Henry David Thoreau’s 1850s experiment in living alone in the nearby Walden forest resulted in his collection of detailed essays on observing and relating with the natural world: the hyperactive growing plants, the whispering or howling trees, the skittish and playful birds and animals, the inscrutable movement of the sun and moon. His essay collection, Walden (1851), was required reading the junior year of high school. I was a city girl, born and reared; I preferred reading Ralph Waldo Emerson, Thoreau’s enigmatic, philosophical, urbane, early mentor. I thought I understood what Thoreau was saying; I simply did not relate to his stance.
Brother Don and I and neighborhood friends often went to the creek off White Oak Bayou near our house. I loved beating our own paths and running across the open field under a near cloudless, robin-egg blue sky to the creek. An occasional rabbit jumped and scampered out of sight; grass snakes of all kinds slithered through the tall grasses; sometimes, a water moccasin slid off the creek bank and into the water; and most frightening, a rattler, coiled with reared head and hair-raising rattles, sent us running away, or if too late for running, freezing us in our tracks until it uncoiled and regally departed, dividing the grass as with a comb, as Emily Dickinson described it in A narrow Fellow in the Grass. Thoreau reported on his observations of Nature; I was one with Nature. I did not think about “the other” separately. Such is the beauty and the value of childhood.
Adulthood is all about observing, categorizing, rationalizing, and evaluating. So now, I relate better to Thoreau. I have had dogs with remarkable human attributes. Rascal listened attentively to whatever I had to say and responded with human empathy when appropriate. Bear was a knight in disguise, protecting his palace and all within it. He, too, cried when a loved one left with a muffled whiny-howl. The squirrels tap hyperactively on the window pane and squeak insistently when I over-sleep and fail to get the nuts and seeds out on time. I once had a serious conversation with a Monarch butterfly after it flew about and at me until I stopped my work to pay attention. A raccoon proved a worthy contestant in our months-long territorial battle over possession of the attic. I have watched one ant stop to help another ant carry its heavy load. The point being that I understand Thoreau now: I, too, observe, categorize, rationalize, and evaluate other beings in relationship to human feelings and activities.
Admittedly, not all common “other beings” have my attention: cats most notably. Until recently, I would say turtles or tortoises. I like them well enough, but relating them to human feelings and activities has never occurred to me. They plod slowly; they withdraw quickly; cars crush them. John Steinbeck’s Turtle Chapter 3 in The Grapes of Wrath is memorable, but his is a realistic, naturalistic description of a turtle’s surviving, not one describing a turtle’s anthropomorphism.
Today, I experienced a Thoreauesque relationship to a tortoise as I watched a video of Palawaan seeking escape from the driveway of his/her owner’s home. Palawaan is in intense problem-solving mode by human standards. He/She attempts a solution, backs off and looks at the problem, tries again, then turns away and paces around, then stops, looks at a different area of the obstacle, and Eureka! Problem solved.
Here is Palawaan’s video. Observe.
https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=278586290337232
See Sybil having fun on a sliding board here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOVkD5Q5jp4