Modern, Natural, Human

Modern, Natural, Human

By Jenna Herbst, 2020

What does it mean to love nature and live in this modern world? It’s a question I ask myself often, in various forms. I am a nature-lover. When I am outdoors, I feel the quiet stillness of plants, animals, earth, rocks, and the seamless wholeness of it, seep into me, as though my pores are saying “Welcome, come in.” At other times, in my human worker-bee life, this welcoming feeling, this openness, is obstructed. But something about being outside in the natural world relaxes all my defenses. I often find myself mesmerized by birds, in awe of their precise, quick movements, their particular and bold colors. I think to myself, Now there is a creature being ultimately themselves. I feel longing and joy braided together into something beautiful.

            When I am in my yard, gazing upon the tall trees that border it, evergreens and oaks, and the mountains rising to the South and the East, I feel I am in nature. But to many (including myself) I would seem domesticated. My neighbors are a mere thirty feet away. I hear them rustling in their trash bins, their screen doors banging early in the morning before work. It’s a real neighborhood – we even have a facebook page.

            In the area I live – Western North Carolina – nature lovers prove their devotion by living far into the woods and mountains. They have wood burning stoves, and land where they cultivate crops. They have animals that provide them food. Solar panels and tiny houses abound (thought tiny houses are often reserved for Airbnb passive income), and dreams of eco – communities are often whispers on the wind.

            I, on the other hand, like to live near the city. Walking distance if I can, or a short drive as I do now. There is an argument to be made for city – living, to the naturalist. That building upward and inward saves the very nature we love from the sprawl of our naturalist fantasies. Fantasies that inevitably mix with our economic needs, creating more and more invasive accoutrement for our outlier communities. Plus, the closer in you are, the less car-driving, chain store-shopping, compromise buying you are likely to participate in. I don’t think I can claim much of this superiority, other than just not contributing to a new sprawl – where I live requires a car, though I can walk to nature, and it isn’t far to the grocery store. I make an effort to minimize buying overall and deeply value the minimalist view of owning things. And avoiding plastic is my passion and a hefty research focus of my internet googling.

            Yet, living further out from the hustle of city-life has an undeniable appeal. The quiet, that openness of my pores being allowed to seep into my indoor world as well. Why, then, do I choose something else? There is a draw I feel toward participation. We humans have created neighborhoods, cities, culture, patterns of relating through roads, food, stores, commerce, money, art, music, things. There is a rub, a sense of no that comes when I think about how it all circulates. The inequality, the flavors of slavery, and the actual slavery, that make all of modern human life possible. Also, the aggression toward nature, an obliviousness, and ignorance that does harm and disrupts what could be a pristine listening and relationship to the natural world. And yet, I myself was born from it, in a hospital with machines, floors and ceilings, all made in this inequality. There is a desire to participate, to be what I am, just like those birds. And in that, to wake it all up, so I may see the details of the destruction, of the pain, of the misery, and the joy.

            Is there nature in that? I imagine my pores close not just due to some lack of innocence or purity I project outwardly, but a not-yet-encountered healing that can spread from within the chaos. I want to participate in the healing of this world. Not the natural world – it doesn’t need my healing, for it seeks its own balance with quiet mastery that I cannot comprehend – the human world. Somehow, in being human, I want to be a part of what humans do. I want to live more and more deeply into that, so that all that I am, where I came from, how I came to be, can be unwound, and displayed to myself in awareness of what is actually true, and real, and happening.

            Also, I don’t want to homestead. It may be a form of laziness, or perhaps it’s just my nature, but I don’t want to make and do everything myself. (Plus, I don’t like cleaning chicken coops). I want to live in a web of human life that exists to allow us to choose our focus. I know this web is deeply faulted. And so, rather than abandon it, giving in to the desire not to feel that no, I want to trace the faulty lines and help to remove the causes of unnecessary suffering. And strangely, as I work to try and do that, I find those faulty lines are outside of me, but also within me. And my work is like the figure – eight – I go out to find what needs healing, and as I work there, it takes me within, and as I work there, I am inspired to go out again.

            And the fruits of these healing lines are available everywhere, through art, music, writing, innovation, conservation, activism, and people’s simple lives displayed in moments of connection, and lifetimes of connection. And I wonder, is nature seeping into my pores anyway, informing my city – life, my tracing of lines of suffering, my healing, my loving, my wandering, my creating? I imagine it is. I live near several factories: A coke bottling truck stop, a brewery, and several more. They are loud and noxious and invasive. But when I step outside my house, I see a tiny newt squiggling its way into the wet grass, blending into the brick of my house, and the green slime of the decomposing grass. I see birds carrying worms to nests of babies. I see chives growing in tufts, and large patches of clover that make it so I only need to mow every couple of months. I see a magnificent magnolia tree just in front of my house, dangling leaves that remain thick and green even in the coldest months. None of these beauties are saying no to the factories. None of them have decided they cannot live here, and must pack up and go where they cannot be touched by human complexity and poison. They have accepted through their mere presence, the meaning of interdependence. Somehow their life is inextricably tied to mine, even though I live at least ten more steps away from the elements than they do.

            Can I love nature, and still dive down deep into the ways that we as humans have denied our naturalness? The answer for me is yes, and that I must. Our lack of trust in our ability to thrive within nature is displayed everywhere, and in much of what we create to sustain modern culture. And yet, I love human culture, too. A part of human culture is the idea of healing, and transformation. I want to put solar panels on my house, to support wind power, and to find ways to stop pulling resources for my own gain that are needed by the natural world. I want to stop participating in poisoning people and nature. I don’t want to use any more disposable plastic, or take more sand for glass. I want to help create housing that is accessible for all, especially the poorest and those too disabled to work for money. I want to contribute to systems that keep people safe and are free from racism and sexism. I want all creatures to have the space to roam as themselves and to be free to express their lives. And I see how my lifestyle does harm. But I don’t want to leave. I want to stay, to work, to know, to admit, to face, to love, to stop saying no, and instead say, how can I make this different? Perhaps it’s harder than going into the woods. Or perhaps it’s easier, because it’s what I prefer. It feels like my love of nature is what keeps me here. I see the unfolding of modern human life as a part of nature. It’s natural that our tendencies toward greed and ignorance have found expression and now must find illumination and healing. Each thing about my life that is not in honor of my interconnectedness must come to light, and be faced. I don’t know what will come out of all of this looking, exposing, real-talk. But it’s like the slimy newt crawling across the concrete. It doesn’t stay there; it goes on to its wet, dark, den, to eat and make babies. And so my nature too, will unfold here in this modern neighborhood, where I find myself both accidentally and intentionally. And I will find out what life I am meant to express here amongst the factories, the people, the houses, the birds.