Dear readers, I have a friend who calls himself a “rugged indoorsman” and with his professorial air, owl-rimmed glasses and a passion for indoor racquet sports, the label fits. Minus the “rugged” part, I can relate. No one would mistake me for a woman who relishes the great outdoors, unless it involves a seat in a sunny corner of a patio, a book and a glass of wine.
I can’t explain why but for the last few weeks I have felt a need, no even stronger, a craving, to be out in nature. This is puzzling to one who has responded to my husband’s entreaties to rent a Winnebago and traverse the national parks with an arched eyebrow and declaration that he can feel free to come meet me for dinner anytime in the luxury, fully-appointed condo I’ll find on the route.
(Those skeptical of my husband’s commitment to this national park plan might recall the story of his sighting of a wolf in the woods of Chestnut Hill as we walked to encourage labor to begin with our first child. My hero shepherded me posthaste to the car to save me from the wolf which, while not being sighted in these parts since the 1800s, somehow happened to be a stone’s throw from Bloomingdales.)
Why am I being drawn to enter the woods now?
My first stop, given its proximity, was the familiar Audubon Sanctuary on Marblehead Neck. I have fond memories of bringing my toddlers to see the ducks, and had my first birdwatching epiphany there not so long ago. But this time I had no goal but to be absorbed in the natural world. I found and carried a branch of yellow oak leaves like a divining rod and closed my eyes to simply listen. Maybe stillness and reflection by the small body of water in the sanctuary would help me figure out what this call to nature was all about.
My nascent stillness practice was disturbed when five ducks, including two mallards, all turned at the same time and made their way toward me. “I don’t have anything but my tree branch to fight them off,” I worried. But it was red berries on the shoreline they wanted to munch, not me. As I sighed with relief, I heard a large noise, like a small truck crashing through undergrowth, right behind me. I turned in time to see a GIGANTIC wild turkey fly up and alight on a nearby tree branch. Yes, somewhere I accessed the knowledge that turkeys can fly, but to see one do so and then perch on a branch over my head was as unsettling as the idea of Elon Musk building a flying car.
I said to myself, “that’s enough nature for now” and hurried down the path to the safety of my safely-on-the-ground transport.
With Salem Halloween traffic subsiding, a few days later I made my way to the Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary. I’d only been there once, when Jack’s first grade Bell School teacher organized a field trip to watch maple sugaring and scour the snowy grounds for scat.
This time I was determined to avoid all animal poop and paid $7.50 to park the car, obtained a map of the property and set off to try to answer whatever this nature call inside my head was about.
The first thing I noticed was the birds seemed to have no fear of people. That puzzle was solved quickly as I saw several grown adults, still as statues, standing with an outstretched hand full of bird seed. I may have been imagining it but the chickadees which came right up to me seemed to have an attitude, sneering at the “newbie” who had nothing to offer them.
I did see a beaver, which was cool, and allowed me to post an Instagram story with the clever “Leave it to…” caption. But, despite enjoying the quiet and beauty of the pristine property, I didn’t find transcendence.
Maybe I’m a Daoist, I suggested to a friend, referring to the ancient spiritual practice of aligning with the flow of nature. Wisely, she just smiled and didn’t respond, having just guided me through the Robinson Farm conservation area and, perhaps, sensed less than complete inner harmony in my careful avoidance of protruding roots.
Today, I’m off to the wooded trails behind Seaside Park. I’ll report back if I find anything. That is, if I ever figure out what it is I’m looking for.
Your faithful indoorsman, Ginny
Virginia Buckingham is a former president of the Marblehead Current board of directors, a frequent commentator on WCVB’s On the Record and author of “On My Watch A Memoir.” She is working on a second memoir, “As This Mountain” in her newly empty nest and writes a biweekly column for the Current.
Virginia Buckingham
Virginia Buckingham is a former president of the Marblehead Current board of directors, a frequent commentator on WCVB’s On the Record and author of “On My Watch A Memoir.” She is working on a second memoir, “As This Mountain” in her newly empty nest and writes a biweekly column for the Current.
