My new volunteer position as caretaker of the Wildwood Ecoforest property, afforded me the pleasure of going for a hike through 80-plus acres of old-growth forest (plus 21 acres they are raising money to purchase), with several of the Wildwood Ecoforest (EIS) board members, two of whom were our guides. Barry Gates (red jacket), a conservationist, planner, and forest manager, with a wellspring of forest knowledge. And Nancy Turner (our photographer), who you’ll meet here:
Walking in Wildwood
– for Nancy Turner
O, sweet, spontaneous earth. -e.e. cummings
This heart of a child,
disguised as an elderly woman with bad knees,
is delighted in everything at hand.
We are walking the old woods of Wildwood.
She tells us about palm tree moss, then the vanilla leaf,
then the licorice fern, then the cascara tree, “Their bark
is a fine tonic and laxative, so the Coastal peoples teach.”
I will not remember details, but I’ll remember her pleasure
in the green of step moss, her wonder at the single leaf left
on the blackcap raspberry, her smile at the ironic shrub,
called ocean spray, “highly prized for making arrow shafts.”
She delights in finding what she already knows is there.
Her joy in naming, still more joy in showing — stooping, she picks
a shiny rippled leaf, says, “rattlesnake plantain orchid,”
and begins to rub the leaf between her thumb and index finger,
“See these uncanny leaves? they separate;
indigenous children made tiny balloons of them.”
Her joy is of a genus I’ve met before — a devotion rooted
in mindful attention to the embroidery of creation; a threshold love
I’d once met in the heart of a monk: first, seed for his chickadees,
then tea in his hermitage. A successful day.
Hang on to this, I tell myself. Witness, this breathing adoration
that must have been, had to be, in all our beginnings,
a natural resident.
We stand on an escarpment looking over an acre of wetland
in this old-growth forest, and I think: if I could be unthinking
enough, unpossessed enough, I could hear the wet grass speak,
the liverworts laugh, the fir-crowns cry, glory!
I do not know her beliefs, it does not matter,
her way is to be in league with the spirits of leaves
present to the divine presence of trees,
the numinous lichen.
The day after our hike Nancy sent us this list of what we’d seen, and didn’t see, but what she knew was there.
What a privilege to walk with Nancy Turner. I knew her, of her, through her protege, Doug Andrew, (walkin and talkin and gawkin with Doug) a dear friend and my best man. We shared a tear remembering him after a talk she gave at VIU.
Thank-you for capturing her essence here.
“if I could be unthinking
enough, unpossessed enough, I could hear the wet grass speak,
the liverworts laugh, the fir-crowns cry, glory!” Yes!
Thanks for this Kirk! I’m not surprised you’ve heard of her, she’s quite a renowned ethnobotanist, certainly in B.C. and no doubt beyond.
Kirk, I wanted to add that I’m grieved at the loss of your friend. That was obviously a memorable moment you shared with Nancy.
Thanks Stephen!
Hi Stephen.
It is a remarkable privilege to spend time with genuinely enthusiastic teachers who love what they do and relish in sharing it. Congratulations in finding Nancy!
Nice tip of the pen to our mutual friend and Bush Dweller, James Gray!
Thanks so much, Sheldon. And yes, no doubt like you, the spirit and soul of Father James, continues to be a companion and guide.
Yes, yes, yes! 🙂
Ann, thank you, thank you, thank you! 🙂
“a devotion rooted
in mindful attention to the embroidery of creation; “ I think this is what we were created to do!
Thank you, Kellie, I agree.
“the embroidery of creation…” – beautiful.
Thank you, Sam.
So much knowledge and nourishment
in nature
and this Stephen,
“a devotion rooted
in mindful attention..”
a very noble cause… indeed.
Loved every bit of this <3
Thank you, Tamara! I thought this might resonate with your own mindful soul.
The world needs more Nancy Turners.
As someone who works with the next generation of would-be scientists, conservationists, leaders, I sadly don’t see many who rejoice in what can be found in the forest. Environmentalism has morphed from “tree-huggers” (a term I use in a positive sense) to a vague sense of sustainability and social justice. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but we need the naturalists who can not only identify the plant, insect, moss, or bird, but also joyfully share these discoveries with others.
As I know your earth-care work and your naturalist’s heart, I truly value your input and perspective here, thank you, Diane.