The Importance of Standing in a Field
At the beginning of May, I took a trip to rural Wisconsin to visit Jon at the house he’d rented to do some recording for an album he’s working on. I had just moved out of my apartment of two years in Northeast Minneapolis, and had left my full-time job a month earlier. We were both considering our upcoming move to New York City, and mulling over what exactly that would mean.
So, we took a walk. It was a beautiful day, and we decided to walk toward the marsh, following the lakeshore. At the edge of the marsh there was a small creek with a wooden plank bridge over it. As we crossed the bridge there was a sense of demarcation, as if it separated two realms.
Jon and I continued along the winding path until we found ourselves in a clearing, surrounded by marshy grass and a few clusters of trees. In the center of the clearing was a giant, gnarled oak. The oak stood ominous, beckoning anything and everything nearby to rest under its shadow. I noticed that it was dome-shaped, as if through years of standing alone — at the mercy of the winds — it had curled into itself. Indeed, many of the lower branches extended down so that you could practically shake its hand. Another low-lying branch had spikes jutting out, as if for protection against intruders.
We circled the oak and talked about it. I mentioned my observation about the tree’s shape to Jon, and we compared it to the nearby clusters of trees. Jon tried to determine what kind of tree it was, settling on white oak. We were both thinking about moving to The City, and what we would be missing.
Jon: —Wouldn’t it be great if you planted a tree like this, and were able to watch it grow? —Yeah … how tall can a tree get in 25 years do you think? —I think oaks tend to grow about three feet per year. —So, 75 feet? —Hmm, well, maybe smaller.
The question bubbling under the surface was this: Is it worth it to move to a large metropolis? Is it necessary? Is it worth the inevitable disconnection with the natural world? There’s been quite bit of progress lately with bringing the natural world into the city — green roofs, urban agriculture, aquaculture, etc. — and this is all very exciting of course. But it doesn’t allow for the experience of being in an open field, of watching wind patterns on the lake, of taking a walk and coming to rest under a giant wind-blown oak.
We moved on and continued our discussion. Jon: —What if we could just set it up so that we could periodically come back here when we have something to work on? Definitely something I could get behind, if we could make it work.
But is living in the city even necessary, why not just work remotely all the time? I tend to think there is an advantage to being one of many people in such a small place. A higher metabolic rate, with potential for kinds of stimulation and cross-pollination that don’t exist in the wide-open expanses.
Jon understands this idea, but I don’t think he feels it as strongly himself. He wants to watch trees grow. I understand that idea as well.
—Andy
This post has Notes and tag: # city # nature # reflection # walks # nyc .
