The art of awareness

"Kyk mooi," I am told by a San tracker. A phrase in Afrikaans that cannot be translated directly to English, but is something like, "Look beautifully, with attention and awareness."

I was advised to "kyk mooi" at tracks and the landscape to determine the behavior of the animal. This would help me to see more deeply, beyond what is immediately apparent.

Returning to the States a week ago, this concept and phrase of seeing deeply penetrates me as I wander the chaparral. Animals and plants that were once familiar look different than I remember.

Willows and quail

A tree that I would have once said I knew, a willow, stops me in my tracks. To ensure that it is truly a willow, I must really look at it.

I remind myself of the willow's key features: the leaf patterns, the bark, its habitat. It does not match the memory of willow I conjured over and over again in Africa. In my search to find familiarity far from home I had likened the willow to African trees that fit the same ecological niche. Now looking closely, I see that my memory was all wrong.

Willow leaves are thicker and more robust than I remember. I take the time to kyk mooi and maybe for the first time truly see the willow. I take it deeply inside my cognizance. It is unnerving and humbling to realize that you have only superficially known something you believed you had a relationship with.

Coming upon a covey of quail I have the same disorienting experience I had with the willow. In Africa I had often equated their francolin (partridge) to our quail, as they have a similar body shape and track. When observing quail again, I was astounded by how small and delicate they are. My memory of them did not fit what I was seeing.

Again I looked deeply at the quail, taking in their actual size, the details of their shape and coloring, knowing them better than I once did.

Seasons, there and here

Beyond seeing the plants and animals with new eyes, returning to the Santa Monica Mountains in the fall has brought new awareness. I had left Africa in spring with the heat intensifying and the days lengthening. After the plane's abrupt landing thousands of miles away with no transition time, autumn really hit me in the face. The stark contrast brought awareness to things I had never noticed about this season.

Fall seems to be a time when the land is laid bare; all the coverings and decorations of spring and summer have faded, and the bare bones of nature are exposed.

When I left this area in summer, the trees were in their full green dressing. Now the vibrant leaves are a golden mosaic on the ground. Fruits that were round and fleshy are now dried and desiccated, having released their seeds for next year's growth.

Acorns are ripening on the trees when only a few months prior the oak flowers were dried remainders at the end of branches.

White toyon flowers are now red berries, supplying food through winter.

Animal trails that were once overgrown become visible again as paws and hoofs tread on dried yellow stalks.

Geology exposed by fire

Adding to the exposed state of the land were fall's wildfires. Land hidden by decades of plant growth is now naked. Driving the canyon roads I am astounded by the dramatic geology that has been revealed. Violent upliftings tell a story older than humanity. They tell how this how this land was formed and subsequently why the weather moves as it does.

From weather we are able to read the chapter on watersheds and stream ecology. The story continues from the waters to the plants, telling us why certain species have grown where they do.

Concluding our story, illustrated by this geology revealed by fire, we also better understand the movement and settlement of animals.

When speaking to one of the South African trackers, he shared with me that he was astounded by American trackers' lack of "looking" when they saw a track. Although they were seeing, they were not really truly looking.

I did not understand this until I was told to "Kyk mooi," look beautifully, and with awareness.

Although it seemed abrupt, I feel thankful to have returned to the autumn conditions of Santa Anas, late summer drought, fire- a land open and bare.

Every fall we Santa Monica Mountains residents are given a peek of what is underneath the prolific chaparral of life. It is as if the ecosystem is telling us to take the time to kyk mooi, to look more deeply.