“Cities have long been compared to organisms—Plato talked about the city as a corporeal body—but underneath the street makes the metaphor literal. These are the guts of the city, the metal intestines that allow suburbs to sprawl and skyscrapers to rise. The fiber-optic cables are nerves, and the subway tunnels are thick jugular veins. Energy is distributed, and waste is digested.”
Of all the readings that we’ve read so far this semester, this quote in particular has stuck out to me. I recall driving back from New York over the summer with Brian Strehlow in my passenger seat and New York City in front of us. The friendship that I’ve come to hold dear started with a conversation about the hugeness that is New York City and how it is awfully similar to other biological creatures. Looking back at my previous blog posts, I’ve realized that I tend to focus on the small things before realizing the larger picture. While Meeps read her post to the class describing her experience by the James River during the flood, she mentioned the icicles hanging on the branches and how to some, they’d be overshadowed by the violent rushing water. Simply noticing those icicles struck a particular note that resonated with me. Often times when I’m out and about, I catch myself staring at one leaf in particular. Part of it is because I like to take freeze frames of that particular leaf and remind myself how perfectly unique it is in time, space, and makeup. The other reason is because I feel like that leaf often goes unnoticed, and maybe by peering at it, I can see what makes it up to be what it is.
It is this very attention to detail that makes me feel like I know something about whatever it is I’m observing. In Abby’s post, “Proud to be a Richmonder,” she wrote about how since coming to UofR, she has come to realize how much Richmond has to offer. Part of my decision in coming to this school was due to how entranced I was by the city the few times I visited. I was excited to go to all the coffee shops, book stores, and parks. I did not realize at the time that I’d eventually join earthlodge and learn the historical details about what makes the city of Richmond what it is. As I’ve come to learn and love the city more and more over the course of the two years, I have realized that I don’t necessarily know much about the city where I come from. Yes, I can tell you all the best places to eat and the where all the locals go, but in the same way Abby was not aware of everything the city of Richmond had to offer, I know there is a gap of knowledge missing about my town back in Louisiana. However, in knowing that, I fall more in love with this very place—Richmond, Virginia. I can’t say I have ever known about the watershed of where I was living, the projects the city was looking to act on, or the park system that can often be underappreciated. It is refreshing to feel involved with the city and know where it looks to go and where it comes from.
In my first reflection post sitting on the log on one of the Frisbee golf holes, there was a lone cinder block that was hundreds of yards away from any sort of construction that would use cinder blocks. I remember almost scoffing at it at the time after thinking that someone seemed to have gone out their way to put it there. Of course, I actually have no idea where it came from, but after reflecting on that moment for quite some time, that cinder block in the woods can easily serve as a comparison for the city of Richmond. Yes, maybe there should be a lot more cinder block and a lot less woods, but part of the reason I love the city of Richmond is that very style of urban living. More specifically in the parks, one does not have to look too far to see the remnants of old infrastructure that has decayed and been left behind for nature to overrun. In Taylor’s blog post, “Aging Infrastructure, New City?” he mentions how he appreciates that the James River Park System left the old buildings, pipes, and bridges for all to see. I feel like it happens too often that people and cities try to cover up the past and its’ remnants in an attempt to look more put together. In Richmond’s case, it is the mixture of old and new, nature and city that makes me appreciate living here so much more. Taylor is right when he mentions how the industrial residue strewn about our parks is an important reminder of where we come from and how we have changed.
In Lauren’s post, “Volunteering for Sierra Club,” she mentioned that after she left the Byrd, she felt like she “was the one who had been helped instead of the other way around.” I’ve found that particular feeling to be characteristic of other volunteering experiences. Often times, it is the knowledge that one gains from a volunteering experience that proves most useful. Yes, you may be temporarily relieving or helping with other things, but one is able to do more with the knowledge that comes from the experience of working with other dedicated people. With that knowledge, the educating of others becomes possible, and the awareness that one gains increases the likelihood of further volunteering. One thing earthlodge has helped me do is bridge the gap between knowledge and reflection. In most of my classes, we are constantly learning and understanding new concepts, but rarely do we step back to reflect on what it means and how it affects us. It has been refreshing to learn about things relevant to my everyday life and realize the importance of actively pursuing that knowledge.