David O'Hara

One more page in the books for my grandchildren. I’m trying to document the beautiful things I see, in hopes that the grandkids will someday enjoy both the books and more wonders in this world.

This one is in my grandson’s book. Two images from my trip to the Badlands National Park this weekend.

Both the grandkids are infants, born weeks apart this year. Hopefully they will share these books with one another someday.

Meadowlark for Claire. Part of the book I am writing for my infant granddaughter, documenting the beautiful things I am seeing in the world.

Decided to add one more bison to the sketch page. This one is from a photo I took in the Badlands in 2022. The bison was grazing right near where my sleeping bag and I were stretched out on the ground for stargazing. It added wonderfully to the number of majesties I beheld on that trip.

This is part of my practice of nature journaling (I have required my environmental philosophy students to do this, and so I am doing it, too) and part of my practice of documenting the beauty I see in the world for my infant grandchildren, in hopes that they will appreciate what they see in my sketchbooks, and come to love and preserve for others what they see in this wonderful world that we share.

Bison grazing in Badlands National Park. This is an experiment with single-line drawing. The whole sketch was made without lifting the pen from the page. I sketched from a photo after doing some plein-air sketches yesterday in a wind that was strong enough that it was hard to keep my sketchpad from blowing away.

The bison in South Dakota number in the thousands, though they used to number in the millions. The herds that roam Badlands National Park and Custer State Park are the descendants of a small number of bison that were saved by a small number of people.

I often wonder what the ecology of our region would be like if the bison still existed in numbers like they once had.

To call them “badlands” is an injustice to just how good they are.

Bison grazing on tableland in the Badlands National Park in South Dakota yesterday.

It’s a good time to revisit my poem “Sage Creek,” which I wrote a decade ago about an annual trip I make with my students to camp in the Badlands National Park here in South Dakota.

It’s partly an Environmental Studies excursion, but it began as (and remains) an exercise for my ancient philosophy class, in which the students and I slow down and lie on the dry grass and watch the stars.

I’ve been doing it for twenty years now. It’s always tiring, and always refreshing. For my students who join me, I think it is always memorable and often life-changing.

Here’s a sketch I made this morning after the sun rose over our campground.

Went camping in Badlands National Park with my students last night. Even though it was partly cloudy, sleeping under the stars was worth it.

I think it will always be the case that the gold we accumulate will show a reflection not of our faces but of our hearts.

A friend brought his journal to coffee to show me what he did while hiking the Camino de Santiago with his students. He has begun sketching as I do, and his journal has become a work of art. I’d show you a photo, but it is after all his journal. So I leave it to your imagination.

There is no one on whom I do not wish God’s blessing.

But sometimes my prayers are that some would be blessed with the presence of God in a way that would shake them to their core, and fear would dwell deep inside them as a fire inside their bones.

Or the blessing given to Nebuchadnezzar when he thought too highly of himself and was driven mad and ate the dewy grass with the cattle.

Or the blessing given to Zacchaeus when he met Christ and paid back all his debts and repented of cheating others for his own gain, repaying multiples of all he had taken unjustly, choosing right relationships over private gain.

Or the blessing of peaceful witnesses everywhere and everywhen who have laid aside their worldly goals for the sake of “the least of these” and have often paid the highest price that gentle love can pay.

And I wonder sometimes what sort of blessings others at their best wish upon me.

Another morning thought: academic specialization can be immensely productive, but so often the disciplines do not speak with one another. The whats become untethered from the whys. Questions of the common good are hard to notice when not much is held in common.

Thinking this morning about a few themes:

Times when a small group of people in a small place make something big. Florence around 1500, for instance. Or Canton, SD, when Merle Tuve and E.O. Lawrence were in high school together. Both became world-famous physicists.

Arrangements of space that foster conversation and growth of ideas. Wes Jackson’s barn at the Land Institute in Salina, KS. A well-placed water cooler or coffee pot that becomes a place where people meet and share ideas. Coffee hour after church, where the tables and chairs lead to conviviality.

Not every small group leads to big things. Not every meeting place grows good ideas. But some do.

Fading colors.

My son’s dogs.

Seemed a fitting portrait since I’ve already sketched my daughter’s dog and my other son’s cats.

As my students work on their wonder journals, I’m working on mine as well.

One is about freshwater mussels. The other is about ladybugs.

The big idea: begin with a species people find fearful or disgusting, and try to elicit wonder.

Here are my first drafts, which I’ll share with my students this week.

I started my career as a philosophy and classics professor who specialized in ancient philosophy, philosophy of religion, philosophy of science, and American pragmatism.

One constant feature of studying and practicing religion is wonder. And one feature of studying and practicing pragmatism is curiosity and growth.

And so my career continues to grow, fueled by wonder.

My son asked me to watch his cats while he is traveling so I sat and watched them and painted their portraits for an hour or two this morning. 😹🐈

I keep thinking I’m done seeing more butterflies then I come home and find three more species I haven’t seen all summer. Grass skipper, silver-spotted skipper, and pearl crescent. All hanging out in my new prairie perennial garden with late-blooming flower gold and purple flowers. These flowers are buzzing with native bees, too.

One more photo, for comparison. This shows an introduced Asian lady beetle (left) next to a native lady beetle (right, maybe one of the hyperaspis species, but hard to tell from this photo). The native beetle could rest on one of the spots on the elytra of the other.

I’ve been looking for some of the small native species for a couple of years. This week the elms on campus have attracted loads of large lady beetles, which gave me the idea to look for the little ones on the same trees. Success!

Update to my Lady Beetles post: today I brought a better macro lens and got a photo of one of the very small ones. I’ve never noticed the tiny lady beetles before because they’re so small they’re easy to miss or to dismiss as a bit of dirt or dust. This one is about 2mm long. Not sure about the species but I think I’ve got it down to four or five possibilities. My students and I found a few others with slightly different color, size, and shape, but all too small to tell what species without getting them under my microscope and I’m happy to let them live free and wild instead.

This fall I have asked my Environmental Philosoohy students to make fear/wonder journals.

The big idea:

(1) start with a “fear journal” by doing research about some species that you either fear or find gross. Journal and sketch until you find something lovely in it.

(2) Bring your sketchbook with you around campus and stop regularly to sketch something small you see - at least 15 sketches over the course of the semester.

They’re not graded on artistic skill (who am I to judge that!) but on their engagement with the exercise. Get to know the small lives on campus, ideally by slowing down and paying close attention. This part is about shifting from fear to wonder, and I take a leaf from John Muir Laws, asking students to both sketch and to observe in words and numbers. Notice details, make comparisons, write down the questions that arise.

(3) Together we will choose a few species and make something like a zine or some other educational material to share what we have learned with others.

So over the course of the term we begin with fear and then move to wonder (Aristotle says “the love of wisdom begins in wonder”) and from there we look to share the wonder we have found.

You might give it a try as well. If you do, I’d love to hear what you learn.