“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads,” Henry David Thoreau wrote in his masterstroke book, “Walden: Or, Life in the Woods.”
I am not sure if Boris Romanowsky, father of one of my daughter’s dearest childhood friends and thus became my friend as well, ever read “Walden” and yet I imagine he owned a well-loved dog-eared volume. Certainly he shared a kindred zest for nature with Thoreau, as evidenced by Boris’ recent obituary that concluded with the most beautiful last wish of his:
“In lieu of flowers, please spend an afternoon in nature on an ‘easy hike’ and help a friend in need.”
So it was that I honored a big man with a bigger heart, who died at age 65 after a lengthy and brave battle with cancer, by going for long walk. Instead of retreating into the woods for a year, as H.D.T. famously did, to see if he “could not learn what it had to teach,” I ventured into the Harmon Canyon Preserve for a couple hours of Outdoor Ed.
The first thing Harmon Canyon had to teach me is it is a gem right here in our backyard, as ruggedly beautiful as Walden’s acres are serenely so. Looking up heavenward from my dusty shoes, the sky on this day was blue jay-blue and dotted with the kind of clouds kindergarteners see as a menagerie of fluffy animals.
No imagination was required to see a hawk in the sky, soaring and circling high overhead, floating with wide wings motionless on an updraft that also carried a faint fragrance worthy of being bottled as perfume.
The gorgeous day deserved to be painted and framed, so perhaps I should not have been surprised to encounter a grey-bearded gentleman who had lugged his oil paints, brushes, small canvases, and portable wooden easel more than a mile up into the hinterland for a plein-air session.
“Are you just getting started?” I asked curiously, and also hopefully, for maybe I could view his work in progress on my return down the path later. Alas, he had been here much of the morning and into the early afternoon and was packing up.
“Would you mind showing me what you painted?” I followed up.
He did not mind at all and retrieved a canvas, about the size of a hardcover book, sandwiched between wooden panels like two protective slices of wheat bread. He removed the rubber bands holding the sandwich together, then displayed a truly fine landscape featuring a grouping of oaks behind and above a dry rock bed stream; the afore-mentioned postcard sky; and three ant-sized hikers in the distance.
“I’m still learning and just try to get a little better each time,” he said with a modesty that underrated his considerable talent. The wisdom in his attitude was as beautiful as his brushstrokes, for shouldn’t we all try to get a little better at something each day?
“There is something in the mountain air,” Thoreau also wrote, “that feeds the spirit and inspires.” Resuming my walk, I was inspired to look around with the imitative eye of an artist and thereafter saw oak trees blackened by the Thomas Fire, testament to the strength revealed in our scars; saw the friendly smiles of fellow hikers, testament that nature’s outward beauty brings out our inner beauty; saw flitting butterflies resembling petals in the wind.
The latter, especially, fed my spirit – testament that in lieu of giving funeral flowers I was receiving the gift of seeing wildflowers thanks to the last wish of a very kind friend.
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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn
Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.
