We're just before the winter solstice, and today is my fortieth birthday. For years, I've been toying with the idea of sharing my experiences with nature, the thoughts that arise from them, and, of course, the images, with the world, and I think today is a good day to start.
The word "nature" has always been a bit repugnant to me because it creates a distinction between us humans and the system that surrounds us. But in reality, there is no difference. There is only cooperation or an attempt to counteract it. In my view, nature is the all-encompassing system that, no matter how hard we seemingly try to adapt it to ourselves, will always be above, below, within, and around us, following its own rules.
As a species, we can shape, transform, and concrete over our environment. However, a brief flood, a volcanic eruption, or an earthquake can thwart our plans in a single, brief moment and should actually remind us that we are not above things. Nature is not subordinate to humans. We move within it, and it rules us. All too often, we arrogantly surrender to the false belief in a superior power.
This system has always been conscious and important to me. My family was the same, and so I was able to grow up in an environment that treated wildlife with respect. For a time, especially in my 20s, I believed that true life could be found in the city. In my case, that was a big mistake. Ever since I left home at 17 and took a detour to my first city, I had been unconsciously but relentlessly searching. I didn't realize it until years later, but what I was looking for was direct access to the forest, the tree outside my window where birds raise their young and whose buds provide them with food in winter. What I was looking for was a reflection on the seasons, on the ever-recurring states in the cycle of the year, from the beginning of the cycle with the December solstice, out of the darkness of winter, through the first songs of the blackbird heralding spring, on to the first rays of sunshine, the return of migratory birds from the south, the toad migration, the appearance of the first nests in the trees, through the summer, the dry, hot days and the violent thunderstorms, and on to the rainy season in autumn with its steaming mountains. At some point, a black redstart gives its last territorial song and then sets off for the south of Europe. In its place, the first group of bramblings arriving from Scandinavia can be found in the village trees, and the first signs of the coming winter are there. I was looking for all of this without really knowing it, and it wasn't until a few years ago, while back in Vienna, when I tried to follow one of these wrong paths, that I became aware of it.
It was already my thirties. I was living in Vienna at the time, and on weekends I was often visiting my family in Styria, the place where I grew up. On one of those weekends, I hiked into one of those hidden side valleys. It was very early on a cold autumn day. Something I had done repeatedly in previous years, whenever something negative was bothering me, was to go into the forest. That's what happened that day, too. Vienna, this city, and this state of affairs were taking a toll on me.
The city was loud, stank, and the dynamics in the public sphere were like an anthill. Constant sensory overload.
After walking for about an hour, I passed an old maple tree covered in beard lichen and had to stop. I asked the maple tree for an answer. Should I continue pursuing a career in Vienna or give it all up and return to Styria? It took a while, but the answer came. It came in the form of a drop of water that landed on a stone next to me. Shortly after, another, and then another. A soft rustling of leaves, fog, and nothing else. Absolute silence. No sound of human origin, no engine noise, no movement around me, and just as quiet inside me. The questions were answered and the decision made. A few weeks later, I left Vienna and have been living back where I grew up ever since. I spend as much time as possible exploring and experiencing my surroundings, encountering the wildlife here, and discovering animals I never would have thought were here. From kingfishers to ravens, ibexes and chamois that come down from the mountains almost down to the valley. All of this is of utmost importance to me, and I can only hope that more people can experience nature like this, with a constant sense of wonder and excitement for the ever-changing circumstances.
