Invest in the Millennium. Plant sequoias.

With the fieldtrips we’ve been on, discussions we’ve had, and reading we’ve done this semester, I’ve definitely been given a more in-depth sense of where I fit into the greater scheme of the natural world. On one of the first days of class we were presented with a list of questions asking about ourselves. One of those questions was “What prompted you to enroll in this course?” I answered, “Because it was a cluster with another environmental studies class.” Looking back on that, I’m really glad I decided to take this class somewhat by a fluke, because I have learned an incredible amount of useful and interesting things which have impacted the way I live.

One selection that really caught my interest was Wendell Berry’s “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front”. Berry was correct in saying that people “want more of everything ready made,” and lines like that forced me to compare my attitudes and habits to the ones that are apparently the norm of our society, however, I found most of the poem inspirational. “Love the world. Work for nothing,” he wrote. I took Berry’s advice to do something that “won’t compute” to heart. It’s an amazing piece of writing and it’s one of my favorites. It is true that Wendell Berry is the antonym of Wal-Mart and there’s something to be said for that in this world of consumption and capitalism.

Another selection that compliments Berry’s writing quite well is Alan During's “The Dubious Rewards of Consumption.” During writes, “With consumption standards perpetually rising, society is literally insatiable.” Since my mom is already a huge proponent of “But Nothing Day,” I wasn’t planning on participating in Black Friday, however when I read this piece the Tuesday before November 26th, I was literally angry with the thought of millions of people waking up at 2 am to wait in lines to buy useless things that will fill our landfills five years from now. As the people of our world make an abrupt transition from producers to ravenous consumers, stories like Barbra Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle inspire a sense of sustainability that the last few generations haven’t been accustomed to. The idea sounds outlandish, but for since the beginning of time people have been living like the Kingsolvers…until now. The thought of this transition makes me dread the future of humankind, but Kingsolver’s account gave me some hope.

Finally, The respected John Burroughs taught me that “the science of anything may be taught or acquired by study; the art of it comes by practice or inspiration.” Our Place in Nature has pushed and inspired me to seek out the beauty and magic in nature. And with that, comes inspiration. He also comments that “to know is not all; it is only half. The other half is to love.” The things we’ve discussed have given me a newfound appreciation and connection to the nature around my home, Michigan. Going to the Kalamazoo Nature Center and the Farmer’s Market, I was reminded of the gems here in my community. But, more than anything, the texts we have read and the discussions we’ve had have forced me to seriously think about what I’m doing to and on this earth. However, now I know, and that knowledge and respect for the environment will definitely have an impact on the actions I take while living on this planet.

Walden Pond Revisited

 I haven’t really reflected much upon Henry David Thoreau since the beginning of the semester. But recently flipping through my American Earth book, it’s difficult to miss the selections he contributed. Unlike some of my cohorts, I didn’t hate Thoreau, I didn’t love him, but he wasn’t the worst. Writing style aside, I agreed with Thoreau on a lot of important points. One example of this is the idea that learning through experience is much more valuable than reading a book about a subject. You could read an entire book on living in the woods, but if you’d never actually been there, you might find that you’d be completely lost. On that note, Thoreau also brings up the important point that, because of our culture and society, humans are losing our innate ability to do things, make things, and survive. When I try to conjure up some kind of skill-set for myself, all I can come up with is knitting, riding a bike and making grilled cheese sandwiches. A hundred years ago what would a girl in my place be doing? Thinking about my lack of survival ability makes me feel like an individually packaged little bag of Doritos: over-processed and cheesy with an absence of nutritional value.

I hate what Thoreau says about our society because it’s so true. “If rail roads are not built, how shall we get to heaven in season,” he notes. Why does our society stress “progression” so much? We certainly can’t truly take in what the natural world has to offer when it appears that all people care about is the newest Apple product. However crazy Thoreau may have been, his thoughts and ideas are something we should all take note of. Acknowledging his warnings would remind our society that maybe we are born into this earth with everything we’ll ever need. And maybe that doesn’t include cell phones and laptops. 

Who needs it?

When Bill McKibben described Edward Abbey as “a master of anarchy and irreverence and one of the funniest writers America has produced since Mark Twain,” I was intrigued, but skeptical (Mark Twain, really?!?). But I actually did enjoy “Polemic: Industrial Tourism and the National Parks” an exert from Desert Solitaire, quite a bit. Even better, it was funny while being about the environment, truly a noble subject.

Polemic, by definition, means a controversial argument or someone who argues in opposition to another. In this way, even before reading the piece, the title suggests to me a war of some proportion. Industrial Tourism Versus the National Parks? Essentially this was, and is still, the case. In Edward Abbey’s situation, the problem was that his comfortable way of life and the land he loves was being invaded by the future, big business and industrial tourism. I’m both interested and embarrassed by the idea of industrial tourism. Abbey presents this type of tourism as a kind of enemy, but I sincerely love seeing the world through a car window. It’s just something that’s always been enjoyable for me- by riding in the car and looking out the window you can see so much. Upon reflection though, I guess this is just a surface experience, it’s seeing without actually gaining anything or really taking anything in.

I wouldn’t necessarily describe myself as an industrial tourist (no, I don’t vacation in a “camper-truck of Fiberglas and molded plastic”) but I’m certainly no Edward Abbey. That being said, I can definitely see Abbey’s argument that society is tied to cars. Though I can’t help but enjoy long car rides, maybe I’ll put off getting a car for a little longer.

“The real and proper question is: why is it beautiful?”

-Annie Dillard Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

During Bill Davis’ lecture last Thursday I was reminded how beautiful the work of Ansel Adams is. In this day and age, most people exclusively use digital photography. And though digital is convenient and accessible to nearly everyone, the depth and image quality will never be as special as original black and white photography. I feel like so much can be captured in a black and white image. The contrast between the darks and lights and all the shades in between give his images an intense profoundness that a digital camera, no matter how high resolution is it, can’t recreate.

To me these images are so beautiful to me because of the grandness they represent. When you see an overwhelming scene in nature you know you can never fully relay what you’re seeing to someone else; not in pictures and not in words. However, Adams’ photographs can capture a lot. He somehow relays so much emotion and beauty in his images. We’ll never know exactly what he saw, but his work can almost bring us there.

I've never seen so many electric jellyfish in all my life!

To be completely honest, I had no idea who Jacques Cousteau was until I saw the movie The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. But The Life Aquatic became my favorite movie the first time I saw it, so when I learned that it was actually loosely based on/had some parallels to an actual person I was literally overwhelmingly excited. And if I’m still being completely honest, one of my initial main attractions to Cousteau was his red cap.  I loved that his crew also wore the same red caps. But on a less superficial level, I also loved the idea of being an explorer. In the twentieth (and twenty-first ) century it seemed to me that there was nothing new to discover, but apparently the earth holds more wonder than I could fathom. I haven’t felt like an explorer since I was a little girl, wandering the woods surrounding my house. Cousteau’s adventures made me remember mine. He was finding new things, things that people had never seen or imagined before. BREATHING UNDERWATER! He was making the alien lives of undersea creatures of the ocean accessible. That’s so cool.

Working from his vessel Calypso, Cousteau and his colleagues pioneered the Aqualung, the original scuba dive tank without which modern scuba technology couldn’t exist. Cousteau is also well known for his many films and books pertaining to the sea. His team’s photographs and film footage opened the eyes of many people who both had lived by the ocean their entire lives, yet had never truly witnessed what happened beneath the surface, and people who had never even seen the ocean itself before.

But what Cousteau did that inspires me the most is how he used his knowledge to reach out and educate the world. Cousteau’s book The Human, The Orchid and The Octopus was what convinced me to major in biology and environmental studies, in case you didn't already comprehend how much I admire his work. In The Human, The Orchid and The Octopus I was fascinated with the way Cousteau looked at the earth so lovingly, with stern words for the people who inhabit it. I’m excited to read it again for my upcoming research paper! I’ll save some of my Cousteau-enthusiasm for that!

P.S. Please watch this movie

Why Hawks Should Replace Eagles as Our National Bird

Walking through a cornfield on a winter day,
Hearing the rasping scream of a hawk.
That screech is exactly how a raptor should sound.
Human feet cease crunching in the deep snow,
Listening for the beat of wings,
Waiting to see the swift outline cut the clear sky above.
It seems so unreal for such a huge being to float so effortlessly.

But as the sun shines thought long cinnamon feathers,
A huge hawk looms above.
As far as majesty goes in the animal kingdom,
Red tailed hawks are some of the grandest.
Buteo jamaicensis, broad wings and a rusty colored tail,
Flying slowly, in controlled swoops and loops.
Wings stretch from one end of the sky to the other.
Warm, smooth feathers that only he can preen
Cover the hollow bones of this Herculean bird.

The soaring circles become a steep dive into the dead woods,
Disappearing for now, he will not roam far.
There are his woods, his home.
It's amazing how he adapts to us.
Using our telephone poles as perches,
Overseeing the highways we speed to work on and
Plunging from skyscrapers, slicing between buildings.
His shrill cries go unheard by human ears.

Nature knows no limit when it comes to wonder.
Humans fly around the world in airplanes,
But we'll never be able to compare ourselves
To the natural overwhelming prowess,
The sheer power and grandeur,
Or the aeronautical dexterity
That is the flight of a hawk.

Each Day is Unique

“Roughly four thousand years ago, when swarms of slaves were finishing the pyramids in Egypt’s desert as burial palaces for her pharaohs, strong westerly winds were heaping sand up into these hills, sand that retreating glaciers had left after gouging out the Great Lakes, sand washed to the coast when lake water rose- thirty, forty feet higher than levels we know today- and eroded the land.”

                                                                                          -Gayle Boss, “Dunetop Dying”

On Sunday I went to Warren Dunes State Park. It’s too bad it’s not good for the dunes to be walked on, because they are a truly amazing sight to behold. They are always evolving shape and size. Warren Dunes is a masterpiece of nature complete with slopes impossibly steep and unbelievably high. Plus, I knew this was one of the last chances I would get to walk barefoot in the sand before winter. And honestly, finishing Tom Springer’s Looking for Hickories on the beach versus in my cinderblock dorm room? There wasn’t much debate.

Time passes slowly watching the water. Sometimes it’s so interesting though I can’t look away. Every second millions of waves are toppling over each other, pushing towards the beach. The water pulsates and it’s entrancing, almost hypnotic. After a busy week of school, with the promise of an even busier one to follow, going to the beach makes one slow down. There’s no internet and a cell phone is more than just physically burdening. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s so liberating to be free of that technology.

Nature Near Home

Not many people honestly want to hike 10 miles to reach a destination (however beautiful it may be) just to turn around and complete the walk back. In other words, not everyone is up for the Appalachian Trail. But it only takes 15 minutes to reach one of Kalamazoo’s highest points, and it’s definitely worth it. Looking out on the valley below, I wondered if those little cars so far away could see me too. Or maybe if they at least recognized the grandeur of the huge hill I was perched on. Probably not, but either way the trip to the Nature Center was a day that Tom Hennen (author of the poem “The Life of a Day”) would call “wildly nice.”

I can’t say how many times this semester I’ve heard some variation of the phrase “you protect what you know and love.” The Nature Center isn’t terribly far from my house, and while I was there I noticed so many characteristics in the land that were familiar and important to me personally. The Kalamazoo River being one, and also just the trees and native plants in general. I love the way golden light shines through the leaves to make a dappled pattern on my path. I’m so glad there is a place close to my home where nature can thrive to such an extent, essentially undisturbed by the busy metropolis just 10 quick miles away. 

Today's too nice to spend it any other way than riding on our bikes.

Riding bikes in the fall is the best. The cool temperatures and colorful scenery make for a pleasant trip wherever you are going. 

My two most prized material possessions in the world are my bike and my backpack. I’ll humor myself and say I’m not hugely preoccupied with consumerism, but I can justify these things. They’re both useful and reusable: I can ride my bike to work and I don’t need to waste gas getting there. My backpack is good at holding everything I need plus some things I don’t. I have no license and no car, so when I really need to escape the dorms, my bike is key in making the 14-mile trip home independently. Carrying books and water that distance would be rough without my backpack. That’s how I accommodate nature; I ride my bike and I don’t use grocery bags because I have one with a lifetime warranty.

 “I am pessimistic about the human race because it is too ingenious for its own good. Our approach to nature is to beat it into submission. We would stand a better chance of survival if we accommodated ourselves to this planet and viewed it appreciatively instead of skeptically and dictatorially.” I found this E.B. White quote in the beginning of my copy of Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring. I feel like the idea of human’s need to dominate nature has been a theme of my environmental classes this semester. Through the building of dams in John McPhee’s Encounters with the Archdruid to the huge diversions of water that rob the Great Lakes in The Great Lakes Water Wars by Peter Annin. Even Bill Bryson conquers nature by hiking the mountains of the Appalachian Trail in A Walk in the Woods. The latter being a somewhat positive example of man being challenged by the grandeur of nature and overcoming the harsh realities of the outdoors (rodents, bears, insects, inclement weather and MOUNTAINS). Similarly, I love making it to the top of hills on my bike, I try to make that the only way I triumph over nature on a daily basis (though admittedly this is a small victory). Yet Westnedge Hill has a way of sneaking up on me even when I’ve been dreading it all day. For that it will always have my respect. Nature always wins. When we’re gone, the little weeds in the sidewalk cracks will grow so huge they’ll break up parking lots and there will be forests there once again. 

I wish Kalamazoo was like this.

How much virtue there is in simply seeing.

Yesterday morning I left my dorm 10 minutes early so I could walk slower. Not for any particular reason other than I was sick of showing up to class out of breath and barely on time. Just those few minutes makes such a difference in the amount of people I encountered. The sidewalks were nearly empty and the atmosphere was cool and relaxed, unlike the usual bustle of morning traffic. As I ambled along, a bird swooped above me, and though it was probably just a pigeon, I stopped to watch it with the off chance that it MIGHT be something a little more interesting. As a gust of wind caught the large bird, the sun shone on the distinctive rusty colored feathers of a red tailed hawk. As raptors are my number one interest in the animal kingdom, I was literally thrilled to bear witness to such an occurrence. The hawk soared on the curves of the wind and eventually landed on Sprau Tower; I was late to class. It was such a seemingly insignificant and small event, but I thought about it all day.

John Burroughs wrote, "There is nothing in which people differ more than in their powers of observation." In the spirit of that idea, this blog is an attempt to relay the way I see nature. In a way, it's also a reminder for me to take a closer look at what I'm doing, where I am, and what's around me. Because generally, as Burroughs said, "you must have the bird in your heart before you can find it in the bush."