Alcott Smith, a veterinarian-turned-naturalist and 60-plus year resident of these parts, can proudly say of himself that he was once the “New Hampshire answer to James Herriot.” But this description barely scratches the surface of Smith’s niche in the Upper Valley.

After forty years of veterinary practice, Alcott Smith now contributes to society as a naturalist, leading groups – among them Dartmouth students – out into the woods to share his knowledge of the local flora and fauna. These tours, consisting of bushwhacking through a wooded landscape and frequent pauses to examine interesting signs of animal life, are driven by Smith’s goal to reintroduce the Earth to our nature-deprived society. The ultimate success lies in getting his audience to feel as familiar in the forest as in their own households. “We all have an innate need – a relationship with the natural world,” explains Smith, regarding the importance of renewing these bonds in a society hell bent on dissolving them.

Smith specifically cites our generation as the product of an “artificial environment.” The more time we spend in front of screens, the more our senses are dulled. By this point, many of our experiences of nature are transmitted to us via digital media rather than our physical senses. Even among environmentalists, the prevailing wisdom is that their best work can be done by lobbying politicians, having conferences, and building coalitions through extensive internet work. Smith is not politically active, but his opinions on issues ranging from local conservation to the global population explosion are as strong as any activist’s. His own relationship with woodland spaces, and what he tries to pass on to the participants in his nature rambles, is one of full immersion.

Smith’s sense of place has ripened over his years in the Upper Valley woods. In lieu of a formal education in ecology, the land has been his textbook and his tutor. Experiencing the forest through “the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, feet of its dwellers,” Smith acknowledges that sometimes it is “10, 20, or 30 years before the pieces fall together.” A complex and dynamic place, to the patient student the forest offers “a lifetime of education.” In a society obsessed with instant gratification, it is a reminder that not everything worthwhile comes neatly packaged or in discrete time increments.

What, then, does Smith hope to accomplish in the few hours he has with a group? Through gradual yet meaningful exposure, the idea is to cultivate “sylvan cognizance” and to plant seeds of respect for the species who are fellow players in the game of life. “Because whether we are aware of it or not,” cautions Smith, “we depend on them.”

At some point in the past fifteen years, Smith started taking Dartmouth students on tours arranged through the DOC. He credits the students he has met for their “incredible thirst to understand the forest from how everything relates to everything else,” but is also taken aback by the lack of basic knowledge. Questions along the lines of, “do porcupines climb trees?” are, to Smith, symptoms of a culture that doesn’t explore the world beyond the borders of our own backyards. Even within our backyards there are rather large blind spots.

Most Dartmouth students, even those who are part of the environmental movement, are unaware of development projects planned for parcels of Dartmouth-owned forest property, or the widening of Route 120. And among those who are already aware of these changes, not many consider the problem from the perspective of a wild animal, as Smith does. They fail to see that this wider road poses much greater hazards for the creatures that used to cross it.

Erika Sogge ’08 has been on three trips with Smith and recalls that she was “immediately impressed” by what Smith could find a mere twenty feet away from the parking lot. Smith can craft a narrative from signs that are invisible to the average pixel-hypnotized eye. As happened on Sogge’s first excursion with him, finding some animal urine as a first clue, he was able to lead the students to the place where a female coyote in heat had rested the previous night. Spending time with someone so obviously rooted in this landscape puts the transience of college life in stark relief. When asked if she has a personal connection with her natural surroundings, Sogge responded, “Definitely…it means something to you…[whether or not] you understand all the trees or know all of the names.” Indeed, the woods can feel like home, even if you couldn’t tell a coyote in heat from your aunt’s bichon frise.

A man such as Alcott Smith, who is so deeply knowledgeable in the ways of the forest, is a rarity to our generation. It’s easy to transform him into a symbolic representative of a bygone lifestyle and to think that, even though the Old Man in the Mountain has fallen, people like Alcott Smith are just as great of a testament to the New England character. And it’s nice to think that even if we’re too busy to take a walk and really look, at least it’s a comfort to know that Alcott Smith is out there doing it for us. But Alcott Smith belongs to this world as well. He owns a car. He has an office. He owned and operated a capitalist enterprise (veterinary clinics count) for almost forty years. It is possible to exist and contribute to society while at the same time learning and growing in the natural world. Nor is it necessary to have a guide other than your own feet and a destination further than what you can see in front of you.

Dartmouth students are especially well-situated to foster an identity with the natural world. Analyzing her “heightened” sense of place in the woods and mountains around Dartmouth, Erika Sogge said, “You’re only here for a short time.” Soak up some “sylvan cognizance” while you can.