Review of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s “Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses”
This book has so many layers I hardly know where to start. First of all the prose is so beautifully poetic that aspiring writers of any genre should read it as a sterling example of that alone. Her use of analogies and metaphors add so much for the depth it reveals about this incredible author whose indigenous roots shine brightly in her books.
I never would have imagined that there could be that many varieties of mosses or that someone could devote their life and earn a PhD to their study. Our world is full of wonders, many of which are consistently overlooked. The beauty of mosses is clearly overlooked by the average person, myself included.
I love nature of all varieties, and was fascinated as well as astounded by the botanical side of this book. Who has ever expected more beauty from a moss beyond its soft, velvety touch on tree trunks or an old stone wall? That some mosses you may find are as old as the place they occupy? That they are true home-bodies and don’t respond well to being moved? That they can live for centuries, yet are so sensitive and particular about where they grow?
How many people realize that moss has amazing absorption qualities such that it can hold 60X its weight in liquid? Or that prior to the availability of cloth much less Huggies that ancient woman used it for diapers or sanitary products? If you need a trivia question no one is likely to guess there’s one for you!
Robin’s love for nature is impossible to miss. As a Native American she has a connection to Mother Earth that most white people lack. A couple times when she mentioned a species evolving I had to smile. I guess you can’t get to PhD level without being indoctrinated to the white scientific view of the world to some degree. But surely in her heart she knows that each of these beautiful plants was created as were all the animals and humans.
Her experiences during her research were fascinating. Canoeing through rivers embraced by steep canyon walls, a research center accessible only by boat where she would spend summers with her daughters, a consulting job at some anonymous wealthy owner’s estate who was trying to coerce nature to his will, thinking money alone was enough.
As an integrated whole, this book is like a guided meditation. It’s about so much more than the science of bryophytes. The title has as many layers as the book itself. Like the cliche, “A rolling stone gathers no moss,” it beckons you to slow down and look closer at the world around you.
This book is a masterpiece. Think of it as a walk through the woods on a spring day, not to be rushed, expectations open, or you’ll miss its magic. It’s encouraging to see how popular her books are, that people are seeking a world that those obsessed with power and greed have tried so hard to hide.
You can learn a lot about a person, including yourself, by looking at your thumb. Yes, that side-mounted digit that enables humans and primates to do things other animals can’t. According to palmistry, the upper joint represents will and the lower joint, logic. Ideally, they’re the same size. If so, you’ll have the will to put forth the effort to see your ideas to completion.
If the top joint (will) is larger (which is the case with me), your will/determination is stronger than your ability to see things logically. What does that mean? You’re likely to be inclined to beat a dead horse.
If the lower joint prevails, you may have a plethora of great ideas but lack the will to make them happen.
Obviously, a bird does not have a thumb. However, if the bluebird attacking my window had one, clearly the top joint would prevail.
Why is he attacking my window?
Because I have two indoor cats. Apparently, he and his mate have a nest in the purple martin house in the front yard and he’s concerned.
So let’s think about this.
As I said, the felines in question are “indoor cats.” They do not go outside. Thus, the danger does not exist.
So far, this daddy bird has been attacking my windows since yesterday afternoon. After a few hours of the thumping sound of him hitting the window, I closed the curtains. He still continued until dark. First thing this morning, right around dawn (which comes early this time of year, i.e. 5:30 a.m.) he was at it again.
Thump, thump, thump.
The odds are (hopefully) very low that the cat or bird will break the window in their ongoing confrontation. If the barrier between them were removed, the cat is the definite favorite. It’s not that far to the ground, so then he’d have a definite opportunity to pursue the bird. Would the bird retreat? Or attempt to fight?
I have two cats who have entirely different views of the situation. My tuxedo cat, who is female and a very good mouser, is also around twelve years old. She found it amusing, but after awhile returned to her napping. However, my ragdoll/Maine coon male, who’s a little over a year old, is thoroughly enjoying the show.
Most the time he just lays there, watching the bird with a bemused expression. Occasionally, he’ll lunge for the window, but no telling what his expectations are.
As the assault continues I wondered: Is this bird a spirit animal with a message? While perseverance is usually a virtue, when it becomes an exercise in futility, then what? And at what point do you know it’s a battle you’ll never win? When do you know it’s time to walk away?
There are various quotes and a couple poems that have encouraged me not to give up. The simplest is, not surprisingly, on my wall: “Never give up! Never surrender!” from the movie Galaxy Quest. Another favorite is: “Aiming for the stars and dragging your feet in the treetops is better than aiming for the treetops and dragging your feet in the mud.” (Anonymous)
Here’s my favorite poem, which has seen me through various challenges:
Good Timber
by Douglas Malloch.
The tree that never had to fight For sun and sky and air and light, But stood out in the open plain And always got its share of rain, Never became a forest king But lived and died a scrubby thing.
The man who never had to toil To gain and farm his patch of soil, Who never had to win his share Of sun and sky and light and air, Never became a manly man But lived and died as he began.
Good timber does not grow with ease, The stronger wind, the stronger trees, The further sky, the greater length, The more the storm, the more the strength. By sun and cold, by rain and snow, In trees and men good timbers grow.
Where thickest lies the forest growth We find the patriarchs of both. And they hold counsel with the stars Whose broken branches show the scars Of many winds and much of strife. This is the common law of life.
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, When the road you’re trudging seems all up hill, When the funds are low and the debts are high, And you want to smile, but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest if you must—but don’t you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns, As every one of us sometimes learns, And many a failure turns about When he might have won had he stuck it out; Don’t give up, though the pace seems slow— You may succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than It seems to a faint and faltering man, Often the struggler has given up When he might have captured the victor’s cup, And he learned too late, when the night slipped down, How close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out— The silver tint of the clouds of doubt, And you never can tell how close you are, It may be near when it seems afar; So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit— It’s when things seem worst that you mustn’t quit.
I’m in the midst of a project that may very well be a little too similar to that determined daddy bird valiantly defending his family.
Should I give up?
If so, when? At what point have I done enough?
I have never been able to figure that out.
Let’s just say I feel better about myself beating a dead horse than quitting. I usually land in the treetops, but I’ve never wound up in the mud.
How about you?
Take a look at your thumb. Do the joints line up with your natural inclination when confronted with what could be an insurmountable challenge? Are you a tree dweller or confined to the ground?
Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments below.
Meanwhile, I need to get back to work.
P.S. It’s been quiet outside for quite awhile. I just hope he figured it out and I don’t find a dead bluebird outside my window…
Behind me is a small desert I’ve crossed – shoeless
While carefully stepping over the littered offerings.
Salt saturates my senses
As the gentle-wind styles my hair,
With the latest sea breeze fashion.
My eyes are opened to new possibilities
With a window into its wonders,
With every wave that greets my feet,
The sun soaks into my skin
Cradling me in its warmth and completing the moment.
I stand in awe before the substantial sea
Observing its vast expansion of life-
That I’m humbly a part of.
SOARING
I soar above it all
In a human-made machine
Taking me places
Only my soul has dared to venture.
Up into the heavens,
Higher than the loftiest of birds,
I soar above my life
Going from one place to another.
The clouds which usually blanket me
Are perched like a safety net below,
Holding me above the sea.
Lives seem so small
As our group is thrust forward
Some sleep-
Some read-
Some watch movies-
While others drink.
It’s a long trip with strangers
All going to the same destination
But right now, we are…
Above it all in our metal bird—soaring!
DOORWAY
Through the trees
The sky is orange, red, and grey
Covering the fleeing blue stratosphere
As the night suppresses the day.
The birds fill the trees
Singing their goodnights
As I pull on a sweater
In a shiver from the receding light.
The setting sun is a time of reflection
Of the night and of the day
A balance of both places
In the sunset’s doorway.
* * *
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