I visited my family's shore house over spring break and decidedly took a night walk along the mile-long lane. The lane is sandy and heavily wooded on either side, so the only light was reflected from the moon; even so it was too dark to make out much. It was during this walk, without shoes, that I decided that i'd be just as well off with my eyes shut than I was with them open... in otherwords, i challenged myself to walk the better part of a mile, relying soley on my alternate senses (It was somewhat of a dumb idea, but if blind people can do it, so can I.). I got several good paces into my mission and realized that the tough grass bewteen the tire lines in the lane would serve as my buffer zone. I figured out which way the breeze was blowing and used that, as well as listening to echoes as a way to tell general direction. At many points i wanted to open my eyes but I decided that if I managed to survive without major injury, I'd have something to be proud of. Long story short, I stepped on way too many sharp things and tripped on countless sticks, but in the end made it to the gate and paved road.
In a way, I connected this experience with nature literacy and liminality because I put myself in a cituation where i was heavily dependent upon what information I could gather from my surroundings. Also, I sripped myself of my strongest sense in order to better connect with the "whole" rather that the "fragments" of what limited night vision and a quicker paced walk allow.
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