LOCALadk Magazine

Rhiannon Happy summer, Editor LOCALadk 6 A M E S S A G E F R O M R H I A N N O N LOCALadk During the early years of my teaching career, a personal tradition evolved to mark the end of the academic year: purchasing a book to dive into as I decompress from the chaos of the final weeks. This tradition led me to discover John Green's The Anthro- pocene Reviewed: Tales From a Human-Centered Planet. The book is a collection of essays written by Green surrounding ordinary things — ranging from Diet Dr. Pepper to Velociraptors — accompanied by a rating of 1-5 stars. (Spoiler: the Velociraptor only earned three stars. That said, I give this book five stars.) I would learn that the Anthropocene is a term unof- ficially used to describe the period in Earth's history in which human activity began to have a significant impact on the environment and ecosystems. That very notion starkly contrasts what I most respect about the Adirondack Mountains: their daily reminder of our insignificance. We, of course, impact the ecosystems and terrain of these mountains, something our region works tirelessly to mitigate. But the mountains them- selves were here long before we arrived, and they will be here long after we are gone. I often look to these mountains as markers of time, thinking of the generations who gazed upon the majestic skyline of our region before I was born. In these moments, I feel deeply connected to the hu- man condition, to what Green aptly refers to as "our capacity for wonder." As I hike the trails, I think of my own loved ones who explored these very same paths, those who are no longer with us and those who are. I wonder what brought them to that particular trail on their particular day, what thoughts whispered through their minds and hearts as they climbed to the summit, if they were graced with clear skies, if they were left in awe by what surrounded them. All the while, the mountains remain, seemingly uninterrupted and undis- turbed. It is perhaps our insignificance which connects us so deeply to their presence. One of the many wonderful Anthropocene essays surrounds the Ginkgo tree, one of the oldest living tree species on earth. In writing about a Ginkgo tree in the woods near his home in Indianapolis, Green references a Talmudic expression often attributed to French writer Anaïs Nin: "We don't see things as they are; we see them as we are." While the Talmudic con- cept surrounds human interpretations of dreams, Nin's words speak to our tendency to use the entities of our lives as a means to see ourselves. I, like so many, see myself in these mountains, my life ever-changing and ever-new as they remain the same. I gaze upon them and feel what Green describes as the "awe that con- tains both wonder and fear at its edges." While I (clearly) appreciate Green's musings about the Gingko tree, it was this passage that finally gave voice to what I most love about these mountains: "[W]hat really thrills the human soul is to be in the presence of astonishment. I am thrilled by everything that makes me feel alive within myself – alive in my smallness, and alive in my fragility, and alive in my wondrousness." When I look at the Adirondacks, I am astonished. I am thrilled. I marvel at my smallness and fragility, and I marvel at the wondrousness of it all. I hope you do, as well. I give the Adirondack Mountains five stars.

• Cover