Kristen McCullough

Mark Christensen
Advanced Writing
9.21.10

Scenery
When I was in Europe, I could not wait to see the Swiss Alps. I love mountains. I love the feeling
of awe and fear they instill in me.
It’s the feeling of insignificance. To realize the number of people who stood at the edge of this
mountain, glanced down the sheer cliff to the tumbling ocean, felt a flicker of fear as a small rock
crumbles in front of me. It’s the idea that this place -with my presence, my eyes seeing the eagle
swooping feet in front of me, smelling the salty fish air, my fingers grazing the mossy black wall of solid
rock behind me- would not be affected if I had never been there. Is the beauty of scenery anything
without appreciation? I think humanity is nothing without the beauty the natural world presents.
When I finally entered Austria and the mountain range began, I went through three camera
batteries, two cameras, and three hundred plus pictures in under an hour. When I arrived home, I
discovered only a handful of the pictures were decent. It is not possible to photograph, video tape, or
otherwise physically capture the depth or range of emotion and detailed imagery I see, or feel with my
heart and soul. I must rely on my memory to take me back to the smell of the salty air, the cool wind
pushing my hair in a tangling dance and the feel of sand rolling over my toes and fingers as I burrow
down to the cooler grains, almost silky smooth. I cannot properly capture the feeling of shock when my
toes are pinched by things dwelling under the cool sand, nor the moment I first saw the churning waves
crashing thunderously against the rocks, but rolling gently to my feet as the water is pulled to shore.
The world is not just made of rocks, trees, or sand. Bringing home a bag of sand from Oregon
does not make me feel like I am on that beach, the shells on top of the sand does not hold the same
wonder as when I dug them from under the tide pools. They are souvenirs, but ones less valuable then
the memories I brought back. The world is made of togetherness. A harmonious symphony of nature
that, when separated, loses a piece of what made it great. The sand and shells on my bookshelf aren’t
the same without the starfish, the boulders, the tiny crayfish, the ocean, the seagulls, the crab shells. . .

It’s the forest that impresses me, but it’s telling the trees from the forest that draws me nearer.