I grow as nature grows

       Being that I am a college senior in Environmental Studies, one might think that upon hearing the words ‘natural history’ I would understand exactly what that was; however, before this, I didn’t. But after several months of studying and more importantly engaging in the practice of natural history, it is becoming clear as to what it involves and, more importantly, what it means to me. I surely did not learn my natural history in one week and not even in one month. In fact, I’m a work in progress, a natural historian in the throes of her birth. And this birth involves a progressive development of the mind, body, and soul. I believe time is a key factor in creating one’s own natural history. The more time the better, and the more time you put in, the more of an experience you get in the end. As of now, I definitely don’t have all the answers, my journey has just begun and I still have such a long way to go. If anything, I have more questions now about natural history than before. I think more deeply about my natural surroundings and realize how much I don’t but want to know. For example, I had no idea of the species identity of any of the trees I was looking at I my location, but by doing some research I was able to discover that some of the trees and shrubs around me were rhododendrons, oaks, loblollies, and red maples. Even after finding out these answers, more questions just keep sparking in my head, questions about the trees themselves - can they survive the winter, what commensual relationships does each tree have with which organism and why? You can see that the deeper one goes into natural history, more questions than answers emerge. 
            But making observations every week, taking pictures of that location in order to see the changes happening over time, reading other authors’ natural history journeys, and taking part in class discussions opened a way of thinking I never even suspected was possible.
            In the process I also began to think back to moments I had set aside for a long time, moments of everyday encounters with the living world that didn’t seem to have much meaning at the time (or so I thought).  But bringing these pieces of my past to mind here and now in the context of natural history, it all makes sense. Why I was so antsy to always go out and play when I was younger, climb trees, play with critters, ‘save’ frogs, hunt for honey suckle plant to such the sweet nectar out of the stem or even do weird mud masks from the creek in the woods with my best friends? Without even realizing it, I was creating my own natural history; my happiest moments have been sustained in one way or another by nature, by all those other, more-than-human creatures with whom I share the earth.

            On the other hand, happiness is not the only feeling invoked here.  The struggles of one’s journey through life - one’s suffering, insecurity, doubt - also find a place in the practice of natural history, just as much as more positive moments do. For example, engaging in these observations over these past couple months I didn’t understand right away, I didn’t see a purpose or notice change going on around me, but in reality I wasn’t opening my eyes to what was around me and even what was right in front of me. When I first picked my location of observation, I wanted to find somewhere close to where I live, but also wanted it to have some distance from my all too urban landscape, a place, then, with open land and a lot of trees. As I wandered around driving in my car the first week of school trying to discover the perfect location, it was starting to become a hassle. I just wanted to have a spot that was beautiful to me and somewhere that no one else in the class has done before. Then after a week or so, one day I ordered some food and just decided to take a different route home than normal. That is when I found what I was looking for: behind an apartment complex on Canal Drive was a vast area of land, trees, and a pond that had at least 15 geese swimming in it. I quickly reversed my car and made my way to the location. After exiting the car, I was hesitant because for me to get to this location, I have to invade the privacy of the residents who inhabit these apartments and walk through their backyard to quench my thirst of natural knowledge. Yet no one ever seemed to mind through the course of the semester; in fact the only contact I had with the residents was through the newly sparking interest of two young girls walking their dog who asked curiously what I was doing hanging out in a suspicious looking retention pond in the back yard of the apartment complex.

            But back to the story of this pond’s discovery: I walked around skimming the grass with my bare feet, stalking the trees and eyeing the shallow area of the pond. I took in one deep breath to inhale the aromas around me, the aromas given off by the Oak trees and Red Maples, and thought to myself, “this is the place. This is the place I want to come every Monday for one hour for the entire semester.”  At first when the season was early winter with a strong feeling of fall still lingering, the weather was still relatively warm and sunny.  I was excited to come here every hour, it was a place to go and an excuse to leave my apartment and take a little break. It was in fact the best ‘break time’ I have had through college. Like other activities I take interest in to blow off some steam or relax, such as taking a walk or going to the gym for a quick workout, this break time seemed to ignite a different relaxation feel than the other activities I typically use. This was a different kind of break, one that doesn’t just come to you but you come to it.  In my opinion, yes it was a beautiful sight to observe the plants and trees while partaking in their beautiful green bloom and observing the geese’s behavior, but what really got me was the smell. The fragrance of nature soothes my aching mind of a stressed college student working a part time job and taking 6 classes to graduate. I find myself exploring the boundaries of my perception and becoming aware of the intersection of my senses, emotions and intellect by how I felt when I inhaled these earthly aromas. The feeling that it brings me is a sense of calmness, in which nothing else really matters beyond the nature going on before me just here and now. Time stands still.  I don’t think about what assignments I have due tomorrow or what projects need to be done but focus on all that is earthly and sustains my human life in all its immediate preoccupations. 
            As it was starting to get cold and frost was making its way in the mornings, I was under the impression that not much activity among living things was going on. But patiently, I came every week for an hour and sat and observed my surroundings. I walked around looking in the water for any aquatic life other than the geese that made this retention pond their home, but I was noticing less and less action, noise, and life going on around me. I didn’t realize how silly this sounded until we opened up about it in class. A similar struggle was being faced among majority of the students, assuming that everything was slowing down and we were getting bored during our observations-at least I was. And this led to a new lesson: To engage in natural history I was being called upon to change my perspective and broaden my thought process.  Mistakenly I had thought the energy, the activity at the pond as increasingly decreasing, and my passion followed. Looking back I consider myself ignorant to have succumbed to this fallacy. In class we began to inquire into the importance of this cyclic energy change. The energy wasn’t decreasing; we just couldn’t see it at first glance. We had to dig and think outside of the box and think of what is acrtually going on under our feet.  As it turns out, the soil ecology changes, the critters who live in the soil change and so much more action is taking place.  I any my classmates just had to alter our perception of what we were finding and do a little further research. So through this cold thought drought in my mind at this time, I changed my focus. The questions I came away with after my initial observations inspired me to look again and look deeper. Look in ways I haven’t looked before-dig up the dirt and let it slowly slide through my fingers hoping for signs of change.
            My focus settled on one plant that caught my attention with the strange markings on its leaves. The leaf itself was turning from green to a purplish brown that also looked like it was being eaten with the little holes and bite marks all over.  I was hooked and wanted to know: What was causing such a disturbance? What kind of plant was this? Does this happen to all these plant species? Was it natural? Was it a parasite?  A flow of questions that only led to yet more had been unleashed.  I wanted to investigate further. I took pictures, I researched and I sent pictures of the deformities to a botanical expert that I surprisingly found through an App on my IPhone. After so many weeks of thinking it was a parasitic relation between a host and the plant, I came to find out, I was going in the wrong direction.  In fact the plant wasn’t even the species I thought it was, I thought it was a Rhododendron but come to find out, it was a Laurel (Laurus Nobilis) all along. A Laurus nobilis is an aromatic evergreen tree or large shrub with green, glossy leaves, native to the Mediterranean region.  As it turns out, both the Rhododendron and the Laurel are members of the Heath family (Ericaceae).
            Learning of this error, I felt rejected by nature.  It seemed like no matter how hard I tried,  I just couldn’t figure it out.   But this rejection also led me to a new perspective, one that I wouldn’t have discovered without having gone the wrong way for a while. Why exactly was I getting so worked up and frustrated over being wrong over a plant? I was not being graded on this nor was receiving any judgement for being wrong on this.  This was it turned out my own personal battle, so why did I have such a strong connection to this plant I wondered.

            After numerous weeks of reflection, it came to me. Just as often occurred those many years ago in my childhood, I had grown to have a favorite plant. I always had an interest in tree/plant life.  I love listening to the rustling of the leaves as the wind blows through them. I love the way sunlight gleams through the branches and leaves. I love watching the birds nest in them and observing how insects feed and nest and even mate on them. I love the different textures of every branch and leaf. The way insects climb trunks like they are on a little pedestrian highway. And I love the green, green leaves of trees and the way the veins and shapes make each leaf so unique. I learned something new about myself that never made sense before; I had an interest in plants!

            Overall, I can thank this newly found passion for plants to unfold my awareness of the deeper human dimensions to practicing natural history. Through this personal encounter of passion, along with the study of scientists, nature writers, poets, and Zen practitioners, I learned the amazing reward one can get out of from this mindful attentiveness to the natural world and the rewarding and surprising discoveries that come out of it as well! This new awareness and focus of nature helped me determine that through the upbringing of my life, my personal qualities and characteristics paved a new path for me, a path I never discovered until now, a pathway nurturing our humanity and connecting our humanity to an unknown passion. A new understanding that could only come from personal experience, by smelling, feeling, and by connecting this passion to me and who I am.

 - Ashley Pawlowitz