Passage IV

Prairie Eye, Woods Eye

[1]

As I was growing up in the Midwest, two landscapes made vivid impressions on my mind. The flat, open, Illinois, prairie allowed me to drink in huge vistas. The enclosed pine woods of Wisconsin, where my family vacationed, gave me comfort. Both prairie and woods were dear to me and important to the development of one's interactions with the world.

[2]

I'm not talking just about a landscape's familiarity but also about a way in which a landscape's impression on the mind can affect the way one thinks and feels. Midwestern writer Bill Holm distinguishes between a "prairie eye” and a "woods eye.“ The prairie eye “looks for distance, clarity, and light," as well as openness and harsh truth. The woods eye looks for "closeness, complexity, and darkness,” the mysterious and the hidden. (48) Holm claims at having a prairie eye, feeling uncomfortable in enclosed, mysterious spaces like the woods, he prefers the "magnitude and delicacy" of the open prairie.

[3]

My prairie eye and my woods eye are equally dominant in terms of strength. When I lived in Michigan a few years ago, I marveled at the complexity and mystery of the woody patches everywhere. At the same time, when I would drive in rural areas, I felt joyful. (52) I would be intrigued and curious as I looked a mile ahead to spy a lone car, tiny and far away, whether it came to a stop on a straight road.

[4]

My woods eye and prairie eye provide varied and different reactions to more than just landscape, and these perspectives apply to my other interests as well. I revel in the dark maze of a 500-page Victorian novel, yet I also appreciate the delicate beauty of a three-line Japanese haiku. I savor each competing taste in a pizza with everything, yet I also enjoy a simple glass of water.

[5]

My tastes' are similarly diverse, whether in art, literature, music, movies, TV shows, or long walks are enjoyed. My woods eye and prairie eye doesn't compete for dominance. Instead, they help me enjoy a range of experiences.