Leave a trace of wonder

In one of the many insightful passages in Helen Whybrow’s melodius book, The Salt Stones, Seasons of a Shepherd’s Life (long-listed for the 2025 National Book Award for nonfiction), she touches upon an ethical adage I’ve accepted and strived to follow since I was a toddler under the tutelage of my dad. He exemplified the practice of Leave No Trace—leaving flowers on the stem, never cutting switchbacks, picking up litter, yielding to wildlife’s passage, staying on the trail even if muddy, not stepping on delicate plants, and so much more. He believed, and I believe, in the seven principles of Leave No Trace.

I’m awakened to a powerful possibility—to replace the negative word of “No” with what we do want to leave. Helen cites her husband Peter Forbes, who inserts the word “beautiful”— Leave a Beautiful Trace.

I realize my father, Dave Richie, taught me that as well. I’ll call his variation, Leave a Trace of Wonder. He’d tune to a Wood Thrush singing as if the bird poured honeyed wildflowers from his beak. Stopping short to admire the spiral of a fiddlehead fern he’d spy a yellow violet blooming by a mossy stone. I remember his wide smile in the spray of waterfalls and in gusting winds at the top of a see-forever peak. I was gifted with a naturalist father who brought his full attention to the wilds.

The trace my dad left was curiosity, respect, and humility of all we do not know of delicate relationships. The trace he left was love.

My father with my son Ian in Glacier National Park in summer of 2002. Ian —now 28—tunes into birds with his own binoculars. When he told me of a recent Five Valleys Audubon birding trip with his girlfriend Felicity, I was gratified to hear astonishment in his voice as he described the stunning plumage of a Hooded Merganser gliding on Browns Lake. Leave a Trace of Wonder.

My husband Wes brings his full attention to live music. Retired from teaching elementary school for thirty years, he has the freedom to head out to weeknight shows at local pubs or larger venues. Often, he knows little about the musician or band. He goes with an openness to the unexpected. When I shared this concept as I read Helen’s gorgeous and wise book, he understood.

“Musicians perform with or without an audience,” Wes said, and went on to explain the magic that happens when people are attending, dancing, clapping, and interacting. There’s a relationship between a band and an audience like nature’s reciprocity—giving, gifting, and giving. It’s different when live music is simply a background noise in a bar where people are carrying on animated conversations.

In this Thanksgiving week — a time of simple gratitude, of sharing a feast with family or friends or both, of giving to others who are less fortunate, and thanking the land and animals for our food—many of us often go on walks together in our pause from busy lives. It’s natural to pair off and engage in animated conversations. I understand. I do that too.

My challenge is this—for myself and others during a social walk. Dim our voices to observe, attend, and brighten to nature’s music. When we “leave a trace of wonder,” do the trees, birds, and shrubs notice? Are we gifting the wilds as they gift us? I believe the answer is a resounding yes.

Notes: An earlier version of my piece appeared on Substack. Also, I’ve started using mailchimp to deliver my bi-monthly posts via email as part of my website redesign. Please let me know if there are any issues. (Author email is marina@marinarichie.com)