Introverts ~ Immersions ~ Wild public lands Is there a place for introverts?

My earliest memories

I liked being alone in the barn.

Well, not alone but the only human, an introvert even as a child.

I remember the tall Ponderosa Pine near the barn's west end. I felt a presence in that tree. I played alone, preferred to be alone, playing near that Ponderosa Pine next to the barn.

For most of my young childhood I lived with an aunt and uncle on a ranch. It was difficult not being with my parents. My solace was my personal space ~ in the barn or next to the Ponderosa Pine.

I remember road trips with my mom, aunt and cousins long before the days of interstates. Everyone else noisily chatted on those trips. But I always claimed a back seat next to the right side window where I silently looked out into the Wild ~ where I wanted to be.

I remember once during my kindergarten years standing with my parents, each holding my hands. A man walked over, asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I said, "a ranger." To me, a ranger was anyone who worked in the forest ~ anyone who worked in the Wild.

And Ponderosa Pine are still my favorite trees.

Introverts ~ Again I ask, is there a place for us?

We are not shy but we dislike large, noisy events. We are generally introspective, deep thinkers and we readily immerse in the quiet. My daily forays with my canine companion Suvi on U.S. Forest Service lands provide that quiet space for immersions.

And was I a ranger?

Yes.

Many in natural resources work, including biologists and game wardens, are introverts.

I worked for three different federal land management agencies: firefighter for the U.S. Forest Service, bear management and law enforcement for the National Park Service (Glacier and Yellowstone National Parks), and law enforcement officer with U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service on several National Wildlife Refuges.

Our wild lands where introverts immerse

Many years ago I asked various friends, "what is wild?" Most made a distinction between humans and wild, separating humans from wild. I've been giving a lot of thought to what I perceive as wild, and where humans fit. When asked what "wild" means to her, one friend responded, "Wildness evokes the feeling I have when I'm in a place or see something that makes me comprehend how insignificant I am and yet how much a part of a bigger world I am." That comment articulates two critical points: our insignificance and how we are a small part of a much larger whole. In a long ago era humans were a functioning part of our planet's "wild" landscape – nature if you will, living what I call a balanced "connectedness." But in modern times many people seem to separate or disconnect humans from that landscape. They feel that the only true wild exists without humans. But I believe we are an integral part, and that the result of others' belief in separation ultimately removes us from the "current of nature." That artificial barrier may further our distress.

We are so fortunate to live where we're surrounded by public land. My mental and emotional well being are centered on daily hikes with Suvi, year round. And following her takes my immersion to a far deeper level as she tracks odors with her nose, where we find tracks and scat of wild critters, where we find mountain lion or grizzly cached kills, and often observe or hear those animals. For me, even just hearing breezes blowing through larch and pine trees, watching as the seeded tops of bunch grasses sway in those breezes, noticing how the scents around me change with the seasons, and all the other subtleties that I can detect once I'm free of those artificial barriers, deeply sustain me.

What makes this so notable is that the underlying issue is that it's far more than a "love of nature." Simply and more broadly stated, I believe that all life is interconnected, meaning all life is interrelated. Nothing and no one exists in isolation or is independent of other life. There is no separation. Nature is an intrinsic part of us but much of modern living and its distractions can become a barrier, like cutting off blood flow in an artery. The reality: We are nothing more and nothing less than that herd of elk we might see near Boy Scout Road this winter.

Yes, there is a place for all of us, including introverts.

How I Go Into The Woods

Ordinarily I go to the woods alone,

with not a single friend,

for they are all smilers and talkers

and therefore unsuitable.

I don't really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds

or hugging the old black oak tree.

I have my ways of praying,

as you no doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone

I can become invisible.

I can sit on top of a dune

as motionless as an uprise of weeds,

until the foxes run by unconcerned.

I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me,

I must love you very much.

~ Mary Oliver