Author: Bob Hamma

Carrying the River Within Us

We don’t have to travel far to experience nature. Many of us have special places that connect us to the natural world. Great Lakes Radio Consortium commentator Bob Hamma reflects on the lasting impact those places can have on us:

Transcript

We don’t have to travel far to experience nature. We all have special places that connect us to the natural world. Great Lakes Radio Consortium commentator Bob Hamma reflects on the lasting impact those places can have on us:


One day in early September, my son and I rented a canoe and took a trip down the St. Joseph River where it crosses from Indiana into Michigan. The cloudless sky was a rich, deep blue and the light breeze created just a soft ripple on the river’s surface. Young turtles sunning themselves on logs plopped in the water as we glided by. We spied an occasional blue heron perched on the bank and a few swans moving gracefully through a pool.


The river was surprisingly empty of human presence. There were a few boys fishing under a highway bridge and a single pontoon boat. But they did not rob us of the sense that the river was ours, that on this river so close to home, there was a quiet, peaceful world without the pressures and demands of our everyday life. I like to remember that day, not only for its quiet beauty, but to create a peaceful space within myself. I want to carry that day, that river, within me.


I close my eyes and I am there. The river becomes part of me and part of the bond between my son Peter and me. It flows through my mind, carving a path through my psyche, laying bare the texture of memory. I travel upstream and remember the joys and sorrows that have formed the course of my life. I am carried downstream as I recall the people, places, and things that I cherish, moving always toward the great sea to which every river flows.


As the river becomes a part of me, I sense my life as a whole rather than as scattered fragments. There is a peaceful center, which I need only take the time to connect with. I know that just like this river I come from somewhere and am going somewhere; that I am a part of something greater; that I belong to people and to places.


When you are bruised or troubled, go to that place where you connect deeply with nature. Go to that river, that woodland, that mountain. Let the river carry you, the forest shelter you, the mountain bear you up. Close your eyes and go to that place which is for you a source of life.


Host Tag: Bob Hamma is a writer who lives in South Bend, Indiana.

The Call of the Shore

Now that it’s summer, many of us long to be by the shore. Great Lakes Radio Consortium commentator Bob Hamma nurtures a dream of a lakeside cottage, but reflects that he really wants something more than ownership:

Transcript

Now that it’s summer, many of us long to be by the shore. Great Lakes Radio Consortium
commentator Bob Hamma nurtures a dream of a lakeside cottage, but reflects that
he really wants something more than ownership:


I often dream of owning some land on the shore. Living less than an hour from Lake Michigan,
I think it would be wonderful to have a place to go to, not just in the summer, but throughout the year,
a place where the ever-changing patterns of the lake and dunes can become a part of me.


I remember reading a comment by the Native American writer Brenda Peterson about her love
for Puget Sound in Washington, “I may never own land even if one day I might afford it.” Her words
challenge me.


What do I really want? Is it a cottage with a view? A private beach? No, what I long for is
not ownership, but the opportunity to let the call of the shore sink more deeply into my soul.


Being at the shore fosters a certain quality of attentiveness to life, an ability to live in the present
moment. Perhaps it’s the fact that things are always changing there, yet in another way, they are always
the same. The color of the lake, the size of the waves, the strength of the wind, the patterns of the
clouds-all these change from hour to hour. Yet the lake is always there-timeless-almost awaiting
my return.


It’s as if it were calling me to take some time away from my life and gain a new perspective. But the
shore is not just a place of retreat. It is a place of encounter, where life’s incredible complexity, its constant
struggle, its subtle rhythms are ever present for one who looks. The call of the shore is an invitation to live
in the present, to see life each day in its richness and diversity.


I don’t need a cottage for that. I simply need to be there, to put some time aside and go. But it’s
a struggle to respond to that call, to break away from the busyness of my life. Indeed, the issue is not
whether the lake belongs to me, but whether I belong to it. To truly belong there, I must listen to its call,
I must be long there.


I can’t promise that I’ll never own a piece of the shore, but for now, I’ll try to practice the kind
of attentiveness to life that it calls me to. This way, if by some amazing luck I can afford it, I’ll be ready.


Host Tag: Bob Hamma is a writer who lives in South Bend, Indiana. He comes to us by
way of the Great Lakes Radio Consortium.

Embracing Change

The normal course of the year brings many changes in the natural world around us. Great Lakes Radio Consortium commentator Bob Hamma reflects on how attention to the rhythm of natural changes can open new perspectives for us:

Transcript

The normal course of the year brings many changes in the natural world around us. Great Lakes Radio Consortium commentator Bob Hamma reflects on how attention to the rhythm of natural changes can open new perspectives for us:


Almost ten years ago, when my family first moved into our house, there was a dying tree in the yard. Tall and slender, the tree was precariously close to the house, and on the
windward side. One day a stranger in overalls carrying a chain saw knocked at the door. He had noticed the tree and offered to cut it down. We agreed on a price and the tree was soon felled, leaving only the stump, about eighteen inches high.


When spring came, my daughter Sarah was born. That summer some potted impatiens bloomed on the stump. Then we put a squirrel feeder on it. As Sarah grew she would play on it, sometimes sitting, sometimes jumping off it. But as the years passed, she took no particular interest in it. I alone was watching.


As I cleaned up in the yard recently I noticed the stump was falling apart. When I laid my hand on it, it crumbled. A few light swings of the ax and it was gone. In April, Sarah
turned ten, full of energy, laughter, and promise. “Nothing gold can stay,” Robert Frost once wrote about the birch leaves in spring. But leaves have many colors in their brief lives and all are beautiful. The stump was pleasing as it made its way to dust, counting the years of Sarah’s childhood. And Sarah is always a new and surprising gift as she grows each day.


Some say change is good, some say not. But since there is no choice about it I choose to embrace change. If I resist, I will miss the new opportunities it offers and drain myself
fighting it. Though accepting it is sometimes painful, in the midst of the change I find glimpses of hope.


A few yards from where the stump once stood is a dogwood that I planted the year Sarah was born. This year it finally bloomed.
For the Great Lakes Radio Consortium, I’m Bob Hamma.
Host Tag: Bob Hamma is an author and writer who lives in South Bend, Indiana. He comes to us by way of the Great Lakes Radio Consortium.

In Awe of the Wild Forest

Ice storms and tornadoes over the last six months have made a mess of many of the woodlands around us. Great Lakes Radio Consortium commentator Bob Hamma suggests that there is a resilient beauty in the forest that is something more than orderliness:

Transcript

Ice storms and tornadoes over the last six months have made a mess of many of the woodlands around us. Great Lakes Radio Consortium commentator Bob Hamma suggests that there is a resilient beauty in the forest that is something more than orderliness:

A walk in the woods along the bank of the St. Joseph River reminded me of what an unkempt place the forest is. In this rare stretch of old growth forest in park land spanning Indiana and Michigan, one readily finds what John Muir once called a “wild storm culture.” A huge oak stands snapped at midpoint, the pieces of its crown scattered like rubble. The once stately tree clings to life. The remains of decaying logs crisscross a field of milky white trillium flowers like a ransacked sampler. Below them a thick mat of last year’s leaves blankets the rich loam of the river’s shore.

It strikes me that it’s not at all the way I would have arranged it. No one clears away the debris to let the beauty of the flowers show. No one takes down the ruined trunk and plants a new sapling. No one straightens up nature’s mess.

But then, this is not a garden, it’s a forest. Gardens inspire admiration for the way the gardener has crafted and arranged the natural beauty of flowers, shrubs, and trees. A forest inspires something else again-that sense of amazement that life flourishes amidst the chaos and destruction of the “wild storm culture.” It is, I think, a sense of awe. Amidst the remnants of the storm’s chaos, beauty blooms. The broken and the shattered stand side by side with the enduring and the strong. The delicate petals shine against the rotting leaves.

Its perfection is not in symmetry. Rather, it strikes a chord with dissonant notes. It is an acquired taste. Ansel Adams once wrote. “We all continually move on the edges of eternity.” Take a walk in the woods and discover what he meant.

Host Tag: Bob Hamma is the author of “Earth’s Echo,
Sacred Encounters with Nature,” published by Sorin Books.

Earth Day in Time of Turmoil

Earth Day is upon us once again, but in this time of war we may not grasp its relevance. Great Lakes Radio Consortium commentator Bob Hamma suggests that this year’s theme – “Protect Our Home” – can lead us to reconsider what kind of future we want, not just for ourselves, but for the world we live in:

Transcript

Earth Day is upon us once again. But in this time of war, we may not grasp its relevance. Great Lakes Radio commentator Bob Hamma suggests that this year’s theme. “Protect Our Home” can lead us to reconsider what kind of future we want, not just for ourselves, but for the world we live in:

Upon his return to Earth after the Apollo 11 mission, the astronaut Michael Collins chose the word fragility to describe how the Earth looked from the moon: “The Earth appears fragile above all else,” he said.

This image of fragility seems an appropriate one for Earth Day 2002. We have learned so much about the fragility of life since September 11. People kissed their loved ones good-bye, went to work, boarded airplanes, all expecting to be home soon. Even now, more than six months later, we are keenly aware of how fragile life is. This tear in the fabric of ordinary life is not easily mended; it has forced us to look more deeply at what we value most, and how to preserve and care for that.

The theme for Earth Day this year is “Protect Our Home.” It is a call to remember that the Earth on which we live is indeed a fragile jewel of life. And in a time of ever-increasing hostility, the earth and those who dwell on it are endangered. How can we protect our home?

Our first instinct is to defend what we treasure, by force if need be. While there is a necessary place for homeland security and military action, these strategies are not the whole solution. Violence can be suppressed by force, hatred cannot. Perhaps Earth Day can be a time to take a look at our situation from another perspective.

If we could view our planet home from a distance today, with all we now know about the Earth and all we have experienced recently, I think we might recognize that the fragility of life on Earth is not only an ecological reality, but a human responsibility. We hold the future of the Earth in our hands. Life on our planet depends on us, on how we use and distribute its resources, and on how we resolve the differences that fuel the destructive power of hatred.

We live in a biosphere where all life is mutually dependent. If we ignore this interdependence on the level of relations among nations, races, and religions, we set in motion a process that imperils life on all levels. The fragile axis of life turns with delicate balance.

This Earth Day invites us to reconsider the idea that we are separate and independent, and that our needs and rights take precedence over those of the global community and of the Earth itself. If we can begin to see the Earth as our shared home, perhaps then we can hope for a better future. Only then can we truly protect our home.

Host Tag: “Bob Hamma is the author of “Earth’s Echo – Sacred Encounters with Nature,” published by Sorin Books. He comes to us by way of the Great Lakes Radio Consortium.”

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