Come, walk with me around a lake carved by a glacier, and then into an ancient forest…

A mirror in the mountains reflects perfection of steep evergreen slopes, ruddy rock faces and a vault of purest blue. Fed from creeks that plummet down from the Olympic mountains, Lake Crescent is deep and clear—a mystic green in some shallow areas, deepening to aqua, then a bluer blue. The mountains slope right into the lake, creating scallops of coves. The lake bends and twists itself into its namesake shape, truly knowable only from above.

So still today there is not even the quietest lapping at the shore. Perhaps the mirror quality of a lake invites reflection, since my own image is at times there in the water, shimmering, drawing me closer. Two crows stroll with me along the stony edge—they pick at insects, while I try not to laugh at their plump little bodies sashaying awkwardly over the uneven ground. A great blue heron twirps and chortles from atop a hemlock, then as I pass, it swoops out over the lake and around the bend. A trout jumps out and plops back in. I toss a stone into the lake, and it makes that satisfying plunk, sending ripples of green and brown and blue back to me. I see no flat stones for skipping—an art I mastered as a child. The plunk may be so satisfying because it reminds me of unharried childhood summer days.

Lying within Olympic National Park, much of this lakeshore is undeveloped, allowing for unspoiled vistas that are timeless. I love to find places that are unaltered by man, that remind me of the primal beauty of this land—before we got our grubby hands on it.

Such places become touchstones, pristine scenery against which we can measure our own evolution.

The sun is behind me now, warming my back, and my shadow precedes my every step. Am I recognizable, reduced and flattened to two dark dimensions? No, not even to me. This other self is wider and longer, a silent witness. A breeze has stirred and pleated the lake into a complex plaid of reflected earth and sky. As the sun moves around the lake, the various slopes become more defined, and the line of firs fringing the ridgeline is now more distinct.

The woods I enter are a mixture of ancient firs, cedar, alder, maple and Washington’s most distinctive tree, the madrona. Broad-leafed evergreens with dramatic orangey bark, madrona limbs grow in contorted designs, making them prized by some craftspeople. The woods are dark and pungent with the fresh cool scent of cedar.

An Olympic squirrel sounds an alarm as I approach her alder tree deep in the woods. I catch sight of her poised on a moss-covered branch right at my eye level. She chatters loudly as I adjust my tripod and aim my lens at her. Luckily, she pauses in a beam of sunlight that has penetrated this dense, old-growth forest. Then she scurries up the trunk, probably busy hiding spruce cones for her winter stash.

Listen to an Olympic Squirrel:

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CONTEMPLATIONS

• Could you be a better saver?
• Are there resources you need to be stockpiling?

These ancient woods take me back to a time before humans began destroying this green earth. Back to a time when all forests were ancient—when only fire, wind and flood altered the woods. When beavers were the only creatures felling trees. When the planet was in balance and spun through the seasons blissfully unaware that one day a new breed of inhabitants would nearly destroy this green place–all in the blink of an epochal eye.

Here in this sacred grove I can still hope we’ll reverse the devastation we’ve wrought against our own home in the universe. I believe it will help if each of us can become green on the inside.

By that I mean become more aware of the earth as a living thing that desperately needs our care and concern. By seeking a deeper union with the natural world we feel less separate from all our actions. Once we begin to experience that living bond, the idea of harming the earth seems as crazy as wounding our own bodies.

We are of this earth, and we are one, pulsing being.

If we can rethink how we treat the earth, if we can develop a core belief that all our actions matter to the health of the planet, then being green on the inside can inspire our outward actions. Shifting our behavior may require small sacrifices, but don’t we owe that to our earth? If we treat the earth with as much love as we lavish on other people—and by example pass that attitude on to the next generation—then we will have, indeed, turned a vibrant, healthy green on the inside.

Of course I believe that meditating on nature and spending more time as far from cities as you can, are both prime ways to reconnect with and expand your love of the earth. And when you can’t spend time outdoors, I invite you to connect vicariously with nature right here.

The classic ‘70s bumper sticker got it right:
Love Your Mother Earth.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What one thing could you do today to become more green?
• What old attitude do you need to recycle?
• What could you do tomorrow to become even greener?
• Who could you help become more green?
• How could you make your work environment more green?
• How can you love the planet more?