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332 pages, Paperback
First published February 27, 2003
A song of the rolling earth, and of words according,The choice of this poem makes sense after reading the book, subtitled “A Highland Odyssey.” The Highlands is the sparsely populated, mountainous, rocky northwestern part of Scotland. The author, John Lister-Kaye, established a “field centre” at a location named Aigis in 1977 after starting a similar project in a less suitable location. As a boy, he had spent his free time observing nature and received much information from a gameskeeper named Bob, “a paid killer of all that I held dear.” (p. 11) His parents made sure he had a classical British education, which would prepare him for a white-collar engineering job in the mining industry. So, that’s how his adult life began, but not for long.
Were you thinking that those were the words, those upright lines? those curves, angles, dots?
No, those are not the words, the substantial words are in the ground and sea,
They are in the air, they are in you.
His first job was in Swansea, a coastal city in Wales. In 1967, Great Britain experienced its first major oil spill. The author witnessed the massive, catastrophic environmental devastation. In fact, he took time off from work to go there. “I was mesmerized by it, almost afraid to go and look because I knew that it was bigger than my work. In the pit of my stomach I sensed that my brief courtship with industry was over.” (p. 31)
He began working as a nature writer but soon conceived of “a natural history guiding service,” which began as a summer job but quickly grew beyond his initial plan. This challenge moved him to bargain for an abandoned Victorian mansion and the surrounding land. It took years to renovate the ruined house, but even as he undertook that monumental task, he started his “field studies centre” for guests who came to stay for a week or two.
While this book loosely follows an autobiographical structure, its long, detailed descriptive passages feel contemplative, nearly to the point of lulling this reader toward drowsiness, only to be awakened with a thrilling story about a fascinating encounter with wildlife or a colorful character such as Bella Macrae. In fact, the story of this woman, his neighbor, a representative crofter, is a highlight. Crofters, the author says, are “a native people [like Aborigines or Indigenous Americans] in occupation of their own land—albeit a tiny, impoverished, peripheral part of it.” (p. 190)
One of his contemplative chapters reflects on the “soul” of a place. “Science,” he says, “has caused us to ditch some of the most vital gems of our past: the magic and the sacred, holiness and the spiritual direction that glued us together as human beings for so long.” (p. 211) He longs to recover the sense of wonder. He reflects on thoughts from Aristotle, Descartes, Kant, Einstein, and American Indian tribes, and then he explores the complexities of the human brain before concluding, “What I have discovered is this: that what I do and what I feel are both derived from my private passion for nature. They are as much a part of me as my genes.” (p. 216) He continues: “[Nature] recognizes no cruelty, tolerates no flaws. It makes no promises and tells no lies. It is utterly original, constantly recreating itself anew, dazzling and inspirational.” (p. 217)
I received this book as a birthday present from relatives who spent a week at the Aigis Field Centre. A back-cover blurb places the book alongside such environmental classics as Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac. For 25 years the author has been interacting with nature in an austere setting. He has rejuvenated a forest, made homes for animals, and given visitors from around the world insight, not only into nature, but into themselves.
Song of the Rolling Earth is a book you shouldn’t rush through. Take your time to savor the long, slow descriptive passages before you come upon a section full of active adventure. Reading it is like riding a roller coaster.