When asked to recall a place that is important to me, one that I have many memories in, I can think of no other place than the wilderness. In the wilderness I have spent invaluable personal time with my father, my grandfather, and my friends. The sight of trees has always inspired me; it has always made me feel a certain peacefulness and rest. I love to be in the woods; I love to see the animals; I love to hear the birds; I love the silence that is brought upon by the lack of roads, buildings, and people. I love the sound of the river or creek as it flows so swiftly and smoothly, no man-made devices blocking it from nature’s intended course. The wilderness is an almost spiritual place to me, and hence I treasure it.
As a child, from the time I could walk confidently, my grandfather took me on hikes and walks through the woods. Living in Arkansas at the time, there were areas of wilderness all around. My grandfather had grown up in Arkansas, and so, seemed to know absolutely everything about the forest through which we would trek. I was always amazed at his knowledge of the wildlife, vegetation, and landscape. Rarely did we ever stay on the marked trail, for to my grandfather the real adventure was in the unmarked, unchartered wilderness. Such wilderness holds many memories of my grandfather and me. He used to take me with him into the middle of the woods to try out his new guns on old logs, bushes, and the occasional, unlucky squirrel. We used to fish off of old, forgotten docks and bridges, reeling in carp and sunny and just throwing them back while bragging to each other about the number of fish we had caught that day. The memories made with my grandfather in the wilderness are outstandingly numerous, and profoundly embedded in my mind.
Never will I forget the moments spent surrounded by wilderness with my father. The time he finally took me deer hunting with him was a young man’s triumph over the ever-present restraint of age. All my life I had wanted to accompany him on his weekend hunting trips with our cousins that he took every so often. As an eleven year old boy, my wish was granted as I packed my thermals and boots, ready to embark on this adventure with my father as two men, ready to brave the wilderness together. The hours spent together in a box, ten feet in the air that weekend, were hours I would never hope to take back.
My personal connection with the wilderness has existed as long as I can remember. In my elementary school days I would sit on the top of our plastic shed and look out into the woods behind our back yard while I wrote my extensive, full paragraph long essays on Martin Luther King Jr. or George Washington. I felt, even at that young age, that there was inspiration that the forest had to offer. I can remember following rabbit tracks through the snow through those woods with my best friend. We followed those tracks into a clearing where there split into every direction, as if the one rabbit turned into fifteen at some point. The mystery that I felt then stays with me now as I contemplate what could have caused the explosion of tracks at that one spot, way back in the snow covered wilderness.
The wonder that the wilderness holds will never escape me. Forever I will love to be in that place, so pure and natural, untainted and unharmed by human hands. The most beautiful city skyline could not hope to contend with a leaf covered forest clearing in my mind. The most talented musician could never produce a sound as sweet as that of flowing water and wind rustled leaves. The most profound and enthusiastic speaker could not inspire me nearly as much as nature does. In the wilderness I am home; in the wilderness I am comfortable; in the wilderness I strive.
