kin to everything

When we try to pick out anything by itself, 

we find it hitched to everything else in the universe. 

One fancies a heart like our own must be beating in every crystal and cell,

 and we feel like stopping to speak to the plants and animals

 as friendly fellow mountaineers. 

Nature as a poet, an enthusiastic workingman,

 becomes more and more visible the farther and higher we go; 

for the mountains are fountains — 

beginning places, however related to sources beyond mortal ken.


One is constantly reminded of the infinite lavishness and fertility of Nature —

 inexhaustible abundance amid what seems enormous waste. 

And yet when we look into any of her operations that lie within reach of our minds,

 we learn that no particle of her material is wasted or worn out. 

It is eternally flowing from use to use, 

beauty to yet higher beauty;

 and we soon cease to lament waste and death, 

and  rather rejoice and exult in the imperishable, 

unspendable wealth of the universe,

 and faithfully watch and wait the reappearance

 of everything that melts and fades and dies about us,

 feeling sure that its next appearance will be better and more beautiful than the last.


More and more, in a place like this, 

we feel ourselves part of wild Nature, 

kin to everything.

~ John Muir

from  John Muir: Nature Writings

an infinite storm of beauty

No dogma taught by the present civilization seems to form so insuperable

 an obstacle in the way of a right understanding of the relations 

which culture sustains to wildness as that which regards the world

 

 as made especially for the uses of man.

 

 Every animal, plant, and crystal controverts it in the plainest terms.

 Yet it is taught from century to century as something ever new and precious, 

and in the resulting darkness the enormous conceit is allowed to go unchallenged.

I have never yet happened upon a trace of evidence that seemed to show

 that any one animal was ever made for another as much as it was made for itself.

 Not that Nature manifests any such thing as selfish isolation. 

In the making of every animal the presence of every other animal has been recognized.

 Indeed, every atom in creation may be said to be acquainted with 

and married to every other, but with universal union there is a division

 sufficient in degree for the purposes of the most intense individuality; 

no matter, therefore, what may be the note which any creature forms

 in the song of existence, it is made first for itself, then more and more remotely

 for all the world and worlds.

 

The scenery of the ocean, however sublime in vast expanse, 

seems far less beautiful to us dry-shod animals than that of the land 

seen only in comparatively small patches; but when we contemplate 

the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents

 and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together

 as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty.

 

 

 

 

 ~ John Muir

from Nature Writings

 

 

 

saunter reverently

I don't like either the word [hike] or the thing.

People ought to saunter in the mountains - not 'hike!' 
 

Do you know the origin of that word saunter?

 It's a beautiful word. Away back in the middle ages 

people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, 

and when people in the villages through which they passed 

asked where they were going they would reply,
 

 'A la sainte terre', 'To the Holy Land.'
 

 And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. 

Now these mountains are our Holy Land,
 

and we ought to saunter through them reverently,

 not 'hike' through them.

― John Muir 

the winds will blow their own freshness into you

Ansel Adams - Winter Sunrise

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, 

places to play in and pray in, 

where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.

...

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. 

Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. 

The winds will blow their own freshness into you, 

and the storms their energy, 

while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn."

~ John Muir

John Muir was one of the earliest advocates of the national park idea, and its most eloquent spokesman. Born in Dunbar, Scotland, on April 21st 1838, he moved with his family to a Wisconsin farm in 1849. Muir's father, an itinerant Presbyterian minister, treated him harshly and insisted that he memorize the Bible. By age 11, he was able to recite three-quarters of the Old Testament by heart, and all of the New Testament.

Muir studied botany and geology at the University of Wisconsin and had a natural flair for inventions. In 1867, after recovering from a factory accident that left him temporarily blinded for several months, he cut short a promising career in industry to walk from Indiana to Florida, creating botanical sketches on his way. From there he sailed to California and then walked from San Francisco to the Sierra Nevada – the "Range of Light" that would transform his life with his "unconditional surrender" to nature.

After working as a sheepherder in the high country for a season, Muir took a job in the Yosemite Valley in 1869, building a sawmill for James Mason Hutchings. In his free time, he roamed Yosemite, where he developed a scientific theory that the valley had been carved by glaciers. Muir felt a spiritual connection to nature; he believed that mankind is just one part of an interconnected natural world, not its master, and that God is revealed through nature.

Theodore Roosevelt and John Muir at Glacier Point, Yosemite National Park, 1903

To preach his gospel of nature, he moved to Oakland in 1873 to write articles for leading magazines like Overland Monthly, Scribner's and Harper's Magazine. Muir's articles made him nationally famous. He married Louie Wanda Strentzel and turned her family's farm in Martinez, California, into a profitable orchard business. But he grew restless to immerse himself in nature again, and, at Louie's urging, he traveled to Alaska's Glacier Bay and Washington's Mount Rainier. His writings brought national attention to two more places that would eventually become national parks.

Muir would also champion protection of the Petrified Forest and the Grand Canyon in Arizona. He was the public voice for setting aside the high country around Yosemite Valley as a national park in 1890, as well as for General Grant and Sequoia national parks. His efforts to make a large park in the Kings Canyon region of central California would not be successful, but later park supporters would take up the cause.

Muir's three-night camping trip with President Theodore Roosevelt in 1903 could be considered the most significant camping trip in conservation history. He was able to persuade Roosevelt to return Yosemite Valley and the Mariposa Grove to federal protection as part of Yosemite National Park. The trip would have a lasting impact on the president.

Muir's final crusade, to prevent the city of San Francisco from building a dam and creating a massive water reservoir in Yosemite's Hetch Hetchy Valley, ended in bitter defeat with federal approval of the project in 1913. Muir died a year later, on Christmas Eve, at age 76.

Muir was a founder and the first president of the Sierra Club; Muir Woods National Monument, a grove of redwoods north of San Francisco, is named in his honor.

"If you think about all the gains our society has made, from independence to now, it wasn't government. It was activism. People think, 'Oh, Teddy Roosevelt established Yosemite National Park, what a great president.' BS. It was John Muir who invited Roosevelt out and then convinced him to ditch his security and go camping. It was Muir, an activist, a single person." 

~ Yvon Chouinard

 Patagonia founder and outdoor enthusiast