John Elder

In order to experience the true environment, one must immerse oneself within it. And in order to achieve total immersion, one must stay in isolation and commune only with nature. Or so it seems. Detachment is clearly a prevalent theme in nature writing, and understandably so. Detachment from the normal hubbub and obligations of everyday life allows one to focus and really "see" nature. There are a great number of environmental authorities who agree.

In A Sand County Almanac, Aldo Leopold confronted nature on his own, examining trees, animals, and organisms while isolated to the point of thinking in natural time (weather, sun rise/set, etc.). In doing so, Leopold was able to observe seasons, animal migrations and rhythms, and study flora growth and decay. Like Leopold, John Muir also speculated the environment in solitude, trekking the Sierra accompanied only by his dog. Robert Frost, the author of Directive, writes, "But only with an inclusive perspective on the universal breakdown of organisms can one look past it to new life. Only by adopting a time-lineÐ'...[of] whole forests may one draw the lesson home"(RMH 99) Frost accomplishes such a personal alchemy because he detaches himself from his community and watches the "changing surfaces of lives not his".

It is obvious that lone exploration into nature allows for a more complete focus and involvement with the environment. But therein lays a problem. What happens to the community and familial aspect of nature? There is meant to be a harmony or a Ð''sense of home' in nature. In his book, Reading the Mountains of Home, John Elder opts to explore and discover nature alongside his family, rather than apart from them. Does this make him less of an authority on natural history, or make his observations less viable? Or rather, does his connection with family makes his expedition stronger because it includes the inevitable human factor within nature on earth.

To bring the idea of family and home to the forefront, John Elder begins by bringing his audience to his abode. "Our home, at 74 North Street, is a typical Bristol type. In it the natural, social, and economic history of our settlement may be read, just as the narrative of geology is written in the talus slope of Bristol Cliffs" (RMH 39). Why is the home such an important entity, environmentally? This is because a home strings together the past with the present. Elder then shares with his audience that the roof of his house has slates arranged in a diagonal pattern, this being what locals call "a poor man's roof". The roof is left this way so that the industrial past of Vermont society will be remembered, when most Vermonters worked in sawmills and box factories, a past long gone; their presence is necessary to build up a sense of belonging. Simply using his home as a starting part, he has proved that a home can be a connection between the past and present, as well as one tie between our history and the landscape of our environment.

Memorials are built in honor of people of the past that we wish to keep a part of in the presence, whether it is symbolically (memorial statue or object), or in actuality (i.e. ashes in an urn). Following the passing of his father, John Elder was inspired by a dream, to build a canoe. Despite the pain and trouble involved, Elder continues to construct the canoe all on his own. The canoe is meant to bond three generations; Elder builds it in honor of his father's memory, something he can pass down to his children. The act of building a canoe is something that connects him to the natural, old world while also allowing him to make a connection between family and nature. By building something so nostalgic, not only is he able to more fully understand the American nature which he so loves, but he is also able to connect with the native Abenaki Indians of Vermont whom he so admires.

In his writing, John Elder is very aware of the aboriginal presence of those who were before settlers claimed lands such as Vermont, for their own. Abenaki is a collective name for many of the Native tribes found in Vermont, New Hampshire, Quebec, and Maine. The Abenaki, or also called the "People of the Dawn" are one of many Indian subcultures that are more tangibly and genuinely in touch with nature. Their culture demands a connection with one's environment and this is seen in their lifestyles. With regards to the hunt, the Wabanaki, or western Abenaki, entered into relationships with the animals they killed. The Wabanaki did not choose to kill the animal - the animal chose to give itself to the Wabanaki, so that the Wabanaki could survive. In turn, the Wabanaki gave the utmost respect to the animal by never exploiting the animal or the hunt (Wabanakis, A-11). As Colin Calloway expresses in Dawnland, there was a "natural balance and symbiotic relation with the animal world". The harmonious balance achieved between the animal and the Wabanaki led to a harmonious relationship with the universe. This relationship with nature is obviously what draws Elder to research and interact with these people.

Observing their customs, it is easy to see why, as a nature writer; John Elder would choose to contribute so many pages of his book to the Abenaki Indians. But it is not simply because of their rituals and so forth. It is also for their strong beliefs in community and family. Further research upon the western Abenaki shows that strength of the family was the backbone of Wabanaki society. Adults taught their children restraint and self-control and consideration for all others. Families looked out for one another. After marriage, the man went to live with his new wife's family. The family took care of the elders as well as the young (Calloway, Abenaki, 27, 28, 35). The Wabanaki measured their wealth not by how many material objects they owned, but rather by how many family ties and friends they had. Because he writes about nature, John Elder places many strong family themes throughout his book. Nature is intrinsic to harmony and unity of elements on earth, and family is intrinsic of unity between creatures on earth.

Looking away from Elder's experiences as a writer to the life of Robert Frost as a poet, one finds large key differences all related to the community and family factor. Frost, who has become one of America's greatest poets, sadly did not live a very blissful life. A few years before his published work Directive, Frost would have been found living in a cabin on a hill, away from his farmhouse and caretakers. His cabin was "suitable for a hermitage or for a mourning man's retreat" (RMH 90). His wife with whom he had two daughters and a son, had recently passed. "Marriage had proven intense and sometimes unsettling for Robert and [his wife], including both passion