Pantheisticon: Walking (with apologies to Thoreau)

A couple of summers ago I took my Environmental Sociology students (all three of them—hey, it was summer!) on an evening walk around the lovely park across the streetcar line from our university in uptown New Orleans. We had been talking about bioregionalism, a kind of environmentalism that focuses on the importance of developing a deep understanding of and relationship with the ecosystems that we’re embedded in wherever we happen to live.  It’s a philosophy that overlaps well with my own passions; for the last few years I’ve been working on becoming something of an amateur naturalist (not to be confused with naturist :))—someone who is well-versed in a region’s natural history and can identify a wide variety of plants and animals. I wanted to show my students some of the basic species of trees and critters in our immediate community and see how many they were already familiar with. The BP crisis was ongoing at the time and the Gulf was full of oil; it seemed like a good idea to take a break from the anger and the heartbreak, get out of the classroom for a while, and enjoy some of our not-quite-natural urban park beauty.

Entrance to Audubon Park on the St. Charles Ave. side.

Entrance to Audubon Park on the St. Charles Ave. side.

I’m not quite sure how or why I first got started on my project to develop some minor expertise in our local urban environment—I suppose it’s been a natural outgrowth (so to speak) of both my professional and my personal/spiritual interests. I tend to define myself as a “green witchy sort of Druid,” but like many Pagans I don’t fit into any of those categories neatly. Books on green witchcraft tend to focus on learning to communicate with fairies, dryads, elementals, etc. and to work with herbal medicine and magick, and I’ve never really been interested in emphasizing those sorts of practices. I do grow a lot of herbs that I love, but they’re for beauty and interest and cooking; I’ve never developed a psychic connection with my basil or sensed a deva amongst the oregano. I’m also very happily active in an OBOD grove, but like much Druidry it’s often focused on the ecosystems, mythologies, and sacred sites of the UK. I’ve found that I need to supplement those studies with a strong grounding in the very different sort of place that I actually live in. I’ve become a sort of pantheist/animist hybrid, trying to develop respectful relationships with everyone who lives around me of whatever species (fire ants being a key exception) and to maintain a greater awareness of how we all fit together.

 

Juvenile anole on basil–”If I hold real still and close my eyes, you can’t see me!”

For me, the fact that I’m doing this in a mostly urban environment makes things that much more interesting. There’s no wilderness here, and the bayous that still exist on the outskirts of the city are full of illegally dumped trash and construction debris and contaminated with petrochemicals. But post-Katrina New Orleans isn’t that big a city, and while there may not be wilderness, there is a surprising amount of wildlife—a vast array of plants and animals that have successfully adapted to our human-built environment. A lot of it is in our parks, but there’s a lot to see just walking around the streets, too. I’m amused sometimes to realize that our non-human residents probably don’t pay much more attention to us than we do to them—for everyone else in the city, the humans are just background noise and occasional nuisances (although we do sometimes make ourselves useful by providing food sources!).

 

Feral Quaker parrots, aka monk parakeets, snuggling on a power line. They build big communal nests in the palm trees and sometimes you can hear them squawking half a block away.

At this point I don’t consider myself much more than an advanced beginner in my local nature studies, but sometimes I realize that my intermittent, very amateurish efforts to look up anything I see or hear that I can’t identify have apparently elevated my meager skills to way above average. As my three students and I began our long meander around the park that evening, I was slightly stunned to find that they were amazed at my ability to tell a sweetgum from a sycamore. I pointed out the differences between live oaks and water oaks, showed them funky-shaped trees that had lost a chunk of their upper branches in Hurricane Katrina, and demonstrated how the bark peels from the several small river birches that were planted around the perimeter of the park after the storm. We checked out cypress trees with their knees sticking out of the soil, a variety of large long-legged water birds with different beak shapes, and several lovely wildflowers. We then headed across Magazine Street, on the opposite side of the park from the university, and stood awestruck at our local “tree of life”—an enormous live oak on the edge of the zoo, more properly dubbed the Etienne de Boré Oak, a proud member of the Live Oak Society. Heading back to the university up the other side of the park, we had fun listening to the green tree frogs singing (they make more of a honking noise, really!) as the sun went down. One of the three students, an avid runner, said “You know, I run around this park almost every day, and I’ve never really seen all this—it’s so different just walking and listening and looking around.”

 

My son being very careful with a Louisiana green tree frog discovered at our community garden.

I’ve come to realize that walking and listening and looking around is one of the core components of my own Pagan practice. That makes me an odd sort of Pagan, in some ways. I’ve never been able to bring myself to believe that magick works on anything more than a psychological level, or that the god/desses are literal independent entities that we can forge relationships with. I do a little meditation, but often find that when I go out on the balcony to get started I’m as likely to end up sitting there watching a yellow-bellied sapsucker in the live oaks or a Mississippi kite circling overhead as I am to do anything more “spiritual” (which is one reason I often try to meditate out there at night—fewer distractions!). It may seem awfully mundane, but as it turns out, I really like mundane stuff. I’m not really interested in traveling around the country to try and glimpse hard-to-find species of birds, or in going on expeditions to look for wild tomatoes in their native habitat, or in playing ecotourist in the rainforest. Admittedly, if I had the time and the funds, all of those things might be a lot of fun. But right now, I’m just interested in finding out who the people in my neighborhood are—particularly the ones who aren’t human.

 

Eastern Screech Owl, my most recent critter ID. I’ve heard them at the park two nights in a row this week right after sundown. Very small guys, only about 10″ tall.

About Nicole Youngman

Nicole Youngman is a sociology professor living in Uptown New Orleans with her son, hubby, and pair of cats. An active member of the Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids, she has been practicing Paganism for over two decades and is particularly interested in bioregionalism, ecofeminism, and urban environmental issues.

  • Becalope

    What a lovely post! I have just begun my own meditative practices in this very direction.  Will be looking forward to future meditations on this topic.

  • http://johnfranc.blogspot.com/ John Beckett

    Yes yes yes!  Walking outside is one of my core spiritual practices.  Even in a suburb, there is so much LIFE if we’ll just open our senses and see and hear and smell and feel it.  It’s beautiful and powerful and inspirational and we’re a part of the whole thing.

    I’ve had different experiences of magic and the gods, but what you describe here is is very similar to my experiences of walking.

  • Aine Llewellyn

    This post touched my heart. My mother often requires my help doing her field work, and I’m always thrilled to learn what plants surround our city. I’ve been trying to learn more about the local wildlife and thankfully had a head start because my mother taught me so much as a child. My practice does involve talking to the plants and interacting with the faeries I always, always try to learn the names of plants before I do any work with them – it just feels so /impolite/ otherwise. Learning names, identifications, and being able to /know/ what plant or animal is what is – for me, there’s no way I can describe it, but it makes me very joyful and is a big part of my practice.

  • Eli Effinger-Weintraub

    Thank you for this post. I try to root my practice in my home biome, but I’m embarrassingly ignorant about who and what actually live here. When I think about learning it, it feels so overwhelming, but youve inspired me to be OK starting small.

  • http://blog.chasclifton.com/ Chas Clifton

    I used to do something like that with nature-writing students: get ‘em out there, looking at stuff, learning the names. Keep it up!


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