Humanity Does Not Know Nature
Posted: Sat Aug 14, 2010 10:36 pm
While I have expressed some hesitation in the hardest of lines that Sensei draws in the sand, I am in total agreement with the statement that heads this chapter.
I am reminded of a kayaking trip last year where we went spotted an eagle nest with three new chicks, yet to fledge, still in residence. We watched for a while, then headed up a nearby creek.
As we came out we heard the chicks screaming and as we came into view we saw two kayaks in the middle of the cove. A couple was photographing the cormorants drying on a log in the shallows. As we approached I could see the son sitting behind his father (in a wooden kayak worth more than my car) as Dad snapped pics (with a camera worth more than said car).
The youngster was engrossed in my approach and hazarded a shy little wave; a cutie maybe four or five. I asked him if he had seen the eagles. Dad swiveled around so fast I was concerned about whiplash. "Eagles? Where?"
The same squalling that had called my attention from a half mile away, that was clearly intended to warn of their presence, was lost on this man, perhaps seventy yards away. It was not because he could not hear it; one would have been deaf to not have. He was simply out of touch, despite his assumed attention to nature implied by his chosen task. He was not speaking the language...
Far too often we run across this thinking or begin to fall into it ourselves. We forget that not every one of the hundreds (or thousands or millions) of organisms in our immediate ecotones have the loud shrill screech of an eagle. And even when we do hear the creatures around us, we still run the danger of misunderstanding or ignoring the message.
HG
I am reminded of a kayaking trip last year where we went spotted an eagle nest with three new chicks, yet to fledge, still in residence. We watched for a while, then headed up a nearby creek.
As we came out we heard the chicks screaming and as we came into view we saw two kayaks in the middle of the cove. A couple was photographing the cormorants drying on a log in the shallows. As we approached I could see the son sitting behind his father (in a wooden kayak worth more than my car) as Dad snapped pics (with a camera worth more than said car).
The youngster was engrossed in my approach and hazarded a shy little wave; a cutie maybe four or five. I asked him if he had seen the eagles. Dad swiveled around so fast I was concerned about whiplash. "Eagles? Where?"
The same squalling that had called my attention from a half mile away, that was clearly intended to warn of their presence, was lost on this man, perhaps seventy yards away. It was not because he could not hear it; one would have been deaf to not have. He was simply out of touch, despite his assumed attention to nature implied by his chosen task. He was not speaking the language...
Far too often we run across this thinking or begin to fall into it ourselves. We forget that not every one of the hundreds (or thousands or millions) of organisms in our immediate ecotones have the loud shrill screech of an eagle. And even when we do hear the creatures around us, we still run the danger of misunderstanding or ignoring the message.
HG
