When the last tree is cut down, the last fish caught, and the last stream poisoned, you will realize that you cannot eat money. — Cree Indians
All scenes above from Oregon
W hen
in the spring of my life
I called to the wilderness
to the forests
to the rivers
to the lakes
and later
to the mountains
and to the high cliff’d
remote ocean shores
they always answered
they came to know me well
as my friends
they welcomed me eagerly
invigorating my spirit
soothing my mind
warming my soul
they shared their beauty
and their bounty
generously with me
the wilderness became
the blood of my life
Oregon Coast
now
in the winter of my days
they no longer
seem to know me
they do not seem
as welcoming
not as welcoming
to wander and roam
to hike
to camp
to fish
to just be
in their embrace
drinking of their energy
awed by their magic
this change of relationdhip
it saddens me greatly
Oregon Black Tail — doe
but it is I
who have spoiled the connection
the deep friendship
that is to say
my age
and failing health
have made me too awkward
too uncomfortable
too absent
to my wilderness
I’m no longer recognizable
my face
my eyes
my stature
my gait
all different
I have changed so
now a feeble stranger
bent and slow
3 Sisters Mts. — Central Oregon
I still love my forests
my mountains
my rivers and lakes
my high cliff’d
ocean shores
I do not blame
any of them
it is not their fault
we are estranged
it is definitely I
who changed
someday
I will return again
carried by my son
to be forever joined
with this wilderness I love
please love her too
*
rob kistner © 2023
More poetry at: dVerse
The wild side of life in the best way possible! I love your nostalgic poem, Rob. Age does limit us greatly.
Thank you Dwight… 🙂 … age only limits the body, that is unavoidable. But only we limit our wonder and spirit, those are in our control — unless the mind goes. We just found out tonight that my wife Kathy has cancer. Her spirit is strong, always has been. Cancer eon’t get that!
Love the message of being connected with nature in the end. For despite the differences in our journey, we will someday be joined in the wilderness.
Thank you Grace… 🙂 …one day we all go home.
Rob, I’m glad you lived this life, Mom Nature is to be enjoyed.
Growing up we had a not very deep creek with trees and trash and dirt sides, yes even an old Buick soft top, along the water. I spent at least one day a week playing there, generally more.
..
I have loved it ever since my wife Kathy and I moved here in 1990. It has been wonderful. Now they have found cancerous cells in her lymph nodes. I am 16 years older with all kinds of health issues. She is not going to go before me, I won’t let it. She has twenty years to enjoy after I’m gone.
Like many of your great poems, Rob, this one also shows how much you love the outside world! Describing wilderness as a friend with whom you’ve become estranged because of the changes your body went through, genius! I love the outdoors myself but maybe not as much as you. You seem to have a deep connection with the wilderness.
The deepest connection Jay. No wilderness to embrace, no soul to swoon.
It’s life, Rob, all of it. So much of it is hard to take. I can see what you mean about being shut out of the wilderness because you can’t camp and fish like you used to, but isn’t that the same for all animals? When they can’t keep up with the pace of survival, it’s curtains. As you say, you have what they don’t, a capacity to marvel at the simple existence of beauty, and stiff joints can’t alter than. Hang onto that wife. You’ll need to share your strength. Sending thoughts as strong as I can make them xxx
I so thank you Jane, for what I know coming from you, is sincere no bullshit concern. Thank you again my friend. I will be by Kathy’s side through anything she needs to face — no matter. We have been togeter 36 years now, and it has not all been easy. I love her soul, her will, and her courage. The fire and passion that brought us together was amazing, but it has evolved to something beyond — a deep soul connection. My heart beats with hers, I breath with her, I feel her pulse — even when we disagree. We will beat this shit! 🙂
This is incredibly moving, Rob! Being in my thirties at the moment, I can only say that life is somewhat like a mountain hike. The higher we climb, the more we tend to gaze back at what was.. that being said, I salute you, my friend. You have been through many milestones and have endured and cherished things alike. I am not one to believe that “its life, shit happens,”.. no.. I am more of a “let’s beat this shit to the ground,” type of person. Here’s hoping the road ahead is smooth for us both. Sending love!
Thank you so much Sanaa. As you climb that mountain there are also beautiful meadows, and rivers, and laked — wonderful views of what’s precious in life. 🙂
Wow, Rob, how bittersweet and loving… Beautiful and sad.
~David
Thank you David, very much… 🙂
This is a beautiful reflection of life and the connection with nature. While aging slows the wild adventures there is still an abundance of beauty to behold. Perhaps, its an appreciation for the smaller wonders such as nearby trees and birds or a butterfly or dragonfly on a summer day that warms the heart. Perhaps, instead of standing on a mountain you admire its majestic beauty from a far.
I read about your wife and I wish you both healing and strength. With your permission I would humbly put out an intention to the universe in your behalf.
Peace, healing and beauty
Thank you True… 🙂 …I do admire from afar, and all around me is the beauty. A ride in the car up into the mountains is just gorgeous. But I sorely miss the 25-year intimacy I so enjoyed, visiting my quiet private special places up in the mountains — the ones I could only get to on foot, where I would be alone, wholly immersed in the powerful energy of wilderness.
Yes True, you have my permission to, and gratitude for putting out an intention to the universe on your behalf. Thank you again my friend. 🙂
Rob, such a moving tribute and description of what has been lost. Well, lost to you, in that you can’t enjoy nature as you could though it is still there. And I suppose you can still enjoy some of the sights and have your memories.
Sending best wishes to you and your wife. It must help her to know you are there.
Thank you Merril… 🙂 …I am doing my best to support Kathy. I certainly am here for whatever she needs. We meet again Monday with her Oncologist.
Beautiful.
My children already know to spread my ashes in the Niagara River. I couldn’t go over the falls while scuba diving (not that I wanted to), but this way I will.
Thank you Ken… 🙂 …they used to go over in barrels, but I think your way is far more reasonable… 😉
Nature can be as close as sitting out on your deck and feeling the warmth of the early spring sun – or catching the sunrise through a kitchen window……..we make do. The beauty is all around. What is hard for me is watching my village chopping down trees faster than we can keep track, removing all the green. That is estrangement at its worst.
So true Sherry… ???? …I do admire deep nature from afar, and all around me, even in my backyard, is beauty. A ride in the car up into the mountains is also even more gorgeous. But I sorely miss the 25-year intimacy I so enjoyed, hiking in to my quiet, private, special places up “in” the mountains, of to the concealed fly fishing or ultralight spin fishing spots — the ones I could only get to on foot, where I would be alone, wholly immersed in the powerful energy of wilderness. That is what my heart aches for.
We never forget nature’s embrace, even when we are far from it and, I am sure, she always remembers us!
I agree Ingrid, but I ache for the real-time, in-person intimacy of, not using the typical marked trails, but rather hiking into and being immersed in the energy, and raw power of pure wilderness — or fishing an essential unused, pristine stretch of breathtaking mountain snow-melt stream. These are places I knew well, and I essentially never saw, or even heard, other humans — more than maybe a single handful of times, in my 26 years of trekking, wilderness fishing, or meditating/writing… and they being that deep in the wild for the same reason as I, they never infringed upon nor disturbed my privacy, nor I theirs.
I heard an oldtimer say once, if you want to know where your God went, ask yourself, who moved … sentiments here are close to that, though there’s another polarity at work with age — Earth is beaten up, so are we old folks, so the common wilderness can never be pristine again. But you will join your son in that first wilderness again, yes.
The older I grow, the more infirm, my health issues coming at me two fold… and now facing the reality of my wife Kathy having cancer — I am seeking to better know how man deals with wanting, at times of great stress and confusion, there to be a god, while however not understanding whatsoever what/who/where/why/if, more importantly if a god, that is an anyway, even marginally comprehensible to us, actually exists. I grow more and more toward thinking that the thought of an entity (god), who can understand our stress and confusion, our pain, our overwhelm of it all, may be as important as whether there is this singular being/entity we like to call god. I have no way of knowing, but I believe grasping at something, of which there is no proof, may in fact weaken ones ability to find genuine strength within, and with friends and family. Find the love that abides therein. I think perhaps this is the only “god” we truly get, and the god we truly need to sustain us in life and death. Heaven and hell is with us daily — we needn’t wait for them in some future. How we live our daily lives brings us either the either moments of heaven or moments of hell — with many moments of purgatory (comfortable boredom) …and all of this is good. If we look to foster love, receive love, and respect love — we will have the bits of heaven to get us through our hell’s. What comes after, who knows, we will deal with it then, if in fact we do retain an individual identity. If we do
not retain our individual identity — then it is a moot point to discuss or fret about it.
I simply have to remember to get into the wilderness as much as I can before it’s also too late for me. A great reminder.
Your welcome Björn — too late comes too soon… 🙂