John Walters

If this book had been a type of gardening guide or something similar I would not have been interested. However, Hanson goes beyond merely extolling the beauties of nature you can find close at hand; in fact, his writings have a sort of Thoreau vibe, albeit without the frequent allusions to classical literature. Even there, though, Hanson is not completely remiss. Throughout his discussions of the wonders hidden in tangled underbrush, towering treetops, verdant soil, and ponds and other waterways, he often sites examples from naturalists from past eras: Darwin, of course, but also numerous others.

It should be clarified that when it comes to appreciating the natural beauty we can find close to home, Hanson has an unfair advantage. He lives on a widespread farm in the San Juan Islands, an archipelago in the Pacific Northwest. When he goes out to contemplate wildlife he doesn’t just have a small garden but acres and acres at his disposal. Still, he puts his opulent acreage to good use as he studies the many facets of the local ecosystem.

Hanson’s objective is to open our eyes to the intricacies of the natural wonders around us, and he does this by focusing on the microcosms I mentioned earlier: treetops, shrubs, the rotting detritus of fallen trunks and branches, the dirt under our feet, and the bodies of water that surround us. Most of the details, including the names, of the plants and creatures he discovers go over my head, but that’s all right. I realize when I read a book like this that I will not remember many of the particulars. Anyway, that’s not what I’m after. I want to grasp the philosophy behind what he is explaining, and this is presented clearly and simply and directly. He wants us to comprehend that we are surrounded by and part of a vast, complex ecosystem that most of us normally don’t pay much attention to, but if we open our senses we will become more aware of the amazing realities all around us.

One thing that struck me as I read Close to Home is that what Hanson is attempting in this book is similar to a concept of travel I bring out in my series The Perennial Nomad. I lived and wandered overseas for thirty-five years, and the exoticism of my surroundings provided constant stimulation. However, when I got back to the States, and eventually to my hometown of Seattle, I felt a significant letdown. After all, this was familiar territory. I was born and raised here; I went through my teenage angst in these locales. I eventually realized, though, that my perspective of Seattle had changed. I was still a nomad, and this was another stopover on the path to eternity. If I did not have the means to move on immediately, I could instead explore this city as if I were encountering it for the first time. And in recent months, that’s what I have been attempting to do. Similar to the way Hanson zooms in on the infinitesimal but elaborate dramas taking place on his farm, I have been focusing on getting to know various aspects of the city of Seattle as if it were a wondrous new land.

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The question inevitably arises: for a perennial nomad like me, the entire world is home, so how do Hanson’s principles apply? The answer is simple. If the entire world is your backyard, then it is essential to care for all of it. I have to admit that Hanson’s perspective made me realize that during my extended years-long travels overseas I should have paid much more attention to the natural world all around than I did. I think that part of the difficulty was that in places that were exotic, at least from my U.S. perspective, I often experienced sensory overload; I was surfeited with input. So when I came across, for instance, trees full of hanging fruit bats along a pedestrian street in Kathmandu, Nepal, or a large, venomous-looking snake whipping along the sidewalk in a suburb in Colombo, Sri Lanka, or an enormous iguana-like lizard running through a park in Southeast Asia, I was not as startled or as impressed as I would have been if these things had happened in my own homeland. Maybe now, after reading Hanson’s book, I might pause and take a closer look.

It certainly has caused me to pay more attention in my own neighborhood. On my daily walks I’ve come across squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, and a proliferation of melodic birds. In fact, I can observe an array of different bird species from the vantage point of my apartment balcony. I live on the fourth floor, and I have a great view of the complex’s profusion of trees, a mix of evergreens, alders, and others. From my aerie I’ve seen an abundance of bird life, including robins, bluebirds, sparrows, ravens, seagulls, hawks, hummingbirds, and many more that I am unable to identify. I’ve seen birds whose feathers are such bright crimson or emerald or ultramarine that they seem florescent.

Hanson’s book has also helped me appreciate the backyard sanctuaries some of my neighbors have cultivated. Although a number of these have signs that indicate they have been set up as sanctuaries, I never understood or appreciated the significance. At first glance they often appear unkempt, with unmown grass, tangled bushes, and overhanging trees, but in fact these pockets of fecundity assist in sustaining rapidly disappearing local ecosystems. In contrast, neatly cropped show-lawns, often patched together with rolled out turf brought in from elsewhere, tend to damage ecosystems by eliminating the variety and profusion of growth that the local wildlife depends upon for survival. Sure, some neighbors neglect their yards with no clear vision of sustainability in mind, but they are inadvertently creating, or at least allowing for, habitats in which indigenous creatures can thrive. After reading Hanson’s book, I notice that my perspective is shifting. I find myself admiring the yards and gardens with lush, overflowing foliage, and disparaging yards where meticulously cut lawns lie like ostentatious carpets upon which one is not allowed to walk.

In conclusion, Close to Home is not only illuminating, but it is also well-written and entertaining. Don’t worry if, like me, you don’t grasp all the scientific terminology; just come along for the ride and have fun.