Editor’s Essay

Nature Reaches Out

Have you ever felt as though the woods or prairie were trying to show you something? That the natural world was as interested in you as you were in it? Have you ever suspected that you were put in the right place at the right time to see something, as if you were meant to see it?

Mary Ellen Endo sent us such an account: “My husband was leading a hike for our hiking club at Chain O’Lakes State Park. I was still recovering from a surgery to replace my arthritic large toe joint, and was unable to do the entire 12-mile hike, so slowly hobbled, completely alone, down a short nature trail through a marshy area to join the hiking group at the lunch spot.

I was stopped dead in my tracks by the sound of sandhill cranes, which are easy to spot in this area in the early spring. There, just a few yards away, was a pair of cranes doing the courtship dance just as I had seen on various televised nature programs. Slowly they circled, bowed their heads, flapped their wings to slowly float upward and downward, dancing and singing a song of love to each other. Time seemed to stand still as I stood there transfixed, hardly daring to move or breathe. The tall grasses must have hidden me so that they were oblivious to my presence. I have never forgotten that moment, and consider it truly a wonderful gift.”

Nature can also engage us directly in conversation. “Went out to get firewood from the shed at 4:15 this morning,” wrote Valerie Blaine of St. Charles. “Lovely, still, quiet in the woods. Then I heard a hoo-hoo-hoo-HOO-hoo-HOO-hoo across the woods. I put the wood down, cupped my hands and called back. The great horned owl flew in and settled on a branch right above the shed. Saw his dark silhouette. He called. I responded. He turned his head, looked down at me, and answered back. We had quite a nice chat. I asked him if, in his wisdom, he knew when spring was coming. He said it’s just around the corner.”

And these are just a few of many instances we’ve heard over the years. Ann Maine took an unusual path at Ryerson Woods and found Dutchman’s breeches in bloom, later discovering that “there are only two spots in Ryerson where they grow.” Jack Shouba found a Cope’s gray treefrog living in his kitchen one snowy winter day. And who can say why I was intensely investigated by a black-throated blue warbler one fall, or was able to work beside a brushpile fire with a vole, which bustled underfoot for a half hour as though it were the family pet?

Nature can reach out in all kinds of ways, but an open attitude seems to be the common factor among people who have these kinds of experiences. Photographers are among the most open. In this issue, our photographers tell of hauling themselves into the field early in the morning. More often than not, nature meets them halfway.

Consider how many of us — from casual admirers to conservationists — credit one of these experiences with triggering our admiration of nature. Judy Boehmer, for one, monitors frogs today because of one vivid moment from childhood (see “Sounds in the Darkness,” this issue).

Just standing in nature, many of us are thrilled by the feeling that the wilderness outside could be speaking to the wilderness within. How many of us require such experiences as basic fuel for living? The members of the Riverwoods Preservation Council do; they are striving to maintain nature’s close affinity with their village.

When we preserve and restore biodiversity, we keep open more channels for the spirit of nature to speak to us. With a greater variety of species in greater abundance, filling more niches and interacting in richer ways, the chances increase that something fascinating will occur, if we pay attention.

So the next time you’re out in the wild, open yourself up to whatever happens. Invite nature — dare it, even — to do something. And be prepared for nature to respond.