Not far enough in the past, a boy taught me a valuable lesson…well, multiple lessons, but the one that seems to have served me the most joy instead of grief would end up being a peaceful pastime of mine from time to time. “Teach a man to fish, and he will eat for a lifetime,” he said while baiting a hook, perched on a bed of rocks tucked away in a cove of Crab Orchard Lake.

I had been fishing before and played coy as if I wasn’t the brightest at it, knowing good and well that I am pretty alright at casting a line. Aiming directly for a clearing among the lily pads, I whipped my pole and threw a quite fabulous back-cast, plopping neatly in the water. I tried passing it off as beginner’s luck, but when that fish bit my hook, boy did I show off. Reeling in the fish as if I were my profession, I pulled it out of the water to find a bluegill. I then proceeded to remove it from its hook and release it back into the lake, all while he sat a bit quiet to the side.

The lesson he taught me wasn’t really the wise fable he muttered out; it was that I needed to get in touch with a side of me that was begging for attention. 

Wildlife has been a part of my life ever since I was born, as I usually spend my summers tending to not only my own garden, but also the gardens of multiple old women. Pulling weeds and having my hands in the dirt during that time of the year is vital to me. I cannot explain it, other than that it feels ancestral. If I sit on the side screened-in porch at my grandmother’s home, I am staring into a forest of mature vegetation, all on Crab Orchard Wildlife Refuge property. Every year, the trees go from green with the ground filled with wildflowers and grasses to leaves and branches of crimsons to browns. 

It took me a long time to appreciate nature, and I am embarrassed to say that. Although I was outside quite a bit as a child, I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy acting as if I was living in colonial times, pretending to do laundry or make “soup” (I was extremely odd). I wasn’t looking up and around, appreciating what was surrounding me. Now that I am old enough to sit still, I appreciate what beauty nature has to offer and am astonished every day by what I see. 

I didn’t know as a child how important the refuge and lake are, to not only the area, but to me personally as well. 

My two very best childhood friends lived just a short walk to the docks of the lake, and as children, we would merrily make our way down to the shore and have a picnic, sunbathe or talk nonsense. As a pre-teen and teen, we would walk and be angsty, skipping rocks into the water. Now that I am an adult, we still walk together when everyone is home; whether it be freezing cold or beating hot, we somehow make our way down to the lake. 

That road has heard many stories and lots of laughing. It has also heard deep conversations that are only acceptable to your closest kin and plenty of tears. It’s quite therapeutic really. Now that we are grown, we stand on the docks and just stare. Not really thinking of anything in particular, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the picturesque scene before us, feeling misty. I have stared into this lake many times, feeling all sorts of feelings, both happy and sad. I stare at my reflection and the reflections of my now adult friends and think to myself about how little I am in the grand scheme of things. 

Every single time my dad sees a very large tree, he never fails to say, “Man, if these trees could talk” while patting the trunk and usually taking a drag off of his cigarette. This statement always makes me giggle when I hear it, as I now think of that quite often. 

Sometimes I drive my little red car to an empty lot on Crab Orchard property and just think. I listen to my music and stare out my window, observing the world around me. When life seems gloomy and terribly unpredictable, it is best to retreat to a place that brings comfort. Although my friends live at different corners of the U.S. now, and I am still piddling my feet off a dock, I still come to the lake when I am in need of a lift.

This year, Crab Orchard National Wildlife Refuge is celebrating 75 years of serving the area with precious wildlife sources. Conservationists not only are actively preserving our wildlife and systems around here, but they are also providing a sanctuary for people like me, who sometimes just need a trip to the wilderness to start anew. 

A solemn thank you goes out to the refuge from everyone: the lonely kids on a friday night, the college students with budding new romance, the small town long-time couples enjoying their Dairy Queen parked in the trees. I personally want to thank them for attending to a gorgeous backsplash to many of my core memories. I have learned many lessons and seen many things with the sights of Crab Orchard National Refuge land in my peripherals, and I have many emotions that still get brought on by the beauty of it today. 

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