To Be With Nature We Must Soften
Greetings from eastern Washington!
We have some new readers with us, and I’d like to welcome you to Ground Notes. These weekly visits to your inbox are motivated by one core possibility I’d like to share with others:
Regular, “non-doing” time with nature, going close-in to pay attention with an open heart, with full sensory awareness, can change you. And, over time, little by little, an evolving relationship with nature can transform your relationships with everything—and everyone!—else.
Questions? Curious? Feel free to reach out by replying to this email.
Cheers,
Jennifer
Founder, Ordinary Nature
TABLE OF CONTENTS
- Weekly Reflection 🌋🌿
- Weekly Practice 🔥💚
- Nature Support Invite 💌
- Little Tender Things 🍃
WEEKLY REFLECTION
To Be With Nature We Must Soften
Jennifer Ruth Keller
Sometimes the best thing time with nature can do is show us what it can’t do.
This morning at school drop-off my “can’t people be decent human beings” rage got triggered by a parent whizzing to school well above speed limit in his overly loud sport-ish car, right by the drop-off area.
My daughter and I have the great fortune of living close enough to be able to walk to school every day. It’s really the highlight of my life. It also means I see a lot of bad driving behavior on the way there.
Like at the one busy street where there’s a flashing yellow yield-to-pedestrians sign and a school crossing-guard, people still try to race through at the last moment rather than pause for us to walk. I’d like to say that’s a rare event. But it happens more than you’d think.
When I’m on better behavior mode, I’ve tried to frame my reaction in front of my daughter not as outrage, but with the speculative, “Well, maybe they don’t know the rule about that sign.” Or, “Maybe that sign is confusing to be yellow, because we think of yellow as indicating ‘slow down’ and not ‘stop’ so maybe that’s why they don’t stop.”
I’d like to say that mode of framing has become my standard go-to rather than exasperated disbelief at people’s driving. But, I manage to take the high road probably only ⅓ of the time. I’m aiming for ¾.
This morning I got lucky and a person who lives by the school witnessed the guy speeding in his sport-ish car and ran after him, all the way to the grass inside the chain link fence where he was escorting his child into school. Is it bad form to have enjoyed seeing that, seeing someone call out a person for not doing the easy, right thing?
Once my daughter scooted across the frost-wet grass to her class line, festooned with her signature pirate-monkey hat with flapping arms she can control with a squeeze of a hidden air pump, I turned back up the street to go home.
The bluebird sky meant we’d have a day of sun, a rare thing for us this winter as we’ve had an especially stubborn inversion-layer stretch of grey. Due to the low crisp temps the only clouds were way high, wisps stretched into formations I’d get to see once, and once only.
I walked up the sidewalk towards our neighborhood. The guy in the sport-ish car drove up the street, within the speed limit, but still revved his engine so the car’s modified exhaust system blasted superfluous decibels of sound through the quiet morning. I kept walking, knew any outrage would be wasted life force, and just kept looking ahead.
When I got to our street birds chattered and flitted from tree to tree, sharing news of their whereabouts with each other, comparing notes on which patch of the neighborhood offered the best sustenance.
I reached the edge of our front yard. A huge sycamore held the front corner, its peeling bark and puffball seeds strewn at its base, over old river rock. Our ponderosa reached into the sky, past the curb.
A spare area of dirt at the yard’s edge gleamed green with pops of new moss, an anomaly on this dry side of the state, a lush overlayer that will be parched dry by June. Our dogs could smell me from thirty yards away, glimpsed me through a haggard row of arbor vita and started bouncing on the crates in their outdoor kennels.
My boots left the hard concrete for the softer ground of the lawn. A simple move, one I make all the time and think nothing of it. Today, my steps across the grass reminded me of the thing I know, and forget, and remember. Know, and forget, and remember:
If I soften my heart, and my stance, as preparatory gestures, then I have a chance to be with nature—not just in it, as a backdrop to my foibles. I have an opening, a slim yet huge one, to enter a different way of being with the world.
Nature can’t do that for me, can’t make me take those initiatory, preliminary steps. But, without fail—and one of the very few guarantees of life—any time I take those steps, something happens, the portal opens, and I am not alone.
WEEKLY PRACTICE INVITATION:
The what: Sharp feelings? Bad day? Rage bursting? Brittle patience? Reactive frustration? Soul-slaying, outrage inflaming news cycle?
Bring it on, bring it outside.
If you’re really amped up, take a few minutes to run in place, do jumping jacks, swing your arms back and forth around your body. Get that mojo moving is the point.
Then here’s the thing: we’re not going to judge how we feel. Don’t even have to name it. Just let its energy be what it is.
Next step: Is there something vast/large or something small/tiny in your surroundings? No “right” answer. Whatever/whomever makes themselves available to you. YKWYK.
Then: Get curious. Notice everything there is to notice. Let your senses play and explore. Ask your nature companion questions. Receive the answers. Hang out with them. Treat them like the actual companions they are. (Even if at first it feels “weird.”)
10-15 minutes will be like you started a new day. Try it out, and let me know how it goes!
Eco-Spiritual Mentoring
Looking for support as you explore how nature might open a way back to your own inner knowing, away from the digital clutter and frantic vibe of today’s world?
Contact me through this brief form to get more information.
My approach draws upon professional training with:
- Seminary of the Wild
- Association of Nature & Forest Therapy
- Morning Altars
- PhD in Religious Studies
LITTLE TENDER THINGS
Blackberry bud
pokes out into
cool air.
Dog barks, owl flies,
and rats scurry
through canes
as we witness your arrival,
and brighten.
Have a “little tender thing” you’d like to submit and share?
Let me know!
