Geography of the James (Earth Lodge)

Ralph White told our class that the James River parks system is made possible by volunteers. After my experience with the William Byrd Community House I feel confident that staying active by volunteering helps raise awareness and connectivity.

After arriving at the William Byrd Community House, our group shuffled through the Community House into the library and were given a short orientation. The speech briefly covered the main aspects of the William Byrd Community House and the various programs that provide assistance to young students, family support, and make it a strong community center.

Our job was to pick up leaves that had fallen to the ground in front of the building. They posed a safety hazard to children who could slip and fall. It seemed trivial but I convinced myself it was contributing to the community. As I was shoveling leaves off of the road and into a pile, a car full of people pulled up beside me and offered bottles of water to myself and my fellow volunteers. At that point I began to feel a strong sense of belonging, developing a bond with the community I was working in.

The city of Richmond community is similar to the James River. The more connected and active I am in the community the more I can relate to the issues effecting it. The University of Richmond feels segregated from the city of Richmond. The many programs the William Byrd Community House has are not focused on University of Richmond students as their focus demographic so a bond between community and person is never created. The same could be said about the James River. Going to the James River allows visitors to experience the various sights and sounds the James has to offer, leaving a lasting impression and creating a bond between the James and its visitors. Being active on the James will raise awareness for issues effecting the ecology of the river. The more I visit the James the more invested I feel into its preservation, making volunteering a worthwhile activity.

My aching back, neck, arms, and quads are evidence to the above statement originally made by Ralph White, former director of the James River Park System. The Earth Lodge and Intro GIS classes met this environmental leader earlier today in the same place that I began working on my first 4 service hours — Pony Pasture, currently an orange and yellow wonderland with a biting, frigid wind coming up from the waters. When I came to volunteer, it was much warmer. Surprinsingly little trash was found on the trails, so I got to enjoy the views as I climbed over rocks to check every nook and cranny. My service partner for that day, Andrew, and I quickly moved onto Huguenot Flatwaters for more work.

The situation in Huguenot Flatwaters was much different. Several suitable vistas were ruined by rusted out and tipped garbage cans, not to mention tons of fishing line. We made a visisble difference in the beauty of the park and other people noticed. One couple walking along a trail saw our nitrile gloves and black trash bags and asked what we were up to. They thanked us for our service and it seemed like they would consider doing similar volunteer work themselves.

Fast forward to today — the muscle pain I feel is from raking leaves for about 3 hours straight this past Saturday with many other people in Earth Lodge. Originally, we thought we would be working on a farmlet at the William Byrd Community House. However, we raked and swept leaves off the front path, playground area, and two parking lots with the reasoning that the children who frequent the Community House might slip on wet leaves. The leaves are later tilled into the soil on the farmlet to increase the organic matter in the soil and improve soil quality. All that raking and collecting of leaves in trash bags reminded me of my childhood. My father, brother and I would go into the yard and collect most of the leaves. Some we would leave to decompose naturally and help out soil. My favorite part of the whole job was sitting on trash bags, letting all of my weight squish the leaves, so that more room would be available for the next pile. I taught this technique to Kerry, a fellow classmate who helped clear the parking lots with me.

So what has this trash collecting and leaf raking done for me, my class, and my community? It brought my classmates and I to the river and to other areas in Richmond that are related to the community as a whole. We made these areas more safe and sanitary for other community users. In my case, I got to interact with community leaders like Cheryl Kosakowski, the volunteer coordinator at William Byrd Community House, in addition to community members like the couple iat Huguenot Flatwater.

Who knows? Maybe I’m becoming an environmental leader myself.

This week was the second time I was able to do community service that involved the James River. It was a self directed clean up that took me and one of me fellow Earth Lodgers down to pony pasture to clean up the James River. When we first parked in front of the river, I did notice some big-ticket items to clean up. There were some bottles, cigarette cartons, and large candy bar wrappers scattered around where cars had been and so naturally, my first thought was, why don’t people just clean up after themselves? It would have been so easy to walk an extra couple of feet to the trashcan and throw the trash away. And no one could possibly say they couldn’t find a trashcan, because the lot was full of them. However, as my friend and I ventured further down the trails of the river and on its banks, my perception changed. The reality was that it was extremely hard to find trash to pick up. It was so hard, in fact, that it slowly became something like a competition to see who could actually manage to find trash at all. And what we did end up finding was either extremely random (I found a single flip flop), or extremely predictable (my friend found beer bottles in a spot that was flat and ideal for fishing). Frankly, the most common piece of trash we found were cigarette butts and even then, most of those were centered around the main road that followed the bank of the river and then further in near the parking lot.

Cleaning the river made me proud of Richmond. A lot of people have talked about how dirty the river is and how things aren’t in the best shape. This is true- the river could use some help. But from what I saw yesterday, people seem to understand that there are easy ways to slowly help the quality of the river increase. If the most we saw were some bottles and some paper cartons, I’d say we’re going down a pretty good path.

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.