In my stead

Don’t be afraid to escape—fear you not to see the landscape.

O

ne was staring at me, every little move I made she was there to analysed it; the one to the left was hiding from me, covering her head behind the lowest branches of a solitary Douglas fir that were feeling attracted to the centre of the Earth by gravity; the rest of them were not paying much attention but sure they were on full alert. I was watching them, too; I was observing them observing me and, at the same time asking myself what kind of image their brains were making of me. I wonder if they would be looking at me the same way I was looking at them. I moved a little bit, just to get onto a rock to have a better view of the place I was, and as I was walking confidently to there I noticed something soft going on in the sole of my trainers; I looked down, I looked up, I looked steadily at them and those feelings I had three minutes ago were long gone—I hated their guts. I jumped out of that rock and started walking through golden grass whilst trying to avoid every land mine they had put on the way. I was walking towards a group of aspens. The sound of the grass getting pushed down to the ground by my weight reminded me of the sound of crickets—every step I made.

They were long gone, as soon as we started moving they galloped away and continued grazing and devouring distant grasslands. The wind blew so hard that wiped all the clouds out from the sky and the sun, which suddenly appeared, managed to slip and get through those young aspens. It was a big group, in the middle of 2 km²of grass, like an oasis in the middle of the desert. I continued a little bit until I got to the heart—but there was no heart, it was all dark and dead. Lots of trunks had fallen down and they were laying in the ground, and a few were leaning on the ones that had resisted the Apocalypse. It was the power of a lightning that had caused the mess, a disturbance that back then, when those grasslands were property of homesteaders, rule the world. Now, the disturbances were those savage animals which graze at the speed of light and me. The wind hit again, and the sound of the leaves went after; as I was diving into my thoughts I bumped into a dusty old brownish post; “Maurice Scott. Built- 1914” it said—a long time ago that place now covered in grasses, bushes and some other taller vegetation was home for someone. It was Maurice Scott’s home. The only thing left now is a permanent shadow of its foundations. Will the same thing happen to my home?

Sitting down on a very unconformable pile of rocks I saw a huge spider (someone would say it was diminutive) climbing up a smoky black trunk; it was going so quickly that I could barely track it down. I tried to observe its behaviour by approaching my head to its, until it got too much closer which made me ran off from that place. I was sure that those who were watching me including the grazing monsters were also laughing at me. My motivation for running was fear, I was afraid of that spider.

I felt so stupid and self-betrayed after that that I needed to write it down to be honest with myself; I want nature to be involved in my life as much as most of other humans, but not too much because it scares me. And I need to change that, I need to teach my brain not to freak out every time a different looking animal approaches me. I must learn how not to be afraid to escape from my stead and see the landscape.

The first owners of this land

L

and is unanimated. Land is continental crust rising higher above the mantle because of its lower density. Land is where terrestrial organisms live. Land is arid until it becomes someone’s place. Land without life is dead. So, what makes land memorable is life; from the smallest and simplest forms of life such as microorganisms, to people. People who live in it, people who cultivate and respect it. Land also make people’s stories possible, and those stories make people own that land as the Tsimshian elder would say “If this is your land, where are your stories?” (from J. Edward Chamberlin’s book).

Last week was about the owners of the land beneath my cold feet. We had the opportunity to learn about them, the people European colonizers thought were not. We went to the Secwepemc museum a quarter of an hour away from campus.

As normal, recently, the sky was covered in dense grey clouds and the temperature was not very pleasant. I was feeling a little bit dizzy, and the cold was not helping really much. Fortunately, they had the heat on inside the building. I observed the building as I stepped in, it was not the fanciest nor a high-profile museum; it was old and dusty. A map of the world was hanging in the wall with lots of pins in it indicating every visitor’s homeland; I saw home.

Jackie, our guide for the afternoon, was awaiting in the following room. She was the one to guide us through the history of her people and her land, her experiences and her own stories. Could we ask for more? The protagonist of the museum explaining her stories; not a random guide who has no relation to what the museum exposes and that has to do its job just to get paid at the end of the month. I could tell from the beginning that she would do it differently. If only Leonardo da Vinci could tell us the story behind “La Gioconda” himself, as well as Michelangelo of “La volta della Cappella Sistina” or Antoni Gaudí of “La Sagrada Família”.

We soaked up every piece of information she gave us: games, rituals after funerals or before hunting, music, beliefs, cooking and their relationship with nature. For all the modern commodities you could think of, they had an alternative; land provided everything they would need to survive: wood was used for canoes or tools, the fluffy parts of some plant served as absorbent pads or bandages… The rest, to make that space a place, was their responsibility.

The hours flew by and it was already time to leave. As I was heading out, there was something stuck in my mind that wouldn’t leave: “It’s impossible not to survive in nature, there’s everything out there” Jackie said quoting her mom. I kept on thinking about it… “there’s no way that I could survive into the wild right now… I would get eaten by a bear or I would freeze to death… No way”. Something hit on my head. “Well… Yes, I could but I wouldn’t know how, because I’m not more of than a tourist in nature, I’m not synchronized with it”. The cold out there hit me hard which it made me return to planet Earth.

The afternoon still: the far sound of the train accompanied the honk of the geese flying over our heads. As we were approaching to the shore of the river, I identified three humps on the ground; winter pit houses. They used to build those houses underground to keep the arctic cold outside and to avoid wind slamming to the walls of the house. Those places would be home for a single family for 5 years, more or so. A place full of stories, laughter and joy. A place built by the owners of this land.

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As I was thinking about ten verbs related to a profession and ten nouns about my surroundings, my head tried to relate the Secwepemc people history to my very own, but I couldn’t, because as European I'm in the other side of the story. However, I can say that, as a visitor of this land, this first unanimated and arid space has now become a place to me.

Walking through the ages

T

oday, it happened again. I was walking home from the bus stop, listening to music and looking nowhere. I somehow felt being observed by someone but there was no one on the street, so I continued. The wind was facing towards me, so I turned my head to the left to get my hair out of my face and there they were; two young deer looking at me. I saw them just by chance but if I would have paid more attention to where I was at, I would have seen them before. It really took me off-guard. Why? Because we don’t pay attention and as a result we miss lots of things, and not just animals, but landscapes (last field trip proved me right). Anyway, last Thursday we revived Kamloops in the past, and admired Kamloops in the present; it really seemed that I was walking through the ages.

The week flew by so fast that when I realized we were heading off to the hoodoos. That would be our first real field trip. It took 30-40 minutes to get there; located past Tranquille road as you head out to Kamloops Lake there it was, Cinnamon Ridge. It is one of the living proof of Kamloops history, the result of volcanic eruptions. The gigantic rocks piled up together were once a volcano in eruption spitting out smoke and lava.

The moment I stepped out of the car and looked at my surroundings I could tell two things: bushes dominating the landscape and colossal rocks on top almost touching the sky. The weather didn’t like us very much but at least it didn’t cry.

The beginning of the hike was pleasant, not steep nor slippery. Dozens of sagebrush accompanied us as we were walking on by, however it got to the point that only the bravest individuals were capable of getting there. It was very clear to see how all the historic events had conditioned the type of life that grows in there nowadays (glaciers for instance). It got steeper and slippery, but the views were worth it. At some point, I recall being in “The Lion King” movie as the landscape was so alike. If you looked towards the lake, you would see all the expansion of land that defines this country and all the history that is underneath each one of the rocks that builds it (volcanos, glaciers, lakes, etc). Whereas, if you looked backwards you would see the remains of the volcanos that once dominated this land. I tried to imagine how different it was now from then, and how much time it took for all these events to convert the landscape to what I see now, and suddenly my stomach turned upside down. It is a pity that most of us don’t even think about that, our anthropocentric point of view always makes us blind and blurs our minds, but yes, the Earth existed before we came in to destroy it.

The final stop of the trip was the canyon. We walked into the canyon itself, walls of rocks observing us as we pass by, stones and some logs left on the ground by the action of the water. The narrow and deep hallways of the canyon, the hoodoo spires rising above it and the loud crows made the ridge the perfect scenario for a horror movie. I sat down and observed for a little while everything, tones of mudstone building those huge monuments, wild roses growing from nowhere, the wind rattling against barren vegetation … The nature was at peace.

I sat on the rear seat of the car and as we leaving that place I thought: I have just walked through the ages.

The starting line

F

irst and foremost, I’m lucky enough to say that I’ve found my career in life, one that I love and I’m passionate about, although I’m not sure about what and where in concrete (specialization-wise), I know that my thing is microbiology. That is why I wasn’t a hundred percent sure about what to expect from this course; I sure love nature: walking through narrow trails surrounded by vegetation of all heights whilst listening to my thoughts and other curious and shy living beings, sitting down on some rock in the summit of a random hill and observing how small we all are. Did you notice how small we are? Every time I think of it, it blows my mind. We are so small, yet we believe we are the biggest. I also love taking pictures, as a matter of fact photography is one of my hobbies; I usually only take pictures of nature because I like it later to watch them all over again, and it helps me remember things that we usually forget in our daily basis; how special we are to be here. However, I didn’t know whether that would be enough to like natural history; and then I took my first class. We started playing with colors which brought back a feeling that was deeply buried inside of me, that child that we all have inside came all the sudden, and all the other thousands of thoughts that normally live in my brain faded out. I could remember how much I loved to paint when I was in high school, and being honest, in a million years I would have ever thought that in my fourth year of college I would be painting. They think that by choosing science you must forget the artist we all have inside, but the reality is that art is to science what asphalt is to roads.

After, we went outside, finally. The very first class I take outdoors since I’ve been in Canada. Whoever decides our education believes that indoors is the place where you learn, but a gardener don’t learn his job inside a building, stuck in a chair writing down whatever, neither does a build worker. So, someone who wants to know more about nature, apart from having a little bit of theory, has to learn from the nature itself, by observing, listening, drawing and writing. I had the chance to look more carefully to TRU campus which it made me realize that normally I see things, but I don’t pay attention to them. Besides the philosophical part, I also got the chance to learn drawing techniques which were helpful and, trust my accuracy when it comes to drawing.

The term “Natural history” might seem frightening and maybe boring when you first hear it because of the word “history”, your brain might associate this word with books and lots of study and memorizing, but it happens to be just a word. For me, natural history means the leaning of nature or even the land and planet we live in. Not always the books are going to give you the type of knowledge the landscape itself would give you.

By the end of the class, I already knew that I had made a good choice. That was the starting line of an experience that I will remember my whole life.