In Search of Wildness

An English teacher's Alaskan sojourn
Funded in part by a William C. Friday Foundation Fellowship Grant

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Location: Juneau, Alaska

From mid-June through late July 2006, I posted my thoughts and photos to this blog in journal fashion. Unlike Chris McCandless, though, I welcomed the opportunity to engage in dialogue across thousands of miles. While blogging from the edge of the Tongas subarctic rainforest in Alaska, I encouraged readers to drop me a line using the comment function. Mail from home is always welcome, and I relished messages from family, friends, students, colleagues, and total strangers.

I traveled to Alaska to further understand and experience nature without human influence. I read literature about the wild as I explored nature in a purer form than we normally can. Alaska, despite its development has not been tamed. In such an environment, we can learn a lot about nature, ourselves, and our society. We all share a common root in the wild and a common future relationship with the natural world as we together choose to sustain it.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Nobility

Can a forest possess nobility? John Muir writes of Puget Sound as "the noblest coniferous forest on the face of the globe" (7). I have encountered references to individualized woody nobility: most notably the noble oak. Oaks are strong trees through the density of their trunks, yet an especially old oak is venerated back East for having been considered worthy when all its neighbors were clear cut to make way for farmland. How noble of the lone oak for sticking around so long without any company!

The oak's steadfastness would warrant our esteem were the tree sentient. Nobility, though, is present in old trees of every species, just as nobility resides with the human elderly. The elderly automatically assume a higher rank in society than they enjoyed or suffered individually in their youth. One can assume that the coniferous forest of Puget Sound which Muir encountered in 1879 was an old-growth forest--the collective elderly.

The nobility of a forest therefore signals its age. Yet why do we respect a forest for its age when we daily discard countless objects which seem to have outlived their utility yet are perfectly serviceable. I contend that a forest may possess nobility because humanity could not have created it. We did not create humanity itself--a higher being or Nature performed the act. So when we acknowledge the nobility of a whole forest or that of a single tree, we tip our hats not simply to the forest but more significantly to the majesty of the creative force in which we individually believe.

*John Muir, Travels in Alaska, 1915, San Francisco: Sierra Club, 1988.

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