Seasonal Decorations & Mental Health

Among the delights of walking in autumn are the foliage and the Halloween decorations, though at this point the trees are bare (though not the lower growing bushes), and the Halloween decorations are being replaced by Christmas decorations. I guess I’ll have to take my own Halloween decorations down shortly. (This consists of a porch display with six differently shaped light-up jack-o-lanterns, a large plywood ghost, 2 plastic hangings of a witch with cauldron and a pair of black cats peeping out of a pumpkin, and a strand of lights with alternating jack-o-lanterns and friendly ghosts.) As with last year, it did seem to me that fewer people were decorating for Halloween, and I wonder if that also means fewer Christmas decorations. When people who previously had a zest for decorating stop doing it, I suspect that they are either overworked or depressed—and that is a reflection of our current economy.

As a walker, I recall a past walk on a bleak winter day, where a single string of Christmas lights in an otherwise undecorated cul de sac in Holt was enough to give my spirits a boost. It may be that as an Asperger’s Syndrome person, I am extra-sensitive to the environment, but that would go for a lot of other people with neuro-processing disorders, including schizophrenics. It also goes to show that subtle interactions can take place between a homeowner and a walker, or other persons just passing through, so you can have an effect on other people’s mental health. Little things you do can affect people you don’t even know.

These things also affect drivers, because in late fall and winter, when many of us leave for work in darkness and come home in darkness, the sight of lighted decorations in the neighborhoods we pass through certainly adds cheer. I leave my Halloween lights on throughout the day, so that it will be easier for me to find my way home at night. (Out on these long stretches of country road, with no distinguishing landmarks that you can see in the dark, it is easy to overshoot your house.) However, I also turn them on on days that I don’t go in to work, and I leave them on through the evenings, as my public service. As I concur with Thoreau’s observation that “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” I feel that anything we can do to help offset depression is worth doing.

Late October Walk in Cemetery

I couldn't walk today because of rain, but earlier this week, I walked in the Mason cemetery, and the background music was the calls of jays, flickers, and white-breasted nuthatches. Ordinarily, when walking in cemeteries, my attention is drawn to specific things, whether they be individual tombs or inscriptions on tombstones, or features of nature, such as the roots of trees or shelf fungus. However, this time I attempted to take in the big picture, to de-focus on the near-by objects , so I could view the cemetery as a whole, and take it in as a unit.

Scanning the landscape, it is obvious that the oldest part of the cemetery occupies the higher, hillier part, and the newer sections are laid out on the flatter peripheries. I especially noticed the height and massiveness of many of the Victorian monuments. The density and verticality of these monuments suggest the buildings of a city, and of course, a cemetery is often referred to as a necropolis, a “city of the dead.” In the modern necropolis, the newer sections are more like the suburbs, (with their smaller monuments, some of them just flat plaques). Making comparisons to the current and Victorian eras, I wonder if the Victorian era was a more exuberantly optimistic period, because ordinary people could still be a part of world-changing discoveries, and that now our energies and expectations are more reined in, making us a diminished people, to correspond with our diminished tombstones. (It’s not that you can’t explore, and discover, and build, and create anything today, but you generally have to be a member of a highly specialized elite, with officially recognized degrees and licenses.)

If we are living in an age of greater restrictions, that might also restrict the expression of our “chi,” the life energy generated by our minds and bodies. If you live with a greater sense of “possibility,” would you radiate a stronger energy field? One of the reasons I’ve always enjoyed walking in older cemeteries is that tall standing stone monuments seem to project power. Perhaps there are feng shui principles here, with the monuments drawing up earth energies. Credo Mzulu Mutwa, in his book on Zulu shamanism, mentions that people in Africa respect tall standing stones because of the earth energies they channel, and that these stones have a very high polish because of thousands of years of human’s rubbing or anointing them. Of course, if one entertains ideas of earth energies, one might also entertain the possibility that tombstones radiate other metaphysical energies because of their association with the dead, and that a very expressive tombstone might also be able to convey a sense of the presence of the individual it commemorates.

Jay World's Resounding Echoes

In the Spring I refer to all outdoors as Robin World, but in the Fall it is transformed into Jay World. Though robins are still around, they’re less seen and heard, while the jays are heard continuously—whether you’re in the country or the city--as they are getting wound up for migration. Although jays are with us throughout the year, at this time of Fall, they dominate the sound environment. Even if you are working in an office with closed windows, you may still hear their raucous, cacaphonic calls—a nice reminder that there’s still a living world out there.

I always experience a bit of a thrill when I hear or see the sounds of fall migration, because it alerts me to this massive movement in nature, and I believe that the birds in flocks are very excited, in addition to the sense of urgency that drives them forward. Of course, for jays, it isn’t the perilous long-distance journey that some other birds undertake, though the jays’ excitement is the most audible. Our local blue jays just go down to Dixie, so the ones we see over the winter are actually their Canadian cousins. As we get closer to Equinox, you’ll see little trios, quartets, or quintets of jays criss-crossing the roadways as they move purposefully southward, (though you’ll also see them heading in other directions, on shorter, local errands). Although you may see some larger bands of blue jays flying higher over head, they tend not to mass into large, high-flying flocks like some other birds. Rather, blue jays flow through the landscape as they move more leisurely and noisily from tree to tree and copse to copse.

My most memorable viewing of the jay migration, as well as the hawk migration, took place in front of my Dad’s big picture window in his beach house on the north shore of Lake Michigan, between Manistique and Gulliver. The house is set back in the dunes, with various bushes and trees in front of it. As the hawks and jays follow the shore line, they continuously stream past this window—on sort of a bird highway—as they move from tree to tree and bush to bush. When I was living in California and home schooling my children, we spent a number of months from summer into late autumn up there; however, now that I’ve moved back to Michigan, my ties to my work and my house keep me from going back, (though the house is not abandoned, because my brother’s family goes up there).

By the way, sometimes in addition to their usual semi-obscene shrieks, jays will also make metallic whistling calls. The quality of these calls may vary from a sound not unlike a rusty swing-set, to a more refined flute-like sound. Because these calls are unfamiliar and somewhat un-jay-like, some people don’t recognize them and find it hard to believe that jays are making these calls, even when you point it out to them. I heard some metallic jay whistles just yesterday, as I am fortunate to sit near a window. For over six months, I’ve been working in Berkey Hall, on Grand River Avenue. Though it’s such a busy street, it is a divided road with trees in the median strips, plus there are tall, mature trees lining it on narrow but park-like lawns on the MSU side. So, despite all the congested traffic and everything, this strip is rich in bird life, and from my window I continuously hear robins in spring and jays in fall. I am still also hearing the sound of cicadas.

The Quest for Canopy

My lunchtime walk is a problem, because although as I have said, the whole MSU campus is an arboretum, it's hard to find enough continuous tree canopy to stay in shade, and I've been getting too much sun on my face and arms. When I take my 15 minute breaks in the morning and afternoon, I walk around in circles in a small park-like area with mature trees. However, to walk to the International Center food court for my 1 pm lunch (15-20 minutes one way) I can't avoid a lot of sun. Even if I skip lunch and proceed to the shady walk along the Red Cedar River, I still have to cross open spaces to get there. I don't walk in a straight line, but tack from shade spot to shade spot. Every time I can get under tree canopy, I experience an immediate burst of relief, which is all too quickly gone as I pass through the pool of shade and back into the blasting sunlight. It would be nice if future landscapers would consider this problem.

To appreciate the importance of trees, consider what it would be like in an environment were there are none. We can build things like canopies and overhangs, but there's a limit to the feasibility of providing enough man-made shade, and it's just not the same as tree shade. I think it would be very disturbing for someone like me to be transported to some dessert place without tree shade, yet there are people who grow up in such environments.

Thinking about differences in the natural environment and the built environment, as I was climbing the stairs in the parking tower, I saw a squirrel in a third story stairwell, sitting atop a trash receptacle, munching on an apple core it had fished out of the garbage. I initially thought it odd to see a squirrel so at ease in this steel and concrete structure, (though it's an open structure and there are nearby trees). Although the squirrel can see that a parking tower is not a tree, he probably doesn't concern himself with distinctions in what is natural vs. what is man-made. His concern is, "Is this a place where I can find food?" The squirrel's conceptual world is so different from ours that a lot of the distinctions we would make are of little relevance to him.

Places Where Memories Connect

Not long after my previous entry about interactions with trees and features in the landscape, I came across some tidbits of information that tie in with this theme. I had written about how universities and other institutions can have natural and architectural landmarks around which memories form, so while out walking in the area of MSU’s Beaumont Tower, (a structure which houses the carillion, and which is in a park-like section of the old campus), I was approached by an elderly couple who asked me if I knew the location of “the Engagement Rock.” They looked perturbed, like they had once known its location, but now they were disoriented. They said that the Engagement Rock used to be a destination for lovers, and it became a tradition to propose marriage at the site of the rock. I had never heard of an engagement rock, but luckily, Wikipedia has a feature on it. It turns out that it is the same object known to contemporary students as “The Rock.” It was moved from its former location to a spot alongside Farm Lane, were it sits at the top of a grassy lawn that slopes toward the Red Cedar River. The current practice is to paint and repaint the rock with sports slogans, cartoons, humor, and other topical and pop culture references. I don’t know whether anyone but old timers know it as the Engagement Rock. There is nothing romantic about its current location or status. Nevertheless, there are still people around for whom The Rock holds memories of their own lives’ landmarks.

I had also been writing about how it would be interesting to know if George Washington had ever climbed a tree. I don’t know about climbing any trees, but he actually intervened to save a tree, and the tree is still standing. I’ve been listening to the audiotaped version of Cokie Roberts’ “Founding Mothers,” and she relates that when George Washington went on his southern tour, he stayed at Hampton Plantation in South Carolina, where his hostess was Harriot Pinckney Horri, (whose family had extensive connections to the Revolution, and who is also the author of a notable cookbook). “As he prepared to leave Hampton, the president commented on a young oak near the house. Harriot explained that it interfered with the view, and she planned to cut it down. Commenting that man cannot make an oak, Washington entreated her to keep it, and so she did. The Washington Oak still stands at the Hampton Plantation historic site. If only it could talk.”

Also, I was watching some of the television features on Michael Jackson, aand his love of trees was mentioned in two different segments. In one, he was shown inviting a reporter to climb a tree with him. In another, he mentioned that he liked to climb high in trees, and when he sat there, looking down, he got all kinds of ideas for his music compositions. If any of Jackson’s home sites become tourist destinations, one can assume that if there are any good climbing trees on the site, he must have been in them.

Squirrels and Coyotes Out in the Open

Because the weather is so hot, I don’t spend my whole lunch hour walking. Rather, I stroll over to MSU’s Beal Botanical gardens, to better familiarize myself with all of the herbs and weeds by reading the little placards which explain the different plants’ uses. On these strolls, and walking around the campus in general, I notice squirrels all over the place, including the black squirrels, which I had never seen until I moved to this part of Michigan. I am a former Detroiter, but also lived in California for 20 years, and then moved here, to mid-Michigan. There were no squirrels in our California neighborhoods; for some reason they don’t thrive there like they do in the Midwest and elsewhere. The only squirrels we saw were California Ground Squirrels that live in burrows in more natural areas, not residential neighborhoods. My younger son, then in Jr. High School, came to Michigan with me, and mentioned that neighborhood kids were always surprised when he would shout, “Look, a squirrel!” because to them it was such a common sight. (One of our favorite sights was the way squirrels ripple as they run across leaf-piled lawns in autumn.) A Japanese MSU student I knew also commented on how she and her boyfriend took all kinds of pictures of friendly squirrels, because they’re apparently not known in Japan.

My son is now back in California, and mentioned that when he was walking in Huntington Beach’s Central Park last week, the ground squirrel population had become so dense that seeing them poking their heads out of their burrows, they’re so close together that it looks like a meerkat colony. This is likely what attracted the coyote, which he also saw on his walk. The coyote was just relaxing on a sunny, open lawn where other people were picnicking, playing, and pursuing their other recreational activities without taking notice of it. A couple walked past with their dog, and the dog became alert, although they did not. When another bystander asked them, “Do you see that coyote over there?” they replied, “Oh, we thought that was your dog.” There’s no reason coyotes shouldn’t loll about in public places, because who, actually, would chase after a coyote? A dog catcher or game warden might, but nobody else would have a reason, and where would they chase him to? I would only go after a coyote if he was menacing somebody’s dog, cat, or child. Now that this coyote has discovered that he can go about in open daylight unmolested, the rest will probably follow suit, and soon we’ll be seeing coyotes in all the public squares.

Trees that Reach Across Time

Picking up on the previous topic, interactions with trees form an important part of many peoples’ childhood memories, and they also tie into family stories—so I’m always interested to hear about my friends’ and families’ connection with trees. Because of their relatively longer life-spans, trees are witness to history, so they enable us to experience connections across time. As a genealogist, it would help me feel a greater connection to my roots if it were possible for me to visit trees that individual ancestors had been fond of. Many of the trees I have planted on my 2-1/2 acres come from family properties, the offspring of trees that had been planted by my father or grandfather, and I always appreciate those connections.

Trees can also enhance our connection with historical figures. We know that the story about Washington cutting down the cherry tree is phony, but he may well have climbed some trees as a kid. Maybe that’s a bit too long ago for those trees to still be around, but knowing that “George Washington climbed here” would interest me more than “George Washington slept here.” I believe I’ve heard about certain communities having honored trees that came from seedlings of trees that Jefferson planted at Monticello. When my Texas son was visiting a few years back, we stopped by the spot “Under the Oaks” in Jackson, Michigan, where the first Republican convention took place in 1854, and I joked whether he’d like some Republican acorns to take back to Texas for George Bush.

Getting back to my campus walks, MSU, like any such institution, has had a number of notable graduates as well as illustrious visitors, so it would be interesting to know if some of them had clasped specific trees, or patted certain sculptures, or leaned out of certain windows, or relaxed on a certain bench or patch of ground, or what have you. On passing that same spot, it would enable us to have that imaginative encounter across time.