The Indoctrination of Trees

Publishious “Nature” Prompt, a free verse poem response

There is a correct way to walk through a forest. The mind a canvas on which the trees paint their names and the still, still sun splashes gold. Nature requires this — she likes the quiet. A father teaches this to his daughter. A father names the deer-stands, plots the acreage on hand-made maps. “Christy’s Crossing,” wood-burned sign nailed up just for me. My namesake, the crossing of a creek.

There is a correct way to walk through a forest. The mind a quiet cave. Heel-toe, nice and slow, watching, watching and listening — it is a shame to miss a deer, a gopher, a skunk, or haunting call of an owl as crepuscular creatures emerge.

A father teaches this to his daughter. The hushed squat to watch a pileated woodpecker drilling, alighting in its dip-dip flight, a flash of red through the trees. We carry on, a stroll matching footsteps, mine in his, my legs stretching to meet his stride.

The creek meandering over our path, we pick the steady rocks. A father holds a daughter’s hand, careful that she can cross without the sinking of a foot and the wetting of her socks. A father teaches his daughter, her mind bent quietly toward awe.

Everything I learned about walking through the forest I learned from my father, an avid outdoorsman and hunter. These invaluable lessons were later reinforced by my college studies on environmental science. People like John Muir, Aldo Leopold, Rachel Carson and Annie Dillard reminded me of this great love my father had for the forest — and everything he taught me to love. I hope to inspire this in others through writing.

“There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot.” ― Aldo Leopold

Christina Ward is a poet and nature writer from North Carolina. She shares her nature writing at Fiddleheads & Floss Poetry.