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Archive for the ‘Nature’ Category

March 3rd, 2012 by rusvw

47: Oh, The Things I’ve Learned…

Today is my 47th birthday.  I have been blessed with 17,166 days — opportunities — to experience and share life and love in this world. When I reflect on the lives lost in those 47 years — friends, family, students, mentors, I cannot be too grateful to be here today, to use this moment and this opportunity to cherish all that is before me.

17,166. That’s a lot of opportunities to embrace life.

So, on this 17,166th day, I share some of the things I’ve learned along the way (10, to be exact; it seemed more reasonable than sharing 17,166 things–or even 47–that I have learned…). Some are deep, and some defy gravity. Please join me in celebrating this day by adding to the list. What have you learned along your journey so far?

  1. This moment is the only sure thing. Joan Didion, in The Year of Magical Thinking, shared her journey following the sudden death of her husband in their kitchen in the middle of chopping vegetables for dinner. In her book, she writes, “Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.” I do not need to look to tomorrow or back at yesterday to find my peace. It is right here, right in this very moment.
  2. Nature provides infinite energy. There’s chi — energy — in nature that we rarely take the time to tap into. And yet, what it offers us is unlimited strength balanced with graceful humility. We need to spend more time outside and less time in our heads.
  3. Finding our muse means discovering unlimited energy. I have learned that our muse contains a limitless supply of energy and spirit. Every time we write, sketch, paint, sing… we tap into something greater than our little minds. We bypass thought and enter a higher realm of spiritual possibility. Why is it unlimited? Because we will never be able to capture something that is so much greater than we will ever be able to comprehend… Read the rest of this entry »
February 25th, 2012 by rusvw

Reflections On This New Day

As the sun began to rise this morning, and I sat along the banks of the Loch Raven Reservoir taking random photos of the water and the wildlife, I was struck with a thought that I had forgotten long ago.

With the exception of a few runners passing by who were training for an upcoming race, I felt as if every image, every sound was my own. My immersion in the natural world seemed seamless. I let the bright, early rays of the sun find their way in and through me, as well as the sounds of the splish-splash waters, where drops remained suspended in mid-air, caught by the strong winds as several Canadian geese took flight. Then– to feel those very drops of water as that same steady breeze, cool and brisk, blew my way and mixed with the warmth of the sun’s intensity on my skin.

Alive, was all I could think. Alive.

It was in that moment that I remembered that I am not separate from all of this. It is easy for us to think there are two worlds out there: the natural and the man-made. Although it may be true that a clear distinction exists between the two, there is one element of each that is constant: the human being.

Unlike our man-made creations, we as individuals are not separate from the natural world. We are as much a part of it as the rising sun, the startled deer, the daffodils that have all awakened a bit early in these deceptively warm February days. We made the mistake long ago to separate ourselves from the beauty and the spirit of the natural world. On mornings like this, I feel reconnected to the energy we are all provided.

It’s always here, everywhere, for us to access. All we need to do is realize that we have the power and the opportunity to open the door, step outside, and realize that, in this morning, this moment, anything is possible.

September 26th, 2011 by rusvw

The Five-Minute Photo Shoot

photo: rus vanwestervelt, goucher college, towson, md 9/26/11

My drive home from school today took less time than I expected, and I had exactly ten extra minutes before I had to pick up my oldest daughter to take her to the gym.

Given the fact that I was still five minutes from home, that left me with exactly five minutes of spare time. What could I possibly accomplish in such little time?

I stopped at Goucher College (near my home), went in the direction of the pond on campus with camera in hand, and remained receptive to what might present itself to me. I was struck immediately by the brilliance of a single fruit dangling from a dying tree. After shooting five frames in under a minute, I wandered further down toward the pond. I disturbed a grasshopper in the tall weeds, and I followed him to a blade of grass (below). Fired off another 8 shots (took two of the tall grasses blowing in the wind), returned quickly to my Jeep, and headed home.

I was a little disappointed. I arrived home a minute early. I wondered what else would have presented itself if I had spent that minute at the pond?

photo: rus vanwestervelt, goucher college, towson, md 9/26/11

 

September 6th, 2011 by rusvw

Are We All A Little Weakened At The Roots?

Trees down on Cowpens Avenue, Towson, MD, August 28, 2011 (Hurricane Irene) Photo: amy vanwestervelt

Eleven days ago, an earthquake rocked the Mid-Atlantic region. Then, five days later, Hurricane Irene moved through the area, bringing down trees and power lines that disrupted service to over four million people along the East Coast.

And now, looking at the weather forecast, we’ve got rain and thunderstorms predicted for every day through next Saturday. The ground is already saturated, and many trees weakened by the first two natural disasters in the last two weeks will struggle to survive the constant rains and winds that will trudge through the region at some ungodly slow pace.

These trees can take only so much before they surrender and fall to the ground — a life of 100+ years ended by the forces of nature.

Or maybe not. Perhaps all of our development has led to the rapid erosion of the areas surrounding our trees, making them more susceptible to oversaturation and high winds not buffered by a tough, surrounding terrain untouched by man.

This vulnerability — this quick breakdown of once-mighty oaks and evergreens — reminds me of what is happening to both our youth and our older generations alike.

We were, not too long ago, a tough breed. We had to move to live, to survive and thrive, both as children and in our adult lives. We were not coddled, over-protected, over-booked with too-safe activities. We took risks out of both necessity and desire. At any age, we didn’t expect anybody to do anything for us. As well, we didn’t think twice about helping others, because we had a basic respect, a faith and trust, in the people comprising our community.

The real tragedy here is this: Not that we’ve all been weakened by the lack of risk-taking movement and survive-and-thrive mentality; it’s that there are fewer and fewer mighty oaks and evergreens standing tall in our society. Tragically, we’re becoming nothing more than a conservative ground cover, staying close to the surface and being a little too territorial, pushing away others and seeing little of what the rest of the world has to offer.

We do our best to teach our kids to take those risks, but we’re now fighting an uphill battle. They have many expectations of what they believe is due to them, and they resist the challenge to move and take control of their lives, of their personal growth.

And let’s face it. They’re not the first generation of coddled kids; we struggle with this ourselves because, like it or not, we’re an MTV generation of remote controls, speedy drive-thrus, and pizzas delivered in 30 minutes or less. We are now desperately trying to reverse the direction in which we were raised. Not an easy task for any of us; so who are we to blame our own kids for expecting a little too much, and daring a tad not enough?

It seems to me that, if we expect a change in our children, we need to strengthen the roots in our own lives so that they have a few mighty oaks in their upbringing to show them how brave they can actually be in their own lives.

 

 

April 17th, 2011 by rusvw

Returning to the tight-knit community

loch raven reservoir. art: http://www.artofabbey.net/

Last month, I sketched out a monthly hiking plan that would send me all around the state, tackling some of the trails that I’ve never been on. This strategy was in line with my bigger project of dropping the weight and leading a more healthy, active lifestyle.

Well, the good news is that I am succeeding on the diet and the exercise. I’ve met with good success over these last four or five weeks, and I am right on schedule.

Scheduled for this Friday, in fact, is my first monthly hike. I decided to head to the Merkle Wildlife Sanctuary in Prince George’s County, MD. I thought this would be a good time to see the migration of birds and walk a path my feet have never touched.

It’s also about 150 miles round trip.

Unfortunately, with the way gas prices continue to rise, I’m beginning to rethink where I take these monthly hikes. I know it’s only once a month, but is this really worth 5 gallons of gas, or an additional $25, to head to this sanctuary? As we’re on a very tight budget right now, I’m thinking that there are some places closer to home that I could take that hike and save the $25.

We’re beginning to think this way about all of the trips we make. Yesterday’s jaunt to Ocean City, MD for Holland’s Gymnastics States Tournament cost me over $50 in gas. If I still had my Jeep, it would have been nearly $100 in fuel costs.

I think I’m going to pocket that $25 and keep it local. There’s plenty around here in a 10-mile radius that I can do that will help me accomplish the same goals. I’m a little bummed that I won’t be seeing as many of the parks throughout the state, at least right now. But keeping it close to my community is not a bad way to go at all.

I’m wondering–Has the rise in gas prices caused you to make similar decisions?

 

August 28th, 2010 by rusvw

Flowing with Van Gogh

I was struck this morning by the satellite image of the three storms brewing in the Atlantic Ocean. The National Hurricane Center is predicting an above-average likelihood for storms to hit the east coast this year, making the stretch between North Carolina and Massachusetts as likely to get hit as Florida or the other Gulf Coast states.

Seeing this image reminded me immediately of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It doesn’t take a trained eye to see the similarities.

Some things are timeless, aren’t they? Take away the cell phones and iPads and Facebook and Skype, and you are left with a certain kindred spirit shared with Nature. It’s in us, all the time, waiting to be tapped, accessed, embraced.

Now, I’m fairly sure that Vincent didn’t have some kind of psychical experience with the Hurricane Center, tapping into some yet-to-fly satellites capturing the swirling beauty of the giants in our oceans. No. He probably wasn’t event thinking about hurricanes at all.

But the patterns are apparent in all of nature — the whirls and swirls of the winds, the rains, the energy and spirit running like a meandering current around rocks and banks and all things between.

It’s a universal image, when we stop long enough to see it. Maybe even feel it, too.

School starts up for me on Monday. I resume teaching English 12 Honors after a five-year hiatus, and at times I have let the needs overwhelm me. It is at these times that I feel like it’s me against some other force — time, perhaps. Maybe that won’t-go-away pressure to be perfect all the time.

What will they think if they walk into my room and things don’t look polished and positively sterile?

They’ll probably think that things are as they have always been, for sure.

That’s why I am grateful that I am keeping at least a small channel open in my mind to see the beauty in things like a weather map so that it may serve as a reminder to me, in some way, that I can’t fight or resist; I can only recognize the natural patterns surrounding me, then make a decision about whether to Flow or Go.

That’s all any of us can do. Everything else breeds resistance and resentment, and none of us has the time to waste on such nonsense.

Stop, feel the whirls and swirls around you, and act: Flow or Go?

Suddenly, your life will never be the same. . . .

May 30th, 2010 by rusvw

Sunrise ride by the Gunpowder River

Absolutely love sunrises when hiking or biking….

My friend T and I went to Gunpowder State Park along Jerusalem Rd. in Kingsville, MD this morning to check out the trails that rise and fall along the Gunpowder River. We were wonderfully surprised by the well-maintained trails (the Gunpowder and Hobbes trails) that formed a nice circuit for us to master in the coming weeks.

On a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the most difficult, I would place this loop at a strong level 2. A few steep pitches and knobby roots make the trail challenging enough to encourage you to come back for more and attempt to do the entire loop without stopping.

According to the Maryland Department of Natural Resources, Gunpowder Falls State Park comprises nearly 18,000 acres in Harford and Baltimore counties, boasting more than 100 miles of trails. One of the great things about the Gunpowder is that it runs long, yet narrowly, throughout north/central MD, from tidal marshes and wetlands to steep, rugged slopes.

Once you discover the Gunpowder, there are literally years of outdoor experiences for the novice to the expert. Hiking, biking, fishing, canoeing, kayaking — the Gunpowder has it all.

For me, it’s perfect because I can go alone for the solitude, enjoy a trip with friends, or take my family for a day of fishing and picnicking.

The Jerusalem Mill, which is where we started our bike trip this morning, offers plenty of trails, a museum, educational events, and period re-creations that are fun for the entire family. For more information about upcoming events, go here.

February 6th, 2010 by rusvw

Blizzard of 2010: Update no. 2

DSC_3483

It’s 8:23 p.m., and I’ve just returned from taking some friends to their parents’ home in Lutherville. Their power has been out since 5 this morning, and the temperature was hovering around 50 degrees before I picked them up. BGE has no idea when their power will return. They couldn’t take the chance–not with two kids and a dog. Now, the family is safe and warm. Thank goodness for the Jeep, which navigated brilliantly through both trips.

The condition of the roads is grossly inconsistent, sometimes between stretches of just a few hundred feet. It makes little sense to me how two-lane roads are in better shape than major thoroughfares. They are, though, and some even have dry pavement. The worst road is, ironically enough, my own. Every other road I was on has been plowed at least once.

Not that this makes me think we’ll have school on Monday, or even Tuesday, for that matter. I noticed that some of the side streets that I passed were untouched–not even a pedestrian had strolled along the street; the space between the quiet houses seemed more like a common pasture, smoothed with the expertise of a master pastry chef putting the final touches on a classy, yet simple sheet cake.

Cars parked along roads are buried, and the snow that’s been plowed from the streets has been pushed against (and often over) the cars, making them virtually invisible. It will be days before these cars are unburied and able to move along the streets.

Even Governor O’Malley stated this evening that motorists should stay off the roads “for the next few days.” With temperatures dipping to 10-15 degrees each of the next few nights, I wonder how successful snow plows will be in shaving the ice off the side streets before our next storm hits on Tuesday and into Wednesday. A wintry mix is predicted Tuesday, with all snow anticipated for the evening and into Wednesday with driving winds.

With this additional mid-week storm, It’s my belief that we’ll be out of school until next Tuesday, and that’s assuming that yet another storm predicted for next weekend doesn’t materialize. If if does, though, we could be looking at an additional 2-3 days off of school, racking up a total of 12-13 days off of school.

The last thing any school system wants is a second winter break. The only silver lining is that, as long as the state of emergency exists across Maryland, school systems have the right to apply for a waiver and have those missed days excused from the required 180 days of classroom instruction.

We’ll see what happens. For now, let’s keep helping our neighbors in our community. Check in on those who might need prescription refills, or who might just need a call to let them know someone’s concerned about them.

Until tomorow: stay safe…and warm!

February 6th, 2010 by rusvw

Blizzard of 2010: Update no. 1

bliz 830

10:13 a.m. Good morning.

This is the view of our front yard/street at 8:30 a.m. (This would be a great I-Spy picture: can you find a car by a tree?). We’ve already measured 24+ inches of heavy, heavy snow, and it’s not supposed to end for another 8 hours. The sustained winds are blowing at 20-35 miles per hour. This storm is on track to be the worst snowstorm in Baltimore’s history. The greatest unofficial storm happened in January 1772, when George Washington and Thomas Jefferson recorded in their journals, separately, that 36 inches of snow fell in both Baltimore and Washington.

We are fortunate to still have our power. Between 6:30 and 7:00 a.m., we lost power on three separate, brief occasions. What made it flicker, and how it came back on, we do not know. No need to question the gift of electricity, though. Our friends have been without power since 3 a.m., and they were without power for nearly 24 hours during the last storm. They are just one family comprising the ever-growing statistic of 126,000 power outages in the Baltimore region. It is possible that, in the next 24 hours, that number will double, if not triple. Temperatures are in the mid-20s and will continue to fall to 14 degrees or lower in the evening. Sustained winds of 15-24 miles per hour will create a wind-chill index near zero degrees.

We’ll head out in about an hour and begin the long and arduous process of digging out. I don’t foresee taking the Jeep for a ride before 4 p.m., if it will even be possible then.

I will post pictures of the dig-out, and if we’re fortunate to get the Jeep on the road before sunset, I’ll do my best to get photos of how the rest of Baltimore looks.

Until then, we are grateful for the comfort and safety of our home, and our thoughts and prayers to those around us who are doing their best to stay warm without electricity. Feel free to post updates from your area in the comments section of this post.

December 30th, 2009 by rusvw

Fire on the Ice: Winter Cycling on the NCR Trail

fireice1

(all photos taken with my Blackberry Curve this morning)

One of the things I’ve always enjoyed doing is confronting nature’s elements head-on. It’s one of the quickest ways to feel as alive as I possibly can.

Thoreau put it this way in “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For” in Walden:

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

This morning, life indeed proved mean, and I got the whole and genuine meanness of it.

Trina, my ever-adventurer friend, and I decided a few days ago it would be a good idea to go for an early-morning bike ride on the NCR Trail. For those of you who don’t know, this is one of those Rails to Trails projects, where old railroad tracks are pulled up and the existing path is converted to a walking/biking trail. The NCR Trail currently runs from Cockeysville, MD to the Pennsylvania line (about 20 miles), where it then turns into the York County Heritage Trail. It then continues north for another 21 miles to York, PA. The incline gradation ranges from 1% to 3%, so it’s a very easy ride. Easy, that is, in normal weather conditions.

Trina wanted to head out at 5:30, as she needed to be off-trail by 8 a.m. I did the math at what time I’d have to get up to meet her there at that time (we were starting at Monkton Station, nearly 25 minutes away), and I pleaded for a 6 a.m. start. We agreed that if we prepped well enough and got right on the trail when we arrived, we could bump it up to 6.

That still meant at least an hour of darkness before sunrise, and taping flashlights to our handlebars last time didn’t exactly work out like we had planned. So, we found some good bike headlights at REI for just $20. With a little bit of tweaking and $6 in bills to hold it securely in place around the bar, I found the light to be just exactly perfect for the ride.

The temperature was 17 degrees when we hit the trail a little after 6:15, and within the first mile, we hit serious patches of ice. We were not yet in any kind of groove, so it was tough navigating through this first icy stretch. By the time we hit the next patch, we were “warmed” up (there was no warming to speak of, but we had acclimated ourselves to the conditions), and we had better control of our bikes. It suddenly felt like we were in some kind of video game, where we needed to stay in the narrow paths of dry soil to stay on our bikes. One sudden move to the left or the right, and we’d lose control immediately.

This was especially hard to do in the dark. There were additional obstacles and challenges we faced, including fallen branches on the trail that our headlights couldn’t pick up until they were just a few feet away. To complicate matters even more, there were low-lying branches that were out of the headlight’s reach. A quick call to duck was all we were able to give each other. Some we missed, and some we didn’t.

When we reached the 4-mile point, we felt numb but pretty good. We decided to push on for another two miles, but almost immediately we hit a serious stretch of ice that was impassable. We figured we had reached our mid-way point and decided to turn around. I stopped to take a drink from my water bottle, which I had filled with tap water before we left.

No such luck. It was now a bottle of ice.

By this time, the sun had started to rise, and we were able to turn out our headlights and enjoy some of the sights along the trail (not to mention the low-lying branches!). The greatest surprise, by far, were the icicles on the rocks by the trail.

fireice2

fireice3

fireice4

I wish we had had more time to really explore, but we still had miles to go, and by this time, we had lost all feeling in our toes and fingers. Besides, every time we stopped for pictures, it made it that much harder to get back into that cycling groove.

We made it back to Monkton with a few minutes to spare (and — no surprise — our SUVs were still the only vehicles in the lot), and we both felt euphoric that we had tackled the trail despite the bitter temperatures.

I haven’t lost that euphoria, even in the warmth of my home hours later. There’s just something about facing nature in her finest hour and taking in all she has to offer. It provides a good-natured, healthy perspective to the rest of your life, for living is so dear, and, as Thoreau suggests, there is much to learn when we live it fully.