Why I write
I write
to navigate
between the worlds I inhabit
and the borderlands between them
Between order and chaos
between precision and focus and what a crane would see from the air
Between despair and Zuversicht, that quiet faith, a sense of possibility.
Between fear and judgment and courage and love
To bend ever closer to courage and love.
To remind myself that a lot of chaos exists in the world because people do not appreciate themselves.
To pay attention
to learn what I can about this world of mysteries
to receive its beauty like a gift and to feel its grief.
To learn about this being human, and to bear the paradoxes:
the need for self
and the murderous outcomes
of taking ourselves too seriously
of building concrete walls
in our minds and on the land
to affirm our identities.
I write to see if I can make contact
to listen rather than talk
to feel my own heart
to throw a lifeline out to my fellow creatures on this earth.
To learn what the cranes know: when to migrate and when to stay.
When to beat your wings
when to glide
and when to let out your wild, distinctive cry.
To stay together
and not be afraid of who you are.
To learn what the trees know:
that whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree.
She wants to be nothing except what she is.
That is home.
With thanks to J. Drew Lanham for prompting the question and to Chögyam Trungpa and Hermann Hesse for the clues.
How I came to write
My passions are the relationships between humans and their environments, and the stories of the places that are meaningful to us. By stories I mean human stories and stories in the land—the movements of water and wildlife, the long chapters of geological processes, and the interactions among all of these and human activities. I am moved by all of the exquisite expressions we humans create in our search for meaning on this earth—expressions like music, art, and literature.
A friend recently described my interests as “history, with a weird mix of natural history and culture.” He might as well have said that I am interested in everything, but it sounds better this way. I appreciate precision where it is necessary and possible, and I aim for a light touch with the things that are too complex to nail down in neat sound bites.
I came to writing by a loose chain of auspicious events, including a graduate school requirement to publish a popular article and a listener project on Vermont Public Radio. I discovered that in addition to writing, editing, and revising, I also love the research, which for any given project can consist of digging into books or archives, poring over maps, interviewing people, or poking around the woods. And I developed a sometimes grudging respect for the whole process, complete with its detours and false starts—which are rarely ever truly false.
I live in two worlds and languages—English and German—and spend much of my time translating between them.
I strive to do the same in my writing. In addition to my travels and the attendant adventures in group dynamics, I draw on other stations on my resume. I have worked as a naturalist, transportation manager, bus driver, and university lecturer, with briefer stints as a woodworker and airport security screener. Along the way I collected an M.A. in anthropology and an M.S. and ecology/natural history.
Ralph Waldo Emerson was right when he said that “in the woods, we return to reason and faith.” I would only add that this can also happen in a concert hall, a museum, or with a great book. Or, of course, with a good friend over Kaffeetrinken—that brilliant German tradition of pastries, coffee (or tea), and good conversation.
