One of my favorite parts of the novel Hild, by Nicola Griffith, is how the title character uses nature to fuel her insights (which is also to say that I love how Griffith uses the natural world in her writing). When she is only 6 she becomes the seer for her uncle Edwin, the king of Northumbria in 7th century now-England. Given that she’s a child with limited understanding of adult interactions, her wisdom comes from what she observes in nature. One night, while she’s touring the country with the king and his entourage, accepting tributes from all the different tribes, she asks her nurse:
“Onnen, when you steal eggs from the nest, where are the birds who laid them?” and Onnen said, “Off finding worms for breakfast, no doubt. Why?” And Hild, who was tired from talk talk talking, all the time talking, couldn’t bring her thoughts from behind her eyes to her mouth. When she fell into sleep it was to evil dreams: Who protected the nest while the king was away finding worms? Who protected her mother and Hereswith? Old Burgræd and young Burgmod?
The knowledge that other animals steal from bird nests while the adult bird is off getting food sticks in her young mind. She dreams about it and worries it over until she has the words and the courage to say it:
“King.” The words, as they almost always did in Anglisc, caught in her throat like a bird bone or a mouthful of feathers. “The stoat steals fledglings from the nest when the birds are away catching worms.”
She has to spell it out:
“King. We’re the birds.”
Now his face was stone. “I am not a bird.”
“Boats,” she said desperately. “I dreamt of boats.” His whole face sharpened. “The stoat is coming in a boat. To the nest. My mother is there. And Hereswith.”
“Your— Bebbanburg. You’re talking of Bebbanburg?”
She nodded.
“And who is the stoat?” He was standing over her—when did that happen?
Her eyes were level with his throat apple. She raised them to meet his. “Fiachnae mac Báetáin. In a boat, going the long way around to take Bebbanburg.”
The king takes action and, indeed, their enemy was on his way to ambush one of the king’s holdings while he was gone feathering his nest with tributes. His people, and Hild’s mother, are saved.
These days, we do not have the same limits as a child in the 600s, but we are limited by what COVID-19 has done to our society. We writers no longer have coffee shops, libraries, restaurants, and fairgrounds as people-watching fodder. We cannot go to museums or art galleries to feed our imaginations. Lingering in public places no longer feels safe. Sure, we’ve got all the movies and TV shows ever made at our disposal, and we can watch human nature work itself out over social media, but eventually those drain as much as they give.
So we are left with what Hild had: the natural world.Whether you live in a rural area, can walk or drive to a park, have a yard you can hang out in, or can see only sky from your window, nature is accessible in some way to all of us. And if we look, it can feed and fuel our imagination.
Five years ago, when my marriage ended, I went on a lot of walks, and the natural world provided me with metaphors for what I was going through and taught me lessons I needed to take to heart.
Looking from the outside, this tree had been tall and solid and strong-looking. It had provided food and shelter for animals, cleaned the air. But it was hollow inside, and that lack of strength eventually brought it down. Where it continued to provide food and shelter for animals and plants, just in a different way.
Now and then, Lake Michigan will dump a bunch of black sand on the beach. It feels thicker and clammier than the regular sugar-smooth sand, and it clumps on your feet in an unpleasant way. But the beautiful sand is still there, just underneath. I know it’ll be revealed soon enough. The black sand doesn’t “win.”
Similarly, in real life, the water in this pond looked dead, flat black. To my naked eye, no light bounced off the water and it didn’t reflect the trees around it. It fascinated me, so I took tons of photos. In every photo, I could see light and reflection. There is always more light than I can perceive.
And these insect tracks under the bark show that there’s always more going on beneath the surface than I can perceive.
Of course, nature doesn’t always deliver deep messages. Sometimes it inspires whimsy. Like in the photo above, which I took because it looks like a winking face. Are the lines wrinkles? Whiskers? Tattoos?
These trees in the Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary in Florida reminded me of women in fancy, big-skirted dresses. Why is the one with the biggest skirt by herself? Are the other trees jealous? Is she mean? Is she standing in the middle of a dance circle twirling her heart out?
Speaking of dresses, imagine the ruffly skirts that fairies or beetles could make out of these mushrooms.
Or out of these white caps. Or would they work better as hats?
How many little creatures (real or fictional) could this tall but tiny mushroom protect from the rain?
And doesn’t this driftwood look like a friendly dragon?
The sight of tiny birds harassing a predator bird away from their nests always reminds me that the biggest and strongest doesn’t always win–that the small and determined have methods at their disposal, as well. Watching how flocks of birds ebb and flow in the sky is endlessly fascinating and provides evocative descriptors for crowd movement, emotional fluctuations, power shifts. I’ve spend many happy minutes alone or with a couple of friends watching Canada geese in a pond, or two lizards on a log, narrating the story of the what we’re seeing, usually a grand struggle for food or romance. And who among us hasn’t played the “what does that cloud look like?” game?
So during this time of lower human interaction, look to nature to feed and fuel your imagination. There is both wisdom and whimsy there. Really look. Pay attention. Train your observation and story muscles. Nature is always there, whether it’s available to you in a sliver or in an environment you can immerse yourself in. You never know what you’re going to see or hear or smell that will trigger a story idea or a way to describe something in your life or your work in progress or that will provide just the flight of fancy you need to get you out of a rut. At the very least, it’ll feel good to experience something other than walls these days.
What has nature taught you? Any wisdom or whimsy you want to share from an interaction with the natural world? Where do you find nature near you? Anyone here hate nature and won’t go out in it no matter what anyone says?
** All photos taken by me, most within a 45-minute drive from my house in Michigan.
About Natalie Hart
Natalie Hart is a writer of biblical fiction and of picture books for children who were adopted when they were older. Her father was an entrepreneur, so she never intended to be one herself, but she’s become a proud indie author. She is the author of The Giant Slayer, an imaginative retelling of the first eight years of adventure in the life of the boy who would become Israel’s King David. You can follow her on Twitter @NatalieAHart, and on Facebook.
In this time when walking alone in the fresh air is often the only time I leave my home, I am even more aware of nature. And though we fear things that nature can do to us human creatures, we must honor it, take care of it as it beautifies our home and provides us with food and shelter. Your photos underline that, and our acceptance of nature and its changes, can encourage us to accept this particular change we are experiencing. It’s not a forest fire or an earthquake, but yes, it has disrupted our lives. What can we learn from this, how can we alter how we live so that nature is kinder to us?
That’s a deep question, how to live so that nature is kinder to us. A good one to explore. The changes of nature are so inexorable, which is both frightening and reassuring. I took courage from the coming of Spring this year: with everything else that changed this year, Spring still came.
This article is timely for me, as I visited my brother in a beautiful coastal area and took many pictures for my novel. Incorporating what I saw and heard enriched my story so much. But this article made me realize I could go much deeper. Thank you.
I’m so glad that you got to spend time in such a beautiful place and that it fueled you. I haven’t traveled anywhere more than 45 minutes away in months and I’m itching to see something different!
Hey Natalie! Lovely shots and very insightful essay. FYI, in case you haven’t been over to the coast lately, the black sand from June’s gully-washers is starting to dissipate. And, hey, it’s a natural and likely needed process, too. I mean, those gullies need a good washing now and again, right?
Since my work is set in the fourth century, I’ve long had to use nature when I think metaphorically. It’s an ongoing learning process. I’m always amazed how many of the idioms and metaphors that spring to mind are from the modern world (lots of sports, gambling, and firearms). For my Skolani (the women warriors), since their culture is so entwined with horses, I tend toward the equine. For my Gottari (the equivalent of the Goths), I tend toward weaponry and hunting (archery is a treasure-trove of metaphoric possibility).
Thanks much for sharing your beautiful thoughts and your keen eye. As you know, I’m rather fond of your home state and the gorgeous natural world that abounds around us. Hope you and yours are well. Happy Independence Day! Stay safe!
Hi Vaughn. Thank you. Since I also write in ancient time periods I know the pain of discovering that I’ve used a modern idiom! It is fun to think through what it could be, though. I like how you’ve turned to the things your groups of people would be expert in.
We do live in a beautiful state, and that beach is always changing. We are all healthy and well over here. Hope you and yours are, too :-)
Natalie, I loved your essay and photos. When my daughter was little, how we loved to make fairy houses in the woods. I still live in that world because I write for kids and it brings such joy. We have a garden to putz around in and can take lovely walks in the neighborhood or on the beach. Being connected to the earth is so rejuvenating and essential. I think of the term “recreation” and how we are literally recreated when we partake in God’s creation.
Yes, love that way of looking at re-creation! I still look at little nooks in the woods and think about making fairy houses. Maybe I will yet one day.
Natalie:
Your photo essay/tutorial is delightful. I’m inspired by Nature’s symbiotic relationships — honeybees pollinating crops, for example, while gathering nectar to produce honey.
Thank you, Christine. Yes, symbiotic relationships is a fun to tease out and daydream about!
This reminds me of a poem I read as a child, beginning “When you get to where you’re going and it seems that nothing’s there,” moving on to invite the reader to take a closer look at the nature around them, and ending with “tiny kingdoms, teeming, everywhere.”
I just wish I could remember the rest of the poem – and who wrote it.
I would be *all over* that poem. My Googling didn’t get me anywhere :-( “Tiny kingdoms, teeming, everywhere” is magical!