Muir

John Muir is crazy, but in a good way. Several years ago I discovered he lived in Indianapolis, IN. Since I’m from Indiana, I was instantly interested. Before he became the Muir we all know and love, he worked at a factory in Indianapolis. He was injured at the factory and lost his eyesight. After the accident he was confined to a dark room for six weeks, and he wondered if he would every regain his ability to see. When he did regain his eyesight everything changed. He packed his bags and left for Florida. I’ve also read that he was a minimalist. On his thousand-mile walk to the gulf he took the following: “a comb, a brush, a towel, a bar of soap, a change of underclothing, a copy of Burn’s poems, Milton’s Paradise Lost, Wood’s Botany, a small New Testament, his journal, a map, and a plant press.” Incredible. I think we’ve all had these “lightbulb moments.” Something happens and suddenly our eyes are opened to a world we’ve never seen. Muir does a great job of describing the excitement that comes with these awakens. He’s always full of life. Unlike Thoreau, he never seems to lose his enthusiasm. I want to encorporate this kind of thinking in my own life. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s a birder. His description of the American Dipper, a.k.a the Water Ouzel, or the Water Thrush was amazingly poetic. It’s as if he knows the Ouzel. Some would say this is anthropomorphism. I say otherwise. Muir’s passion for nature exceeds his desire to formalize his experiences.