Today I took a walk in a new place, learning the curves of its trails and the sounds of its waters. I had just received some disappointing news, and my vision blurred with the icy wind and the resurfacing of long held professional woes. When your vision blurs in such a way in the sunshine freeze of a Minnesota winter, a sort of tunnel vision forms. That which is directly in front of you becomes the object of focus. While my peripheral vision fades to a blur, the center comes into a sharp and present focus.
In my walk, I come across a bridge across a creek, narrow and tilting with the ebb of freezing and thawing ground. In this strange snowless Minnesota winter, the creek beneath that bridge is frozen like glass. Its ice layer is smooth and clear and even more see through-able than the towers that rise in Downtown Minneapolis. In my vision focused state, I spot movement. I am watching fish swimming, dancing, beneath this frozen glass. They bob and weave and fight against the current to in place, while the creek moves in its thin glass casing of ice. This water flows to the Mississippi, and so to I believe do these fish. They are both of the same system that feeds the life that flows through the skyscapers of downtown, and then on to the Gulf and the Atlantic. Who knows what links and connections these fish will form, and where they will do so.
Along with the concept of the interconnectedness of all things comes a mystery. If all things are connected, then how are they connected? What is the family tree of a moment, and how wide do we make that circle. A naturalist answers that question situationally, in every interaction with the public. How wide do I make the circle connecting this frozen pond to the great circulatory system of the Atlantic. Today those circles include the road bordering one side of the creek, the marsh on the other, and the great Mississippi River beyond either. These fish swimming beneath the ice are important. In the flicks of their tails and the coloration of their scales, they tell me that this creek is healthy, despite or because of human action. As a naturalist I communicate that hope and health, and help others see those stories.
Gossamer Naturalist 