I enjoy driving. Whether it’s a multi state trek or just a 15 minute cruise, I have always been excited to be behind the wheel of a car. As taxing as it can be (especially in the winter months), there is something to be said for the feeling of being in control of a pile of chrome, steel, and electronics as it flies across the countryside, or through small suburban neighborhoods.
Although the feeling of control over my finely crafted, gently used chariot can be sublime, the real treat is the scenery. The plains and forests that blur into a wall of color and space are backdrops to the general idea of exploring. It even harkens to the early scenes of Tolkien’s famous Fellowship of The Ring, with fresh faced adventurers plodding off through woodland and farmland alike.
Living in Allendale, there is an ever present miasma of manure, especially in the warming months of summer and spring. The smell itself is almost enough of a deterrent to wandering too far off the path between my front door and my car. Pair that with the apparent emptiness of the land, as saturated as it is with farmland and apartment complexes, and the motivation to wander disappears entirely to me. Such criticism can be made of many communities across Michigan, with proper substitutions for the local obstacles to outdoor inquiry.
Whenever I pull up to my apartment, one of the last thoughts that cross my mind before I leave my car is how nice it is to live in a heavily wooded area (my apartments are surrounded by forest). I'll even fantasize about sneaking off into the woods and starting a secret garden, or finding a nook in a tree to disappear to and read whenever I'm stressed. But as I open my door and actually achieve my minimal interaction with nature for the day, the desire fades.
That this behavior is a pattern in me is frustrating. I once did thoroughly enjoy short nature hikes, exploring backyards and the woods. When did that part of me die? Perhaps the better question is whether or not it died at all. Perhaps it waits for me in the forest, hoping I will come to find it soon.
Although the feeling of control over my finely crafted, gently used chariot can be sublime, the real treat is the scenery. The plains and forests that blur into a wall of color and space are backdrops to the general idea of exploring. It even harkens to the early scenes of Tolkien’s famous Fellowship of The Ring, with fresh faced adventurers plodding off through woodland and farmland alike.
Living in Allendale, there is an ever present miasma of manure, especially in the warming months of summer and spring. The smell itself is almost enough of a deterrent to wandering too far off the path between my front door and my car. Pair that with the apparent emptiness of the land, as saturated as it is with farmland and apartment complexes, and the motivation to wander disappears entirely to me. Such criticism can be made of many communities across Michigan, with proper substitutions for the local obstacles to outdoor inquiry.
Whenever I pull up to my apartment, one of the last thoughts that cross my mind before I leave my car is how nice it is to live in a heavily wooded area (my apartments are surrounded by forest). I'll even fantasize about sneaking off into the woods and starting a secret garden, or finding a nook in a tree to disappear to and read whenever I'm stressed. But as I open my door and actually achieve my minimal interaction with nature for the day, the desire fades.
That this behavior is a pattern in me is frustrating. I once did thoroughly enjoy short nature hikes, exploring backyards and the woods. When did that part of me die? Perhaps the better question is whether or not it died at all. Perhaps it waits for me in the forest, hoping I will come to find it soon.
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