My mind keeps going back to when I was driving through Alaska, Yukon and British Columbia. Not to disparage Alberta or Saskatchewan, but those landscapes were too “familiar”. Really, once you’ve seen one endless field of a particular crop, they all take on a similar character and we have a hell of a lot of examples of that landscape when you’re away from the river valleys in the upper midwestern states of North Dakota, Minnesota, South Dakota, Iowa and Wisconsin. My eye craved something different from what I could view a half-hour’s drive from home. And so, the last leg of my trip was not nearly as visually stimulating as the foreleg of the same.
Some of the same might be said for the endless taiga (boreal forests) in those places if you are from that region, I suppose. I can’t imagine growing weary of the sight myself, but I can imagine someone else longing for the sight of rolling fields of crops. Each to their own.
Dense woods of pine and birch, with pockets of wetlands and mountains breaking up the scenery pushed all of the buttons. Even when the taiga was rolling hills of trees unbroken by other features, my eyes never grew weary of the scenery. It reminded me of the forests I explored as a youth, impenetrable, living spaces that yielded to the patient observer who could pathfind a way through the wood by following the small signs left behind by the nonhuman denizens.
I found myself drawn to those endless forests as I drove in silence, tempted to pull the car over and wander into the woods and surrender to the heart within — a yearning to return to a home I left before I was born.
The longing was very strong during that whole portion of the trip, the spell broken when Raven and I had a bit of an exchange in the Village of Teslin while we did a bit of a stretch. I was reminded of my worldly commitments, had a bit of chat about other, less-worldly matters. The taiga soon gave away to mountains while on the road afterwards and the lingering hypnosis of the trees faded away to a whisper by the time we reached the outskirts of Fort Nelson, BC.
But the whispers still linger. They are similar to those whispers I hear when I think about my home-away-from-home in Seattle, but are somewhat more persistent.
Have you ever been drawn to a place in that manner? Where was it? And what about the place drew you to it?
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