I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the concept of the genius loci, or “spirit of a place.” The term is Latin and entered Western knowledge and language through the Roman belief in and honoring of specific protective spirits of a place. Of course, the concept is not limited to Rome and Western Europe, the idea of protective spirits of places (mountains, springs, forests, etc.) exists globally and is a fundamental tenet of animism. I want to write more deeply about the genii locum of my home town, it’s something I feel very deeply, but for now I want to share about visiting another place that inspired me.
Last month I went camping in northern California by the Smith River with Coyote. Three years ago we had been coming back from an event south of Crescent City and as we drove along the Redwood Highway we kept seeing glimpses of the beautiful turquoise-green waters of the Smith River. We finally spotted a turnout that looked like it might lead to a riverbank so we pulled over. On the sandy beach we pulled off our clothes and threw ourselves into the clear cold water and splashed about like children. As we left we told each other we should come back and camp in the area.
Fast forward three years and the middle of a cold wet spring–I was determined to have a summer plan to look forward to. Not having any idea where exactly we’d been or the name of any campgrounds, I arbitrarily picked one based on its nearness to the river and the niceness of the campground. Coyote and I set off on a sunny day and talked and laughed and arrived at the campground excited and ready to enjoy 4 days of relaxing and connecting, surrounded by trees, and stone and water. When we arrived and began exploring we discovered we were perhaps a mile from that original turnout!
Rare photograph of a swimming Coyote
Each day we visited the river at a different spot, getting to know the character and temperament of each place. Some had banks of tiny pebbles, some sand. Frequently we’d sift through the sand with our fingers, finding tiny green stones that the locals call river jade. In some places the river slowed and eddied and we could ride our floaties in gentle circles, from sun into shadow and around again.
In most places the water was startlingly cold and we’d gasp and hiss as we eased our bodies into the depths. In several places we could see the water emerging from cracks in the stone banks of the river, numbingly cold and crystal clear. When we became too chilled we climbed on the banks and baked in the sun, listening to the wind in the trees and the conversations of the other visitors–local families with children, fellow campers, tourists passing through, enamored of the views as we had been three years before.
One of the joys of camping, for me anyway, is in the slowing down. I’m no longer focused on productivity or watching the clock or the lists of tasks in my head. There is nothing to do, there is only the implicit reminder to be. It is easier to come into the animal of our bodies, waking up with the sun, eating when hungry, warming and cooling ourselves by the river, being stimulated by the sky, the birds, the sun coming through the redwoods like the windows of a cathedral, those vast trunks reminding us of our smallness and our ancient longing to belong to them again. One day we drove into the Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park and wandered around for a couple of hours. We discovered a hollow redwood and crept inside like mice, filled with awe and a strange sense of comfort or familiarity.
It takes time to get to know a genius loci, time spent listening and smelling and watching. Communing with the unspoken but ecstatically alive spirit of that specific place: its river and trees, the rattlesnake, the moth, the fish… In four days I can only say I “shook hands” with it, introduced myself and departed with thanks and appreciation. We are acquainted now, I’d like to think, with the hope of becoming friends. I think this is a good way of moving though our world, awake to where we are and what spirits animate it, greeting each place and becoming friends who treat each other with respect and appreciation the way–I wish–we would all of our fellow beings.
Tree and Stone, River and Bone 