Time and Sage

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

            I keep waking up in the realm of 4:00 a.m., which encourages me to think about time. My perception of time has changed so much since arriving at Taylor Ranch, coming from a lifestyle in which efficiency and speed are among the most highly valued characteristics to be found in one person. The first days that I was at Taylor, I found myself fidgeting during long conversations—after all, I need to get stuff done, done, done! Now the days barely feel long enough for classes, schoolwork, chores and cooking, walking in nature, and writing letters. I am curious that my mind was able to meld so quickly into this busy-but-in-a-different-way lifestyle. Time is different in nature and in a lifestyle lived in the wilderness. People are more eager and willing to have meaningful conversations that last as long as necessary, and sometimes even longer than that. Time scales in geology are huge, and it takes thousands of years for certain processes to take place. It’s also interesting to consider the temporal scale and its relation to seasons—how does an animal prepare for hibernation in the face of changing onsets of seasons due to climate change? Animals in the Frank Church-River of No Return have much less contact with humans than the animals residing in suburbia, so I wonder if they feel less or more pressure to gather food and to guard their territory. I wonder if animals sense time, and to what degree they are being affected by climate change in terms of plants growing and dying at different times, different migration patterns, etc.

Big sagebrush

The first snow on the ridges outside our window! September 26, 2013

            I like to spend time an in area east of Taylor Ranch that I have christened the new Sagebrush Flat. This place seems much more deserving of that name than the actual Sagebrush Flat, because several hundred sagebrush bushes cluster together here. The river also widens and calms, flowing slowly by this flat plain surrounded by burned trees, rocky slopes, and grasses. The smell is soothing—simultaneously richly fragrant but also understated. The wind blows continually on this gloomy day, and on particularly strong bursts, it takes the vile of sage out from under my nose and replaces it with cool air laden with the prospect of snow. Once the wind settles again into a steady breeze, I rip off a section of the foliage, crush it with my fingertips, and rub the scent all over my hands. As I wander closer to the river, I spy a Douglas fir tree, and I pick a needle, and inhale its bracing and invigorating scent, such a pleasant deviation from desert aromas to a reminder of the woods. The wind forces fierce raindrops onto me, the strength of the sage fades, and the fragrance of the cool earth wafts up to me.