For some of the planet’s inhabitants, there is a deep connection between humankind and florakind; florakind being a word I just made up, my definition including all the earth’s forests consisting of all species of trees in the world. An individual who, according to definition, “is fond of, or at peace with, the forest; someone who finds solace and renewal among the trees,” is known as a nemophilist. I doubt even the most ingrained, multi-generational city raised urbanmaniac would not choose to be a nemophilist at least once in a blue moon. I know I would, it is a long while since I have been truly alone amongst nature’s stressless offerings and felt the small botherbumps of life drift away.
The word nemophilist is probably not found in current dictionaries, I don’t intend to check. I came across the word and liked its sound and especially its definition, so I accept it as a usable word. I also made-up words (if James Faulkner can, I can); the contractions urban and maniac and bother and bump are illegal but nonetheless contextually descriptive; I hope. But I digress.
As one long interested in Native cultures, I am aware of the connection they believe exists between humans and nature where in many cases individuals alone in the woods or on the plains gained insights, saw prophetic visions. This seems to me to be as fine a belief system (religion if you wish) as any that are in sway today.
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Kevin and his mom from next door just came to my door (6:45 a.m., Friday last) to let me know he was off to college. I have anticipated this day for four years, since the early days of Kevin’s frosh year. The family moved into the house just north of where I rent a room very shortly after I did in 2014, so I have witnessed the three kids grow up. As should happen with new neighbors, we progressed from at first casual politeness to social congeniality ultimately to genuine friendship. Readers of this column have read of both Kevin and Angie where I rather blatantly, but unashamedly, touted their Fair animal entries and of the time we three once ventured to Pomona City College and back with me at the wheel because the parents were working and missing work in peak season should be avoided.
But today, mom is a school employee and dad is free this weekend so the four are off to the sunny shores of Isla Vista, where sits the University of California Santa Barbara. Only three will head back north on the 101 to King City this afternoon with mom wiping away a few inevitable but endurable tears as the first in the family leaves the nest for college. The family won’t be far up the road, while back at CSUSB Kevin will have opened the door to his dorm room and stepped into the world that will help determine who the man will become.
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I have sat just back down to my laptop after spending some time with horses, scores of them. This weekend is a barrel racing weekend for those who partake in that activity, which are many coming from many miles around as the facilities at SVF are outstanding. Those who are around horses a majority of time either caring for or riding in competition, at work or for pleasure may not know what it is like for those of us who are not part of the horse culture. I stood in the walkway between rows of penned horses and after just a few minutes I could feel a calmness come over me as my heartbeat began to sync with the large all black equine standing only inches away. I do envy those who can have a working relationship with a horse, even a cantankerous one.
And while on the subject, I can recommend a good book about a horse; well, a horse and its family, really. The horse’s name is Winston, there is more to it, quite long, in fact, but Winston will do here, and his biography is told with an autobiographical bend to it; if that even makes sense. At first glance the thin, photo filled tome looks to be only for the young but that is not the case, adults will relate to it for reasons you’ll understand when you read the book. It is presently on the shelf at the King City Library. In another week or so another book by the same author will also be on the shelf. Both by Lucy Mason Jensen. While a horse is certainly out of the question as a constant companion in my life, I do often wish I had a dog companion for those long hours every week when I am not occupied elsewhere. Maybe someday.
In last week’s editions I read about one person’s experiences with the whole aging process, which included a litany of senior situations including replacement of original structural parts, lessening of physical activities due to one thing or another, needed inoculations and invasive procedures, and a favorite foods now on the past tense list. I know about all these things; and am presently awaiting word on the results of a cholesterol blood test; one of the many things I have never had checked until a few days ago. And I am still waiting for a prescription that, if I can afford it, should keep me from a rather unpleasant ending.
On the topic of aging, I have been reading some of my columns from the early 1990s issues of the Greenfield News and some from this column run of three and four years ago, and I see a change, and not one I am pleased with. I attained 74 years on Spaceship Earth two days ago and I think it is time. Funny Papers Again signing off.
Take care. Peace.
Steve Wilson may be reached at sc**********@***oo.com.
