On Appreciation and Pellets

Zeal An
Ms. Kochman
IBET English 9
13 December 2012
On Appreciation and Pellets
It’s Friday, sometime in mid-November, and I find myself situated in a forest, of all places. I’m surrounded by trees. It’s nearing the end of autumn and most of the trees are orange and brown and generally pretty autumny colors, but some are still dark green from summer, standing out like Rainbow Fish from that book that seems to be required reading for all five-year-olds. The ground is strewn about with fallen leaves that make that ever-so-satisfying crunch as I step over them. What’s nice is that on the tree the leaves sort of blend into the same orangish hue, but on the ground I can make out all the different browns and yellows and whatnot. The park has installed a wooden walkway, slightly elevated from the ground, that’s littered with the same leaves that cover the ground and stained a sickly green from the mold growing on it. It’s on this walkway that my class is sitting. It’s mostly quiet; my writing is only occasionally interrupted by the sound of a leaf falling, or someone sniffling, or the occasional bird chirping. The air is calm, and just a little bit chilly, just the way I like it. It’s what I consider to be the perfect writing atmosphere; definitely better than trying to write in a cheap, prefabricated high-school trailer, where the Spanish class next door is loudly singing cheesy verb conjugation songs with nothing but a thin trailer wall to block the noise. The forest is pleasingly conducive to the flow of words from my borrowed pencil, and everyone else around me seems to agree, since we’re all hunched over our notebooks, writing with some degree of seriousness, even those people who view this trip as a joke and usually don't take writing too seriously.
	It’s a nice change of pace from where I was maybe half an hour ago: out in the forest, in the middle of nowhere, scanning a plot of land for deer droppings. I’m with a group of three other friends, and we’re out here for a science project that none of us really care about, but it’s not like we have any choice. The task sounds simple at first, but it’s actually quite a stressful activity. The process requires connecting two PVC plumbing pipes with a piece of string, so we can scan a certain distance around the string for pellets. The problem is, on the plot my team is assigned, the path between the two poles goes straight through a patch of saplings, and in another one, the rotting branches of a fallen tree, requiring us to contort our bodies in less-than comfortable positions attempting to pass the string through, like a messed-up game of human Twister. We scream and yell at each other, telling each other to place our left foot here and squeeze your right hand through that opening over there. Once the string is placed, we pick up sticks and brush away the dead leaves, only to find that there are no pellets; we come to the conclusion that this is because no deer in their right mind would choose to poop here.
	Even so, it’s nice out there. The plots are real forest, with nothing but a worn dirt road cutting through the middle to remind you of the civilized world. Not a park with a nice, neat wooden walkway and well-defined, cookie-cutter paths for you to follow. Nothing but trees and a little dirt road. There are a lot more leaves out here- so many that I’m finding myself kicking them aside as I walk. The trees are larger, too; even lying down and looking straight up I can’t see the top. It’s an environment not many people can say they’ve been to. It’s quite a surreal feeling- just me, enshrouded in nature, away from the bustle and hustle of school and of the suburbs and of life. I feel like this place deserves more of my time than just poking around for pellets.
	Apparently my feelings weren’t shared by my group, who I observed running down that dirt road, doing bad Steve Irwin impressions, singing One Direction songs, and rushing to get back on the bus and eat lunch. Neither are these feelings shared by my class, it seems. We’ve finished writing and we’re walking now, still on that same walkway. Down the path, the forest gives way to a swampy, marshy area, which leads to a small beach. Nobody seems to have noticed that, though; even after the teachers have talked about observation and taking everything in and “human insignificance relative to nature,” my classmates are speedwalking down the path, talking about tests and homework and the latest gossip, ignoring the picturesque environment around them.
	I find this rather disturbing. To think we are here to reduce this to data points and numbers is quite the saddening thought. To say plot 25 has 8 trees and 42 saplings is to ignore those multicolored leaves concealing the forest floor, the slightly chilly breeze blowing around my jacket, the occasional ever-paranoid squirrel, scampering up a tree. To walk down this path and ignore the forest is, in my view, almost an insult to to the plants that call this place home. I glance at my classmates, and notice that I’m seemingly the only one who’s trying to take it all in, to appreciate this forest I’m in, to take something good away from here that isn’t a pellet count. We’ve reached the end of the path; everyone’s running nonchalantly to the waiting buses to go home. I feel almost guilty to leave. I don’t think I’ve spent enough time in there. I give one last glance and remind myself there’s still one more trip.
	I’m on the bus now, driving down that dirt road, feeling the giant wheels of the bus awkwardly roll along the bumps of the ground. I gaze out the window, attempting to reflect on the sights and sounds of the day. My reflection is short-lived, though; approximately five seconds later someone taps me on the shoulder, showing me a funny picture on their phone. I laugh, and join in the conversation, pushing the forest to the back of my mind. It’s ironic, in a way, that I’ve fallen prey to that which I detest so much. I deplore my friends’ ignorance of the sheer beauty of Mason Neck before I myself go back to worrying about due dates and projects. I’m never successful in my attempts to fully appreciate things; to embrace a nobler cause. But I still think it’s worth it to try.