One of my favorite nature writers is John Burroughs, a prolific author of the late 19th and early-20th century. I own most if not all his books and nature essays. One of my favorite essays is called, “The Art of Seeing Things” from his 1908 publication, Leaf and Tendril.

“So far as seeing things is an art, it is the art of keeping your eyes and ears open. The art of nature is all in the direction of concealment. The birds, the animals, all the wild creatures, for the most part try to elude your observation. The art of the bird is to hide her nest; the art of the game you are in quest of is to make itself invisible.”

If I’m on a hike with family or friends, we tend to chat and spend our time together in the woods as we would around the dinner table – telling stories and conversing about whatever comes to mind. When I lead woods hikes for The Last Green Valley, my job is to describe the flora and fauna we encounter in my role as nature interpreter. Talking is part of my job – a big part!

But get me alone in the woods and I am quiet. I take my time. I stop to listen and look, and to practice the lost art of seeing. A rocky outcrop, stump or fallen log is the perfect spot to sit and take in the stillness of the forest, to let the woods come to me and open its secrets.

How many times have I walked passed the red eft newt as it scurries across the trail and not noticed its bright orange color? Perhaps I was looking at the treetops to see what bird was singing or distracted by the sound of deer leaping through the woods ahead of me.

While passing through a grove of hemlocks and white pines, will I take notice of the large pile of chewed-up pinecones under a tree – the work of the noisy and busy red squirrel, or will I pass by blissfully not noticing its handiwork?

Will I see the large rectangular holes chopped into an ash tree where a pileated woodpecker has found a meal of ants, or will I be too focused on the trail ahead to look carefully at the trees I pass on my way?

“The book of nature … is a book which he reads best who goes most slowly or even tarries long by the way.”

I know I am not alone in this slow pursuit of observation, for during my jaunts I have on occasion encountered others doing the same – stopping, listening and seeing. We’ll nod and smile as we pass, and I am glad someone else is breathing in the beauty of nature. After all, it is not mine alone to enjoy but belongs to all of us who take the time.

I must admit that when I hike with a specific destination in mind, perhaps a summit to ascend, or if I am under time constraints, then my journey is all tromping feet with head down scanning the trail for root snags or tripping rocks.

I hear the birds, but don’t stop to admire the song. I hear the wind but don’t pause to enjoy the cool on my face. I see the trees but don’t linger under their stately grace. I smell the flowers but neglect to tuck their fragrant blossoms into my pocket.

When the time is mine to take, and the choice is mine to make, I head for forests and fields. In nature, history lives in old stone walls and abandoned cellar holes. Life emerges from the duff of the forest floor as a congregation of ferns slowly unfold their green fans to the breeze. Death passes silently in a brown flash of owl wings, its talons clutching dinner.

The drama of the world’s greatest literature can hardly compare with the living stories that occur right before our eyes. Here on nature’s stage the curtain rises with the sun. But too often we, the audience, are absent. Admission is free and a cast of thousands await our undivided attention. We only need to push the pause button, open our ears, refocus our sight, and enjoy the opening act. I hope you’ll join me in the fine art of seeing things right here in The Last Green Valley.

Bill Reid, Chief Ranger (Retired) The Last Green Valley National Heritage Corridor.