Geography of the James (Earth Lodge)

I really enjoyed our day trip to the James River with Ralph White.  We saw so many beautiful scenes, and we got to walk the Pipeline- something I had never known about.  One particular image stood out to me as such an icon of our trip- the view of the herons perched in the tall trees overlooking the river.

I had never seen something like that before.  I always viewed the Great Blue Heron as a  solitary creature.  Herons are never seen grouped up like that, especially high up in the trees.  The image looked like a prehistoric silhouette; the fairly large herons resembling pterodactyls perched high up in their shaggy nests scattered about the whimsical looking trees.  I remember Ralph White telling us how this is the best time of year to view the courtship behavior of the herons.

As we gazed upon the nesting birds, a question popped up among the group:

Is any work being done with these herons by the 14th St. Bridge?

No one seemed to know, so I decided to make it the subject of my blog post this week.  Through searching “James River Herons” on Google, I found that the National Audubon Society actually has a page dedicated to the birds.  I found out that the name of this bird community located by the 14th St. Bridge is known as the “Great Blue Heron Rookery.”  The Rookery is inhabited by approximately 40 Great Blue Herons and a few couples of Great Egrets.  This scene attracts many bird enthusiasts, watchers, and photographers.  Many enjoy watching the birds in the late winter and early spring pair up and engage in courtship behavior.  The webpage for the Great Blue Heron Rookery allows people to post pictures and videos of the birds.  There are catalogued videos on the courtship rituals, and there is information on guided walks.

I am not sure if Ralph referred to this place as “The Rookery” or not, but I really like that it has a name.  It is a place of unique wildlife imagery, and deserves a distinguishing name to accompany it.  It shows that the Richmond community appreciates the birds in their little neighborhood, by giving it an endearing name.  I think it is so amazing that we have something like this in our city, as it is one of the most peculiar things I’ve seen in nature.

If you would like to visit the Autubon website, here is the link:

http://varookery.audubon.org

Over break, I travelled to Maine with a couple friends (including a fellow lodger: Natalie) for a little less than a week. Even though the ski condo that we stayed at was located in the mountains about an hour and a half outside of Portland, it seemed as if we could have been anywhere in the northeast (apart from the surrounding mountains). I’m sure if I had spent more time there, however, I would have been able to discern some of the more subtle differences between the landscapes of different states, but to my untrained eye, it all looked pretty similar to what I have seen before in the northeast United States.

I will, however, make one exception to my above statement. One difference between the landscapes of southern Maine and those of others I have seen up north is the abundance of birch trees that line up along the multitude of lakes and rivers that were scattered around the region. I could not tell at the time if the trees were the same types of river birch that are so common around Richmond, but I looked up some information on Maine ecology when I got back to campus and discovered that they were likely Gray Birches, White Birches or Paper Birches.

One of the other aspects of the local landscape that struck me from my trip was the presence of stark, vertical strips of white on the mountains that marked the paths of ski trails. Given what I know now about watersheds and the importance of trees as buffers for runoff, I can’t help but think that the lack of trees on an entire section of a mountain would have a big impact on the local watershed. Perhaps the lack of a filtration system or trees to slow down the speed of water traveling down the mountain would not be as big of a deal if the area were untouched by humans, but the ski resort and the pollutants it produces certainly have a negative impact.

Despite the presence of the ski community, Maine’s watersheds seem cleaner than those around here, and those around my home in Pennsylvania, mostly because the area is very lowly populated and all of the streams and lakes I saw had decent (but not necessarily great) riparian buffers. Trees and other smaller plants were certainly present around the edges of the water, but many sections were sparse and therefore probably not very successful at protecting the water adjacent to them. Overall, I might not have been able to notice too many differences between the landscape of Maine and the landscapes of other northern states, but it was nonetheless great to get outdoors again and away from the bustle of society.

Over spring break, I participated in the SEEDS trip to Louisiana. The week was overwhelming, to say the least. For the first half of the trip, we worked on a number of community garden projects at the community center of the Houma Nation, a Native American tribe that’s been hard-hit not only by natural disaster, but also by government corruption and stunning corporate greed. Next we traveled to New Orleans, where we worked with Common Ground Relief rebuilding homes in the Lower 9th Ward and did some gardening and mentoring at a local elementary school. Much of the city is still devastated in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, so nature’s power to affect human livelihoods and the complexities of a society was never far from our minds there. And in Dulac, where the Houma Nation is centered, we discovered a staggeringly intricate network of relationships between the tribe and its environment, especially as oil companies threaten to alter that habitat irrevocably. From each of these communities, and even more so in drawing comparisons between them, we learned just how fully and unavoidably a society is tied to its physical place, and what significant effects these forces can have on one another’s well-being. One conversation that particularly struck me in environmental terms was our visit with Brenda, the Houma Nation’s former chief, and her husband Dr. Mike, who has treated numerous patients in the Gulf area with oil spill-related health issues.
The Houma Nation has been established for hundreds of years in the bayou region, but the U.S. government still denies them federal recognition as a tribe. This means they have no recourse against the oil companies that have for decades been exploiting the Nation’s rich coastal resources, with no apparent regard for the economic and bodily well-being of the communities whose environment they disrupt. Dr. Mike spoke at length about the medical ramifications of the massive BP oil spill in 2010, which he’s still delving further and further into. He’s seen over a hundred patients so far who exhibit what he calls the “BP syndrome.” Symptoms can include memory loss, skin disorders, seizures, loss of muscle control, and the collapse of just about every major system in the body (endocrine, digestive, circulatory, nervous, and the list goes on). He spends year after frustrating year seeking to win some measure of legal and financial recourse for his patients, whose conditions he’s certain stem from BP’s irresponsibility in managing the spill. But so far, not one of the victims has seen a dime of aid, nor have the many Houma members whose livelihoods in the fishing industry were temporarily or permanently destroyed by the spill.
I was inspired not only by Brenda and Dr. Mike’s selfless determination in fighting for a voice for their tribe, but also by their unwavering hope in the face of such shocking corruption. “I’m not jaded,” Dr. Mike said, though he has every reason to be. “If I got jaded, I’d lose everything.” For those who understand the devastating effects an injured habitat can have on a human community, bureaucracy and apathy from the government and corporations can make the fight for a healthy environment feel hopeless. But community members like Brenda and Dr. Mike remind me that a continued effort for environmental justice is essential and, with enough voices behind it, is bound to succeed.

At last, it finally feels like spring. Last week, I took the less traditional route for spring break, heading north towards Maine. I could actually see the temperature dropping steadily throughout the long drive, and even watched the snow banks that sat along the roads increase in size the closer I got to my destination. Needless to say, upon my arrival back at Richmond this past weekend, I was more than ready to embrace warmer weather.

As I journeyed to my reflection spot once again, I could not help but notice that today has been one of, if not the the most, beautiful days we have had this year. As I walked beside the path that circles the lake, the water glistens and reflects the shining sun. It almost seems as if the water is moving towards the commons with more life and energy. As I got closer to my reflection spot, my attention turned to a few ducks taking flight near the bridge by the gazebo; they too seem to be more energetic and excited about the spring-like atmosphere. The colors of the grass and even of some of the trees appear to be more vivid and intense. Right before I was able to get to my reflection spot, I was forced to walk up the hill and take a longer route, as the grassy swamp area near my reflection spot resembles a marsh today and I didn’t like my chances of getting through the area without falling in.

I finally sat down in a dry area out of the shade, but immediately stood back up. I wasn’t in the mood to simply sit down and reflect, but this weather inspired me to wander around the areas near my reflection spot and uncover more from this area than I had the previous few times. I walked closer to where the small creek that feeds into the lake meets the road and the houses perched on the upslope of the hill, and thought back to the concepts of riparian zones that we talked about in class. The sloping banks where the houses resided on the far side of the road, and the sand and rocks and trees on my side of the road clearly resembled what we talked about in class, as I can easily imagine the runoff of water down the hill during times of heavy rain and in storms, such as the rain from the previous two days. It is also easy to imagine how this area acts similar to the riparian zones we discussed in its ability to help filter some of the waste and substances that we have talked about from runoff during a storm.

Even though this is my last reflection post, it will not be my last trip to my reflection spot. I know that there will be many more changes in this environment that I have yet to uncover, and am excited to see the area around my reflection spot grow as time progresses.

Over Spring Break I went to West Virginia with SEEDS (Students Engaging and Enacting a Dialogue on Service). I can say without a doubt that SEEDS has been the single most impactful thing I’ve been involved with since coming to college.

Through my involvement with GreenUR and Green Peace last year, I became interested in the effects of coal mining on communities; in particular, the effects of mountain top removal strip mining (MTR). I jumped at the chance of witnessing these effects firsthand, and was stunned to imagine myself actually standing at the base of a MTR site.

As we wound our way through the rugged Appalachian Mountains, the empyrean scenery of the New River Gorge was maculated with the collapsing skeletons of a once humbly prosperous society. I had never seen such visible poverty; the garbage poured out of houses, across lawns, and into the rivers. Almost every house is along a river or stream, yet you’re not supposed to swim in them. We stayed at Big Creek People in Action, a community center that was formed in 1990 as headquarters for a community-led campaign to get the city of War clean drinking water. Although they now have clean drinking water (a privilege that many cities in McDowell County do not share), their sewage run directly into their rivers. It is largely because of this point-source pollution that their rivers are unswimmable.

Similarly, one of the major forms of recreation in McDowell County is fishing, yet you’re advised to eat a maximum of 2 fish a year. We ate lunch at a beautiful lake by our worksite one day. We talked to an old fisherman for an hour or so, about coal mining and stories from the war. We asked him what he does with the fish and he laughed, “I give ‘em to the kids driving the busses down the holler or whoever needs ‘em. Don’t eat ‘em though, feels like you’ve takin’ an Aspirin – Like pins in all you fingers all tingly”. It was unbelievable to see how detrimental the effects of point source pollution and surface runoff are on the environment, and how quickly environmental injustices become social injustices.

This couldn’t have been more apparent than our trip to a Mountain Top Removal site… The debris blasted, scooped, and bulldozed off the coal seams is called “spoil” or “overburden”; this waste is typically pushed into adjacent valleys. MTR overburden in WV alone has buried over 1000 miles of streams and severely harmed over twice as many. Headwater streams are crucial for wildlife, healthy fisheries, and the water quality downstream. Every ton of coal is washed of its impurities using 90 gallons of water – the remaining water, coal dust and chemical agents are called “coal sludge” or “slurry”. This waste is often injected into abandoned underground mines, a process that can lead to groundwater contamination. We went to an old mine entrance downhill from the site, and from the entrance freely ran an iron-rust colored stream; the stone entrance was decorated with aluminum stalagmites. The even more common practice is to simply store this slurry in unlined pits near the sites.

Upon visiting the MTR site it was undeniable that the coal companies were committing serious injustices to their local environments and people. Nonetheless it was interesting to see how directly water pollution affects the watershed and its inhabitants.

As I’m sitting here looking at a cloudless sky trying to write my post I can’t help but think, the world is big. The sky is enormous and never-ending much like our earth.  Usually I focus on something that happened or is happening, but looking out today I’ll try something new. Today I’ll take a look at what’s out there and come up with a Cross Country (mostly) Nature trip…

(just a map to look at)

Since I’m from Massachusetts, I’ll start with Maine. I’ve been to Maine in the summer and love it. Its rocky coast and deep blue water. (Not doing too good not looking at past)  Next I’d drive west into New Hampshire and take the Kancamagus down the state. The Kancamagus is a scenic byway that follows rivers and streams down mountains. Following I’d go to Newport Rhode Island. A moderate sized City in Rhode Island, Newport has a rich history and a beautiful shore.

On the next leg of my trek, I’d continue to another city built on the shore. I’d go to New York City, take a ferry around and visit Central park. From there I’d go to Pennsylvania and watch as the flat farmland gave way to mountains and follow them down the coast through Virginia and the Carolinas straight through Georgia and end up in Florida. I’ll maybe visit Disney and Miami, but I definitely want to see the everglades and see how big it really is.

Heading off to the next coast sounds like a good idea. Going by the mouth of the Mississippi would be really cool, A key point to hit would be Houston Texas where there is a place you can skydive and see the curvature of the Earth. I would then go to the sky islands in Arizona. Plateaus so high that they climate and ecology is vastly different then the desert below. Working my way through I’d end up in the bottom of California.

I’d follow the coast up, ending up in places like San Francisco, Yosemite and Sequoia National Park. It would be amazing seeing the diversity in nature California. I’d visit Oregon and look at some of the only old-growth forests left in the US. I’d go up to Washington and then start a trek back east stopping by Yellowstone, going to the Great Lakes, travel through upstate new York and then I’d end up back home in my backyard.

Even just thinking about all the places I could go, I realize there is so much I still have yet to even learn about, never mind visit. I know far less about all the things that lie in the south and the mid-west. Isn’t it amazing at how much I still have left to do after my fictional future road trip. Just goes to show how big the world really is.