The Westhampton Lake has always troubled me. Something about it just irritated my mind, making me want to turn away, rather than observe the beauty. For all of freshman year, I put this discomfort down to the easy answer of the lake’s seemingly polluted state. As someone who prides herself on caring about the environment, the scum on the water surface seemed the most obvious reason. These past four weeks of spending time on the water have shown me that there maybe a totally different factor. As I mentioned in my first blog-post, I’ve grown up around moving water, and I apparently haven’t quite made the adjustment. When I stop to consider, I realize that lakes and ponds have always seemed rather strange and foreign compared to the rushing waters of my beloved Rapidan. On our excursions to the James River, I always felt much calmer and refreshed than I ever had on my numerous walks around the lake, something I chalked up to class-related stress. While many of my most peaceful memories from childhood involve rivers, I have often vowed never to set foot in the lake for any reason (jokingly claiming fear of a toxic reaction). But Earth Lodge has thus far shown me that the way we think about our water sources can directly affect how we treat them, giving me greater incentive to become friendlier with our resident lake.
In our “The Trouble with Wilderness” reading, we were introduced to the various approaches to ‘wilderness’ that humanity has taken. Beginning with the worshipful sublime era, which regarded the wild as a church-like sanctuary from evil; to the conquering frontiersmen, headed by Teddy Roosevelt, who climbed mountains to prove their worth; and ending with today’s backyard approach, attempting to integrate the wilds into our everyday life. It’s easy to draw parallels between these viewpoints and my own water-related experiences. From my parents I learned a combination of the sublime and frontier perspective. Many a summer afternoon was spent coasting down rivers, lazing in the sun and pointing in sheer joy when wildlife made an appearance; one of my proudest moments was making it down the Rapidan in a single-person canoe without having to get out and push. In contrast, D.C. leaves the Potomac on a pedestal as a pretty view, while mostly ignoring the extremely poor water conditions. I have often heard myths of people having to be sent to the hospital after simply falling out of their kayaks; not for injuries, but for potential poisoning from the river. It seems that once the city conquered the river, it was left to gather dust on the proverbial self, a pretty, crumbling statue in the city’s backyard. And then there’s the James, embraced by Richmond and the center of quite a lot of activity. From beautiful street-art to bluegrass on a dock, there is rarely something NOT happening on the river. Although the James seems to fit most snugly into the backyard approach, I would almost argue that it has been relegated to front yard: shown off to everyone who passes through. Not all of the problems have been fixed along the James, but efforts are ongoing and it doesn’t seem that the river will easily be forgotten anytime soon.
One of the main themes that has become apparent these past few weeks has been that education and interaction are key to watershed health. The “Awareness Appraisal Model” showed us that the more people knew about the problems in their watersheds, the more likely they were to want to help. Although education around the James River may leave something to be desired because it more often targets young children than anyone else, Richmond has the interaction part down pat. During the warm months people flock to the swimming holes and kayak put-ins, spending hours on the river and forging an attachment to the centerpiece of their city. Even as the weather cools, many will continue to walk the shoreline with their companions, canine and human, as a break from the business of urban life. With such a strong connection in place between Richmond’s population and the river, education and action is sure to follow. Already many turn out to raise money for the river in such events as the James River Association’s Splash ‘n’ Dash 5k. As far as urban rivers go, the James has it pretty good.
I’ve often been called hyper, a well-earned description with my distaste for standing still or even focusing on one subject for very long. I move quickly, just like my beloved rivers, so it was with chagrin that I sat myself down by Westhampton Lake, determined to forge a connection with the water that still gave me pause with its stillness. I had an hour to kill, and nothing in particular to think about, making it the perfect moment to just sit and watch. Moving water had always calmed my mind into stillness, so I anticipated an opposite reaction to the lake; in short, I expected to leave the hour frazzled and stressed. Yet once I sat down and settled, I soon found movement all around me. A horde of ducks descended on a young girl with breadcrumbs, before being driven off by the geese. These ducks soon became the focus of my attention, watching their funny way of rinsing themselves in the water reminded me that you rarely get this close to animals on the rivers I’ve canoed. The sky was my next focus; the sunset bathing the tops of the tallest trees while rest resigned themselves to night. And then finally, in the last quarter of my hour on the lake, I was able to watch the slight ripples from the breeze on the surface and feel the peace that had always meant rivers before. I’m still learning how to approach the lake, but Earth Lodge is quickly teaching me the importance of getting to know all of your environment, not just your favorite parts.
