Finding Gladness
A Short Ode to when Nature and the City Coexist
The first time a landscape ever truly captivated me was when I saw Virginia in the autumn. My mother was taking me to Charlottesville in late October for a tour during my law school application process, and coming from Pennsylvania we had to go through the Blue Ridge Mountains, past entrances to Shenandoah National Park and Skyline Drive as we drove Interstate 64 on our way to the hotel in town. Once you’re in Albemarle County, but not quite yet to Charlottesville, there is a scenic overlook where the Virginia Department of Transportation Worker’s Memorial is, and we decided to pull off the road to take in the view of the mountains as the sun began to go down for the evening. The mountains seemed to stretch on for eternity, and the hillsides were lit with a color and vibrancy that the autumns in my hometown in northwest Pennsylvania did not accustom me to. As the landscape flooded over me, I felt the first kindling to what I realize looking back was a sense of deep appreciation, a desire to find a connection to the creation around me.
When my wife and I ended up moving to Charlottesville for me to attend school, we ended up living in an apartment complex in the county, a bit outside of Charlottesville City and away from the law school, with a full view of the mountain where Monticello sat from behind our building. With an abundance of trails, lakes, parks, and paths to explore in our immediate vicinity, I reified this commitment to engaging deeply with the outdoors. I enjoyed countryside drives, walked trails and parks with my wife and by myself, and went outside with our dogs. But chief among all of the newfound interest I took in nature as it surrounded us was admiring and learning about wildlife that we shared our space with.
Having grown up in suburban settings, wildlife diversity was not something I had much familiarity with. I was aware of the life around me, and was rather used to seeing a variety of species that lived near us. But as we settled into our new home, I was able to have intimate and constant interaction to an extent I had not prior with a variety of animals, which opened up new depths of appreciation that would prove to be lasting.
There was the Racerunner who snuck into our bedroom the night we moved in that I had to capture and release. The Rat Snakes that slithered about our bushes near our bedroom window. The Mourning Doves who perched near our door and spurred me to an appreciation of birds that I am certain will remain with me the rest of my days. As the days of law school went by, especially as social gathering was tampered down in response to the Coronavirus, I found that seeing, learning, and watching the natural world around me brought a sense of serenity and calm that modern trappings could not provide.
Eventually, the time came for my wife and I to leave Virginia and return to Pennsylvania, so I could begin my career and we could be closer to family. As we prepared to get settled in our new home in Pittsburgh, I cried, knowing my time enjoying a smaller community was over, and that large changes to our lives were on the way. I couldn’t say for certain if I feared I would never enjoy such ready access to the natural again, but in hindsight it seems quite likely.
The hills in Pittsburgh are not necessarily the first thing that may come to mind when you think of the word “scenic”, but when the first snow of the year falls, there is nothing quite like it. The frost over the ground before the cars pound it to slush and sludge, the trees and branches covered in a scenic coating, the fresh footprints in the ground from man and animal alike. This was what greeted us the morning after we had moved back in, in a way that felt like God was having a laugh at our expense having just moved back from a more temperate climate. We were staying on Mount Washington on the south side of the Monongahela River, a river known for being used for the region’s storied history of manufacturing. As I woke and stretched, my wife hurriedly called me to the back door in our kitchen, where our screen door showed the backyard we shared with our neighbors in the building.
In the yard stood a family of White-Tailed Deer browsing their way through the plant life in our backyard as they plucked through the snow with their noses. I of course had seen deer before, they were near ubiquitous in my life as a Pennsylvania native. What I could not explain, however, was how transfixed I felt as I stood there looking at them. A certain joy and wonder sat in my chest as I beamed from ear to ear, in awe of these gentle creatures as they marched through our back yard and up the hill, towards the woods a few blocks away. The deer were not only a reassuring welcome back, but also were the first sign that the streets of Mount Washington turned out to be abounding with wildlife. Rabbits, opossums, squirrels, woodpeckers, songbirds, and even my beloved Mourning Doves all turned out to be all too common in our neighborhood, a discovery I was too happy to make. As the days have wound on from that day two years ago through the present, my family has been able to relish in looking for and finding our local fauna near our house and admiring them.
The 104th Psalm proclaims “How many are your works, Lord! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures.”
The Psalmist captures in scripture this truth which seems simple and obvious but often eludes our true and full recognition and recollection: our human lives are but one part of a massive order of life constantly moving around us. Our cars and trains, our pipes and wires, our concrete and telephone poles: all of these are often part of ‘everyday life’ in an urban environment, but take our attention away from the incredible wonder that is life occurring every day. The immense wonder that can be had from observing a bird as it trots along a wire, a rabbit or a squirrel as it forages for food, or a family of deer as they walk along a road is something that allows us to find a peace that is often not afforded to us in today’s culture: the possibility of enjoying place and time without outside pressures. There are no markets, deadlines, or capital to be concerned with, and these species, even the ones adapted to living with and near humans in an urban environment, can simply be, rooted in their place and occupying stillness.
When I previously heard people talk about “green space” in an urban area, I used to think of parks, areas where nature and life is cordoned off and properly kept from becoming disruptive and unruly to its urban surroundings. I suggest that when we segregate the natural like this, when we make our earth not full of creatures but rather containing creatures in a specified space, we not only place unjust and unfair impositions on the animals, but also impoverish our own experience and enrichment in life through living in community with animals. This image animals can exemplify by their living is something that has allowed me to grow deeper in my appreciation for my community, my home and corner of the earth I am blessed to occupy. I not only enjoy seeing these creatures, I am able to better find and cultivate gladness for being on this Earth, and am resolved that much more to care for and tend to the community around me.
I still see the family of deer quite often. They come through our yard, our neighbors’ yards, even once walking up the other side of the street as I made my way to the bus stop to head off to work. They seem to know humans here mean them no harm, and seem more curious about us than afraid of us. I enjoy the times I can see them, whether it be before work or early on a weekend. Each time I see them and am reminded to find joy, peace, and thankfulness for the life and place I have been given, I smile, nod, and say to them what I say to all of our animal friends, whether they be rabbits in our bushes or doves on the railings:
Hello neighbor, lovely to see you