One of my favorite collections of nature writing. I listened to this collection of essays on audio book recently on several
walks at Lake Kegonsa and Governor Nelson state parks.
These essays are an engaging patchwork of observations about the beauty of the vast landscapes
of the American West, encounters with other people, animals, and plants in the wilderness,
and praise of the cleansing and invigorating power of being alone and immersed in the wild.
Muir weaves a certain sense of awe through his writing from his "being-in" nature, sometimes
expressing seemingly numinous experiences. However, rather than reflecting deeply inward
or attempting to navigate the meaning of such events, he remains grounded; he points to the source.
There is an interesting contrast between Muir and Emerson here that I would like to explore sometime.
I smile each time Muir implores his imagined reader to leave town and seek such outings.
Walk away quietly in any direction and taste the freedom of the mountaineer. Camp out
among the grass and gentians of glacier meadows, in craggy garden nooks full of Nature's
darlings. Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you
as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the
storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves. As age comes on, one
source of enjoyment after another is closed, but Nature's sources never fail. Like a generous
host, she offers here brimming cups in endless variety, served in a grand hall, the sky its
ceiling, the mountains its walls, decorated with glorious paintings and enlivened with bands
of music ever playing. The petty discomforts that beset the awkward guest, the unskilled camper,
are quickly forgotten, while all that is precious remains. Fears vanish as soon as one is fairly
free in the wilderness.
(John Muir, "The Yellowstone National Park")
One of my favorite essays from the collection is "A Near View of the High Sierra"
Now came the solemn, silent evening. Long, blue, spiky shadows crept out across the snow-fields,
while a rosy glow, at first scarce discernible, gradually deepened and suffused every mountain-top,
flushing the glaciers and the harsh crags above them. This was the alpenglow, to me one of the
most impressive of all the terrestrial manifestations of God. At the touch of this divine light,
the mountains seemed to kindle to a rapt, religious consciousness, and stood hushed and waiting like
devout worshipers. Just before the alpenglow began to fade, two crimson clouds came streaming across
the summit like wings of flame, rendering the sublime scene yet more impressive; then came darkness
and the stars.
How still the woods seem from here, yet how lively a stir the hidden animals are making; digging,
gnawing, biting, eyes shining, at work and play, getting food, rearing young, roving through the
underbrush, climbing the rocks, wading solitary marshes, tracing the banks of the lakes and streams!
Insect swarms are dancing in the sunbeams, burrowing in the ground, diving, swimming,--a cloud of
witnesses telling Nature's joy. The plants are as busy as the animals, every cell in a swirl of
enjoyment, humming like a hive, singing the old new song of creation.
(John Muir, "The Yellowstone National Park")
Now comes the gloaming. The alpenglow is fading into earthy, murky gloom, but do not let your
town habits draw you away to the hotel. Stay on this good fire-mountain and spend the night
among the stars. Watch their glorious bloom until the dawn, and get one more baptism of light.
Then, with fresh heart, go down to your work, and whatever your fate, under whatever ignorance or
knowledge you may afterward chance to suffer, you will remember these fine, wild views, and look
back with joy to your wanderings in the blessed old Yellowstone Wonderland.
(John Muir, "The Yellowstone National Park")
It may be asked, What have mountains fifty or a hundred miles away to do with Twenty Hill Hollow?
To lovers of the wild, these mountains are not a hundred miles away. Their spiritual power and the
goodness of the sky make them near, as a circle of friends. They rise as a portion of the hilled
walls of the Hollow. You cannot feel yourself out of doors; plain, sky, and mountains ray beauty
which you feel. You bathe in these spirit-beams, turning round and round, as if warming at a
camp-fire. Presently you lose consciousness of your own separate existence: you blend with the
landscape, and become part and parcel of nature.
(John Muir, "Twenty Hill Hollow")