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By Heidi Holliday McKitrick, Executive Director
“The Peace of Wild Things”
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
-Wendell Berry
As long as I can remember, I have longed for the peace of wild things.
I grew up 15 miles from the Flint Hills, the 4% of vast tallgrass prairie remaining from what once stretched across the middle of our country. Growing up in Kansas, you learn to appreciate a quieter beauty in nature. It’s not the striking grandeur of the Rockies, the mysterious and deep forests of Appalachia, nor the crash of the ocean’s surf against the rocks. It’s not the juniper trees and spring-fed rivers of the Texas hill country that surround me today.
When viewed from a distance, the plains look desolate. Trees are few and far between, and the prairie stretches for miles, a verdant ocean of waving grass. But sit down. Listen. Wait.
Life thrives on the prairie. Wildflowers - sunflowers, of course, but also asters, blazing stars, violets, milk vetch, wooly verbena, and clover. Two hundred species of birds migrate or nest on the prairie. Deer and rabbits abound, wild horses if you’re lucky, and many other species of reptiles and amphibians call the prairie home. Close your eyes and you feel the wind and the sunshine on your face. Listen. Wait. Look closer.
My grandfather, a Mennonite theologian and pastor, sparked an early interest for me in the intersection between spirituality and nature. He devoured books on ecology and new scientific theories alongside theological texts, and would gladly share his thoughts on the mystery and magnificence of creation while we weeded the garden or baked bread.
From him, I learned the power of wonder, and how to develop awe as a spiritual practice. Whether it was the miracle of a plant growing from a tiny seed, or the vastness of the night sky, we marveled together. This was reinforced at home, where my parents took us on backpacking and camping trips, exploring the wild spaces in Colorado and Wyoming by foot every June and July and the Kansas prairie by bicycle on the weekends.
I learned at a young age that seeking the peace of wild things could be done where you are now, even in your own backyard. I yearned for the freedom and clarity of mind it brought me, and I sought it out. Personally, through bike tours and camping trips, and professionally, through work focused on sustainable community development, including urban agriculture, trail building, farmers markets and food security, and public policy. Now, as a mother of three young children, I work to instill this yearning for and reverence of the peace of wild things in my children, encouraging them to listen, wait, and look closer.
Today, we are bombarded with constant news and interruptions. Finding peace can seem more difficult than ever. Many of us experience anxiety when detached from our phones and devices, waiting for the next dopamine hit from a like or a message. As Jonathan Haidt writes in his recent book The Anxious Generation, “the phone-based life makes it difficult for people to be fully present with others when they are with others, and to sit silently with themselves when they are alone.” Unplugging can feel counter-cultural, and even scary. Many of us have forgotten how to connect with the peace of wild things.
Yet this is precisely why the work of the Center for Spirituality in Nature is so important, and why I’m overjoyed to join the team here. I, like Wendell Berry and many of you, sometimes despair for the world and fear for the future. But when I detach myself from my phone and distractions, when I go to the woods or to the healing waters, I find peace. I find hope. I find community.
I look forward to building this beloved community of nature-attuned seekers with you. Together, may we rest in the grace of the world, and find freedom there.
Help us welcome Heidi!
We invite you to comment with a few words of welcome, a reflection on your own connection to nature, or simply hold her in your thoughts as she settles in.
Your support will help root her in this community, and we are deeply grateful!
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