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Check back each month for a new article from Ruth Rudner.
The Necessity of Wolves
Wolves are a dividing line. On one side are people who believe
wolves belong in the ecosystems where they evolved; on the other,
people who hate them.
Looking into Mexico at
Sunset
The Sierra del Carmen is streaked rose and mauve by late sun. Two
hundred feet below me, dividing line between that wild range and me,
the Rio Grande runs a muddy green.
On Not Flying In A
Balloon
My brother, Larry, lectures on cruise ships. He has for years.
Totally surrounded by water, he is truly happy.
Big Bend
National Park
“We drove miles across the endless Texas desert, the only vehicle on
a road striping through sand and cactus and greasewood for so long
that I forgot we were going somewhere.”
Birthday
Hikes
A birthday hike through wild country seems a proper celebration, the
reassertion of our beginning as beings of nature.
Fundraiser
I used to care about politics. For all my life in Montana, I felt
committed to one candidate or another. I sent money. I wrote an
occasional op-ed piece.
The Sandhill Cranes in the
Backyard
This morning, out of a storm grey dawn, there is a crimson opening
in the sky. Sandhill cranes fly across the crimson, dark forms
against flame, a grand avian celebration of the dawn.
Jaguars
Earlier this month, after a great deal of effort on the part of
several conservation organizations, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife
Service announced its decision to designate habitat critical to the
survival of the jaguar, and to develop a long-term recovery plan for
this endangered animal.
Blog for 2010
At the start of 2010, I’ll substitute a sporadic blog for this
monthly article. The blog will focus on the connection – the
personal connection -- between nature and writing. Other
subjects may jump in, although I really think the two categories
contain virtually every subject.
Vancouver Island
The Nuu-chah-nulth Trail crosses a large bog before winding into
rainforest. Bogs are subtle. Not for them, the drama of oceans and
mountains, of high cliffs or roiling streams. Because bog soil
provides little food for plantlife, whatever grows here makes up in
adaptation what it lacks in spectacle. Stunted shore pines, backing
away from the boardwalk trail protecting this fragile habitat from
human feet, scatter themselves across the open landscape. Sphagnum
moss spreads across the bog like carpet.
Victoria
There is a grandness about entering a country by sea. Even if the
sea is simply a strait crossed in an hour from the country you are
leaving. Even if the ship carrying you is only a huge ferry on
which there is nothing elegant. Even if you get seasick just by
looking at water.
Protecting the Land
There are hitches to protecting what you love. For instance, once
in Central Park, trying to protect my dog from the insane kick of a
woman-one-ought-never-tangle-with, I ended up in an actual physical
fight. My friend Graham interceded and nobody died. (I did try to
talk to her first.) Another instance, joining with thousands of
people in voicing the opinion that the air and sound pollution of
snowmobiles has no place in Yellowstone’s winter has resulted in
numerous court cases, and, for now, a cap on their numbers and how
they’re used, but not a total ban.
Bear Wallow
Wilderness
We chose the steeper of two trails for our first day’s hike. It
seemed the quicker route to the gorge a couple of miles below the
junction of the trails. Although both trails descend about three
miles through pines and fir, the steeper one-- the Reno Lookout
Trail-- looked shorter on the map. It stayed on the dry side of the
canyon while the Cienega, which we intended hiking the next day,
follows water much of the way. The trailheads are three miles apart
on a forest road that gets use on weekends when people desperate to
leave the heat of Phoenix drive to these northern mountains. Weekday
traffic is sparse. It was Wednesday.
Sitting by the Gaina
An old woman leads her cow across the bridge over the Gaina. A
Holstein. A milk cow. Moving from one side of the village to the
other, toward pasture, or away. There is no way—on this bank where I
sit-- for me to know whether she is going or coming. Perhaps
direction is irrelevant. The earth is circular. Life is circular.
Spring always returns. We, too, if you consider reincarnation. At
the very least, we move from spirit before we are conceived to
spirit when we die.
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