I wish to speak a word for the art of poking around. Although the art can be practiced in libraries and antique stores and peoples’ psyches, the kind of poking around I am interested in advocating must be done outdoors. It is a matter of going into the land to pay close attention, to pry at things with the toe of a boot, to turn over rocks at the edge of a stream and lift boards to look for snakes or the nests of silky deer mice, to kneel close to search out the tiny bones mixed with fur in an animal’s scat, to poke a cattail down a gopher hole.
People who poke around have seeds in their socks and rocks in their pockets. They measure things with the span of their hands. They look into the sun when they see a shadow pass across field. They spit in rivers to make fish rise. When no one is looking, they may even rub their lips where beavers have chewed, just to get a sense of it. Often they stand still for a long time, listening and then they follow the sound, sneaky as a heron, until they are close enough to see a chickadee knocking on wood like a tiny woodpecker.
Poking around is more capricious than studying, but more intense than strolling. It’s less systematic than watching but more closely focused. Unlike hiking, it has no destination.
Poking around is a guaranteed way to learn. Ideas, after all, start with sense impressions; and all learning comes from making connections among observations and ideas. Insight is born of analogy. Everything interesting is complicated. Since truth is in the details, seekers of the truth should look for it there.
“Poking Around” is excerpted from Kathleen Dean Moore’s essay “Winter Creek,” in Riverwalking: Reflections on Moving Water(Harcourt Brace, 1995). Copyright (c) 1995 by Kathleen Dean Moore. Used by permission of the author.
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