When I was 18, a stone wall running through the woods changed my world.
I was a young camp counselor on a hike with one of the camp directors. We stopped at a pile of rocks crossing the trail, and Kurt explained this was an old stone fence, marking the edges of farm properties as recently as the Civil War. I looked around at the nature surrounding me, full of oaks, poplars and hemlocks, some too big for this amateur tree hugger to wrap arms around. I’d grown up loving to play outside, but this was when I realized my connection with the outdoors. This land that seemed ancient to me had been entirely different less than 150 years before I stood there. Those stones had been dug up and moved to the edges to mark land and clear crop space. That day, I started considering the relationship between humans and the land we dwell upon — not just how we impact the land, but how the land responds and how we respond. This intrinsic relationship has guided my studies and professional life, and eventually led to me becoming a camp director myself.
Seeing myself as a part of creation has grounded me throughout my adulthood. In times of great stress, I can step out into nature and appreciate the beauty of it all, but I also remember I am breathing the same air and relying on the same soil, water and sunshine as all of the other living things. I am in community with the smallest wildflowers and the greatest trees. I am part of this world. I’m not alone!
Kurt and his wife, Lorelei (a camp chaplain), became important mentors to me over my years of serving on summer staff before finding myself in camp and conference ministry full time. I felt a deep connection to them as they encouraged my curiosity about the world around me. They inspired me with their faith and hospitality. I always felt welcome at their table; everyone who has encountered them has felt similarly about being received into their care.
I’ve moved away since leaving my first camp. Moving is a reality of my calling, and I think it’s become fairly normal for many people today. We move farther from home for education, work, family or even an adventure. It’s easy to do when the world is this globalized, with ways to get anywhere quickly. And while there are different ways to stay in touch with all we’ve left behind when we go, it’s not always easy. It’s not the same, either. A phone call or text pales compared to sitting together at a table, sharing stories and a good meal. Sometimes, I let that discourage me from picking up the phone. Sometimes, I enable my own loneliness and disconnection.
I try to remember my interconnectedness not only to trees, rocks, and rivers, but to the other people who are part of nature. It requires a similar amount of intentional awe and awareness of the world around me. I could get swept up in day-to-day life and forget to reach out to people. I could even feel so bad about not reaching out that I continue not reaching out. When I can’t be with people I care about, I find joy in being with nature, remembering that my loved ones are also part of this creation. But it’s also important to find meaningful ways to be together when possible.
I recently got to sit at Lorelei and Kurt’s table for the first time in several years. It’s the kind of friendship that doesn’t matter if it’s been a while. We’re all just happy to reconnect when we can. I’d gone hiking nearby that afternoon, and brought a small rock with me to dinner. Kurt and I have a long history of looking at stones together. The piece of greenish shale was part of a geologic formation that stretches roughly from where Kurt and Lorelei live straight through where I now live. We can’t always be together, but it’s good to remember that we’re still all connected.
