Philosophy and Science

The Irony of Art

I love outdoor art and admire well crafted objects made by man. The irony of it is that as much as man-made things are admirable, they pale in comparison to the design of nature. Some folks go to see cities to admire the beauty of buildings and structures while others would rather pay to see an “empty” valley with no sight of the efforts of man. A piece of jewelry is struck by fine craftsmen but I can find no jewelry that matches the grace and beauty of teeth, claws and antlers, or sparkles as much as autumn ash leaves falling on a sunny day.

We all enjoy pictures of nature placed on paper and honor the skill required to create such a thing, because of this we place monetary value on these pictures, while the real thing can be enjoyed for free. Yet, the idea of destroying the picture is somewhat, publicly, more offensive than allowing the destruction of that very real piece of nature. Why is it wrong to mourn the natural spots that are truly irreplaceable, beautiful and free for all to enjoy when they are destroyed in order to make room for something ugly to be sold? Why is there little more than even an epitaph beyond a few whispers of, “that’s too bad?”

Any wise man will confirm that there is no canvas or camera that can replicate the true beauty and bright color hues of a freshly caught native trout and the only way to enjoy such a sight is to go out and catch one and stare in awe for precious seconds. Yet some squabble about the cost of a license and gear while spending hundreds, even thousands of dollars, on very imperfect attempts at replication.

A full moon cast through the forest and it’s reflection off the snow is more mystical and mesmerizing than any famous cathedral and the phosphorescence on certain waters can’t be duplicated, or fairly described unless the eyes are taken to the actual scene. Beyond a glimpse of nature, one gets an experience and earns a story when taking the effort to behold creation. The feeling and admiration for the first gaze at a freshly risen clump of Morels can’t be duplicated because it also included the art of discovery, something a museum with its signs, maps and brochures conveniently dispenses with.

A simple, open field, the twist of an oak, the sun at its daily beginning and end all inspire more than steel and glass can no matter how tall it becomes. While imitation is the finest form of flattery, it can never be the real thing. Civilization can keep their statues, buildings and treasures, I’ll settle for a feather, and that twisted oak, and if I’m really blessed, a sparkling trout and a fresh track.

See you along the stream.

A Drink From the Cup of Souls

I spent the other day frolicking in the creek with my family of “river rats”. We snorkeled, chased three pound, smallmouth bass, and lazed on rocks. It was great. At one point, I propped myself up and watched my children play. During their activity, I could see the reflections of preceding generations in each of them. My wife and I could both see the shadows and ripples of many of each of our known ancestor’s traits, living in each of our own kids. Like water scooped into a cup at the confluence of a river, they are not of one creek but a combination of many tributaries mixed together. How does that come to pass?

We are but ashes, dust, and water. To this river rat’s way of thinking, it can only be in our water that our spirits are carried on to be reflected in the future. Water is the base ingredient of all life and the only substance that endures, so it must be that the mischievous glimmer in my son’s eye and the way that my daughters toss their heads when they laugh, was somehow carried to the present from the past, through a river that is within them and that river is our ancestor’s water. Just as a river runs through our lands and towns, a river runs through the families of all living things, carrying the spirits of the previous generations.

There are many reasons to protect our water resources. Streams and rivers are the source of life, providing the most important ingredient to beating hearts. Perhaps water even passes along spirits, which flow down through the generations, binding the past to the present and allowing one to perfectly imitate others he has never known but in some way has inside himself.

It is foolish to think of rivers and water as less than a source of life; an inconvenience when high and a place to play when calm. Rivers are connected to each other as we are. We are bound to each other and to rivers in ways we can see and cannot see. Clean or unclean, in the end, the physical rivers will endure. If we take care of our waters, all that may remain of us is the river that runs through life, connecting generations that span centuries, generations carried by a simple flow of water. Water to be reflected someday, as it ripples, perhaps as the gleam in a youngster’s eye when he meets his own love and extends the river, by taking a drink from the cup of souls.

See you along the stream.