Geography of the James (Earth Lodge)

A lot has changed since I last sat here. For one, the gate to the garden now says University of Richmond on it. Maybe the university is taking pride in this little garden? Secondly, I can identify a fair few of the tree around me. Though I think it’s a little funny that I’m sitting under a non-native species, a Mimosa, at the University garden full of local plants and produce. I still hear insects and birds making there music, but the birds are different and fewer, and honestly a lot more interesting. The squirrel activity is certainly high. There are more crickets as well, and just night-time sounding insects in general, but that may be because I’m writing this in late afternoon instead of late morning. Even so, I think the change in sound and even the change in light isn’t simply due to the time of day. It’s definitely full fall. Scarf, sweatshirt, jeans and all.

This time there are actually people I can see and the golf course. And I can hear running water, though I’m not sure where from. The combination of those two is a bit unnerving, considering all I now know about the non-point source pollution from the golf course and University in general wreaking havoc on our Little Westhampton Creek watershed. Still, it’s nice to see people enjoying the outdoors. Even if it’s the heavily humanized golf course.

I took a walk around the inner sanctum of the garden this time. I didn’t last time because someone was working there. But this time it’s just me here. And those golfers I guess….but they’re far away. I can’t decide whether the garden makes me happy or sad. There are some area that are clearly more cared for than others. Some plots have carefully separated rows with clearly tended plants, little to know weeds. Others are overrun to the point that I can hardly discern what crop was once supposed to grow there. Some of the plants, both in the cared for section and the neglected section are clearly ready to harvest. Although the cared for section has more, more tomatoes and what I think might be eggplant, the neglected sections still have some too. I love that. Nature works without humans, but sometimes works even better with a little tlc. It’s inspiring. I’d like to have a garden here.

My perspective hasn’t changed all that much with my grown knowledge on nature. Maybe because there’s still so much I don’t know, my I’m not used to applying my knowledge yet. But I feel the same way about this garden that I did two months ago–that it’s a work of art made possible by the collaboration of civilization and nature. But I guess in a way it’s kind of like a zoo. The are some people very against caging animals for people’s entertainment, or even education. Even to if they are captive for their own protection, some people think its a disruption of natural selection. Gardens are similar, in that they essentially exploit the bounty of nature. But humans are nature too right?

Besides, studying geography, ecology, and the environment in a class room, or even a park, is kind of like studying animals at the zoo. It’s an observer affected setting. Also, why would you study nature if not to eventually affect some kind of change, whether it is to grow a garden, improve sustainability in a community, or save an endangered species? Our existence in and of itself is incredibly impactful , because humans are, for all intents and purposes, an invasive species. Which I believe most environmentalists consider bad. So then…..what are we doing?

Black as an infinite slab of obsidian is the phrase I used to describe my view from my reflection point. I feel that then I was describing the infinite possibilities with which the world before me could exist and yet also I was describing my profound lack of knowledge of what I was looking at. This most recent venture was far different from the previous.

I saw color.

The profound and infinite blackness that had once been before me was now beginning to twinkle with spots of color. This change was not so much unexpected as met with joy. Color meant understanding, it meant I could see the change from one moment in time to another and yet still connect them via the same space.

The sounds were different too. Where soft rain and lapping of the lake had held my ear formerly, it was now met with a brand new orchestra of sound. Leaves crunched under peoples feet and wind dragged them across the ground, scritching the whole way before they were whisked away into the air. The previously harsh footsteps that had cracked and scuffed the brick and asphalt pathways was deadened by the layers of pine needles littering every square inch.

While color and sound make me the most excited, they do not compare with a different sense of comfort. Color, in this case, is more an expression of growth and visual change in both myself and the environment around. Sound, on the other hand, is a greater reflection of the changes in society as a whole, it reveals the transition from loud to quiet that comes with the seasonal changes. Temperature is a higher sense of comfort though. Lower and lower temperatures cause more change that anything else. As you get colder, you get calmer, you take time to think, you calculate and don’t let the moments slip away (mainly because if you stayed out in the cold much longer you might freeze but that’s a different thing all together).

This transnational period, FALLing from warm to cold, is a period of the year I quite enjoy. I love to see change in action but the most important point is yet to come. The finish.

This morning as I looked out onto the lake it did not look the same way it had just a few weeks ago. I am not sure if the lake seemed quiet because it was morning or if it was because it was the first cold morning of fall, but either way it seemed silent.

The view from my reflection point had changed significantly from the last time I was able to sit and observe the lake. No longer was it a warm and energetic place, but rather it seemed to be in a transitional phase. The air was crisp and the fog was rolling on top of the lakes surface. There were no ducks in sight, but the geese were grouped together. They swam quickly across the water in a straight line leaving only ripples in the water behind them. The turtles were no longer on the surface. Perhaps they are beginning to burrow for the cold winter months that are ahead of them. The area around the lake had changed as well. The leaves of the trees have started to change colors from a vibrant green to brilliant oranges and reds. Some of the leaves have fallen to the ground, while others will hold on for a few more weeks. This transition period for the animals and plants is natural in preparation for the winter. Throughout the winter, the lake will go through many changes throughout the winter. It will experience and increase of nutrients, due to the precipitation increase as well as the salt use around campus for ice. It is important to recognize that this nutrient increase will inevitably effect the species in the lake.

As winter comes I hope that we do not change our viewpoints on the lake. Let us not forget the life this lake provides even if the animals and plants around it seem silent.

                It’s perfectly nice out, my perfect weather.  Just chilly enough to snuggle inside a warm jacket.  It’s been unseasonably warm this year, so sitting outside right now isn’t uncomfortable.  In my little nook there is not too much wind, but when it hits me it’s cold and fresh, with the expected hint of exhaust.  I wish I could breathe it in more, but the usual fall cold has hit me.

                 The leaves have started to fall, but I really expected there to be more sitting around.  Wet leaves only slightly impeded my process as they clogged up the safe crossing to my seat on a tree.  The vast majority of what I see is still green and brown, although the occasional yellow mixes in.  There is a notable difference in size; the leaves around me seem very large.  I feel more exposed here, the leaves have cleared just slightly so that I am more visible to passerby.  A campus police officer comes to check up on me, saying people have reported “a lady in a ditch”. I am uncomfortable now; I most enjoy when I can observe without being noticed.

A bird nearby me is chirping and I am reminded of home.  It’s a little alarming how something such as that can bring you back to a place, as well as how much it stands out here.  I never thought of my house as having a lot of birds, but thinking back now I was always hearing multiple calls.

Looking around for other forms of life, I am interested to see that there aren’t a lot.  A bee fallen into the water from the tree next to me is oscillating between  spinning in circles, successful swim-flying in the water, and resting stagnant like death.  I can’t decide if I should help him or let nature take its course.  I see gnats and water-skaters, and two tiny fish in the water.  A giant menacing red ant explores to my left reminds me of the one drawback to this site.

There isn’t much here, nor much difference I note that is surprising to me, but I do feel like I am experiencing this in a very different way.  For one, I am simply more comfortable.  I have started spending much more time outside and I no longer feel out of place here.  I want to take advantage of this school-sponsored time to unwind.  After our fall break trip, I realized just how happy I was while I was gone.  In nature, disconnected, and enjoying my time with friends.  I know now just how much I can get wound up from being stuck inside; I suppose there really is no mood-lifter quite like fresh air.

I definitely understand this place more thoroughly this time around.  Looking up, I am trying to study by identifying the trees.  Looking over at the water, I note how clear it is.  Much lower turbidity than say, the Potomac.  I see the granite rocks making up the creek bed, and the crashing water reminds me of the roar of the James, muffled by the sounds of Richmond.  The one lone bird call makes me think of how the University seems so green, but in reality it’s very gray, with buildings and parking lots and other sorts of impervious surfaces surrounding us.  Maybe some of the greatest benefits of this class are how I can return to nature, appreciate it, and understand it.

The combination of smooth, still water and the perfect early evening light hitting the surface of the river made the James look like a mirror, reflecting the changing landscapes framing it. The long, hilly bike ride to the river from Atlantic House was made totally worth when I crossed the Huguenot Bridge to see the sun setting right over the river to the West. I had to take a moment to stop and let the image soak in.

Simply breathtaking.

It’s moments like these when I question why anyone would ever want to pollute their environment and why more people don’t spend time on the James. I rode my bike to Pony Pasture to visit my reflection spot from earlier in the semester and it had only been about a month and a half since I went there for the first time, but I could already see signs of Autumn. Some obvious indications were the changing colors in the trees from green to reds, oranges, and yellows. But some other changes were the lack of birds in the river and seemingly slower and lower water level. The only animals I saw were a small flock of birds flying on the other side of the river. There were only a few people in the park this time as opposed to a few dozen in September.

Compare the colors of the trees and lack of fauna from my post earlier in the semester

This was my fourth trip to the park of Pony Pasture Rapids and each time has been a unique experience. This time, I took a study break and went on a long bike ride by myself down to the river, taking in the beautiful early fall landscapes and saying hi to the friendly passers-by. It was refreshing to have time to myself outside in the cool air and to take in the amazing sights of the James. I would venture to say the river is more beautiful this time of the year than in the summer even though it’s chillier. The water is so smooth and reflects the shoreline perfectly making it twice as stunning and giving Pony Pasture the irony of literally being a spot of reflection.

But as I reflect on changes from my last visit here, I realize how much I’ve learned in the Geography of the James River class. I’ve grown a lot as an advocate for the James River watershed from lessons in class, readings about the river, trips to different parts of the James, and doing community service in the watershed.

As the seasons change along with the flora and fauna near the river, I think it’s important to remind ourselves that the river doesn’t (usually) stop flowing and that even though we aren’t swimming in it, it’s still important to remember we are part of the watershed and always need to protect the James. As much as I would love to swim in the river still, I’m even more excited to see how the James looks when all the leaves have changed and then when the surrounding leaves are frosted white from snow in the winter. University of Richmond campus is beautiful all year round and I have a hunch that the James is the exact same way (minus the stressed students and attacking geese).

As I sat on Gazebo Island, I found myself focusing on the reflections painted on the surface. It’s hardly rare that the lake is a perfect reflection of the world above, after all, one’s Richmond experience is not complete if you haven’t hung your head upside down over the Commons bridge late at night to see the world go topsy turvy with two perfect versions of the same lights. But today, the reflection gave me pause. I had been complaining, rather loudly, for a few weeks that fall was late. The temperature was too high, the wind too breezy, the leaves too green, etc. The reflection on the lake proved me wrong. While certainly not entirely turned, the world around the lake is no longer a summery place. The grass is brown, where it exists at all, and pops of red and yellow foliage festoon the forested bank. This made me think about the differences in the problems that will face the lake in the coming cold weather. On the one hand, few people fertilize their lawns in winter. On the other, I doubt that will stop the University gardeners from their duty. Then there is the difference in precipitation. A large amount of water falls in Virginia during the winter, whether of the snowy or sleety variety. This will undoubtedly push what fertilizers there are on the ground directly into the lake. In addition, people will use their cars more to avoid the bite of winter air, thus increasing the air pollution that could find its way into the lake. However, something that will help the lake for a little bit, and which will cause many a student to rejoice, is the fact that at least some of the goose population will flee for warmer climes. As I watched ducks swim across the reflection of a tree, I realized it would always be this way. On the surface everything would seem perfect in the moment, but thinking deeper into what changes surrounding conditions reveals the problems that come with anything in this imperfect world. You have to look past the color on the water.

I chose the most beautiful day to sit by the lake and observe my surroundings. A light breeze skated over the lake water, slightly disturbing tree branches and surface water. A few trees had changed color and the forest was made up of a mix of red, yellow and green. Red and brown leaves covered the forest floor. People actively wandered around the lake, walking dogs, fishing and playing with their children.

As I slowly approached my reflection spot, my gaze quickly scanned the area. I had chosen my spot by the lake in order to pay closer attention to the evolution of the Westhampton Lake. At my first glance, the lake had no major visual changes. Most trees were still green and the conservation buffer was still nonexistent between myself and the lake. The red and yellow leaves made the scenery more exciting than my last visit. My quick scan of the lake held nothing unexpected considering North America is transitioning into Fall.

After closer observation, I noticed there were less ducks than my last visit and no geese. Most of the remaining ducks congregated on exposed lake bed. The Westhampton Lake had receded far enough for ducks to take temporary residence on the exposed areas. The lake bed lacked vegetation, only covered by sticks and leaves. I assumed the lake would be at a higher level considering the frequent rain. There must be less water in the watershed than normal and the rain has not added enough water to maintain the Lake’s normal water level. The environment surrounding the lake appears largely unaffected by the receding lake.

I would have never given a second though to the exposed lake bed of I had not taken the time to sit and observe. I would have been distracted by the colorful trees as I mosey by the lake. I have learned the value of taking the time to observe and contemplate small changes in the environment.

As I began walking to my reflection spot, I could not help but notice how much the change of the season had altered the atmosphere on Belle Isle.  The last time I was here, it was sunny and warm.  Sunbathers lay on the flat rock while dogs, children, and daring young adults splashed around in the calmer waters.  On my stroll to my reflection spot this time, I passed only a few people.  They were walking their dogs, going for their daily jogs along the trails, and biking on a cool November afternoon.  They smiled and bid me hello as I passed, and I could not help but to feel more relaxed and at peace than I did on my last visit when the island was overflowing with noise and life.  The leaves are just beginning to really change color, and a dusting of brown leaves, still damp from the rain we recently experienced, were plastered to the floor of the trail.  A slight breeze blew and rustled the leaves in the trees as I hurried on to my reflection spot to see just how the change in the weather and season had left it.

My view of the trail on my walk back to the entrance of Belle Isle.

I reached my reflection spot and was not at all surprised to find the area completely vacant.  An area that teeming with sunbathers on my last visit was now empty with the exception of a flock of geese still wading and floating in the water.  The most bizarre thing about it was the contrast in between the atmosphere of vivacious life present on my last visit and the deserted feel of the place this time around.   The fact that there was no one else at my reflection spot was no surprise to me because I know that Belle Isle tends to be a spot popular only in the warm months of the spring and summer, like the South Jersey beaches I am accustomed to at home, but it was still a bit unsettling.  The island seemed almost lacking because of the lack of life and color on the gray afternoon of my visit, and yet the river rushed on over the rocks and around the islands contours.  The beauty and power of the river captivated me on this visit more so than on my last visit, perhaps because of the lack of people and distractions.  Without the people splashing around in the water and creating a ruckus all around me, I was truly able to focus on the river.

The view as I looked out onto the river from my reflection spot.

We have discussed a lot in class the power of the river and the peoples’ fascination with taming it over time, but as I stared at it from my reflection spot, I could not understand why.  Why would anyone want to alter something so beautiful and free flowing?  I understand the economic pull of such endeavors, but I just cannot imagine wanting to disturb something that has the ability to create such a peaceful feeling within me as the river did on my second visit to my reflection spot.  Maybe I am just not the conquering type, but I cannot imagine wanting to tame the James River through manipulation.  In my opinion, something that is so naturally unstoppable deserves to remain as it is.