Nature: it’s good for what ails you
I’m just about done reading a book by Jon Katz, called
”
A Good Dog: The Story of Orson, Who Changed My Life.
”
The rest of the book isn’t nearly as wordy as its title. It’s
the simple story of an aging, lame writer accustomed to life with
Labrador retrievers who acquires a 2-year-old border collie with
some serious issues.
Nature: it’s good for what ails you
I’m just about done reading a book by Jon Katz, called “A Good Dog: The Story of Orson, Who Changed My Life.”
The rest of the book isn’t nearly as wordy as its title. It’s the simple story of an aging, lame writer accustomed to life with Labrador retrievers who acquires a 2-year-old border collie with some serious issues.
Let’s dispense with a few things before going on. The irony of the author’s name has already occurred (Katz writes about dogs!). People with Labradors tend to think they’re elaborate, complicated examples of selective breeding. Away from a duck blind, they are the simplest of animals. They crave affection, comfort, ridiculous amounts of food and ample sleep. Border collies, on the other hand, are frequently described as the smartest of dogs. Bred to herd sheep, they are nearly tireless, often neurotic and require almost impossible amounts of attention in pursuit of the work with which they define themselves. Many behavior specialists aver that border collies, denied meaningful work, are capable of sustaining mental illness.
Katz is almost immediately found to be out of his depth. In his determination to remain loyal to a dog with issues, Katz comes to love the kinship between a herdsman and his dog. He moves away from his wife to a farm in upstate New York and acquires a flock of sheep and a few stray donkeys and chickens. Katz, through his dog, begins to discover himself.
Even as he grows increasingly desperate, moving from holistic healers to dog whisperers to a shaman, he reveals enough of himself to wax philosophical from time to time.
Katz seeks solace from a number of authors, and one of them is Louise Chawla, whom he describes as an “environmental psychologist.” I’m not sure what that means, but Chawla’s thoughts about early contact with nature get some attention in Katz’ book, and they’ve been ringing in my ears for a few days.
Chawla opines that experiences in nature when we are young can shape our imaginations and affect our lives forever.
Well, yeah.
As a person who has always derived sustenance from natural places and things, the notion that early exposure to them is essential to the creation of a fully-formed adult just seems obvious.
My brother and I grew up that way, and my wife and I endeavored to do the same for our daughters, even in the face of occasionally stiff resistance.
Today, even as they embark on the beginnings of adulthood, our daughters show a deep appreciation for nature and a confidence bred of understanding more fully the world they inhabit.
We are only a few generations removed from lives bound to nature.
Really, even though most of us spend our days in front of computers or pushing paper, we’re still bound to its whims.
Our food, our climate, even our clothing and our fortunes depend on nature. As this month’s oil spill in San Francisco Bay reminds us again, our presence exerts its own pressure on the nature around us. Oftentimes, as in the recent tanker spill, that presence has far-reaching effects.
