forests and fog
Somehow, the English mythological picture of forests just does not match my own. In English stories forests are always dark, dangerous, evil, mysterious places, have you noticed? In Tolkien, of course, Mirkwood, the Old Forest where the hobbits meet Tom Bombadil (and are almost eaten by a willow tree), and Fangorn are all Not Nice places. The only good forest I can think of in Tolkien is Lothlorien, and that must have something to do with all those elves. And in A Hat Full of Sky, Terry Pratchett likens the hiver taking over Tiffany's mind to the forest growing back over the downs - useless weeds that men once got rid of to make the land into a fertile, useful place, creeping back to destroy life. Hmm. It's easy to think that Europeans, having almost entirely deforested over a thousand years ago (enough that the remaining forests have names) would hate and fear trees. Maybe too easy? I don't know.
The forest I most love is the redwood forest. And it's really hard to see a redwood forest as menacing. They're the most peaceful places I know. Mysterious, but in a good way. When we heard that someone got attacked by a mountain lion in Prairie Creek Redwoods, it was quite a shock for that very reason. True, I don't depend on the forest (or its lack) for my livelihood in any direct way. But then, I don't depend on the ocean, either, and I can certainly see that as a big scary, and beautiful, place.
The other forest I know well is the Piney Woods of Texas, because I grew up there. Now that is some impenetrable forest (just try walking 10 feet without a machete) - pine trees are an invasive species there and millions of little ugly spindly pines choke up everything. I don't think it's beautiful at all (could you tell?) but it is mysterious. I shouldn't say I know it well, but I dream about it sometimes. Everywhere we went in town was a small place carved out of this impenetrable wood. You couldn't take your own shortcut through the woods because there were no shortcuts that weren't streams with snakes mooching around on the banks (no, not exaggerating). Sometimes I still dream about walking down avenues in the middle of those woods. Very different from the endless suburbia of SF and LA. And there too, though it was dangerous because everywhere in Texas in crawling with things you don't want to meet (snakes, fire ants, ...), it didn't feel mythologically dangerous.
Fog, too. In British writing, fog is really depressing, choking, grim, etc, etc. But in a fairly hot, dry climate like ours, I think fog is a relief. It may be that I'm in a minority about this, but after sweating it out in Livermore for awhile, I'm very pleased to see the fog bank. Carl Sandburg knew what that was about.
The forest I most love is the redwood forest. And it's really hard to see a redwood forest as menacing. They're the most peaceful places I know. Mysterious, but in a good way. When we heard that someone got attacked by a mountain lion in Prairie Creek Redwoods, it was quite a shock for that very reason. True, I don't depend on the forest (or its lack) for my livelihood in any direct way. But then, I don't depend on the ocean, either, and I can certainly see that as a big scary, and beautiful, place.
The other forest I know well is the Piney Woods of Texas, because I grew up there. Now that is some impenetrable forest (just try walking 10 feet without a machete) - pine trees are an invasive species there and millions of little ugly spindly pines choke up everything. I don't think it's beautiful at all (could you tell?) but it is mysterious. I shouldn't say I know it well, but I dream about it sometimes. Everywhere we went in town was a small place carved out of this impenetrable wood. You couldn't take your own shortcut through the woods because there were no shortcuts that weren't streams with snakes mooching around on the banks (no, not exaggerating). Sometimes I still dream about walking down avenues in the middle of those woods. Very different from the endless suburbia of SF and LA. And there too, though it was dangerous because everywhere in Texas in crawling with things you don't want to meet (snakes, fire ants, ...), it didn't feel mythologically dangerous.
Fog, too. In British writing, fog is really depressing, choking, grim, etc, etc. But in a fairly hot, dry climate like ours, I think fog is a relief. It may be that I'm in a minority about this, but after sweating it out in Livermore for awhile, I'm very pleased to see the fog bank. Carl Sandburg knew what that was about.