My roots lie deep in the soil, whether the brown loams of the Aberdeenshire coast of Scotland, or the granite rich gravels of the Vosges region of France. For my family is bound to the fields as cattle farmers and to the woods as forestry guards. To visit is to return to the land, to the frosty pastures bordered with yellow broom, and to the humid forests of snow encrusted pine. Moving away from the crowds, returning to my people, and to a comforting sense of familiarity in the furrows and dappled shades.
Beyond the hedgerows bordering the farm, at the end of the valley above the pine plantations, the sense of comfort is increasingly replaced by trepidation, a growing sense of wonder. Rising away from the slow and steady lowlands, are pinnacles of rock and snow. These mountains draw up from the human spirit, inspiring religious awe in some and an unerring desire to scale their heights for others. As an icon of outdoor Americana, Ansel Adams reflected on this drive to be outside amongst "the silence of the towering mountains, the mass of granite, the forest primeval and the light eternal."
Facing a mountain, a desert dune, or a roaring ocean shore can be a terrifying experience, calling for a questioning of place, space and time. Any self assured attachment to the land seems brushed away by their impersonal and ancient aura. The security of well worn surroundings is whipped from under your feet when confronted with monumental elements of nature, so assured in power but overwhelming in scale. But what is also felt is a sense of permanence, righteous and reward. These rocks have fought tooth and nail, pinnacle and scree, and deserve to dominate not only the horizon, but the shadows of our mind.
Beyond the hedgerows bordering the farm, at the end of the valley above the pine plantations, the sense of comfort is increasingly replaced by trepidation, a growing sense of wonder. Rising away from the slow and steady lowlands, are pinnacles of rock and snow. These mountains draw up from the human spirit, inspiring religious awe in some and an unerring desire to scale their heights for others. As an icon of outdoor Americana, Ansel Adams reflected on this drive to be outside amongst "the silence of the towering mountains, the mass of granite, the forest primeval and the light eternal."
Facing a mountain, a desert dune, or a roaring ocean shore can be a terrifying experience, calling for a questioning of place, space and time. Any self assured attachment to the land seems brushed away by their impersonal and ancient aura. The security of well worn surroundings is whipped from under your feet when confronted with monumental elements of nature, so assured in power but overwhelming in scale. But what is also felt is a sense of permanence, righteous and reward. These rocks have fought tooth and nail, pinnacle and scree, and deserve to dominate not only the horizon, but the shadows of our mind.
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| The Tetons & The Snake River. Ansel Adams. 1942 |
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