Photography by Jonathan Austen

Return to the Earth: Lessons from nature 

The White Mountains have a way of teaching you things. Out here, the rhythm of life and death is constant and inescapable. On my recent hikes, with only my thoughts for company, I’ve seen this truth unfold.

It started a couple of months ago on one of my usual walks through my neighborhood along Highway 260. I came across a dead elk, probably hit by a car. A sight not uncommon to rural areas. But it struck me, especially since I had just lost my cat of 16 years. The elk lay there, eyes open and lifeless. Over the next couple weeks, I saw nature’s cleanup crew—coyotes, birds, insects—take over. Slowly, the elk started to blend back into the earth. Grass and flowers began to grow around and through it.

Nature was reclaiming its own.

Just recently, I hiked the Flume Connector trail and found something else—a deer's leg, stripped down to just bone and hoof. It had become a meal for the local wildlife. Seeing this didn’t bother me; it felt like a reminder that life feeds on life.

These scenes stuck with me.

As part of my new journey in adventure writing and photography, these solitary hikes have given me a lot of time to think. The elk and the deer leg became symbols of the cycle of life, inspiring this story.

In life today, we often forget this fundamental truth. We chase material things and achievements, but in the end, we all return to the earth.

This isn’t a dark thought; it’s grounding.

It strips away our superficial worries and brings us back to what’s real. We are part of a larger web of life, connected by the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. The elk and the deer taught me about humility and how everything is connected.

Walking past where the elk still lays, now covered with vibrant life, I feel at peace. Nature had turned death into new growth. It reminded me that life is always changing, and death is just a part of that change. The elk had become part of the landscape, living on in the flowers and grass.

In the end, returning to the earth is about simplicity, about the essence of being alive. The elk and the deer (even the loss of my cat),  in their silent way, taught this truth more clearly than words ever could.

On my walks and hikes through the White Mountains, I carry this lesson with me. Each fallen leaf, the occasional animal remains, and each patch of flowers I see is a reminder of the cycle of life.

We are all part of this grand tapestry, woven together by birth, life, death, and rebirth.

Recognizing this helps us connect more deeply with the world and appreciate the fleeting, beautiful nature of life.

The elk’s return to the earth, the deer’s leg on the trail—these aren’t just scenes of death but of life continuing, unbroken and eternal. They remind us that, in the grand scheme of things, we’re all the same.

We live, we die, and we return to the earth, part of the cycle that sustains the world.

And in this, there’s a quiet, profound beauty, a testament to the enduring, interconnected nature of life.

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