Some say wilderness is a concept. Wilderness is an ideal rather than a place. It is a projection of our inner desires. There are hundreds of definitions. Whether you know it or not, you have your own. Wilderness means something to you because A Wilderness matters to you.
As a child, the wilderness was a giant grapefruit tree in my backyard. In Tampa, citrus trees were as regular as pine or oak in Georgia. Most, like the Magnolia, were planted for aesthetic purposes. Our backyard was the only wilderness I knew. The sand and dirt soil was full of broken and scattered seashells, although we were dozens of miles from the shore. Rats and snakes were always present. The ghost of the spider monkey my grandparents owned long before I was born danced in my mind, on a leash, and in human clothing every day. To me, the flora and fauna were bountiful and exciting. The grapefruit tree was massive and resembled a spaceship. I would climb it, sit in a specific spot, which had a joystick (a broken branch) and toggle switches (two-inch long thorns) for controls, and pelt my sister from an advantageous height with half-rotten fruit. I did this almost every day.
I have been back to Florida several times since my youth but have never again looked into that backyard. I know it will look different, which frightens me. I know most of it was in my head and I would rather not taint my memories with reality. The dreams and memories of a child are more precious to an adult than one likes to admit.
I went for a walk in my current backyard. My childhood backyard was a fraction of an acre captured by fences. There is no fence where I live today and I have several acres to roam. There is the comfort and variety of a young, yet vibrant, oak and hickory forest. Nestled in the rolling hills of the Piedmont region of Georgia, my backyard has everything. What attracted me to the forest this day was darkness. It was bright and hot with a slight breeze. I peered into the woods and saw the canopy doing its job. I sought shade and adventure. I went into my house, put on my boots, hat, long sleeve shirt, and grabbed my camera. I am working on my eye. I try to notice everything. I saw small fragments of Eastern Forest Snail shells mixed in with the litter on the floor. I imagined the bird or turtle who had a good meal only a few days prior. I chased birds with my camera, but the trees were too tall and their wings too fast for capture. While walking down a forgotten county road, I noticed tracks. I found evidence of deer. The number of tracks indicated a watering spot. I found a small creek about fifty feet off the path. At this point I was trespassing but wanted to follow it to the source. I went as far as an old, yet younger than the road, bridge which looked too dangerous to cross. I decided to return to civilization.
I left the woods satisfied. I left nothing more than tracks, yet had the touch of nature all over me. From mosquito bites, old spider webs, twigs, and ticks, there was no doubt I was in a wild place. I loved it. I felt, if only for a moment, like a part of the community. It was as exhilarating as dining at a restaurant I know I cannot afford. I was living out a fantasy.
I do not know if wilderness is in the mind or not. I have tried, but I cannot care. As children, we explore the world around us with awe, acceptance, and aspiration. As adults, we tend to lose touch with this perspective.
The bites on my hands, ticks on my stomach, and cobwebs on my head were not signs of rejection. They were signs of acceptance. In the city we tolerate smog and the glare of the sun off windshields. We feel the heat coming from the concrete surrounding us. We tolerate so much without question. The marks on our lungs, skin, and soul are not signs of acceptance. Those that make it their home are bound by an addiction to convenience, for which I am also guilty.
Edward Abbey once said, “We need wilderness whether or not we ever set foot in it. We need a refuge even though we may never need to go there. We need the possibility of escape as surely was we need hope; without it the life of the cities would drive all men into crime or drugs or psychoanalysis.” I believe that wilderness is the place where neither time, food, nor possession matters more. A place where awe meets acceptance and breathes life into our inner aspirations.
Anthony Sadler 