Come to the woods

John Muir in 1907

"Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Here grow the wallflower and the violet. The squirrel will come and sit upon your knee, the logcock* will wake you in the morning. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill. Of all the upness accessible to mortals, there is no upness comparable to the mountains." -- John Muir

*Pileated Woodpecker (Dryocopus pileatus)

Wilderness is at our doorstep

"I only went out for a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown,
for going out, I found, was really going in." -- John Muir

I have come to the conclusion that I am a wandering homebody. A woodland wayfarer at heart, I love nothing more than hearth and home with my family. John Muir once described breaking away from the city and literally running into the mountains as if running for his very life. I hear the call of wild places, too. But I also know that days and years away from home is not for me. Fortunately, wilderness is at our doorstep.

Being often in wild places is vital to my sanity. I know that I am healthier when I can often get outside and feel the sun and the wind and the rain. I also know that wilderness is not limited to majestic far away lakes and mountains. One doesn't need to live next to a national park to walk daily in wild places. Getting away from the constant lights and noise of the city is good, but in a pinch anywhere outside will do, whether it be a city park, a nearby woods, or a forgotten hedgerow. The birds that visit my feeder are just as wild as those who live deep in the forest. The moss growing in a corner of the yard is home to a myriad of creatures that would take a lifetime to know, if only I would take the time to see.

The beauties of nature are not somewhere else, but all around us. All we must do is walk out the door and see. Go ahead! Walk out the door and experience the wonder. Nature is not far off. Wilderness is at our doorstep.

Gloria in excelsis

As any nature writer knows, even the best description will fall far short of the actual experience. There is simply no substitute for being there. The best that any writer can do is strive to capture the moment and hope that the readers have some frame of reference for understanding.


I am quite sure that John Muir regularly felt this tension in his writings, and this explains why his writings are so extravagant in their exaltation of nature. He was pushing and straining the ability of mere words to explain that which is beyond words. Below is Muir's description of a morning in an Alaska fiord in 1879. Despite his grandiose talk of a holy vision of divine fire, I am confident that he felt that his description fell short.

A painting of the Muir Glacier by Thomas Hill

In the evening, after witnessing the unveiling of the majestic peaks and glaciers and their baptism in the down-pouring sunbeams, it seemed inconceivable that nature could have anything finer to show us. Nevertheless, compared with what was to come the next morning, all that was as nothing. The calm dawn gave no promise of anything uncommon. Its most impressive features were the frosty clearness of the sky and a deep, brooding stillness made all the more striking by the thunder of the newborn bergs. The sunrise we did not see at all, for we were beneath the shadows of the fiord cliffs; but in the midst of our studies, while the Indians were getting ready to sail, we were startled by the sudden appearance of a red light burning with a strange unearthly splendor on the topmost peak of the Fairweather Mountains. Instead of vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared, it spread and spread until the whole range down to the level of the glaciers was filled with the celestial fire. In color it was at first a vivid crimson, with a thick, furred appearance, as fine as the alpenglow, yet indescribably rich and deep—not in the least like a garment or mere external flush or bloom through which one might expect to see the rocks or snow, but every mountain apparently was glowing from the heart like molten metal fresh from a furnace. Beneath the frosty shadows of the fiord we stood hushed and awe-stricken, gazing at the holy vision; and had we seen the heavens opened and God made manifest, our attention could not have been more tremendously strained. When the highest peak began to burn, it did not seem to be steeped in sunshine, however glorious, but rather as if it had been thrust into the body of the sun itself. Then the supernal fire slowly descended, with a sharp line of demarcation separating it from the cold, shaded region beneath; peak after peak, with their spires and ridges and cascading glaciers, caught the heavenly glow, until all the mighty host stood transfigured, hushed, and thoughtful, as if awaiting the coming of the Lord. The white, rayless light of morning, seen when I was alone amid the peaks of the California Sierra, had always seemed to me the most telling of all the terrestrial manifestations of God. But here the mountains themselves were made divine, and declared His glory in terms still more impressive. How long we gazed I never knew. The glorious vision passed away in a gradual, fading change through a thousand tones of color to pale yellow and white, and then the work of the ice-world went on again in everyday beauty. The green waters of the fiord were filled with sun-spangles; the fleet of icebergs set forth on their voyages with the upspringing breeze; and on the innumerable mirrors and prisms of these bergs, and on those of the shattered crystal walls of the glaciers, common white light and rainbow light began to burn, while the mountains shone in their frosty jewelry, and loomed again in the thin azure in serene terrestrial majesty. We turned and sailed away, joining the outgoing bergs, while “Gloria in excelsis” still seemed to be sounding over all the white landscape, and our burning hearts were ready for any fate, feeling that, whatever the future might have in store, the treasures we had gained this glorious morning would enrich our lives forever.

John Muir, Travels in Alaska, 1915.