kylec | Wild Signs and Star Paths: Key #5, The Wind Anchor

This series is an exploration of the works of Tristan Gooley. I’ll document my efforts to learn to read nature’s signs. If you enjoy reading, I encourage you to support the author by purchasing a copy of Wild Sings and Star Paths (UK) or The Nature Instinct (US). I’m in no way affiliated with the author, nor do I profit from sales of the book.

Last Week’s Work

To track the sword of Orion as it turns like a gauge through the sky, pointing south at the constellation’s highest point. And to pay attention to local wild places.

New World

I’m not much of a night owl, and the sun is usually peeking out when I wake up at 6 AM, which is the best time to see Orion this time of year. Add to that the fact that every night has been completely overcast for months, and these make pretty good excuses for why I failed to observe the Orion signs. These may have to wait for winter. It’s a humbling reminder that what we want Nature to share with us may not be the thing she cares to reveal.

The wild places are of course everywhere. Tristan Gooley defines a “wild” as a place w engendered by awareness, a sense of connection, an a deep understanding of the landscape. This is exactly the set of skills I’m working on in this exploration of WSASP, so it stands to reason that I will experience fewer wild places early, and more as I get better. Ultimately, just about anything that meet those criteria if we hone our senses well.

I spent time in the very tame backyard. We’re subject to an HOA, and share this space with the neighbors. It’s about 15 feet from the house to the tall back wall that I can’t see over, lined by tall bushes I can’t identify. The length is maybe 45 feet of big flagstone with large cracks between them. In these cracks, a tiny variety of clover thrives. The HOA also has a gardener, an I know he didn’t plant these. They found a comfortable niche in a stretch of dirt that is constantly muddy and shady (being on the north side of the building). There are other species of uninvited clover under the bushes. Lizards bounce across the rocks that mark off the beds and sun themselves beneath chirping mockingbirds and bush birds who made their home in the bushes. The plants thrive, thanks to sprinklers. Turkey vultures and hawks patrol overhead, and the latter even landed in the garden once to stage World War III with the mockingbirds, presumably over trying to eat their young. All day long, crows caw in all directions. They are the street gangs who really control this neighborhood.

I spent time looking at the insignificant details of this close and limited scene. It allowed me to notice that when new leaves bud from the bushes, they start out red and slowly turn green. That the exhaust from the dryer has covered one small bush with lint. If I get up high enough inside the house to see over the wall, beyond the train tracks on the berm I can spot white shimmering patches in the early dawn hours. These are spider webs on the ground, laden with dew that will evaporate within minutes once the sun pokes its head over the low ridge to find the protected southwest face. Hardy weeds spring up in the vacant lot next door, as far the tires of the vehicles parked on the street will allow.

I could do on, but I feel this was a successful first foray into noticing, and to coin a verb, wilding the familiar places. My own definition of wild has always been things that are free, unencumbered by laws, taboos, inhibitions. The scenes I painted seem to be the opposite. Everything is touched by humans, or thrives because we have altered a place so that it becomes the fittest applicant for residency. But when I think of traditional wilds, every plant and animal is there because of very specific conditions of sun, wind, soil, competitors, etc. They struggle to find a niche within very narrow confines. When that’s not the case, we get “invasive species,” which is to say a successful pioneer. That may be the closest thing to a “wild” organism. But even those meet their limits and collapse to modest levels once their resource base is overshot.

And if awareness an understanding make a placer wilder for Gooley, aren’t those same things what make it more encumbered? If we understand because we see the order in the landscape, it’s following rules. We all are. Humans and everything else present will influence a place, so no place is free from its residents’ will. Maybe the wild element is the exhilaration of being somewhere no one else has seen. The individuals may follow rules, but perhaps the whole of the landscape is somehow freed to express something very unique in the process. I saw a backyard no one who visits it has ever seen. It wasn’t my stereotyped experience. It was the brink of an uncharted land, and by fostering that awareness, I knew the land would only unfold more the farther out I went. Or the closer, the more patiently I looked.

Maybe another element of a wild place isn’t its refusal to follow our rules or speak to us, but an understanding to some small degree of how we fit in.

Key #5: The Wind Anchor

A great many signs are tied to the wind. It gives us direction, tells us of weather, alters the behavior of animals, and makes us aware of objects in our landscape. The first step is to notice the wind. What direction is it blowing from? Is it fast or light? It’s helpful to turn until the breeze cools both cheeks equally. This faces you in the direction of the current wind. From here, we can track shifts.

The wind anchor means to have a memorable sense of where the wind comes from. While this can be a direction, such as “prevailing wind out of the southwest,” Gooley recommends anchoring it to an object in the landscape. The best are those that we can keep in view for some time. For example, I grew up in a small town. The only thing taller than two stories was in fact tremendously tall—a looming concrete rice dryer. If I noted the wind coming from that direction, I could call it the rice dryer wind. Making it a concrete, sensory experience rather than an abstract label opens up the understanding. If I’m on a long walk, I can move the wind from object to object as they leave my field of view. If I find on the way home that it’s no longer coming from that object, that’s good information. If it remains in place, navigating is intuitive.

There are a wealth of clues in this chapter, but all stem from noticing the wind. My task this week is to note the direction it’s coming from and anchor it to a landscape feature. Then note any movements in the wind’s direction. But also note changes as I move. Does it wobble? Stop entirely? Accelerate? All from the same place? These are clues to objects disrupting the free flow. I will also notice how animals use the wind, or change their behavior when it changes.