I was born in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley and raised by the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia. Feeling connected to or like I was a part of nature, rather than just a spectator, was a critical part of my upbringing. I didn’t have to go out into nature – I was living in it. But I didn’t know how much nature mattered to my day-to-day life until I left Virginia for Foggy Bottom.
The only thing I knew before college was that I wanted to live in a city rather than near one. I didn’t expect to miss everything back home when I chose GW, but the soullessness of concrete buildings and the endless number of heavily windowed offices became a constant reminder of what I left behind – the cows as they grazed in my neighbor’s pasture, the clean and dewey air, the constant horizon of rolling blue mountains and the shadows left on them during cloudy days. Most of all, I missed the tree in my front yard where my hammock lives all summer and I can sit, shaded, staring right at the mountains.
Now, if you walk through Kogan Plaza and turn toward the large patch of trees on the way toward the fire station or Monroe Hall on a spring day, you’re likely to find me nestled in my hammock, reading a book, snacking on a makeshift picnic spread, listening to music or taking a nap.
Often, I find myself surrounded by visitors – other hammockers coming and going in neighboring trees, slightly sheltered from the buzz of people on a nice day in Kogan. They hang their hammocks on the grave of Staughton Hall, along the walkways of Kogan sure to see someone they know, tied from a tree to a railing attached to Corcoran Hall, along Pennsylvania Avenue and scattered in the trees of the National Mall.
It is in the trees that I and my hammocking compatriots can find tranquility in the middle of a cold, competitive city and the fast-paced, rigid sterility of GW. Unlike my nature-filled Virginia valley, campus life in D.C. is paralyzing. I long for the quiet I found in nature back home each time I stand on the corner of 23rd and G streets, waiting impatiently to cross or cannot sleep because of the constant chatter of people outside every night. Even trying to take a walk in the fresh air to clear my mind turns into an annoying game of “dodge the tourists.”
Seeing other people enjoying nature and hammocking in the trees like me is the closest I have come to feeling back at home. In a way, my two-person black and teal hammock has also been the place where I have felt most at ease while in college. I am able to disappear from the hustle of the outside world I share with my peers and return to my roots, a moment to breathe away from my stressful and fast-paced campus life with a good book.
I have found my escape in my hammock – pink flowers rustling in the trees over my head, the wind whistling over me, easing my anxieties away. The breeze transports me back to the mountains and refreshes my mind. I find calmness and purpose in my hammock, where nature becomes the balance between urban life and my rural fantasy.
As for the other people scattered in the trees, I can only hope they also feel connected to nature and the peace it can bring to our busy lives. I feel a camaraderie with my fellow hammockers at the most basic level because of our shared, inherent human need for nature – a place where you can let go of your worries and forget the pressures of the city and monotony of campus life.
When I am in my hammock, I can keep my longing for Shenandoah National Park at bay. It tides me over until it is summer once again, and the Virginia country roads can take me home to the quaint and familiar tree in my grandparents’ yard.
Grace Miller, a junior majoring in English, is the design editor.
