UnEarth Magazine.

Words by Sophia Nistor, art by Caroline DaSilva.

“I hope this is a journey for your soul,” our instructors said on the first day of our month-long backpacking trip through Yellowstone’s Absaroka Mountain range.  

We spent the next thirty days hiking through red canyons, over summits, through rivers, and on the sides of cliffs. We marveled at the arrowheads and spearheads nestled in the dirt and the remnants of pottery from Indigenous tribes who had loved the land before us. At night, we stared at the stars in awe, confronted by the smallness of our being.   

During this time, I experienced the beauty and unpredictability of the wilderness. I learned that it teaches us how to embrace discomfort and persevere through the bitterness of the snow, the rain, and the sun. I discovered that it grabs hold of the human soul, challenges it, and turns it toward truth. It shows us that we are, and always have been, a part of nature. 

In our society, we are immersed in a technological world where rapid progress and excessive comfort separates us from the natural. Cities have become computer chips strung together by an array of lights, governed by organization and order—it is difficult to imagine another system of life in which humans are not the center of it all. Only when we separate ourselves from the “computer chip” and observe the miles of untouched land, do we realize that the mysteries of the universe are not only floating in some distant darkness, but are right beside us.  

I often recall the first time I feared nature. It was a night when the sounds of thunder broke across the sky, echoing loudly off the mountains as flashes of lightning lit up the tent. But now, I imagine that the land where we camped in between two mountains is silent. I imagine the aspen saplings that hug the dead trees are still breathing, and that they are now taller. The streams of water from summer have been turned into crystals of ice, and mountain peaks are speckled with snow. The wind that created ripples in the tall grass is now at rest and the silver sagebrush is filled with the familiar hum of crickets and cicadas. I imagine the moon hidden behind a sheer cloud and the sunset erupting like fire between mountains as its light dances in figures on the snow. I imagine the masterpieces of color painted by the sky since I have left. Free of a human observer, the land continues to breathe.