The Buffalo
Can Nature Give Us a New Perspective of the Divine?
There’s often a benefit to observing even the things we love and admire the most in a different light, from a different angle, a closer range, or a different elevation. Sometimes we need a different perspective to help us see anew that which has become familiar. Such was the case with my beloved mountain, and while I cannot truly claim to own a mountain, it does own me. For the last three years, weather permitting, I have hiked daily to where our property rises high above our home in the hollow, so that I can view this mountain.
THE BUFFALO, as the locals affectionately call it, is a protruding hump standing against the sky, solitary and proud. It rises to an elevation of 3,971 feet, and its windy climate and treeless summit are home to subalpine vegetation. Rare wildflowers and native, meadow grasses grow on south-facing slopes and the mountain preserve is home to a total of 15 rare plant species.
Not far from our home, hidden and remote, lies over 300 acres of neglected property with a direct line view of The Buffalo. It felt a bit like a clandestine adventure when we drove right past the private property signs on an unmarked, overgrown, narrow, and washed-out road to take in this view of the mountain. The venture didn’t feel safe even in our old four-wheel drive, off-road truck and I thought that perhaps a pack mule would have been a better choice. No one has lived permanently on this site for years and while it was once used as a holiday home, the aging owners only now frequent the place on rare occasions. Curious about the property that had gone up for sale, we had some free time and thought a visit would give us a diversion from our daily routine. As we stood on the property, I wondered if real estate agents would even dare to bring a client down the nearly impassable road, onto the overgrown property to view the decaying of the structures. Who would tackle this overpriced and neglected property? Me, if I weren’t so old.
If we were younger by about two decades, I would have begged Mike to buy the property so that we could live there. Standing there, I desperately wanted to throw caution to the wind and in wild, reckless abandon move to this rugged property. I wanted to buy the old house in desperate need of repairs, save the barn from falling into the dirt, and reclaim the over-grown pastures. Living where cell phones don’t work, the internet is nonexistent, and the electricity would fail every time the wind blew, I could imagine my little Jersey cows grazing on the sides of the steep banks and for a moment, I pretended that I could escape the world in this peaceful place.
On the forgotten piece of property high above the conveniently settled swampy hollows I became aware that someone else, in years gone by, had fallen in love with my mountain and they had built a cabin with a view so sharp that it pierced my heart. What desire and dedication it must have taken to build on such an elevation and to carve out that piece of property when it would have been easier to build, as our home had been built, in the hollows! I felt a keen connection to these people who had loved this place and set the foundation of their home so they would have a morning view of the sun rising above The Buffalo. Their ghosts whispered to me, taunting me to stay and take their place, but I tore myself away from the view and climbed into the truck without a backward glance. It was time to go home.
Walking Buddy later that evening, I gazed at the Buffalo from the backside of our property. I had seen the mountain from a different perspective and somehow it made me appreciate the view I witnessed daily from our property even more.
Sometimes we lose perspective when we frequently view things the same way and seeing things in a different light, from a different angle, a closer range, or even from a different elevation can help transform our daily walk.
(Adapted from a journal entry by Tammy Holbrook Cupp January 2022)
.
January 2024
Dear Reader,
Most of us are probably aware that exposure to nature can have a positive effect on our physical and mental well-being, but is it also possible that the natural world can connect us to the divine?
Recently my attention was drawn to a quote by John O’Donohue and I intentionally sought out his book Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom. After reading it, I was curious enough to further explore the history of Christianity in the ancient Celtic culture. The Celtic Wheel of the Year: Christian & Pagan Prayers & Practices For Each Turning gave me a greater understanding of how natural it was for the early Celts to incorporate into the Christian faith variations of their pagan beliefs and rituals. (If you find yourself quick to judge them, know that many of us still incorporate these beliefs and rituals in our version of Christianity.) From there, I turned to the book, Prayers from the Ancient Celtic Church, an often poetic collection of ancient supplications and meditations. There is a commonality of ideas in these three books, but central is the way the Celtic people seem to blur the line between nature and the divine effortlessly, and between the physical world of which we are aware and the “other world” that we hope to know someday when we die.
Before the introduction of Christianity, the Celts were animistic. They believed that spirits inhabited rocks, trees, bodies of water, and other inanimate objects. When they embraced Christianity the verbiage of the recorded prayers of that era seemed to reflect a shift from animism but these new Christians still had an intense awareness of the natural world and found therein a connection with the divine.
I can’t help but wonder how much we are missing, not only in our physical lives but with our mental well-being when most of us are so far removed from the natural world. I also wonder how much we are missing spiritually when we sequester ourselves from the beauty of creation. In his book Anam Cara, John O’Donnohue says, “Sometimes our spiritual programs take us far away from our inner belonging. We become addicted to the methods and programs of psychology and religion. We become so desperate to learn how to be, that our lives pass, and we neglect the practice of being.” (Emphasis mine)
A secluded spot where we can inhale and exhale, feasting our eyes upon the splendor of creation, and allowing the noise of the chaotic lives we have made for ourselves to fade briefly into the background creates a natural shrine free of expectations and just might give us a different perspective of our relationship with the Divine, ourselves, and our world.
Psalm 19: 1-6 New International Version
A Psalm of David
The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they reveal knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words;
no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.
In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun.
It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,
like a champion rejoicing to run his course.
It rises at one end of the heavens
and makes its circuit to the other;
nothing is deprived of its warmth.
Life be in my speech,
sense in what I say,
the bloom of cherries on my lips,
till I come back again.
The love Jesus Christ gave
be filling every heart for me,
the love Jesus Christ gave filling me for everyone.
Traversing corries,
traversing forests,
traversing valleys long and wild,
the Shepherd Jesus still uphold me,
the Shepherd Jesus be my shield.
(Traditional Gaelic, altered possibly used by Columban monks, St. Columba of Iona, 1920, p. 165)
News & Updates:
Blessed by open doors, I have been freelance writing for various magazines for the past year. I am thankful.
You can find my most recent articles in the current issues of Backwoods Home, Self Reliance, Good Old Days, and Grit.