Turquoise Ears and H.D. Thoreau
Today, I saw the writing of an acquaintance by way of Facebook. I have to admit, I don't know the person very well, and, except for a few brief encounters and a bit (lot) of enchantment on my part, I don't know the faintest thing about her. I know her turquoise earrings and her smile, but that's about it. I read her blog though, and I was moved with her words and the innocence of the thoughts she shared on faith and life and family. It made me think that I should share my voice more. My writing slows down from time to time because I get busy or have a myriad of other excuses that, in the end, don't amount to a whole lot. My words may not be full of wisdom, and may not speak to everyone else, but they're an outlet for me, and if others can get some meaning from them, I'm all the better for it.
Last Tuesday, I was buried in tasks for work, teleconferences and lists of issues to discuss with colleagues, debating the right or wrong direction for how we should address legal issues that are popping up with constituents and different State agencies involved with Federal Financial Assistance for Natural Resources. I had all sorts of stuff to do, but could think of only one thing. I wanted to find morels. Morels, for me, are like little gold coins that you never expect, that you can't keep for very long, and that you'll never sell. They're utterly unique and spread with mystery by an underground spiderweb network of rhizomes and microflora. You almost will never know where they are, and if you find them somewhere, that's no guarantee that they'll show up again. If you pull their tender shoots, it'll be like pulling a flower from a bush and pulling the bush with it. These little fruiting bodies are intricately woven into the landscape and the less disturbed the soil, the more likely they will pop up. They are the symbol for me of Henry David Thoreau's doctrine that "Man is rich in proportion to the number of things that he can afford to let alone." Mankind is hardwired to strive incessantly for more. Satisfaction is the opiate of the lazy, man says, and a good life is fraught with ambition and competition for the eventual goals of money and power. Nature, and the spirit to which I aspire sends a different message. Nature is best when left alone, and the immaculate little morel sculptures and intricate natural communities only exist when we prevail over these powerful instincts to develop and overcome. I have several friends who disagree. They don't understand why I deride uncontrolled development and habitat modification. We often debate the capitalistic mentality of making more and better technology to maintain a competitive edge over other countries in the world, and my tattered, calloused philosophy can be boiled down to H.D. Thoreau's wise words. I have yet to feel greater satisfaction in life from more, although I feel the drive to attain it just like anyone else. Maybe someday I'll have a family and all of the associated accoutrements that justify the competitive, life of bigger and better, but I can't envision the benefits of that paradigm right now, and I hope I never do.
Last Tuesday, I was buried in tasks for work, teleconferences and lists of issues to discuss with colleagues, debating the right or wrong direction for how we should address legal issues that are popping up with constituents and different State agencies involved with Federal Financial Assistance for Natural Resources. I had all sorts of stuff to do, but could think of only one thing. I wanted to find morels. Morels, for me, are like little gold coins that you never expect, that you can't keep for very long, and that you'll never sell. They're utterly unique and spread with mystery by an underground spiderweb network of rhizomes and microflora. You almost will never know where they are, and if you find them somewhere, that's no guarantee that they'll show up again. If you pull their tender shoots, it'll be like pulling a flower from a bush and pulling the bush with it. These little fruiting bodies are intricately woven into the landscape and the less disturbed the soil, the more likely they will pop up. They are the symbol for me of Henry David Thoreau's doctrine that "Man is rich in proportion to the number of things that he can afford to let alone." Mankind is hardwired to strive incessantly for more. Satisfaction is the opiate of the lazy, man says, and a good life is fraught with ambition and competition for the eventual goals of money and power. Nature, and the spirit to which I aspire sends a different message. Nature is best when left alone, and the immaculate little morel sculptures and intricate natural communities only exist when we prevail over these powerful instincts to develop and overcome. I have several friends who disagree. They don't understand why I deride uncontrolled development and habitat modification. We often debate the capitalistic mentality of making more and better technology to maintain a competitive edge over other countries in the world, and my tattered, calloused philosophy can be boiled down to H.D. Thoreau's wise words. I have yet to feel greater satisfaction in life from more, although I feel the drive to attain it just like anyone else. Maybe someday I'll have a family and all of the associated accoutrements that justify the competitive, life of bigger and better, but I can't envision the benefits of that paradigm right now, and I hope I never do.
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