Posted: Thursday, November 2, 2006 12:00 am
Commentary
By Bill Barker
For the Gazette-Times
We've spent a lot of life seeing the state in which we reside.
This is primarily due to two reasons: Money, necessary for international expeditions, has always funneled towards providing food and shelter for our family; and, my body refuses to use any artificial aids in the flying process. It's capable of falling, randomly, from rocks or logs, without any mechanical assistance.
My wife finally gave up her efforts to convince me that my (her view) phobia is irrational and could be cured through analysis/counseling or, at least, sedated during flights. It's hard to convince a 'true believer' that he should even consider thinking about a different system of belief.
Actually, there is a third reason we've haunted the outdoors of Oregon: My concept that the survival of our environment/society depends on an understanding of nature, and its processes, that can best be gained by personal involvement and observation.
Consequently, I and my family have camped in spots that many current residents have never even heard about. In the course of those journeys, I've seen my children develop a joy - in the ability to dive into the depths of beauties at hand, the awareness that they are there, and the realization that there can always be something new to find within a, seemingly, similar terrain.
I've heard the adolescent chatter of my daughters dwindle to an almost reverent silence as we sat within a smoke-blackened cave in the cliffs of Succor Creek canyon.
They were suddenly, physically, cognizant that ancient peoples had peered out at a similar scene and that, to those inhabitants, it had been more than a momentary experience.
It was a mental trip into a past lifestyle once common to all humanity. It's a few hours from Corvallis.
I've watched the tiny fingers of my (then18-month-old) grandson, curl gently around the delicate tracery of a new leaf and heard the "oooh" as his eyes reveled in the luminous green glow beneath that tree in our back yard; watched him observing a newly hatched butterfly pump its wings to full size; reveled in his statement that a recent camping expedition was "Better than video games, Crampa."
Many urban dwellers, believing they must see the 'bigness' of the world through international travel or be forever incomplete, often fly right over the building blocks of nature that have allowed the existence of that 'bigness'.
Yes, it was an awesome feeling - when I was 16 - to climb the Pyramid of the Sun (near Mexico City) and soak in the history of the ancient culture that fitted huge blocks together. But then came the disconcerting realization that those stones were lubricated by the blood of sacrifice, due to the builder's system of beliefs; and that culture, in turn, was violently destroyed in the name of another way of belief. It was a vivid awakening to the reality of much of human history.
Shortly after returning home, I found that all the powerful feelings - and enjoyment of the newness of a different culture - engendered by that trip, couldn't compare with the sensations of 'good' that permeated my being when bathed in the green light filtering through a canopy of vine maple leaves along a tiny stream.
That was when realization dawned that, to me, the natural world's well being - not manmade constructs or philosophies - was, perhaps, the key to our continued existence.
There are many people, these days, who have never paused to study the real source of our survival: Nature.
That lack of attention is highlighted by the failing health of our environment.
To encourage you to look closer - and learn - is why I tell tales of the tunnels and glades in an elk-haunted woods where sitting, and listening were a surreal type experience; of wild places I wish were just a step away, every day, because the calmness is so encompassing, it feels as though a little more time, pondering, might reveal some wisdom/meaning that eludes our civilization-dulled awareness.
It's harder to watch something you've grown to love begin withering away.
Maybe I'm a bad Dad but, somehow, Disneyland just never seemed as important.
Bill Barker can be reached at billbarker@comcast.net.