In Muir's Words
-John Muir's Reminders to Humanity.
In Muir’s Words - John Muir’s Reminders to Humanity.
By Dennis VanderHouwen
I've been recently diving back into and revisiting the life and writings of John Muir. The books I am reading are pulling at me and are making me want to be in the wilderness even more. I want to find an escape from what I call “the Unnatural World.”
We all know John Muir quotes, but he was more than just the inspirational snippets we see on postcards and Instagram. His were full, vivid, often radical reflections of a man who didn’t just admire the wilderness, he lived it. Muir wasn’t a casual visitor to the woods. He was a devoted witness to the power of wild places to shape a life. The more I study him, the more I see his insights as not only poetic but prophetic. His words and spirit resonate deeply within me. In a time when our modern lives are increasingly plugged in, scheduled, and synthetic, his perspective feels more like an urgent wake-up call than a collection of nostalgic sayings. They are more relevant than quaint to me.
Muir didn’t need a smartwatch to count his steps through the Sierra. He didn’t need a weather app to know the forecast, he read it in the wind and the sky. As gentle as his words are, there is no doubt he was one rugged man with a fortitude that is near mythical. For him, wilderness was not a luxury or a weekend escape, it was the soul’s necessary habitat. He often entered the wilderness with nothing more than a small pack with a few books, a flower press, and some loaves of bread. I’m not suggesting anyone try to match this practice. We can be reasonable about having more, without taking too much with us. There were things behind his upbringing that created the man who could do such things. More than I want to write about at this time.
I do believe the world and life he lived and wrote about were written as an invitation for anyone willing to summon a little fortitude and seek out these places and lessons for themselves. I’ve collected a few of his quotes here, followed by my own reflections.
“Rivers flow not past, but through us.”
That quote stopped me the first time I read it. Many people could breeze past it, thinking it’s just a lovely turn of phrase. But there’s something deeper there, something very personal to me.
Rivers don’t just run beside us, they shape us. The peace, the clarity, the rhythm of water moving over rock does something to the human spirit. We’re not separate from it. When we stand beside a river, we’re not observing, we’re remembering, and we are connecting with our place in the universe.
But here’s the issue: fewer people are going into wild places unplugged from the unnatural world. Fewer are walking deep into forests or sitting quietly in mountain valleys. And when we do go, it’s often with a phone in hand and a to-do list in our heads. We've turned nature into a backdrop instead of a sanctuary. We bring our lives with us instead of leaving them behind.
I can only imagine the laughter John Muir would have watching our modern world. Our unnatural world has created a softness in humans. I say this only as a reminder that we all come from people who lived and survived without the comforts we have today. They met challenges, thrived, and found great happiness too. Those challenges made them stronger, resilient, and wise.
“Keep close to Nature's heart... and break clear away, once in a while... Wash your spirit clean.”
How often do we do that now?
Breaking away doesn’t just mean taking a day off or scrolling through “nature sounds” on YouTube. It means stepping away from the machinery of our everyday life, the concrete, the deadlines, the noise, and stepping into something slower, wilder, and far more honest. It’s one thing to go into your backyard garden. It’s quite another to step bravely up a mountain trail.
Nature doesn’t ask anything of us except attention. It’s not trying to sell us anything. It doesn’t care about our productivity, our jobs, or our politics. It just is. And in that being, we can find connection and rest.
When I’m out with my tenkara rod by a mountain stream, or hiking with my dog Fezzik through Colorado’s alpine forests, I’m reminded that I don’t need more to feel whole. I often need less. Less noise. Less clutter. Less distraction.
Just the song of the river and the sound of my own breath finding its rhythm again.
“The mountains are calling and I must go.”
Yes, it’s over-quoted. Yes, it’s on too many mugs and stickers. But it’s still true.
There’s a call. And many of us have been ignoring it or postponing it because of the myths of the unnatural world.
We’ve grown accustomed to comforts and to entertainment as distraction. We follow curated feeds instead of actual trails to places that can truly nurture us. Yes, the mountains still call. The rivers still whisper. The wild still waits. But we have to turn down the volume, turn off the screens, and take the initiative to leave the unnatural behind.
It doesn’t matter whether you're an angler, a hiker, or just someone who used to love walking in the woods as a kid. The call isn’t only for the rugged or adventurous. It’s for anyone who’s felt disconnected, stressed, or a little lost.
That’s what makes Muir’s words timeless. He wasn’t just writing for naturalists. He was writing for people like us—tired, busy, longing for meaning. I believe he would have admonished this unnatural world and guided us away from it. Our understanding our ourselves, our definition of our humanity was not to be found in a bigger screen or a faster car. It was found under open skies and in the patient presence of trees.
“The snow is melting into music.”
As I write this, it is spring and I can see the snow melting in the mountains from my suburban home. But from there I can only dream, or remember places I have been. And those memories fall short of the sights and sounds of snow melting and flowing in small rivulets, gathering and growing.
The change of season isn’t just a date on a calendar. It’s the sound of runoff trickling through meadows. It’s the scent of pine warmed by spring sun. It’s the sudden flutter of wings as a bird or squirrel, startled by your presence, darts deeper into the thickets and then stops to chirp at you incessantly.
There is music in all of it. But you have to be there to hear it.
The modern world does not encourage slowness. It rewards, no, it “demands” productivity and speed. But nature has no such urgency. In the wilderness, everything is patient—erosion, germination, migration, even decay. It all takes time in its own time. And when we spend time in the wild, we begin to move back to that rhythm again. We become more true to ourselves, and that helps us fight back a little more against the unnatural world.
It reminds us that peace isn’t something we have to chase. It’s something we return to.
“There is nothing more eloquent in Nature than a mountain stream.”
We often think of nature as something to be explained—through science, through data, through documentaries. But Muir reminds us that sometimes, nature does the talking. We just have to listen. I love science and believe it has a very important place, but I don’t go into the wilderness to learn about science. I go to be a part of nature.
A mountain stream doesn’t explain itself. It just is. Crystal clear, wildly flowing, weaving around boulders without complaint. That’s eloquence. That’s grace. We shouldn’t need to explain our need to be a part of the wilderness.
In a culture filled with noise and posturing, a simple stream speaks volumes. It reminds us that presence matters more than perfection, and that peace isn’t found by dominating the world, but by being in harmony with it.
So what now?
I’m not suggesting you sell your house, shave your head, and move to a cabin in the woods. (Although that is my dream, so if you do, please invite me over for tea.)
But I am suggesting that we make being in the wilderness a priority again. We don’t go with the intent of taking, but of giving and of finding our place.
We need to enter not just for recreation, but for restoration. As ritual. As a reminder of who we are when everything else falls away.
If you haven’t been out in a while—I mean really out—then it’s okay to start small. A walk in the woods. A day by the river. A weekend camping without cell service. Go with friends or go alone. Bring your kids. Bring your dog. Bring your tired self.
But go.
Let the rivers run through you again. Let the snow melt into music. Let the mountain call—and this time, answer.
The wilderness hasn’t forgotten us.
Let’s not forget it.
Going forward, I plan on digging into the works of John Muir. I hope to explore for myself experiencing the wilderness through the same lens that he did. There is clearly good wisdom in his words and in his philosophies. I hope that you will also take some time to do a little soul searching yourself in reading his work and about his life.
If you are looking for a great book on John Muir, get yourself a copy of “A Passion For Nature- The Life of John Muir” by Donald Worster