sight focus

Fullerton Arboretum, Fullerton, CA

I didn’t give myself a full four-hour window of time outdoors. I probably could have, but responsibilities kept pulling at me. Rather than wait until I felt I had enough time, I decided to spend the time I was ready to give without distraction.

I settled on a bench by the pond. I became aware of wanting to take still images with my eyes—to freeze and store moments like photographs in my mind instead of actually looking. Maybe I am conditioned through camera-habit to think that this is what it means to look closely. But when I’m snapping pictures, I’m not necessarily seeing. It’s more a collecting of approximations filtered through choice. This isn’t bad. It’s just not what I’m setting out to do with this project.

Once I let go of the need to collect stills, I began to notice movement standing out, as figure against the ground of stillness. Song birds. Butterflies. Coots paddling across the pond. The movement of air and turtles causing ripples in the water. The ripples caused bunches of pond grasses to multiply in inverted reflections—wriggling, splitting, crossing, weaving.

Behind the rim of trees surrounding the pond, I could see the top of a tree with broad, waxy leaves. In random-seeming clusters, groupings of three to five leaves tick-tocked back and forth as if they were on hinges, almost mechanically pivoting on their stems. The rest of the tree was motionless.

Closer, what at first appeared to be a light gray tree, a ghost tree—dormant, just sticks—became pale arteries reaching up and dispersing into capillaries, thrumming red-ochre toward the tips.

water droplets

eucalyptus leaves

droplets left from the night's rain

touch focus

Long Beach, CA

                                                                                                                      

My second four-hour experience, this time in an urban setting... I felt inner resistance to slowing the momentum of my day. I was tempted to cut the time short. I could say I had stayed outside the whole time and not actually do it. But at what cost?

The sky was washed clean. It was a hair-blowing-around-the-face day. I walked the measured slabs of concrete toward Colorado Lagoon. I picked a stem of rosemary and pressed it between my fingers. 

The wing-like leaf-sprouts of a eucalyptus felt like small feathers, but the bark was crumbling and gritty.

At the lagoon it was low tide. The water’s edge was a carpet of green sea-moss lying close to the sand. Moist, sun-warmed felt, it was springy and alive under my palms—a fabric of thin, curving strands matted close together.

I held my hand up to the folded rays of a fan-shaped palm leaf. I could feel it catch the wind, and push—toward me and away—on its thick stem.

Over at the grove of trees on 7^th Street it was difficult to be aware. In the rush of traffic I lost any sense of breeze or sunlight touching my skin. I put both hands on the trunk of a tree close to the road; it felt as if it was quivering.

As I left the street, my pace slowed and my focus returned. 

I realized I was missing a lot by wearing shoes, so I took them off. More contact—it changed the whole experience. I felt the ground through my feet. The grass was still wet from the night’s rain. With any careless step across pavement a jolt traveled from my heal up to my skull, causing my upper and lower teeth to bump together.

I was vaguely aware of clock time, but could tell by the temperature and the angle of the light that it was a late afternoon. The sun dipped behind a cloud, and it got noticeably cooler. As the sky was darkening I walked back along the green belt. Gravel and sharp stones made my progress slow. I was attempting to feel through my soles, but not to bear too much weight.

poem by Yajie

a poem inspired by the photo...

beach at White's Point, San Pedro, California
--after Betsy Lohrer Hall

Are they sea lions or stones
lichen and salt crusted, half buried
in sands and wet    whatever

their nature    laying there   a new archipelago
eternally sniffing    some anchored things
on the floating sea
edge

exposed and poised
they have nothing to do
with the roaring waves ahead
or wrestle of wind and clouds above

exile   isolation   lonely stars
what matters to them    sound
loyal to light and dark
they perpetually
tune in to sea-song and  moon-move

mottled and peaceful
they lay    a new archipelago
can they assume another form and
take flight before a blinking eye

--vagabonds and travelers
of tides and time

~ by Yajie, January 2015

sound focus

San Pedro, CA

My first four-hour, outdoor experience of the Walden Here project… I learned that four uninterrupted hours is a long time to do almost anything. I tried to be as attentive as I could, knowing that my mind would wander and I’d need to bring it back.

I was using all of my senses, but sound presented itself as my focus. It was a cool, cloudy day and the birds were active. I made my way along the coastline from Point Fermin to White’s Point and back.

Here are a few impressions from the day:

From the top of the cliff I could hear the waves pushing against the edge of the land below and pulling back. I walked under a massive, thick-trunked tree. Standing about two hundred feet above the water, the canopy of broad leaves created a dome of sound. Rather than coming up from below, the ocean’s wash seemed to rain down gently from above.

...

Up the hill in Angels Gate Park I stepped behind a steep, grassy berm and stood close to it. It blocked the ocean breeze and its damp thickness muffled everything. It felt safe. Yet there was also the faint uneasiness of knowing that the hill beneath was a warren of bunkers. 

...

Deep into the day I began to wonder if maybe the boundaries between the senses are not as distinct as we think they are. I noticed that dark green leaves and lavender flowers made low tones in my mind. The yellow lily and coral-colored rose were more high-pitched.

...

Looking down from a small point of land, near where the earth sloughed off into the sea years ago...the tide was low. The rocks along the shore were exposed. Every so often, an incoming wave would hit a large, rectangular rock in just the right way to make a low, muted thud. Even though it was in the distance I could feel the sound in my chest—the weight and force of kinetic water colliding with immovable stone. 

...

Once my feet were in the damp sand at sea level, the sound surrounded me. It came in toward the shore and rebounded from the cliff face behind me. Enveloping. Other sounds disappeared. It was calming, transcendent.

why four hours?

When I set up the parameters of this project, I decided on “four consecutive uninterrupted hours to being outdoors.” It’s a simple structure, but given the way my current life is, I have no doubt the impact will be noteworthy. The “four hours” is also a direct reference to Henry David Thoreau’s time in Concord, Massachusetts. It's said he spent four or more hours each day in nature.

I’m a little concerned about whether I’ll be able to carve out four hours, five times, over the course of a month. Regardless of whether I can do it, the intention is to set this time aside in hopes that I can change something in myself. 

far away and right here

The question is not where did the traveler go? What places did he see?...but who was the traveler?...how genuine an experience did he get?    – Henry David Thoreau

I conceived of the Walden Here project when I was craving a long trip to a beautiful, natural place. The circumstances of my life prevented me from going very far. It was an opportunity to notice what was right in front of me.

Thoreau, Henry David, and Jeffrey S Cramer. I to Myself : An Annotated Selection from the Journal of Henry D. Thoreau. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007. p. 121.

living in cities

Cities offer so much: the personality of a place, the diversity of cultures and ways of being, the exchange of ideas. At the same time, when I spend too much time in human-made environments I feel like I’m living in my head. My view becomes narrow. Wildness seems distant. Natural processes begin to seem controllable, contained.

It may well be a remedy to reconnect with nature. It’s worth a try. While there are breathtaking places all over the world, I can also find them right here. I can slow down and pay attention. I have received some of the most lasting (and non-material) gifts this way. 

beach at White's Point, San Pedro, CA

Laguna Canyon

Big Bend trail, Laguna Canyon, CA

For most of the year the hillsides of southern California don’t look anything like this. In the moment though, standing there, it's hard to imagine the hilltop meadows as anything but fields of bright green, tapered curls springing up in all directions.

It was quieter on the hill. We could hear birds and crickets, though the stream-rush of the traffic from the canyon road and the freeway reminded us of just how close we were to the pressing-in of human life.