Snow-venture.

For my first nature excursion, I chose the most convenient plot of woods available to Carnegie Mellon students: Flagstaff Hill.

Upon first settling down on a nearby bench, shivering, it seemed that nature was completely against me. I felt incredibly foreign amongst the trees, bushes, and grass. Whether I was present or not, nature would continue growing and surviving in the winter. I bore no significant impact on the woods surrounding me. I could not alter its course anymore than it could alter mine. I was an outsider in my own cruel environment; needless to say, it was an unsettling feeling that I could breed no deep connection. It saddened me come to this realization.

I thought of Thoreau’s urging to “imagine a time when, in the infancy of the human race, some enterprising mortal crept into a hollow in a rock for shelter. Every child begins the world again, to some extent, and loves to stay out doors, even in wet and cold” (22). I disagree with this insight; I find nature to be man’s enemy in the wet and cold. It is such inclement weather that causes most of man’s fatalities, such as pneumonia and frost bite. However, to be fair, it might be due to my generation in combination with my individual upbringing that my opinions of nature are so skeptical.

To be honest, I love being outdoors when it’s springtime and sunny. I enjoy the ability to wear shorts and dresses, feeling the warmth of the blazing sun on my skin. As much fun as it is to play in the snow, some of my fondest memories are in the summertime. The changing of winter to spring always harkens the metaphor of the phoenix rising from its ashes. For many months, our surroundings are dark and dreary. We are consumed by bitter winds and searing cold. I personally believe that the winter inadvertently makes people more somber and morose; every bad feeling is exemplified tenfold. Come the month of April, nature sheds its white blanket and emerges anew, lush and vibrant. It seems as though nothing terrible could ever happen so long as the sun keeps shining, the birds chirping, and fluffy clouds idly drifting.

This dramatic transformation from winter to spring reminds me of the excerpt “our molting season, like that of the fowls, must be a crisis in our lives” (Thoreau, 19). Although Thoreau was referring to people’s incessant need to change their appearance whenever they experience profound emotional stress, I find this quote applicable to many situations. I find the winter season to be the crisis while the shifting seasons represent the molting. I find winter to be a time of crisis; it is full of the depressing aforementioned connotations. Especially when compared to the wondrous adventures to be had in the summertime, winter only becomes more morbid.

Perhaps I’ve become too cynical because of my time in Pittsburgh. The weather here is horrid. It’s cold far too long, a majority of both semesters. I miss the sun quite terribly.