Naturalist Essay Rima Alsammarae

This weekend I came to Oak Brook, Illinois to visit my family for the religious holiday, Eid. The leaves on the giant Oak tree that protect my bedroom window from a stranger’s glance are turning yellow and orange. I decide today that it’s time to take my walk through a place I used to refer to as home. I instinctively begin to walk down a familiar path. I cut through my neighbor’s yard, just barely staying outside the invisible fence placed for their tireless dog. I normally bring my iPod when I walk, however it’s now broken, and I’m forced to absorb the uneasiness of silence.
I begin to notice how green the grass I’m stepping on is. Not a single yard in Oak Brook is unkempt; with built in sprinklers that are managed by a timer attached to the side of the house, most yards remain exceedingly green. The clouds above me cast grey shadows that compliment the greenness of the grass. The familiar scent of the wind graces my mind with old memories of meeting up with close friends in the nighttime. As I cross into a second neighbor’s yard, I see a family gathered in the kitchen. I don’t spend much time crossing their lawn, but I notice a small rabbit to my left waiting motionless. I pause momentarily assuming he or she will run in the opposite direction. I slowly put my hands in my pockets; it has been months since I’ve seen any animal other than alley rodents and squirrels. Seeing as rabbits are extremely timid creatures, I’m surprised at its calmness and patience. I step forward cautiously. Nothing. This particular one has posted itself as though its feet are cemented in the soil. I pick up my pace again and I am finally near my destination.
As I get closer, I see familiar homes that I used to pass on past getaways- familiar landscapes, vehicles and oil stains on driveways. I look beyond a child’s playhouse and a swarm of insects. There it is, my old friend – the bridge. ‘The bridge’ is a grand name my friends and I gave to a tiny overpass that connects two neighborhoods. It’s built over a comparatively large pond which houses thousands upon thousands of fish, insects and plants. I can hear thunder in the distance and realize my visit to an old friend will have to be cut short.
As I take time to stand there over the water throwing rocks into the pond I realize that most my interactions with nature are interactions with what we’ve turned nature into. I normally live in the city of Chicago and while I walk most everywhere I need to go, the scenery is colored by midrise buildings, skyscrapers, and fenced in apartment complexes. The wind in the city usually only graces my senses with the smell of car exhaust and palpable humidity. The dogs on the street are mild and domesticated. Even in the suburbs, the most authentic interaction I experienced today was that between the rabbit and I. It was barely the size of my forearm yet this engagement felt foreign and unprecedented.
Between the two readings, my experience was more akin to Muir’s writing. However, I argue that because my experience was nothing like Kuo’s approach to nature. Muir’s was less scientifically based and while I took note of what I saw, I suppose one could say that my walk was more emotional than analytical.
This walk left me feeling a slight disconnect between whatever is left of nature and myself. As I walked back towards my house I starred from across my neighbor’s lawn at the Willow trees in my back yard. They’ve grown to tremendous heights, reaching the third level of my house. As I starred at them, the rain began. Slow at first, the rain picked up and the willow trees began to dance, maybe I haven’t totally alienated nature yet, perhaps it truly is all around.