirt.

Poets, writers and naturalists have so eloquently crafted passages and passages of tribute to this breath-taking valley. I would only trample and stumble on their words if I were to put forth my feeble attempt at describing Yosemite and the Sierra-Nevada mountain range.

Nonetheless, every visitor to the national park probably has his or her unique and personal experience while traveling through the valley.

John Muir’s description of the valley as a “tonic of wilderness” came to my mind as we clambered up a long stretch of Stately Pleasure Dome (can it be more appropriately named?) on a perfect evening.

We sat down on the luminous granite, uniquely Yosemite and watched Tenaya Lake stretching and glistening in the early evening sun. It may sound utterly corny to people, but I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I was being cleansed inside out. There were no noises in my head competing with each other to be heard. There were no petty thoughts that ran in and out from the sidelines.

Just the quietness and the smallness I was feeling.

I don’t meditate. But if I ever do, that will be the state I want to achieve.

Even my six year old and three year old, who were normally incapable of remaining silent for more than 30 seconds, were mesmerized by what was in front of them. Richard Louv wrote a whole book to encourage parents and children to play in natural surroundings. In Last Child in the Woods, he listed many practical reasons for staying outdoors.

But right there and then, all the reasons simply slipped away. Looking at my kids, I knew they got it. They were feeling it in their hearts.

Later, on the way home, my three-year old said, “I wish we could be camping all the time and forever.”

“Awesome idea if mom and dad didn’t have to work to eat and live,” I laughed.

When we got home, she dashed straight to her room. A few minutes later, she charged out jingling her piggy bank, “Mom, I think we have enough money!”

Taking a proud breath, she continued, “can we go camping now?”

Children, it seems, do not need to be persuaded to play in the woods.

This weekend as I tried to catch up with my regular blog reads, I saw that Greenbean, Burbs, and Ruchi were exercising their green muscles to fight against the evisceration of the Endangered Species Act.

Fresh from my overdose of nature (actually there is no such thing), I participated immediately with a sense of admiration for these green heroes but also a dose of sadness.

Why do we do these things to ourselves? It’s no different from chipping away at our beautiful home, one brick at a time, for a temporary nickel here and there. Depleted of any poetry in us, are we that different from a pack of hyenas?

I will leave with a passage John Muir wrote in 1877:

“When a man plants a tree he plants himself. Every root is an anchor, over which he rests with grateful interest, and becomes sufficiently calm to feel the joy of living.”

CindyW at Organicpicks

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