Have you settled in comfortably, all screens off, to ponder another prompt which Tyrean Martinsson’s book gives us for today? You might expect me to go for the obvious, Jack London’s novel The Call of the Wild, the story about a pampered dog that gets stolen, sold, abused, and freed, eventually to find out that its wilder side is the one that means salvation. And you might want to explore whether that goes for the human being as well. Are there any parallels to be found?
But, as a matter of fact, I want to go down a different, more personal path.
I was born a big city girl. When I left my native town, Stuttgart in Southwestern Germany, it counted a population of a little above 600,000 people (today it’s 634,000). All during my childhood and youth, there had been great building activity, taking away from the few areas that had not been settled or used for agriculture, yet. Rabbits and red foxes found their ways into our meadows. The shy Eurasian jay and nuthatches ventured into the human settlements to find food, as their habitats grew ever smaller. Meanwhile, on weekends and during vacations, we fled from the city into rural areas to find more quiet and rest. Wilderness, though? Not in Germany unless you think of very remote and unreachable spots in the Alps or the Wadden Sea.
Little did I know that I would end up in the Pacific Northwest with deer in our garden, raccoons on our patio, coyotes in one neighborhood, and once, a bear strolling into our street and getting treed only two blocks away from our home. Whereas the former are considered as cute or a nuisance, the latter certainly should not have to look for food in any suburbs. The wild is paying us human beings a call because we are borrowing a bit too much from their territories. And we keep doing so. The call of the wild is a not a fun visit. It is a warning that we have already gone too far.
The Covid pandemic brought out another side of us. Self-isolation suits only introverts more than well. It was a very cozy time for my husband and me, for sure. But as indoor entertainment was closed everywhere, most people began to search for some outdoors. For a change of scenery. Against boredom. Suddenly, our favorite hiking areas in the Mount Rainier massif got crowded. So much so, that you couldn’t hike at your own speed anymore but at that of the person in front of you. Picture the photos of the line to the summit of Mount Everest. It’s pretty much that, these days, on the way up from Paradise to Glacier View, to Snow Lake, at Sunrise. The quiet is gone, as youngsters are hollering their conversations across the once quiet meadows, as iTunes drown out the calls of marmots and birds with the top ten of whatever charts. The locations are checked off the lists of go-to places by the celebrators of selfies. Meadows are trodden down beyond the paths. Wildlife such as rare flowers by the pathway or animals get ignored unless the latter literally waylay them to beg. What once were peaceful, quite secluded areas for the serious, nature-observant hiker have become mass-invaded to the point that everybody will have to make reservations to enter the National Park this year, at all.
It is sad that it had to get this far. It might be the only way to save some of what’s left of the wild in our corner of the world in which you can’t turn around fast enough to see another block of buildings rise.
Last summer, my husband, who I seriously think is an animal whisperer, enjoyed one of his many chats with a chipmunk on Mount Rainier. I was flabbergasted to see him gesticulate at the little guy, and the little guy gestured right back. It was surely a conversation, and nothing but little sounds, eye contact, and sign language involved. My husband has used this talent in less frequented areas before, too. Chipmunks stop in their trails and come closer. Deer turn their heads and approach. All stop at a safe distance for us and for them. Squirrels and jays are bolder, as we all know.
I doubt we’ll try for Mount Rainier this year or in the near future. It’s not wild anymore but a mess of jam-packed parking lots, roads, and hiking paths. It’s calling gets fainter and fainter as it gets more and more stifled.
The Wild is somewhere else. Let’s keep it there with all its inconveniences. So the Wild doesn’t have to pay us a call in order to survive.
I’m curious about your ideas on the prompt …
Caption
No animal bribery, no photoshopping – a chipmunk and my husband enjoying some serious conversation.
I often comment to friends that I”m so glad to have lived when I did. Things were so much different then, only a few short years ago. The forest came up to the gates, trails were not worn down and hikers were few. I once marveled tat it was just my husband and me sitting on our skinny skis near the lake eating lunch and one solitary gray Jay came to share.
Other times we were up on the ice fields heading to the caves or just hiking or skiing through the woods. In summer only the buzz of insects met us on the trails.
Weekends spent at Longmire Such good memories.
My home in Lakewood had many visitors that shouldn’t have been. Increased wildlife forced out of their habitats because of all the buildings and new homes toward the Chambers Creek. So sad its come to this. I value those years and now value the peace and tranquillity here in East Texas hoping it doesn’t go the way Lakewood has. Wonderful article Susanne.
Thank you so much for sharing your take on this prompt, Joan! It’s sad that you, too, have detected these changes. And I keep my fingers crossed for you that East Texas stays tranquil …