John Pepin

There is a sense that I sometimes get, especially while walking in the woods along an old, sandy two-track road or a grass-grown-over abandoned railroad line or when I’m visiting places that I haven’t been to in several months or years.

It is a feeling that the road, the trees, the rivers and the lakes and everything else present there remembers who I am or knows that I have been there before and roughly how long it has been since I was last present.

I would say it’s an odd recognition.

It’s also a feeling of plugging in to the surroundings, with a comfortability and a familiarity that seems inherent to such visits.

I have recognized this sensation on numerous occasions, but I am wondering lately whether it happens every time I return to a place, but I am only perceiving it on some days, too distracted on others?

It is ironic to think that I habitually return to nature in attempts to connect with those wild and beautiful surroundings when perhaps I am already connected and don’t even realize it.

Maybe the feeling is imbued in me on my initial visit when my senses are like firecrackers snapping off loudly as I look here and there, turn left and then right, looking up and down, soaking in all the stimuli as fast and as deeply as I can.

That might explain why memories of visiting places for the first time can linger with me for decades – clear and burning bright.

And perhaps my initial arrival at a place is like a pebble being dropped into a lake, with the wave ripples moving away from me capable of broadcasting the event of my appearance across the entirety of the water body, maybe even reaching into the skies and the landscapes around me.

I guess it might be what some call the “butterfly effect.”

For me, it’s a feeling that all creation in this specific place is looking at me asking, “Where have you been?”

As I begin to walk or relate to my surroundings, another sensation washes over me almost immediately after I begin my journey or other outdoor activities.

This secondary feeling is one of lament, an internal monologue usually involving me asking myself why it took so long to get back out to this place again, because it is so cool, and I deeply love being there.

Again, I think this might be a recognition of the connection I have developed with a given setting and not been entirely aware of it.

While I might feel unaware or out of touch with what is happening on those occasions, I have a sense that the nature around me is collectively clearly aware of not only my presence, but specifically who I am and what I am all about.

In considering these notions, I suggest, with the benefit of hindsight, that nature may already know when I get there about how long I will be staying, what I will be doing and exactly how I am feeling and thinking.

This reminds me of a scene in John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath” that considers whether we all share a soul.

“‘Maybe all men got one big soul ever’body’s a part of.’ Now I sat there thinkin’ it, an’ all of a suddent – I knew it. I knew it so deep down that it was true, and I still know it.”

What do we share inherently with nature and is it capable of really knowing us in anyway at all?

I don’t know the answer to those questions.

Sometimes, it seems to me that I have felt a much greater connection and alignment in visiting places in nature than I have had in meeting and talking face-to-face with even some of my closest friends.

I think that may be because I don’t feel as though I need to speak or do anything and nature already sees me, understands me in less than an instant and then seeks to comfort, welcome, appreciate and shelter me.

I also get a feeling experiencing nature that it wants me to know things and it wants to teach me things when I am out there.

If I ask myself what some of the things are that nature may have taught me, I come to rest on somewhat oblique and obscure truths.

These truths would include things like exactly how soft the rain can fall, how many hues there are in a field of black-eyed Susans and how deeply the songs of birds in the field can resonate within my heart.

When I consider this, I realize that most of the truths that I hold dearest to me are these kinds of things nature has taught me or has allowed me or led me to experience and absorb.

Others would include the importance of honesty, knowledge and thinking, hard work, caring and doing, not rushing through things and appreciating everything.

I somehow am coming to understand that nature has likely known me ever since I was a little boy, perhaps as young as two or three years old – the earliest days I am aware that I was already out experiencing, or perhaps being introduced to, nature.

Growing up, I’ve always had a sense that the answers to whatever I am trying to figure out are somehow found out there in nature.

Maybe it’s not always the actual answers themselves, but nature allows me the peace and space to think and listen to my head and my heart to arrive at conclusions I need to carry on with whatever hurdle I am trying to surmount.

I also don’t think that this opportunity or benefit is in any way afforded only to me.

On the contrary, I think the deeper revelations and teachings of nature are available to anyone who cares to “turn-on, tune-in and drop out.”

I think it’s about removing personal barriers to receiving what nature has for us. These barriers can range from stress and anger to deep depressions and self-imposed blindness to the incredible world around us.

I have no idea how far or how deep this exploration of nature can go.

But I want to find out.

I have experienced the healing, redemption and powers of understanding that nature can provide. I know that who I am as a person is somehow deeply intertwined, like the double helix of my DNA, with nature.

Perhaps it is something that I acquired being introduced to nature at a young age by my parents. Maybe it is something I acquired through my own exploration and inquiry into nature.

Or maybe, it is something that already is inherent to the being of all of us, available to all if we only tap into it or discover it within ourselves or through our external interactions with the natural world.

Whatever the case, I don’t think I will know that I will learn the answer in my lifetime.

For me, I think it is just enough to presume that on some level or levels within me nature can and does heal, teach, lead and understand.

At its core, I think nature holds the keys to the universe and all the understanding we would ever care to know.

Which leads me to another sensation that I have always felt when being outside in nature – that of knowing that nature is a good thing in our lives, something we can benefit from on many levels and therefore is something we should work to care for, conserve and protect.

I try to keep my heart, mind and soul open in all my moments outdoors to what I presume are countless things nature has yet to show me, teach me or provide to me.

For me, those lessons are vital and incredible revelations that I want to magnify and receive as often as possible.

That notion can help me get out of bed every single day to look for new valuable experiences and teachings that can transcend even my most inattentive, stubborn, blind and deaf tendencies.

I keep looking and finding myself in nature.

Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.