Quit Your Books

Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

UP! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless--
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:--
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

The Tables Turned, a poem by William Wordsworth.
The singing bird is the Chaffinch, not the throstle (song thrush) mentioned in the poem. 

She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways

So it begins again. A walk in a grassy meadow. A violet by a mossy stone half hidden from the eye*. A handful of pictures. And then hours of poring over field guides and a long world wide web search. First comes resemblance, then a mass of confusion. What's the difference between a harebell and a bluebell? If you had been paying attention you'd know by now that the knapweed is nothing like the melancholy thistle. The Astragalus genus (common name milk-vetch) has about 3000 species. And the Asteraceae group has more than 22750 species spread across 1620 genera and 12 subfamilies. That includes the aster, daisy, marigolds, chrysanthemums, zinnias, dahlias and sunflowers. If that isn't a humbling encounter with biodiversity, then what is? Finally along comes a name and with it an introduction to  the fascinating world of what we call 'wildflowers' affording us a tiny glimpse into the other far more enduring and enthralling world wide web. The one where Lucy and a violet by a mossy stone not only share a common ground but also a common fate. Or as Shakespeare wrote, one touch of nature makes the whole world kin*.

Wildflowers in order of appearance: scabious (rare to picture without a butterfly or a moth feasting on its rich nectar), early marsh orchid, mountain buttercup, bladder campion, harebell, hawkweed, Astragalus monspessulanus(?), Cat's ear (with the background blur composed of red clover, white daisy and yellow kidney vetch).

*She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways by William Wordsworth a poem that instilled a lifelong search for unappreciated beauty epitomized by wildflowers.
** From Troilus and Cressida

Revisiting Wordsworth

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye!
- The lovely cottage in the guardian nook
Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear brook,
Its own small pasture, almost its own sky!

But covet not the abode -O do not sigh
As many do, repining while they look;
Intruders who would tear from Nature's book
This precious leaf with harsh impiety:
(Admonition To A Traveller by William Wordsworth)

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
(The World Is Too Much With Us by William Wordsworth)

Wordsworth viewed man as a part of nature and not in opposition to it. He reflected at length on how this relationship could be comprehended: Man appears insignificant in the presence of nature. The towering mountains, lakes and forests appear motionless but they are also alive and vivid, when the clouds move, the lake ripples, the branches sway but still nature is always aloof and incomprehensible. Or is it that it is man who through awe and wonder makes nature come alive?

Wordsworth opposed the construction of a trainline from Kendal to Grasmere (the train till today doesn't come to Grasmere). He wanted the Lake District to become some sort of a National Park, which it eventually did.

For as a man who wrote most of his poetry, in the time of the Industrial Revolution, walking along the lakes in the company of nature he very well understood how man's culture of "getting and spending" would disconnect him from nature, making him lose his sense of wonder and eventually lead to dire consequences. In that sense he was a visionary.