Making Contact on the 80
“Talk of mysteries! – Think of our life in nature, – daily to be shown matter, to come into contact with it, – rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! the solid earth! the actual world! the common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? where are we?”
Henry David Thoreau, ”Ktaadn and the Maine Woods” 1848
Over my morning coffee, I read a thought provoking essay by Sufi teacher and writer Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee. The article is an echo of Henry David Thoreau’s case for “making contact” as an antidote for all the ills that modern culture brings us – partisan politics, Facebook acrimony, fundamentalism of all sorts, social othering, cancel culture, and the rest of the claptrap.
With a calendar free of commitments until a 2:00pm meeting, the reading sparked in me a strong desire to get out into the woods on this slate-gray, cold winter day.
As I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I recalled an Instagram post I had seen the day before. The post was from the Land Conservancy of West Michigan and conveyed the news that a donor had passed away. Her name was Judith Anderson.
Ms. Anderson donated an 80-acre lot with a wonderful, mature hardwood forest in Muskegon County to the Conservancy for preservation in 2013. Now known as the Anderson Woods Nature Preserve, the property was well loved by Ms. Anderson and her parents, who bequeathed the property to their daughter in their will with the wish that the natural state of the land be preserved.
Her father, Theodore Anderson, who grew up on a farm down the road, bought the property nearly a century ago with the hopes of spending more time there in retirement. He affectionately called the woodland “the 80.”
When I arrived at the 80, it was was deadly silent except for the crunch of the old, icy snow under my feet. As I walked into the woods, I reflected on the article I had read.
“There is a deep need to turn to teachings that sustain us, that are not born of a fractured consciousness but walk with two feet on the earth. We need to find a pathway that can return us to wholeness, to the simplicity of what is, a landscape where all things can be known according to their true nature.”
Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee, “A Ghost’s Life” in Emergence Magazine
The gravel path quieted my footsteps, yet I remained distracted by the sound of cars blowing by on the nearby roads.
Thankfully, further in the woods the silence increased. Eventually the sound of the cars was replaced by the “wank, wank” call of a White-Breasted Nuthatch.
Further in it became yet more silent as Chickadees flitted about. The squeak of a Downey Woodpecker broke the new-found silence.
Thoughts of the pandemic slipped from my mind. I couldn’t have been further from Donald, Joe, Kamala, and the rest. I found myself increasingly present. I wondered, “Am I making contact?”
I studied the trees. Red Oak, maples, White Pines, beech, and even a few dark, mysterious hemlocks that got me wondering about deer. As I approached the end of the loop and the parking lot, the sound of the cars returned.
I thought of Theodore, although I’ve never met him. I silently gave thanks for him, for his thoughtfulness, for his kindness. I gave thanks for the trees he stewarded and the birds that call Theodore’s trees home.
A smattering of Titmice played in the woods on the edge of the parking lot. I climbed into my car and left.
On the way home I thought about how good it feels to make contact, how it sweeps away the stress of artificial everyday life. I wondered how, in these times, I can do a better job of making contact more often – with not just the variety of birds and trees – but also this place and the varied people who live here. Perhaps I started today by giving thanks and taking a walk.
