 (c) Boston Globe With temperatures in the New York City area in the single digits and teens over the past few days, a stroll outside can feel like an adventure. One of the more noticeable things about walking outside on a chilly day is that we can see our breath. With every exhale, a small cloud billows from our mouth, wisps whirling, clustering, separating and then fading into the surrounding air. From each living, breathing animal-being around us, cloudlets emanate with every breath, vaporous chiaroscuro intermingling with the exhales of passers by, as if engaging in a collective dance. Dogs on their outings and birds too display visible breath. Even the exhaust from cars and output from the tall chimney stacks on buildings become more visible, suggesting that in way they too are breathing, or that perhaps we living creatures have our own little engines. Indeed it is the oxygen we breathe in that fuels our bodies. We can live a month without food, a week without water, but only a few minutes without oxygen. Seeing our breath on a cold day is a reminder of our reciprocity with the natural world around us. The air we take in is 21% oxygen (78% is nitrogen) because of plants, which intake carbon dioxide and mix it with sunshine to create sugar and breathe out oxygen. We are taught in meditation to focus on our breath. How much easier it is to focus on breath when it becomes visible. And how much it reminds us of this minute by minute bodily process -- on average 16 breaths per minute -- that sustains our lives and the lives of others creatures around us.
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 As we honor Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and reflect on the Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and 60s as well as issues of racial justice and equality that need attention today, we also have an opportunity to consider how the values underpinning civil rights apply not only among people -- across race, ethnicity, gender, class, sexual orientation, age, disability, and religion -- but also to our relationship with nature. Fundamental to civil rights is a moral attitude of respect, compassion, appreciation for one another's inherent, integral worth, and a sense of community, interconnectedness, and interdependence. The same ethos applied to our relationship with nature -- a perspective proffered by a number of writers, artists, poets, environmentalists and philosophers, and embedded in many religious practices and indigenous cultures -- would radically transform how we engage with the natural world. It would alter how we organize our business, social, and political conventions in connection with nature, from resource extraction, conservation, pollution management, and energy development, to how we choose to engage our leisure time, to how we design our homes and communities. And in turn, by altering tendencies to objectify inhabitants of the living world around, cultivating respect for nature likely would also enhance our respect for other humans. We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.” ― Aldo Leopold  The Central Park Lake With a number of days of below-freezing temperatures, ponds in the New York City area are beginning to ice over. Water that just a week ago responded to the subtlest of breezes begins to harden and solidify. The freezing starts on the edges of the pond, where the water is shallow, and crystallizes into a choreography of frozen formations: varying patterns and textures, spindle-like, smooth and pristine, rough and abraded, rivulets and cracks. The ice encases fallen leaves and twigs, a cryogenic embalming that delays their decomposition until the spring thaw. Infinite small bubbles gather below the frozen surface, and peering down through the ice at these glistening spheres seems not unlike gazing through a glass window at the starry night sky. They form a Milky-Way in aqueous suspension. Over the coming weeks, assuming the temperature frequents below freezing, the ice will grow toward the ponds' center, until the entire pond is frozen over. This icy sheath, H20 in its solid state, will separate the liquid world below, the realm of hibernating fish, turtles, and aquatic frogs, from the air above containing water in a gaseous state, including the moisture of our own breath, cloud-like and visible, and comingling with the chilly winter air.  One of the blessings of winter is the opportunity to observe the architecture of hardwood trees. Shorn of concealing leaves, their framework becomes visible -- fractal geometry, with branches splitting off and again dividing and splitting, from the thick central trunk, a torso of sorts, culminating in finer twigs, like small fingers, reaching outward and upward. Each type of tree displays unique morphology and growth patterns, with limbs branching off at wider or narrower angles, sometimes looping downward in a "u" shape before ascending, some knobby, gnarled and twisted, others soaring, erect, and tapering, some with great symmetry, others more variable -- a range of templates for achieving growth and access to nourishing sunlight. The texture of trees' bark becomes more apparent in the crisp light of winter, the furrowed, patterned grooves of elms appear in greater relief, the smooth, silvery surface of beeches almost shines, and one senses the tactile feel of the scaly, thinly-plated bark of London Plane trees. Knots, burls, fissures, and cavities become visible. And amid the the muted winter palette, one can discern bark's varying colors, ranges of browns, grays, white, and green, sometimes with tinges of orange or red, colors often overshadowed by inviting greens and flamboyant autumn shades in the year's other seasons. And then there is the experience of striding past a stand of denuded trees, their trunks tall and aligned, like sentinels. With each step, a movement felt more keenly horizontal in relation to the trees' verticality, one's perspective changes and the trees relative alignment with one another alters, with cinemographic and near-kaleidoscopic effect. Perhaps winter hardwoods offer a metaphor as we embark on a new year: unadorned, the trees exhibit their underlying stark beauty, strength and symmetry. All is apparent, nothing is concealed. Yet, even in this state, small buds are visible, waiting for the right conditions to bloom and flourish. "I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show." -- Andrew Wyeth  First Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, 1931 Few trees are more celebrated than the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, a tradition that goes back to 1931, when workers building the area’s structures during the Great Depression pooled funds to buy a 20-foot balsam fir and decorated it with homemade garlands. The first public lighting, of a 50-foot tree, was in 1933, when Rockefeller Center made the tree an annual tradition. Over the years, the tree’s decoration has taken on various themes and reflected the issues of the times. As described by Dana Schultz: “During WWII, the tree’s décor switched to a more patriotic theme, with red, white, and blue globes and painted wooden stars. In 1942, no materials needed for the war could be used on the tree, and instead of one giant tree, there were three smaller ones, each decorated in one of the flag’s three colors…. Following the 9/11 attacks in 2001, the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree was once again adorned in patriotic red, white and blue.” The 2018 Rockefeller Center Christmas, a 72 foot tall Norway Spruce, was sourced from Wallkill, New York, 75 miles north of Manhattan. Following the holiday, the tree’s lumber will be donated to Habitat for Humanity for home building, a practice since 2007. A media sensation surrounded by gawking crowds and adorned in 50,000 LED lights and a Swarovski crystal star weighing 900 pounds, the 2018 Rockefeller Center tree has come a long way from its more humble origins. Yet, it is a reminder of how every tree is a star in its own way, and how it's in our nature to be awed by trees.  A shape-shifting cloud comprised of dozens of pigeons took off from a low-slung building near 67th Street. Widening, elongating, radiating, and narrowing, it traversed to the east over Lexington Ave, rose on a thermal, soared back westward, circled over the avenue again and alit on a the roof of a slightly higher building adjacent to where it began. Barely settled for a minute, one by one, like drops of water falling from a faucet or pebbles rolled over an edge, each pigeon then hopped off the roof and landed a story below on the roof of the building from where the cloud first a lit. A few minutes later, spurred by a warning or disruption unbeknownst to be from my viewing point on the sidewalk at ground level, the pigeon cloud blasted off again, once again traversing Lexington east and west and around again, rising higher on a thermal, the cloud condensing and expanding as the birds moved in unison until they settled again on the same roof as before, and then once again dropped one by one to the adjacent roof. The cycle repeated itself several times before I felt the need to press on and head to the subway for my commute. And yet my mood had changed. The contorting geometry of the flock of pigeons in flight transported me from thinking of the concrete surroundings of my walk as devoid of more-than-human life (the trees have lost their leaves, and there was little if any greenery along the avenue), to a sense of awe for the beauty of the birds in collective flight.  This past weekend I had the privilege of guiding a forest therapy walk in collaboration with my friend and fellow guide Linda on behalf of Natural Areas Conservancy. The walk took place in Alley Pond Park in Queens. Alley Pond Park is the most ecologically diverse New York City Park. It includes salt marshes along Little Neck Bay to the north and forested areas to the south along Union Turnpike and contains the oldest living creature in New York City, the Queens Giant, a 350 year old tulip tree. The walk had a great turnout, including an appearance by local Council Member Barry S. Grodenchik, an advocate for local parks, a reminder that it takes a village to support our parks. There are few organizations working harder or more comprehensively to support our local parks than Natural Areas Conservancy, “a champion of NYC’s 20,000 acres of forests and wetlands for the benefit and enjoyment of all. [NAC’s] team of scientists and experts promote nature’s diversity and resilience across the five boroughs, working in close partnership with the City of New York.” What does it take to champion New York City’s Parks? With 20,000+ acres of natural areas, including more than 10,000 acres within NYC Parks (equating to half the size of Manhattan), there is much to do. Here are examples of just some of NAC’s work:
Thanksgiving has ancient roots, shared by people across the world with an awareness that we cannot take for granted our connection to the earth and other living creatures, including each other. Shared here is the thanksgiving address of the Iroquois, the Six Nations of upstate New York and Canada—Mohawk, Oneida, Cayuga, Onandaga, Seneca and Tuscarora:
The People Today we have gathered and we see that the cycles of life continue. We have been given the duty to live in balance and harmony with each other and all living things. So now, we bring our minds together as one as we give greetings and things to each other as People. Now our minds are one. The Earth Mother We are all thankful to our Mother, the Earth, for she gives us all that we need for life. She supports our feet as we walk about upon her. It gives us joy that she continues to care for us as she has from the beginning of time. To our Mother, we send greetings and thanks. Now our minds are one. The Waters We give thanks to all the Waters of the world for quenching our thirst and providing us with strength. Water is life. We know its power in many forms—waterfalls and rain, mists and streams, rivers and ocean. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to the spirit of Water. Now our minds are one. The Fish We turn our minds to all the Fish life in the water. They were instructed to cleanse and purify the water. They also give themselves to us as food. We are grateful that we can still find pure water. So, we turn now to the Fish and send our greetings and thanks. Now our minds are one. The Plants Now we turn toward the vast fields of Plant life. As far as the eye can see, the plants grow, working many wonders. They sustain many life forms. With our minds gathered together, we give thanks and look forward to seeing Plant life for many generations to come. Now our minds are one. The Food Plants With one mind, we turn to honor and thank all the Food Plants we harvest from the garden. Since the beginning of time, the grains, vegetables, beans and berries have helped the people survive. Many other living things draw strength from them too. We gather all the Plant Foods together as one and send them a greeting and thanks. Now our minds are one. The Medicine Herbs Now we turn to all the Medicine Herbs of the world. From the beginning they were instructed to take away sickness. They are always waiting and read to heal us. We are happy there are still among us those special few who remember how to use these plants for healing. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to the Medicines and to the keepers of the Medicines. Now our minds are one. The Animals We gather our minds together to send greetings and thanks to all the Animal life in the world. They have many things to teach us as people. We see them near our homes and in the deep forests. We are glad they are still here and we hope that it will always be so. Now our minds are one. The Trees We now turn our thoughts to the Trees. The Earth has many families of Trees who have their own instructions and uses. Some provide us with shelter and shade, others with fruit, beauty and other useful things. Many peoples of the world use a Tree as a symbol of peace and strength. With one mind, we greet and thank the Tree life. Now our minds are one. The Birds We put our minds together as one and thank all the Birds who move and fly about over our heads. The Creator give them beautiful songs. Each day they remind us to enjoy and appreciate life. The Eagle was chosen to be their leader. To all the Birds—from the smallest to the largest—we send our joyful greeting and thanks. Now our minds are one. The Four Winds We are all thankful to the powers we know as the Four Winds. We hear their voices in the moving air as they refresh us and purify the air we breathe. They help to bring the change of seasons. From the four directions they come, bringing us messages and giving us strength. With one mind, we send our greetings and thanks to the Four Winds. Now our minds are one. The Thunderers Now we turn to the west where our Grandfathers, the Thunder Beings, live. With lightning and thundering voices, they bring with them the water that renews life. We bring our minds together as one to send greetings and thanks to our Grandfathers, the Thunderers. Now our minds are one. The Sun We now send greetings and thanks to our eldest Brother, the Sun. Each day without fail he travels the sky from east to west, bringing the light of a new day. He is the source of all the first of life. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to our Brother, the Sun. Now our minds are one. Grandmother Moon We put our minds together and give thanks to our oldest Grandmother, the Moon, who lights the nighttime sky. She is the leader of women all over the world, and she governs the movement of the ocean tides. BY her changing face we measure time, and it is the Moon who watches over the arrival of children here on Earth. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to our Grandmother, the Moon. Now our minds are one. The Stars We give thanks to the Stars who are spread across the sky like jewelry. We see them in the night, helping the Moon to light the darkness and bringing dew to the gardens and growing things. When we travel at night, they guide us home. With our minds gathered together as one, we send greetings and thanks to all the Stars. Now our minds are one. The Enlightened Teachers We gather our minds to greet and thank the Enlightened Teachers who have come to help throughout the ages. When we forget how to live in harmony, they remind us of the way we were instructed to live as people. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to these caring Teachers. Now our minds are one. The Creator Now we turn our thoughts to the Creator, or Great Spirit, and send greetings and thanks for all the gifts of Creation. Everything we need to live a good life is here on this Mother Earth. For all the live that is still around us, we gather our minds together as one and send our choices words of greetings and thanks to the Creator. Now our minds are one.  You emerge from a day’s work at the office into darkness. Just a few months ago, hours of light remained, time for an after work softball game, or a picnic or stroll in the park. Whereas darkness covered New York City as late as 9:00 during the summer, with our turning the clock back an hour last week sunset arrives now close to 4:30.
And how different does this change in daylight hours feel! Darkness obscures, and with nearly 80 percent of human’s sensory awareness coming from sight, the diminished light can reduce our understanding of the world around us and induce fear. Consider the nocturnal demons of folklore—witches, ghosts, and other creatures. Indeed, “nightmare” derives from the Germanic and Slavic folklore’s concept of the “mare”, a malicious creature that rides on people chests while they sleep and brings them bad dreams. Yet, if darkness diminishes visual awareness, it can heighten other sensory awareness. Touch is felt more acutely, as in the feeling of chilled air on one’s face, and the awareness of pavement underfoot with every step. One’s sense of proprioception, how our bodies move through space, is heightened to the point where running in the darkness can evoke a sensation of rhythmic floating. Hearing too is heightened. Wind blowing through the trees is heard more clearly than it likely would be in broad daylight. We hear our footsteps and those of others. So too, insight intensifies, even in how dreams bring wisdom. And, in fact, our eyes do function in the darkness, even in the absence of street lamps. There is much was can see and discern as we let our eyes adjust and overcome fear of the darkness. With even a little moonlight, we can see the outlines of trees against the sky, the vegetation around us, and the path ahead of us. In just over a month we will arrive at the winter solstice, and the daylight hours will grow longer, just as we enter into the depths of winter, a strange equipoise: winter’s emerging chill concurrent with the days’ growing light, and six months later, summer’s emerging warmth concurrent with the days’ diminishing light. We Grow Accustomed to the Dark Emily Dickinson We grow accustomed to the Dark - When light is put away - As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp To witness her Goodbye - A Moment - We uncertain step For newness of the night - Then - fit our Vision to the Dark - And meet the Road - erect - And so of larger - Darknesses - Those Evenings of the Brain - When not a Moon disclose a sign - Or Star - come out - within - The Bravest - grope a little - And sometimes hit a Tree Directly in the Forehead - But as they learn to see - Either the Darkness alters - Or something in the sight Adjusts itself to Midnight - And Life steps almost straight.  The past weekend's marathon brought 50,000 runners to New York City. But you needn’t stride 26.2 miles through the City's five boroughs to achieve a sense of body awareness. The recent marathon offers an opportunity for all of us, whether elite athletes, weekend warriors, or more sedentary folks, to check into our physical selves. Think about your muscles, major and minor, at work as you make even the smallest of motions, the mechanics of mobility, and all that is required for to ambulate even several steps, let alone 26.2 miles. Think about your sense of proprioception—the spatial awareness and awareness of the movement and position of your bodies, and particularly your limbs—involved in moving from here to there, even if “there” is across the street, down the block, or up the stairs of a subway station. Consider too how kindred the structure of your body is to other animals, with spines, shoulders, and joints, eyes, noses, and ears, and how your limbs mirror their limbs, even if we move upright rather than on all fours. And think about the pull of gravity, with every step reconnecting us to the earth. Our weight and presence returning to the earth with every step and stride, offers a reminder of our tangible, material being and our connection to the earth that supports us. In a place like New York City, there is often a primacy placed on our “thinking selves”. We are often measured, or measure ourselves, by what we know and what we do, leading to a risk of separation from our “being” selves. Attention to movement, however minimal or subtle that movement is—the balance required when we lift a foot to take a step, sensing when our foot has returned to the ground and we lift the other foot—can reconnect us to our fuller selves, to the earth and to our kindred fellow animals. |
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Hi! I'm Nancy Kopans, founder of Urban Edge Forest Therapy. Join me on an adventure to discover creative ways to connect with nature in your daily life, ways that are inspired by urban surroundings that can reveal unexpected beauty, with the potential to ignite a sense of wonder. Archives
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