Marion’s John Hanson answers nature’s call

Editor's note: John Lawrence Hanson, Ed.D., of Marion teaches U.S. history with an emphasis on environmental issues at Linn-Mar High School.

We waited in the dark, as quiet as we could on the brittle snow. A waxing moon of 10 percent, flanked by Venus, backlit the trees.

If lucky we would see the silent approach. We waited and flashed toothy grins in the dark. Anticipation warms the body and enlightens the night.

The boy gave one last call, and then silence. A fitting moment for the night of Jan. 1 when the forest was brightened by hope and unseen voices.

The Nature Call is my journal of time afield. I started this as a weekly writing project during my recent year in Norway as a Fulbright Scholar, then it was The Sunday Nature Call. I wrote about my experiences and observations. From the southern ports to the Arctic Barrens, across the eastern forests and into the western fjords, I experienced every clime and place in Norway. Aside from teaching, I also hiked, skied and birded across the Land of the Midnight Sun.

The journal was an accounting of my time abroad and commentary about the intersection of the environment and democracy. In our modern world there is no separation between nature and society, to write about the former necessitated writing about the latter.

My style is inspired by writers in particular. The Gazette's Orlan Love demonstrated how one can write so lovingly of a place. Another inspiration is the late Gordon MacQuarrie, Milwaukee Journal outdoors editor and author of the 'Old Duck Hunters' series. Also influential is Aldo Leopold, the Davenport native who became a renowned professor at the University of Wisconsin and penned the incomparable 'Sand County Almanac.' Finally, the outdoors editor of the Minneapolis Star Tribune, Dennis Anderson, gives me a contemporary role model of reporting and advocacy.

The Gazette is the new canvas and Iowa is the paints. Though lacking granite peaks, blue fjords and wide spruce forests, Iowa is a cornucopia of nature, but more sublime. Yet like the reserved habits of the true Midwesterner, if you are patient and open, you will discover a richness.

The first bird I spied in 2017 was a Great Horned Owl, high in a neighborhood White Pine. The raptor's hiding spot was betrayed by early rays putting a veritable spotlight on it. Against the green it looked extra bright, it's creamy breast feathers almost glowing white. Still and stoic, it mimicked the Sunday morning. It could have passed for the owl adorning Franklin Middle School. I accepted that as a good omen and continued my morning walk.

The sun was down, dishes were cleared and my #firstdayhike could wait no longer. I announced my intentions and got one reluctant taker; passive-aggressive parenting is a Midwestern specialty. My young son agreed to join me for a dark woods walk at Squaw Creek Park.

Rachel Carson said children have a 'sense of wonder,' and we adults need to keep it alive. That lesson was reaffirmed as we exited the car. He looked up and gushed about the stars. I pointed out a couple of constellations (I only know a couple), but you don't have to know any to appreciate the majesty of the night sky.

During our hike, he kept on about how bright the stars were 'away from the city.' On promontories he'd point out 'the city' in the distance, as if we were in a far away land. And that's when I understood his sense of wonder. To me, Squaw Creek is in town, a short drive. To him, it was a journey beyond his everyday world. And the world, his world, was bigger than mine.

We paused at the bottom of a hill. I moved that we call for owls, he seconded with enthusiasm. I gave a 'who-cooks-for-you-all' series for a Barred Owl. As my last consonant trailed into the black, a booming response came back to us. Even in the dark, the smile of a child is plainly visible, if not also felt.

In turns, we gave calls and got the same response. We waited, but the owl never approached. Satisfied nonetheless, we continued our hike. The woods were just as dark but now more magical. Looking up, looking ahead, and keeping my pencil sharp.