Sitting

I've had a few Sit Spots in my life.  While studying abroad in New Zealand, I visited a sit spot twice at Quaker Acres.  As I settled down next to the Peace Pond for the first time, I woke up too late to the fact that I was sitting by stagnant water at dusk.  Despite being eaten alive by the mosquitoes, I liked that spot to sit, and its serene and calm beauty in an obvious way.

Last year at IslandWood we had to do sit spots as a year long project for our Natural History and Ecology class.  We were told to sit for at least half an hour, so that our presence would stop being a disturbance to the natural flow of the ecosystem.  We were also told to visit our spots at different times of day, to see different patterns.  Dawn and dusk were my richest experiences sitting on the decomposing log off the first turn from the Treehouse Loop by the bog.

I want to go out to my sit spot during the evenings more, because on the 20th at three points a large bird, possibly an owl, swooped from one of the trees close to my log down to a tree on the other side of the spine trail.  Unfortunately, these bird sightings happened right as dusk was approaching, probably the worst time to actually see the birds.  What amazed me was how quiet the birds were.  Each time one flew near me, I had no idea it was there until I saw it, its wings made no noise during take-off or landing, which gives me the idea that this bird was hunting. ~Natural History Journal, 9/20/2009

The majority of my IW classmates became slackers when it came to this project, and I was no exception.  In about February I became invested and did five sit spots every other day, connecting my spots to another assignment we had and writing poems about my sits.  Overall though, my sits were sparse and scattered.

To prepare for my IW sits, my summer homework was to find a sit spot and sit two or three times.  This idea seemed ludicrous while running Camp Fraser, but I managed to work in two sits and even found the inspiration for my poem "Words in the Woods."  That spot was the campfire by the Deer cabin; I had a sick camper resting in the cabin, so my main sits felt more on edge than I thought the assignment was asking for from me.

My favorite sit spot assignment was at Earlham College for my class "American Literature and Ecology," taught by Scott Hess.  Scott has worked on pieces of writing calling for a localized concept of nature and wildness, instead of traveling to the ends of the earth and spending resources to find a sublime picture of the wilderness.  Our class focused on dissecting the dichotomy between natural and cultural areas, so perhaps it was fitting that my sit spot was my favorite hill on campus, which was really a drainage ditch.

The prompts Scott gave us for our sit spots were unlike any other way I had been asked to sit in nature.  He asked us to write reflections each week on our spot, sometimes asking us to look for patterns, imagine our spot 100 years ago, bring someone to our spot and reflect on that experience, write in a character voice about our spot, make a piece of fiction set in our spot, interact with our spot in some way.  Through Scott's class, I felt moved to see myself as an active member of the habitat of my sit spot; as a part of that place.  Instead of sitting quietly for half an hour and observing everything I could, I would roll down the hill, climb the tree, walk around my spot, bring friends with me and chat with them through my sitting.  I might not have seen as many birds or mammals this way, but I noticed the blades of grass, the dragonflies, and most importantly I recognized how I felt being a part of that space.

I breathe in the night air and feel my own memories seep in through my mouth.  Memories I scatter each time I come here.  I shake off a few moments of my life, and leave them in the soil.  They nourish the grass as it grows and get eaten by the bugs and fly through the air back to me and remind me of themselves when I least expect it.

Rolling down the hill is hard tonight.  I always give myself up to the hill, let my vulnerabilities down and then the hill takes them as I roll away and I think to myself, "And what?" and listen and hear the hill is speechless so I keep rolling.  Tonight I'm holding back for no apparent reason, and when I don't let the vulnerabilities go they're still inside me as I roll and punch around me with each rotation down the hill.  

That hill remained an important spot for me at Earlham.  Almost all my friends could tell you a time when we went to roll down it together some night.  It was a rare sledding spot during the Indiana snowstorms.  Despite being nestled by two buildings and a parking lot, there were some great views of the stars from lying on one's back at the bottom of the hill after finishing a good roll.

Photo by Emily Schankerman

At my house in Seattle, I got the inspiration from my friend Lily recently to go outside first thing in the morning, instead of turning on my computer and looking at a screen immediately after waking up for the day.  I make a cup of tea, sit in the sunniest spot I can find, and spend fifteen to twenty minutes listening and observing.  I've heard a robin's song, gotten smiles from some passersby, complete avoidance of eye contact of others, said "morning" to the neighbor as she drives off to work, seen the gray squirrels that crawl all over the roof at night, and breathed fresh air.  It's not as isolated from society as my previous sit spots, but after Scott's class, I prefer it this way.  The photo is by my roommate, as an example of some of the wildness one can see from our front porch.

As a lifelong learner, I'm glad to experience the value of this activity with no grade or judgment lingering in the future.  It's my new morning ritual; a way to set the day out on my terms with the world.