Final Nature Essay

Sam LaCoste

December 14, 2019

Williams

Final Nature Essay: A Summer in Galena, Illinois

                The summers in Texas begin the same every year. Temperatures reaching paralyzing altitudes, nights become longer, and outdoor activity is substituted for the comfort of the air conditioning and indoor amenities. Days go by and the routine is the same. Aside from the occasionally dip in the pool, or wade through the lake, there are few outlets for an outdoor escape from the heat. Aside from the heat, the air becomes heavy, riddled with humidity and the tease of a much wanted ran that never comes. At night, the bedsheets cling to you as if any drop of sweat would cool them off as well. When the pinnacle of the heat wave begins to hit in July, it’s finally time for an escape from the sweltering confinement of the summer heat.

            In the early hours of the morning, the summer sunrise has already begun, and the orange luminescence guides a path to greener grass and freedom from the monotony of the heat restricted days. Driving north will always be one of my favorite things. The transition from the fields that mimic a sandy beige ocean to a lustrous green sea of vegetation is something that few things compare to. The visible restoration of life along the drive provides a promise of hope and new growth. It feels as though with every mile, the temperature drops, and the confinement of the southern summer begins to disperse.

            Arriving at the cabin is like coming home after traveling for long periods of time. Always refreshing and relaxing, like a breath of fresh ar. Surrounded by monstrous trees, you can’t help but feel insignificant in the enormity of it all. The continuity in their presence year after year, is a consistency that is seldom found in people or their daily lives. Constantly looking to the next big thing or new opportunity, we frequently develop little regard to that which is around us or keeps us grounded. We lack respect for the places that built us and made us into the people we are today. Sometimes I envy the continuity of the trees; the idea of consistent change is what truly terrifies me. Year after year, they remain. Only bigger and better than the last, but nevertheless still there. There is something humbling about them, that even in the midst of their destruction and misuse, they continually provide for us; shade when we need it, a place to rest when we grow weary, and a place to climb and grow alongside them. The cracks in their trunks, the etched in carvings from our drawings as kids still remain and always will.

            Just past the trees, the water from the lake plays game of peek-a-boo with the dock. Slowly surging up to graze the bottom of the dock and then slinking away as it goes out, but always returning again nonetheless. The timelessness of the relationship between the two is something not found in relationships amongst people today. A wade through the lake here is not met with the same need for escape as it is in Texas. Here, the water is a place of serenity and tranquility. A shade of clear green provides enough visibility to see just to your toes and then secludes to an unknown down below. I often sit back and reflect on the lack of recognition I give the water that gives so much to us. Day in and day out, as a society we take so much of its resources. Yet, time and time again it is there to support us. I often imagine that the weightlessness feeling of floating atop the water is the closest I will ever be to total relaxation, however I am sure the constant movement and running from place to place in my normal routine is a close second.

            In Galena, the days are long, and the nights are short. That could be attributed to the actual rise and setting of the sun, or to the never-ending conversations that simply migrate location, you decide. The mornings usually start with a general congregation on the back patio. The coffee pot is the local watering hole that needs frequent replenishment from serving the herd that has gathered around it. The birds begin their morning song and flutter about as if they were weightless and carefree. The speed of their wing’s mimics that of the sprint of a cheetah. The irony of it all is the speed in which they get to their inconsequential location. Darting about is if their lives depended on it, simply to perch on a deck rail. Humans could only dream of the capability that would an extra level of chaos to an already rapid lifestyle. Already running from location to location with no regard, but at the speed of a hummingbird; one can dream.

            After an early morning spent still and reflective, a mid-morning fishing trip is most often suggested. Supplies are then gathered, and bags are packed onto the boat with fishing rods in tow. The lake has its own movement by this time. Gone are the hours of serenity and glass-like water surfaces. We drop an anchor in a cove further up the channel. Trudging along the lake floor, stirring up a murky concoction of mud and sand. Gradually moving to the surface level like a cloud from below, the sludge tampers all prior visibility, almost as if it were giving the fish time to depart. Once the dust settles and the area clears, the first line is in the water. Not long after, a fish is ripped from the stillness and pulled on board. Every scale with iridescent glow and slightly different color. The tail with its glossy façade and unique markings. The mouth with its hole already left from another capture. I once heard that people enjoy fishing because they can’t hear the fish scream. Quite a unique perspective for a sport that’s rooted in reposefulness.

            As the daily fishing trip concludes, the movement into a lunch break often follows. We typically dock the boat and hike around to the spillway. The massive rock formations surrounding the drop off have slowly been eroded away over the years. What once looked like an ominous boundary is now riddled with white streaks and a porous surface. Day after day, the water roars over the cliff, at a speed that would rival the bird’s wings from earlier in the morning. With no regard to its contents or their future demise, the water rages on. Despite the consistent wear from the thunderous overflow, the rigid rock wall remains. Yet another testament to the consistency of the world around us, and our fleeting entertainment.

            Once the allure of fishing has subsided, we make our way to the stables for an afternoon ride with the horses. Despite the stereotypes that come along with living in Texas, horseback riding is not a norm in my daily, or even monthly, routine. The massive bodies of the horses are counterattacked with an immense amount of gentleness and tenderness. Every stroke of a brush along their bodies is more calming and soothing than the next. Once prepped, we depart for, what turns into, a trail ride lasting hour upon hours. As we move along, exploring new creeks and paths that we haven’t taken yet. The inner explore comes out in us all during the trail rides; constantly looking for new routes or places to go. With no maps or cellphones with us, we must be aware of our surrounding environment and actively acknowledge all that is around. So often we limit ourselves from experiencing daily exploration which further distances us from nature.

            As the sun begins to set, and the horses’ energy dwindles, we make our way back to the stables for the evening. The glow from the sunset exudes a tangerine glow on everything around us. The silence from the surrounding fields is accompanied by the trotting of horse hooves along the gravel path to the barn. One final wash and brush for the gentle giants, and they are done for the day. Owing us nothing but giving their efforts for our enjoyment for the afternoon. Once completed, we return to the cabin through the same trees that welcomed us upon our arrival. This time with a slightly more ominous appearance against a darker background. The tangerine hue has shifted into a navy blue sprinkled with luminate freckles. The darkness here is unlike the nightfall at home. The color density is deeper and makes you feel even less significant under the vastness of all that it entails. The color block is briefly broken from the light of a fire fueled from the very trees that allure me to this place to begin with. Again, constantly providing for those that aims to harm it. The selflessness of nature is something I will never understand, yet the greed of human nature is almost palpable. Eventually the flames will dwindle, the dusk will turn into dawn and the routine will start again. Yet this time, the awareness of our surroundings is more prominent, the colors are more vibrant, the sounds of nature a bit louder, the sounds of life a bit quieter and just maybe the appreciation and admiration for the world around us has grown just a little more.