As we proceed through life, we’re often focused straight ahead — or at least that’s what we’re told that we’re supposed to do. “Where do you plan to be in five years?” “Watch where you’re going!” “Stop focusing on the past; it’s behind you.” Those are all things we’ve likely heard at some point in our lives.
This relentless drive forward may be the key to succeed in business, but I think to better connect with the world around you, it’s good to look around. Through my Five Minutes in Nature project I’ve worked to notice things that are easy to miss. To do that, I must break myself of superficial encounters that never get beyond first impressions.
The title of this post suggests to look down, but when in nature, I pause to prompt myself to look in every direction. Up and down. Left and right. Forward and back. One direction offers but one perspective.
I’ve had a few trips into various forests over the past few months that have reminded me how limited our perception can be if we’re looking only in one direction. Forests operate on scales of space and time that challenge our ability to easily comprehend.
Hiking through an old-growth forest in western Pennsylvania, it’s tough to truly fathom how old the trees are. Some of the hemlock trees in the Tionesta are more than 400 years old — they have already lived well over five to six times as long as I will.
Looking straight up, I can kind of get a sense of how old this forest might be. I can’t see the tops of any of the trees. All I can see is the under side of the canopy with a little bit of blue sky filtering through. I find one hemlock that has upper branches that remind me of spokes on a wagon wheel. I take pictures, but I still don’t know how tall that tree is.
A week later I was back in Seattle, hiking through the Washington Park Arboretum. I’ve lost track of the time I’ve spent hiking through the woods along its wetlands. On this occasion, I spent most of my time looking down.
The scene above my head is evidence of past growth. The scene at my feet supports future growth.
I’m initially captivated by the light of sunrise filtering through the trees. The light is also filtered by wildfire smoke, so patches of the forest floor are bathed in a spectacular golden light. As I look closer, I see that there’s a subtle contrast in the colors of the moss and the leaves that have already fallen. Looking even more closely, I see berries that are serving as little ornaments in this tiny tableau.
As I make my pictures I think about what’s supported by the scene at my feet. Insects gather in the leaf litter. Birds, like the varied thrush, will later comb through those leaves to find food. Over time, the leaves and other organic matter will break down, turning into nutrient-rich soil that will feed the next generation of trees that will take root here.
If we go through life constantly marching forward, looking at the world that exists only at our eye level, we miss so much. It’s easy to make deeper connections to nature. Start with the world that’s at your feet.
Kevin’s new book, Five Minutes in Nature, collects images and stories about his experiences in the wilderness, curated to help you have deeper encounters of your own. Preview and order it here.
(Prints of Kevin Ebi's images are available through LivingWilderness.com. Learn about new work by joining his mailing list.)
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