Observation

Beulah, MI--Saw three deer this afternoon, two fawns and their mother, in the backyard of Eve's family's house.  I'm anticipating quite a bit of this kind of thing, but I'm curious to see just how much of my writing and thinking these kinds of observations will occupy.  When I think about this trip as an experience independent of any sort of goals, it's easy to imagine myself gliding down the River, mouth agape at all the wondrous things I'm seeing for the first time.  But the goals of the project demand more than just observation--I can't just walk into town, not speak to anybody, and expect to meet all the people who will make this trip what it's supposed to be.  Observation is what college was for; I wasn't expected to make any meaningful contribution to, well, anything of value or substance.  To take part in something potentially meaningful, something that hasn't done before, demands more than just observation, though of course the ability to be stupefied and to observe intently and with wonder is crucial to doing anything.  But I've already learned that ability--you could say I've almost mastered it--and to be an adult might mean doing more than that.  So maybe being a critic either means subjugating entirely the willingness and desire to be astounded, or possessing the ability to reflect, more or less objectively, on the time one has spent observing.  This is getting a little abstract, not to mention far-fetched, so I'm going to abandon this line of thinking before I get to befuddled.  Anyway.