Also... I walk in my yard and woods here in Alaska without a light source whenever I’m able, and generally tend to like the minimum amount of light necessary even inside. I’ve got one path to my studio that is covered in roots and treacherous to those not paying attention, but I have been able to traverse it in pitch black from feel/memory; it’s magical and I feel connected to everything at those times.
This reminds me of a field trip in high school where we went onto a little island off the coast away from technology. One night we were going to go star gazing but did not use anything artificial as a light source. This meant having to kayak from one side of the island to the beachside, going through some fields and forests along the way, only using the light from the moon and stars to guide us.
At first, it's extremely jarring. You immediately have that feeling that you'll lose your balance, or that something out there is ready to get you. There's this inherent fear of nature that is instilled by modern living, I suppose.
That is until we reached the beach, and can see the ever-expansive night sky filled with so many stars. You can bend back and contort your body and get a real sense of how large the night sky actually is and really have that feeling of being so infinitesimally small compared to the rest of the universe. There were those bioluminescent creatures in the sand (can't recall the source of the bioluminescence) where wiping your hand through would cause sparkles of light. Just seeing all of those natural sources of light and actually being aware of your surroundings without having to rely on artificial light was something else. It's a reminder of how much we miss out on by relying on vision rather than gaining that experience.
When walking back we passed by a few geese nests and they hissed at us. I didn't realize geese were capable of that, and again at first it's rather jarring, but you get the idea that it's a signal of mutual agreement to not overstep your bounds and pay respect to the surroundings.
Anyways, I hope you and your family are enjoying the southern excursion!
Walking around at night without headlamps or other artificial light is exactly as you say. It is different, of course, when under an open sky, versus in a forest. I love the jungle at night, for instance--the lowland tropical rainforest, such as the Amazon. But trying to walk into it without a headlamp would be a ridiculous experience (and a bit treacherous) for us diurnally adapted animals. We just don't have the night vision under those extremely low light conditions to pull it off. Get inside the forest, though, and turn off your headlamp, and...wow. And walking where you can see the stars--it is amazing how much light a night sky even far from civilization actually has in it, once we let ours eyes adjust.
I was down in Mexico alone, but am back now, enjoying a far darker night sky than anything possible in La Paz.
I should clarify that we didn't go through dense, woodsy areas. We sort of circumnavigated the island to avoid the denser portions after canoeing (not kayaking! My suburban ignorance is showing here!) to the designated point, although that still meant going through some of the forest areas on the edge near the water.
I do like to tell people that this trip was when I learned that geese could hiss, so again suburban ignorance was pretty rampant on that trip!
In any case, the night sky really is something different compared to being in a suburban environment. Even walking in a local park at night can't replicate the same effects. I didn't realize how much light pollution can really shield much of the light from stars. It's a bit of a shame, as many children growing up get super excited from seeing a handful of stars in the night sky, not realizing how deep and mosaic the sky can really be.
I do hope the trip was great! And I understand the issue of some lights seeming to require sunglasses. I like my Christmas lights (and it seems many neighbors have gotten into the spirit this year), but there are some that can very much serve as an eyesore more than something festive.
Yes, I felt that way when we lived in Michigan. It was a bit much. And I "cheated" my photoperiod allotment by, for a few years, going to Madagascar to do my field research during the northern Winter. Madagascar is both tropical and south of the equator, so I got two Summers those years, and avoided most of the upper midWest's worst weather.
My aunt married a fellow from Michigan. They spent winters in her house in North Florida and summers in his house on the lakeshore. S*ting in tall cotton was our local colloquialism.
Thank you for a lovely reminder that embracing the liminal and readjusting to its reality seems a pretty good move these days, even though it's too uncomfortable for many, when we are so obviously treading near some precarious edges.
And stored up some extra Vitamin D to boot! A bit scarce around the Salish Sea here recently.
Since I have retired I live by the sun. The dogs let me know it is time to feed them at first light. At dusk I head for the house and bed although I do like walking my property in the dark. Clear nights are at a premium in Florida but when it is clear, there is no light pollution to wash out the stars.
By the way, we started a little community localisation group that sprang from the stresses of lockdown. We call ourselves Light Beyond the Campfire- because the consensus campfire can blind us, and our fear of being outcast can anchor us in inauthentic silence. But when we move beyond the campfire we might just discover the stars, that the wolves are not there to eat us and that we can generate light of a different kind- generated from love not fear.
This was beautiful, elegant and thought provoking! Thank you for this nutritious brain food!!
Something you mentioned in one of your recent podcasts came to mind--(and I'm paraphrasing here)--how science's driving need for achieving certainty ("light"), can too easily lead to ignoring significant nuances that are being obscured in the "shadows." So much of our understanding is passed over, in that race to be the first to meet the richly-rewarded goal of "certainty"--so much wisdom, respectful examination and thoughtful contemplation are lost--and science and society are again, thrust into the darkness of humanity's cold, tyrannical past. The remedy is, like I think you were alluding to in this essay--exploration of those shadows, looking where others haven't, dimming the "artificial" lights and engaging our senses in a purposeful, unbiased way. I think we're all scientists by nature, if only we as individuals give our curiosity its well-deserved free rein.
I've seen comments like this before...not sure how you're listening to it, since I haven't (yet) recorded it myself, and nowhere have I clicked on a "sure let the AI voice my words for me" button. So where is that happening, and how do I shut it down? If anyone knows, please let me know.
It’s happening in the substack app. On my iPhone there is a headphone symbol on the top right, when I click on it, it offers that option. I wonder if that’s feature you can turn off as a writer, or if you can record it yourself instead. It’s obv computer generated… anybody know?
Beautiful and inspiring, as always. Much appreciated Heather.
Also... I walk in my yard and woods here in Alaska without a light source whenever I’m able, and generally tend to like the minimum amount of light necessary even inside. I’ve got one path to my studio that is covered in roots and treacherous to those not paying attention, but I have been able to traverse it in pitch black from feel/memory; it’s magical and I feel connected to everything at those times.
Thank you for another poetic post Heather!
This reminds me of a field trip in high school where we went onto a little island off the coast away from technology. One night we were going to go star gazing but did not use anything artificial as a light source. This meant having to kayak from one side of the island to the beachside, going through some fields and forests along the way, only using the light from the moon and stars to guide us.
At first, it's extremely jarring. You immediately have that feeling that you'll lose your balance, or that something out there is ready to get you. There's this inherent fear of nature that is instilled by modern living, I suppose.
That is until we reached the beach, and can see the ever-expansive night sky filled with so many stars. You can bend back and contort your body and get a real sense of how large the night sky actually is and really have that feeling of being so infinitesimally small compared to the rest of the universe. There were those bioluminescent creatures in the sand (can't recall the source of the bioluminescence) where wiping your hand through would cause sparkles of light. Just seeing all of those natural sources of light and actually being aware of your surroundings without having to rely on artificial light was something else. It's a reminder of how much we miss out on by relying on vision rather than gaining that experience.
When walking back we passed by a few geese nests and they hissed at us. I didn't realize geese were capable of that, and again at first it's rather jarring, but you get the idea that it's a signal of mutual agreement to not overstep your bounds and pay respect to the surroundings.
Anyways, I hope you and your family are enjoying the southern excursion!
Beautiful story--thank you for this.
Walking around at night without headlamps or other artificial light is exactly as you say. It is different, of course, when under an open sky, versus in a forest. I love the jungle at night, for instance--the lowland tropical rainforest, such as the Amazon. But trying to walk into it without a headlamp would be a ridiculous experience (and a bit treacherous) for us diurnally adapted animals. We just don't have the night vision under those extremely low light conditions to pull it off. Get inside the forest, though, and turn off your headlamp, and...wow. And walking where you can see the stars--it is amazing how much light a night sky even far from civilization actually has in it, once we let ours eyes adjust.
I was down in Mexico alone, but am back now, enjoying a far darker night sky than anything possible in La Paz.
Apologies for the late reply Heather.
I should clarify that we didn't go through dense, woodsy areas. We sort of circumnavigated the island to avoid the denser portions after canoeing (not kayaking! My suburban ignorance is showing here!) to the designated point, although that still meant going through some of the forest areas on the edge near the water.
I do like to tell people that this trip was when I learned that geese could hiss, so again suburban ignorance was pretty rampant on that trip!
In any case, the night sky really is something different compared to being in a suburban environment. Even walking in a local park at night can't replicate the same effects. I didn't realize how much light pollution can really shield much of the light from stars. It's a bit of a shame, as many children growing up get super excited from seeing a handful of stars in the night sky, not realizing how deep and mosaic the sky can really be.
I do hope the trip was great! And I understand the issue of some lights seeming to require sunglasses. I like my Christmas lights (and it seems many neighbors have gotten into the spirit this year), but there are some that can very much serve as an eyesore more than something festive.
really well done.
you painted a beautiful picture this time.
I'm in and from Minnesota. I get plenty of seasonal change. More than I need actually.
Yes, I felt that way when we lived in Michigan. It was a bit much. And I "cheated" my photoperiod allotment by, for a few years, going to Madagascar to do my field research during the northern Winter. Madagascar is both tropical and south of the equator, so I got two Summers those years, and avoided most of the upper midWest's worst weather.
My aunt married a fellow from Michigan. They spent winters in her house in North Florida and summers in his house on the lakeshore. S*ting in tall cotton was our local colloquialism.
Thank you for a lovely reminder that embracing the liminal and readjusting to its reality seems a pretty good move these days, even though it's too uncomfortable for many, when we are so obviously treading near some precarious edges.
And stored up some extra Vitamin D to boot! A bit scarce around the Salish Sea here recently.
Lovely writing! Enjoy your time in Mexico.
Since I have retired I live by the sun. The dogs let me know it is time to feed them at first light. At dusk I head for the house and bed although I do like walking my property in the dark. Clear nights are at a premium in Florida but when it is clear, there is no light pollution to wash out the stars.
By the way, we started a little community localisation group that sprang from the stresses of lockdown. We call ourselves Light Beyond the Campfire- because the consensus campfire can blind us, and our fear of being outcast can anchor us in inauthentic silence. But when we move beyond the campfire we might just discover the stars, that the wolves are not there to eat us and that we can generate light of a different kind- generated from love not fear.
What a beautiful reminder exquisitely expressed, Heather. Thank you.
This was beautiful, elegant and thought provoking! Thank you for this nutritious brain food!!
Something you mentioned in one of your recent podcasts came to mind--(and I'm paraphrasing here)--how science's driving need for achieving certainty ("light"), can too easily lead to ignoring significant nuances that are being obscured in the "shadows." So much of our understanding is passed over, in that race to be the first to meet the richly-rewarded goal of "certainty"--so much wisdom, respectful examination and thoughtful contemplation are lost--and science and society are again, thrust into the darkness of humanity's cold, tyrannical past. The remedy is, like I think you were alluding to in this essay--exploration of those shadows, looking where others haven't, dimming the "artificial" lights and engaging our senses in a purposeful, unbiased way. I think we're all scientists by nature, if only we as individuals give our curiosity its well-deserved free rein.
Lovely, Heather. Thank you.
This was wonderfully penned, but in listening to it I miss your sultry voice and ability to pronounce both your and Bret’s last names 😉
I've seen comments like this before...not sure how you're listening to it, since I haven't (yet) recorded it myself, and nowhere have I clicked on a "sure let the AI voice my words for me" button. So where is that happening, and how do I shut it down? If anyone knows, please let me know.
It’s happening in the substack app. On my iPhone there is a headphone symbol on the top right, when I click on it, it offers that option. I wonder if that’s feature you can turn off as a writer, or if you can record it yourself instead. It’s obv computer generated… anybody know?
Lovely, lovely, lovely.