Wherein I Try to Become a Nature Person

is this good for me? Really?

This junco was probably eaten by a cat 2 minutes later. Photo by Robert Bottman on Unsplash

I’ve always thought there were two types of people in the world. The first type, “nature people,” enjoy such pastimes as:

• going on a long, vigorous hike before breakfast in order to “watch the sun rise”

• sleeping on the ground

• doing things the hard way just because

On the other hand, non-nature types (like me) enjoy things like:

• brunch

• electricity

• mattresses

I come from a long line of non-nature people. Once, I told my grandmother (a former debutante from South Carolina) that I was going camping. She dryly responded, “Why?”

Fortunately/unfortunately, I married a nature person.

Ever since we coupled up, I am subjected to periodic interludes of nature. Generally, this involves waking up ridiculously early ON THE WEEKEND so we can drive 1-3 hours to a gravel lot that is somehow ALREADY FULL as Ryan grumbles about how we should’ve left even earlier.

After circling the gravel lot 7-12 times, we finally find a spot. Then the real torture begins.

It starts with a pit toilet, which is the only bathroom in Nature. This is truly a shame as I have downed several carafes of coffee in an attempt to not murder anyone and, five minutes after my trip to the putrid outhouse, I will need to pee again and be forced to hold it for the rest of the hike.

Then we start up the mountain. There will probably be switchbacks, which are Nature’s way of saying, “don’t come up here, humans.” While I huff slowly uphill, Ryan strides ahead like he’s in an REI commercial, remarking aloud about all the different trees he’s seeing.

All these trees make him feel ALIVE! He’s having a TRANSCENDANT SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE as he stands in awe of Nature! It’s marvelous to behold and yeah, pretty irritating. Am I the last non-nature person in Seattle?

But I don’t have time to worry about this, because all those trees are also, inexplicably, making Ryan feel VERY IN LOVE.

He waits for me by the final switchback, eyes dancing with romance. But when he reaches to pull me into an embrace, I slap his hand away, having decided that my sweaty, blistering misery is ALL HIS FAULT.

This process continues—him growing more and more elated, me getting more and more pissed off, until we finally reach the parking lot.

I had resolved myself to tolerating Nature like an annoying in-law when the pandemic happened. Whereas normally I’m alone in my house for 6+ hours a day, suddenly my family was there—like in every single room. In order to meet my daily quota of solitary brooding, I was forced into Nature’s thorny embrace.

I started going on walks. I still did not enjoy nature—it was usually either raining or stupidly hot, and the pollen count wasn’t doing me any favors, but the funny thing about going outside on purpose every day was that I started to notice things: flowers blooming, trees budding, grass browning. It wasn’t transcendence, but I did, usually, feel less cranky.

The noticing continued. My family got me a bird feeder for Mother’s Day, which we hung off our tiny balcony. If you’d asked me what kinds of birds lived in my neighborhood before the feeder I’d have said we only have trash birds like crows.

But the feeder revealed a world of birds. We started keeping a list, identifying them by Google image searching things like “small orange bird Western Washington.” We had cute little chickadees and dopey juncos. During some seasons, Gold- and House Finches visited. It was a thrill to spot a Stellar’s Jay or a Northern Flicker.

Nature has, for much of my life, felt like an unreadable book. It’s been like sitting next to a group of pretentious classical music lovers discussing Mahler. But even learning to identify a few types of birds gave me an anchor point when facing the overwhelmingness of a forest.

And it’s not just birding that has this power. On a camping weekend last summer, an acquaintance pointed out the telltale red wood of a Madrona tree (that’s “Arbutus” if you’re Canadian) and now I see them everywhere, even driving down the freeway.

For much of my life, I believed that there was one way of experiencing Nature, and it clearly wasn’t for me. I’m still not the type who wants to wake up early or carry a heavy pack up a mountain. And that’s okay! Who says Nature has to mean mountain climbing instead of lying in a hammock? Nature can be a golden eagle soaring above a wild valley or a dumb little junco pecking birdseed off a balcony.

Lately, I find myself actually enjoying Nature. My family spent last week at Ryan’s grandma’s cabin in the Sierra Nevadas, without internet or phone service. As I paddleboarded across a quiet lake, I didn’t come face to face with God, but I appreciated being forced into the present, focused on balance and wind, not my notifications.

And you know what? That’s spirituality, too.

BONUS MATERIALS:

• check out comedian (and fellow Moth alum) Ivy Le’s hilarious podcast, “Fear of Going Outside”

• “What kind of a white woman in denim is that?”