Taking Time Alone

[mushka]

I like being by myself. To me being alone has negative connotations.

 

[Wichoun]

Nice, thanks for posting. I take a lot of photos between fuzzy ears too.
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I used to live in Northern Arizona and a lot of BLM Land to ride my horse. I'd head to the foothills of the Mingus mountains for a night or two. As the saying goes, "The outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man".

 

[BillinOregon]

Wichoun, you are surely well blessed. I wander a bit in the Sacramentos down here to the south of you. Now they are the turkey woods.

 

[Jaeger]

I recently ran across a German word that expresses what they think about it. It's a big thing with them, part of the national psyche, apparently.

The word is waldeinsamkeit: the enlightened, sublime feeling that can come from being alone in the woods. Pronounced valt-ein-zam-kite, all syllables emphasized equally.

Spence

Good one, Spence! I used to teach German, and that's a new one for me.

 

[S.Kenton]

I now own a small farm located very well for hunting. I never imagined it would happen in my lifetime. It came with the woman of my dreams, my one true love, long story.
I go into the woods and it is my dirt, my rocks and my trees. No one can make me leave. I thank our God for it every time. "waldeinsamkeit" is a good word.

Don

Just remember, this is not our land, we just borrow it for a while...

 

[Spikebuck]

I recently ran across a German word that expresses what they think about it. It's a big thing with them, part of the national psyche, apparently.

The word is waldeinsamkeit: the enlightened, sublime feeling that can come from being alone in the woods. Pronounced valt-ein-zam-kite, all syllables emphasized equally.

Spence

Poem Waldeinsamkeit by Ralph Waldo Emerson

I do not count the hours I spend
In wandering by the sea;
The forest is my loyal friend,
Like God it useth me.

In plains that room for shadows make
Of skirting hills to lie,
Bound in by streams which give and take
Their colours from the sky;

Or on the mountain-crest sublime,
Or down the oaken glade,
O what have I to do with time?
For this the day was made.

Cities of mortals woe begone
Fantastic care derides,
But in the serious landscape lone
Stern benefit abides.

Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy,
And merry is only a mask of sad,
But, sober on a fund of joy,
The woods at heart are glad.

There the great Planter plants
Of fruitful worlds the grain,
And with a million spells enchants
The souls that walk in pain.

Still on the seeds of all he made
The rose of beauty burns;
Through times that wear, and forms that fade,
Immortal youth returns.

The black ducks mounting from the lake,
The pigeon in the pines,
The bittern's boom, a desert make
Which no false art refines.

Down in yon watery nook,
Where bearded mists divide,
The gray old gods whom Chaos knew,
The sires of Nature, hide.

Aloft, in secret veins of air,
Blows the sweet breath of song,
O, few to scale those uplands dare,
Though they to all belong!

See thou bring not to field or stone
The fancies found in books;
Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own,
To brave the landscape's looks.

And if, amid this dear delight,
My thoughts did home rebound,
I well might reckon it a slight
To the high cheer I found.

Oblivion here thy wisdom is,
Thy thrift, the sleep of cares;
For a proud idleness like this
Crowns all thy mean affairs.

 

[Spikebuck]

You can't put it into words, that's true. But we try.

http://home.insightbb.com/~bspen/farm.html
Spence

Spence, I've read in your notebook before, but it's always worth reading again and again. You are a writing master! THANK YOU for taking the time to share this with us. NO ONE could capture it better than you have.

The thing that amazes me is how many people in the world today could read that and not understand AT ALL where you are coming from or the feeling for the land and nature that you have. THAT is what is truly sad about the world today.

 

[George]

Thanks for the kind words, Spikebuck, and especially for the Emerson poem. I had never seen that, and am tickled to have it. Waldeinsamkeit, indeed.

I'll see your Emerson poem and raise you one little thought from Janis Holt Giles in her book The Kentuckians.

"May. May in Kentucky. All who want can have the heavenly city with its streets paved in gold and its mansions of pearl. Could I have my way, I’d have it forever the month of May, and a long meadow stretching down a little valley, high with grass, and the wind turning it and flattening it, and the sun shining on it, making the little seed-blooms look blue in the light. I’d have a creek flowing through the middle, clean and clear and green, swished into foam against the rocks and shoals. I’d line the creek with locust trees in blossom, with the bunchy, waxy blooms that hang droopy of their own weight and make the air heavy with their smell. And I’d rim the whole in with little hills, dropped helter-skelter and bunched together, to give it a homey, snugged-down feeling. No, I’ve never wished for anything more than this country that stretches all around us."

Spence

 

[ord sgt]

Just remember, this is not our land, we just borrow it for a while...

Native Americans brought up a good point....."How can you own land? Can you own the air?" We are only care takers of the land, for it will be there long after we a re gone.

 

[jcs266]

I understand the OP perfectly. A beautiful area you're in there! High elevation and cooler temps are my preference.

I have a 55 acre place in the mountains east of Kingman, AZ that's at 5600' elevation. It's paradise to me, there's no place I'd rather be. I spend my days there (it's a second home sort of thing) and thoroughly enjoy the peace and solitude. It's a remote property and very pristine. Thousands of acres of state forest land around me. So yes I hate cities. Hate traffic. Hate stress. I much prefer solitude.

 

[Spikebuck]

Native Americans brought up a good point....."How can you own land? Can you own the air?" We are only care takers of the land, for it will be there long after we a re gone.

A letter from Chief Seattle of the Dwamish Tribe to President Franklin Pierce - 1855 (A copy hangs in my office).

THE GREAT CHIEF in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. The Great Chief also sends us words of friendship and good will. This is kind of him, since we know he has little need of our friendship in return. But we will consider your offer, for we know if we do not so the white man may come with guns and take our land. What Chief Seattle says you can count on as truly as our white brothers can count on the return of the seasons. My words are like the stars – they do not set.

How can you buy or sell the sky – the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. Yet we do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water. How can you buy them from us? We will decide in our time. Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing, and every humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people.

We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father’s graves and his children’s birthright is forgotten. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the redman. But perhaps it is because the redman is a savage and does not understand.

There is no quiet place in the white man’s cities. No place to listen to the leaves of spring or the rustle of insect wings. But perhaps because I am a savage and do not understand – the clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lovely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night? The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind itself cleansed by a mid-day rain, or scented by a pinõn pine: The air is precious to the redman. For all things share the same breath – the beasts, the trees, and the man. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench.

If I decide to accept, I will make one condition. The white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers. I am a savage and I do not understand any other way. I have seen thousands of rotting buffaloes on the prairie left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive. What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, men would die from great loneliness of spirit, for whatever happens to the beast also happens to the man.

All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth.

Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat. Our warriors have felt shame. And after defeat they turn their days in idleness and contaminate their bodies with sweet food and strong drink. It matters little where we pass the rest of our days – they are not many. A few more hours, a few more winters, and none of the children of the great tribes that once lived on this earth, or that roamed in small bands in the woods will remain to mourn the graves of the people once as powerful and hopeful as yours.

One thing we know that the white man may one day discover. Our God is the same God. You may think that you own him as you wish to own our land, but you cannot. He is the Body of man, and his compassion is equal for the redman and the white. This earth is precious to him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its Creator. The whites, too, shall pass – perhaps sooner than other tribes. Continue to contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste. When the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses all tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by the talking wires, where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone. And what is it to say goodbye to the swift and the hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.

We might understand if we knew what it was the white man dreams, what hopes he describes to his children on long winter nights, what visions he burns into their minds, so they will wish for tomorrow. But we are savages. The white man’s dreams are hidden from us. And because they are hidden, we will go our own way. If we agree, it will be to secure your reservation you have promised.

There perhaps we may live out our brief days as we wish. When the last redman has vanished from the earth, and the memory is only the shadow of a cloud passing over the prairie, these shores and forests will still hold the spirits of my people, for they love this earth as the newborn loves its mother’s heartbeat. If we sell you our land, love it as we have loved it. Care for it as we have cared for it. Hold in your memory the way the land is as you take it. And with all your strength, with all your might, and with all your heart – preserve it for your children, and love it as God loves us all. One thing we know – our God is the same. This earth is precious to him. Even the white man cannot escape the common destiny.

 

[Spikebuck]

One more since Spence laid down a challenge!

Jacob Wheeler character from "Into the West" miniseries after traveling west from Virginia and being a part of Jedediah Smith's expedition to California, then living for a time with his Lakota bride among her people:

For the first time I stood in awe of everything that God made. I couldn't look at trees anymore and see so many board feet of timber. Couldn't look at a beaver lodge and see so many pelts. Now I saw little miracles. We have a wheel that takes you from here to there, but they have a wheel that takes you to the stars.

 

[Stony Broke]

I lived in Northern NM for some years when I was somewhat younger, and I can certainly understand your desire to get out in it and just soak up the atmosphere around you. I did the same type of thing on a regular basis and sure miss it.

 

[BillinOregon]

Spikebuck, my old friend, another thank you for posting Emerson's poem. I, too, believe "The woods at heart are glad."

 

[gabedard]

Do most of my trout fishing/deer hunting solo mostly because of convenience/time constraints
I enjoy it but also enjoy company of family/friends when available

 

[nightwolf1974]

It's truly relaxing being by yourself in the woods. Far from the headaches of the world. Like the song goes, "....and nothing else matters."

 

[SOLANCO]

Neither wilderness nor city here. Farming for miles in every direction. Some Amish. Some not.
Watching mold board plows turn earth behind mule teams earlier today. My neighbor doing some maintenance on his six row seeder. His 50 year old John Deere maintained like a space capsule. Absolutely nothing wanting or overlooked.
In my 70's and very happy to measure my remaining years in the activities and work of the farming seasons all around me.
Ecclesiastes. A time for every purpose under heaven.

 

[The Crisco Kid]

I've sure enough had more time than most to enjoy solitude in the woods and time spent with a companion like my Dad and a very few others who were "good enough in the woods". It started with a black dog, a BB gun and the hills up behind the house in Gopher Valley Oregon. Anyone here know where that is? Then it went to timber cruising from central California to Southeast Alaska. Trapping, hunting, and fishing in Southeast was a 30 year experience that most folks only get to dream about. I'm glad I have lived when I have and that my two kids got to experience some of the same. What is sad to me is that it's so hard to find that life style any more. You few that have it know what you have. I'm glad I'm on the short end of life's stick and not on the long end. Now I'm starting to sound just like my Old Man when he gave up deer hunting in '65 'cause there was too damm many people in the woods. At least he was here long enough to show me where he spent his younger days when "things were a lot different 40 years ago". Like him, I think I'm part of the last generation to see things "like they used to be".

CK

 

[Eric Bye]

What a beautiful and moving thread - thank you all.