Nature Is Calling

I’d be willing to bet my college tuition that as you are reading this your cell phone is no more than ten feet away. I take cash, check or money orders.

I love the convenience of my cell phone just as much as the next person. I always know the time when rushing to class. If I need to borrow money, my parents are just a speed dial away. If I get lost while driving, I can call an information line. And if I want to check my Facebook page (because, why not?), I’m there in two seconds. My cell has become my watch, my camera, my address book and my lifeline. But unlike some people, it has not become me.

On a cloudless, bright and chilly winter Saturday, the kind you only read about, a few good friends and I decided to hike the Cascades waterfall trail in Virginia. We had made a pact to leave our phones in the car so that we wouldn’t get distracted, and we could have girlie-friendship-bonding-time while relaxing after a hard week of schoolwork.

That shouldn’t have been a problem - the hike was only four hours - but being adults in the 21st century, the termites of technology have ravished the “able to relax” section in our brains.

A few feet into the hike the fires of panic rose in me as I remembered I was mid-texting conversation with my boyfriend, and if I didn’t have a timely response, he would no doubt need an explanation from me later that night.

Must turn back and get phone.

Just when I was about to risk falling in a semi-frozen stream, contracting hypothermia, and possibly breaking a bone in a mad dash for the car, I suddenly had the urge to just pause and listen to where I was.

What I heard was nothing spectacular. There was no chorus of angels shedding light upon the trail ahead. What I heard was just nature. Natural, comforting and lacking the beeping alerts I knew too well.

Satisfied with this freedom, we moved on, all of us without our phones (or so I thought).
A few more twists and turns in, we scaled a rock overlooking the stream and sat down to reflect.

Ahhhh. The constant, steady sound of a stream, the singing of birds mid flight, the wet solid rock that slowed my heart beat, the freezing air as it iced my throat, the comforting beep of a text message alert…

The comforting beep of a text message alert!!! Angry and hawk-eyed, I snapped my head around and scanned each of my friends. Who could possibly have brought their phone? Who dared to destroy the unflinching course of nature? My judging eyes landed on Bridgette, who sheepishly looked up and said, “Oops, must have forgot.”

As we continued our hike, every few feet and every natural sound was tainted by incessant beeping. Self-righteously I secretly imagined tackling her down to the ground, ripping the phone from her death grip and hurling it into the raging stream. With every new text message came a new scenario of saving my friends and me from this Judas who betrayed our no-phone-pact while destroying nature, the only thing sacred. Just as I was swinging from a vine and snatching the phone away, we heard a panic-stricken “NOOOOOOOO.”

Terrified to find Bridgette falling into the river, or face-to-face with a rattlesnake we all ran to see what was wrong. But she was just standing there, phone in hand and a look of nausea on her face. “No service,” she said in disbelief.

Secretly thanking a higher power, we went on without electronics. The silence was beautiful.

After the hike, Bridgette told me how wonderful the day was, and then shut her phone off.

What Bridgette, like so many others has forgotten, is our innate need for the kind of simplicity found in nature. So much of our day is spent connecting with our 3G phones, email accounts, trafficked roads, and theater sized TVs, that we forget what we are connected to fundamentally: Mother Nature. For human beings, she has supplied exceptionally for millions of years. We can’t bury that in an electronic earthquake.

What feels better than lying on the grass, blanketed by the sun? What renders you speechless more than an awe-inspiring lightning storm? It certainly isn’t a cell phone.

Immersing yourself in your natural surroundings will reboot your stress-ridden system, make you more aware of the beauty in even the smallest things, and allow you to appreciate everything you are.

These days, it’s hard to escape the evil reach of a cell phone tower’s signal, but it’s not impossible. There should be time set aside in your week to connect with nature, even if it’s just a walk around the block. Take a hike, visit the beach, sleep in the shade of a tree, but whatever you do, leave your phones at home.

If going cold turkey is too hard for you, I guess it’s okay to change your voicemail so people aren’t worried about your lack of response.

Hello, you’ve reached Kaleigh’s phone. Currently, she’s outside enjoying her freedom from you and me. Leave a message, but she probably won’t be getting back to you. Beep.