Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard, published by HarperCollins Publishers, copyright 1974, 290 pages.
In the spirit and words of Henry David Thoreau, Annie Dillard went to her Walden Pond, Tinker Creek, “because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” This remarkable Pulitzer Prize winning book by a 28 year old will impress and inspire. Like Thoreau, “I have traveled a good deal in Concord”, Tinker Creek is her local unassuming haunt in the suburbs of Roanoke, Virginia. Dillard is the pilgrim to this sacred place, a small creek with island, winding its way through pasture and wood, in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
It is a book of her fascinating natural observations, but then buckle your seat belt and hold on tight as she takes you soaring into the meaning, or lack thereof, of it all. It’s a pilgrimage of the mind dipping into cosmology, theology, epistemology, and even quantum mechanics before bringing you back home, somewhat exhausted. She intends to “tell some tales and describe some sights of this rather tame valley, and explore, in fear and trembling some of the unmapped dim reaches and unholy fastnesses to which those tales and sights so dizzyingly lead.”
This is obviously not a birding book although she does relate some interesting bird encounters. There was the “Wood Duck flying like a bright torpedo that blasted the leaves where it flew.” Or the Mockingbird with the white-striped tail fan diving straight down, seemingly just for the joy of it. Or the flock of migrating Red-winged Blackbirds hidden in the Osage orange. Or the annoying flock of thousands of European Starlings in the valley. At wits end a hunter went out with shotgun and fired into the flock, killing three. Asked if that had discouraged the birds he replied after some reflexion, “those three it did.”
Birders, like Dillard relish being out there day after day to see what develops, observing closely and carefully, and returning with some pearl or new insight. As she says, “beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.”
Insects seem to be her special interest and several tales lead you into that strange world. There’s the small frog on the bank that slowly involuted into a pile of skin right before her eyes. It was being sucked dry by the hidden Giant Water Bug that had injected its dissolving enzymes and was now enjoying the nourishing broth while leaving the skin behind. Then there’s the female Praying Mantis slowly devouring her sexual partner during coitus until all that’s left is his sexual organ, still fulfilling its purpose. She has a special place in her heart for spiders. “Any predator that hopes to make a living on whatever small creatures might blunder into a four inch square space in the corner of my bathroom…needs every bit of my support.”
I appreciated the section about quantum mechanics and the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle which says that the process of observation itself alters what is being observed. This led to a college term paper for me years ago. I won’t attempt to review the theology of this text, New or Old Testament, Koran, and others. Nor will I tell you what the author concludes about the universe; is it brutally cruel or kind, chaotic or orderly; actually I’m not sure what she thinks. I’ll have to read it again. Some may find Tinker Creek too obtuse. I suggest just plowing through those passages and come back to them later for a fresh look with a clearer head. There’s much here to ponder. “Knock; seek; ask. But you must read the fine print.”
Some critics, including the author herself in recent years have complained about excessive verbosity in some passages–her style has later become more succinct. You can also take the “deeper meaning” approach to the extreme, but remember when this was written. We were all reading Hermann Hess and listening to Jimi Hendrix back then so I’ll forgive the influences of the time. I still wonder how I overlooked this 1974 book for so many years, recipient of prizes and much acclaim. Better late than never.