“Every human generation takes as nature’s standard or baseline what existed at first sight, or what they became accustomed to while young. Tragically, they remain unaware of what was lost in previous generations, as well as what is continuing to be lost incrementally during their own lives.”

- Jacob Sigg in Fremontia, October 2003, p.22

Thomas Jefferson's Monticello in Charlottesville, Virginia

My Life: Early Memories:

There is a rustling sound high above me. Young leaves are gently shaking in the wind. It is spring and the air smells of flowers. I can see flowers in a tree, but I cannot touch them. I also hear the humming of bees. It is my first spring. I am not yet a year old. It is 1955 and my adventure is just beginning.

RLK

One of my earliest garden memories is in my grandparent's garden in Marin County, California. I am standing by rows of large deep green leafy plants, with bright red veins. The plants are as large as I am. The sun is glowing through the tissue of the leaves and I remember wondering if plants had blood running in their veins. It is late in the day and my grandfather is bending down to pull weeds. The air is warm. There is a slight breeze and I feel happy.

Years later, as I recalled this memory I tried to figure out what kind of plant I had been seeing. Looking at my own garden, I struggled to identify such a large leafy plant. Then it came to me. The plants I was looking at were ruby red swiss chard and I was three years old and under three feet tall. My perspective was that of a child.

RLK

The Fruit

By Liz Morris

She held it close to her mouth, until it almost touched the edges of her lips,
Breathing in the sweetness, the scent that tantalized her .
The soft hairs of the peach brushed against the delicate fair hairs above her upper lip,
The fruit ripe, but as yet not yielding to the reasonably firm pressure of her fingertips.
She felt the tiny sharp point of the fruit dig slightly into the fleshy part of her thumb,
and turning the fruit around,
She pulled off the part of the stalk that still remained .
She held the peach close to her face, and once more breathed in it's aroma.
Opening her mouth slightly, she took a small bite of the fruit,
And at once felt the juice begin to invade her senses,
As it drizzled into her mouth and onto her tongue.
She used her finger to catch a drip of juice that had begun to run down her chin,
Licking it into her mouth with the tip of her tongue.
Each bite of the peach that she took satisfied both her hunger and her senses,
She ate until there was only now the feel of rough seed against her fingertips.
Tiny stringy entrails the only remaining evidence of the fruit.
She closed her hand around the seed, just held it softly,
Using the back of that hand to smudge away the last wetness of the fruit from her lips.
Slowly opening her hand before her, she lets the seed roll from the palm of her hand ,
Forward onto her fingers,
To finally fall to rest with a swish onto the nest of tissues discarded in the waste basket.

Writers I Recommend:

DEEP ECOLOGY WITH EDWARD HOAGLAND
Edward Hoagland's award-winning essays explore the world of nature, the homely affairs of the human heart and the dynamics of changing civilizations. Hoagland delights in presenting not only the sights of things, but his insights into them as well.

Hoagland is best known for his pieces on wild animals and natural phenomena. Due to a severe stammer as a child, Hoagland became, in his words, "an observer, and in all my books, even the novels, witnessing things is what counts."

His works include The Peacock's Tail, Seven Rivers West, The Courage of Turtles, Walking the Dead Diamond River, Heart's Desire and The Tugman's Passage, among others.