The greater part of the year I live in far northern Idaho, fifty miles from Canada. It has been my home for over forty years. Most of the land is forest, when I say most, I’m talking about hundreds of thousands of acres. Because it is relatively unpopulated and densely forested it is home to the other creatures that have been here since the end of the Ice Age. Lewis and Clark came through here, a few miles from where I live, and the same animals they saw are almost all still here, though of course in greatly reduced numbers. White tail and mule deer, elk and moose. Black bear and grizzly bear, bobcats and mountain lions, I have seen all of these. And eagles, osprey, hawks and ravens. All are here. I walk every day in the woods behind our house and each day is a new discovery, if only I pay attention. Deer scat, fresh most mornings, and then the occasional moose droppings, perfectly round and so much larger. Near the sign, a large depression in the tall grass where the moose bedded down for the night. Some mornings there is bear scat, mostly down by the creek, and sometimes it is so fresh it’s practically steaming. I call to the dogs then, to keep them close by my side.
In mid winter we live outside of San Francisco in a suburb of the city. It is very pleasant and there is much to do. Now that I’m older it has also been a welcome relief from the cold winters of the north country, as I find that my blood seems thinner than it used to be. We do have a few coyotes here, striking fear into the hearts of our neighbors, who are afraid that their little dogs will become a tasty meal. Rabbits, yes, and crows also. And many shorebirds are nearby. But, compared to two hundred years ago this land is empty. It is empty because it is so crowded. With seven or eight million of us, there is no room. Here in the San Francisco area there are well over a thousand people per square mile. In North Idaho, it is seventeen. Not seventeen thousand or seventeen hundred. Seventeen.
For the last several years I’ve noticed something when I’m here in this lovely suburb in the winter. I’m lonely. My wife is here with me, sometimes we see good friends and there are responsibilities here, but nevertheless I am lonely. For a few years I attributed this to simply being more comfortable there in our home in Idaho, but I’ve come to suspect that it has to do with the unseen companions that surround me in the north country. I once wrote about Rory, my dog, and he and I being seen by the crows as soon as we walked out our front door. How many more beings are aware of me there, by sight and especially by scent. What do I smell like to a bear? Probably a little rank, I imagine. I am seen and smelt and heard.
I wonder if something deep within me, going back to the savanna in Africa, knows that I am seen, with a kind of knowing that is itself animal like. Animal knowing. And in being seen and in knowing that I’m seen, I know I’m not alone. I’m here with the others, the other beings with their own wisdoms, their own joys and their own certain tragedies. I’m not pretending that I have some kind of knowledge close to approaching what some Native Americans speak of. But after many years I do believe that when I’m away I miss being part of something larger than myself, something that we’ve learned to call an ecology, but I think might better be called a family.
There are more than eight billion of us now and the move towards urbanization over the last century is well known. It leaves perhaps only one or two hundred million of us living like I do in the north country, alongside the other native creatures living out our lives together under the tall trees. Two or three percent of us. I wonder about the rest of us, the other ninety-eight percent. What may the vast majority of us be missing psychically, deep down? Are almost all of us lonely now? Lonely because the other creatures have disappeared, gone before we were even born? And, like ghost animals, are they still watching, watching the human animals that have made them ghosts? Do they now still haunt our own animal with their questions, asking why we destroyed the many Edens and swept them all away forever, silently speaking to us in their own voices, heard now only as a faint unease?
Comments are welcome
I like what you said… I would love to spend some time up where you are… but my wife and children are firmly grounded in Chicago. I doubt I will ever find myself up in the Woods where you are. I’m 65 now and closing in on 7O. This planet is Beautiful although most of us don’t care… we live in the Rat Race where the Politician’s and Big Money Come From. I don’t know if you saw Neil Young’s rants the other day but he called out the Big Money from Football to Amazon Jeff Bezos to the the the current President. I would really like to get away and be closer to where are.. thank your Lucky Stars.
Thanks for Sharing
Good Luck to you..and I’ll meet you in the Heavens Above
Everything that man has made is from the Earth: cities, freeways, farms, computers, music, and ideas. Our bodies are from the Earth. What does the Earth need from us now? Now that we have brought the biosphere to the edge of catastrophe, what is required? Our possible evolution?
So very welcoming to hear of the sadness and loneliness we have created dear Dennis. I look at the beautiful prairie that has been my home for half my life, along with the hawks and other animals. It is being destroyed by progress, housing developments where the roofs touch each other, and hardly room for a blade of grass to grow. Thank you for your thoughtfulness of creation my friend. Peace be with you…
Tom, Thanks for reading and for your thoughts. I appreciate all you had to say. Dennis
Greg, what does the earth need from us is a great question, one that I have ideas about but I’m not sure that my ideas are at all on point. If I really understood what we’ve done to interfere with the earth’s own evolution I might have a deeper quality of thoughtfulness and a mourning that is less superficial. Dennis
Dear Paula, I of course also know how the prairie used to be. It has been such a change, hasn’t it? And I wonder how it was before the farmer’s fields, also. It is so good to hear from you. So many memories.
With affection, Dennis
Yes dear friend, so many wonderful memories of lively visits, amazing dinners and the best and most intelligent people I have ever known. I really enjoyed the time you were asking us our birth year to see if wine was a good year when they were born. I gave you my year, and you said it wasn’t a good year for wine. Then I came back and said it was a great year for Chevys! Amazing memories with my friends and wonderful husband. Sending hugs to you and Karen.
Ha! I do remember the wine story, Paula. And so many fond memories of Bob. He came and visited us at our apartment in 1985. Over 40 years ago, a long time, but only yesterday.
We humans are a comical lot, and we lament the loss of the world that we are degrading. And yet, we generally do very little to alter our own lifestyles. Our earth mother will eventually tire of our kind and with a sneeze or a shrug will cast off the puny irritants and begin anew. Meanwhile, love each moment no matter its quality.
Well, I am not happy for your loneliness. Should we pack our bags, gather some redwood branches, and come up and entertain you?
Dave, your point about our own unwillingness to change is a very good one, it certainly causes me to look in the mirror. Best wishes to you and Marilyn
Ha, you could, but as well be down there not sure it would help. Love you, Kathy
What does the earth need more from us? Gratitude and kindness. Loneliness, may also be a gift, especially when there is someone to listen and help lift you up. Oh holy… Thank you.