Geography of the James (Earth Lodge)

Both occasions I’ve spent time at my reflection spot in the gazebo, the lake’s ducks have made their way over to me in the hope that I brought some food and the intention to share it with me. It seems as if the gazebo is a popular spot to feed the ducks, so much so that they’ve come to associate a person in the gazebo with the opportunity for a handout. I pondered this behavior for a while, and wondered how long it had been developing. It reminded me of Ralph White’s detailed description of blue heron mating behaviors when we spoke with him by the James. Here was a behavior that the species does completely naturally. It is a part of the blue heron identity, just as bighorn sheep butt heads during mating season and wolves circle the ground a few times before lying down to sleep.

The impact humans have made on animal behavior is evident nearly everywhere. Squirrels on campus are extremely tolerant of the presence of people, and are brave enough invade trash cans in busy areas for some food. The geese let you walk directly past them. Raccoons have little fear of humans as well. The general population seems to promote the altering of animal behavior as a whole. Isn’t the entire culture of pets about animal domestication? Animal trainers make a ton of money through their ability to mold an animal’s behavior into something acceptable to its owners. And it seems as if the more “wild” and “exotic” the animal, the more entertaining and interesting it is to see them follow orders from humans. SeaWorld, circuses and zoos are proof of that. Wow, look at that bloodthirsty lion jump through the flaming hoop! The alteration of animal behavior is a multi-million dollar industry.

Obviously I’ve digressed from my original duck discussion, but in a way my experience with the ducks is similar to the circus. The ducks move to the gazebo when somebody is there because of the promise of reward of food. The lion jumps through the flaming hoop because either he will be fed a juicy steak, or he’s scared of the consequences of disobeying. It was amazing to hear the detailed description of the blue heron mating ritual because it was so pure and so unique. I loved that part of the trip.

Today a little before dusk I walked over to my reflection spot on a bench beside the lake across from Lakeview.  The scene was very gloomy today.  The sky was overcast, and the trees were bare.  The grass was dried up and yellow and two geese grazed on this hay-like ground cover nearby.  One of them was clearly a Canadian goose while the other looked deceptively like a duck but was the size of a goose.  As soon as I walked up the two animals got back into the water and swam away.  The whole scene seemed very lifeless.  I could see ducks and birds in the lake and woods and see people walking around the commons and the baseball field across the way.  People often walked by with their dogs or ran past exercising, but I did not hear any noise from them.  Not a chirp or a bark or a conversation.

It was incredibly gloomy and just as this realization crept over me the baseball stadium began playing the song Piano Man by Billy Joel.  (I suspect our team just lost a game)  In fact they played the entire song twice in a row.  It kind of felt like I was in a movie because the music matched the mood so well.  I had expected visiting my reflection spot would make me feel connected to nature on campus but instead I found it gave me less of a connection to the people and animals around me.  The music seemed like such an intrusion on the calm nature of the lake.  I made me wonder, if I felt this way about having the music being blasted how might this action affect the animals that use the lake as a habitat.  The speakers for the baseball field are so close to the lake that I wonder if it causes significant noise pollution that would have any negative impacts on the lake ecosystem.  When the song began playing for the third time I decided it was time to head back inside.  Hopefully the spring will bring a more positive experience while visiting my reflection spot.

The last time I was here it was clearly Winter. The lake was frozen, snow as still on the ground, and the trees were still barren. Now the lake has thawed, the snow is gone, and…well the trees are still barren although there are some buds in some of the plants.

Its been longer than a month since my last trip here and I’m not sure if it feels like it. With classes, extracurriculars, and just life, so much has gone on. And with the constant flow of my daily life, I found myself hoping spring comes just a little sooner. It’s sad looking out the window and just seeing dead trees. While it’s true that the leaves being gone lets you see through the trees and see more, I miss the green the life that the leaves brought. I miss the warm days and the slack lines and hammock. I miss going to Pony Pasture and being able to swim in the water.

The winter was nice though its snow was fun and its cold made me appreciate the indoors, but I’m ready to appreciate the outdoors. And then comes this forecast of snow. That and the fact that I’m going back north for spring break.  For us students spring is a relief to a long semester pent up. It is relief from being stuck inside a lab or classroom. It signifies the ending of tests and homework.

But I find myself a little bothered by my thoughts. Instead of pining for spring, wouldn’t it make more sense to enjoy whats left of winter. Shouldn’t I enjoy seeing through the trees and finding birds’ nests?  Enjoy stepping on crisp leaves and enjoying the fresh clean air, devoid of pollen.  I guess I’ll enjoy watching winter leave as I watch spring come.

Much has changed here since my last visit. The creek is no longer covered in ice and the ground is not covered in snow. Last visit was much more interesting and pretty, but each new visit brings new discoveries. Although it is now March, today certainly does not feel like spring. Shades of brown and grey dominate the landscape waiting to turn colorful with vibrant greens and flowers. The sky is grey, threatening to dump rain at any moment. Many cars pass by the nearby road and I feel exposed to their view, but upon deeper thought I doubt anyone driving bothers to take their eyes off their lane and look into this mostly unnoticed creek. Since it is rush hour, I only get brief interludes of silence. For the most part, hearing the creek flow is difficult because of the constant traffic. Despite these distractions, I still value my time here. The water is wonderfully clear with a thin film of bubbles or organic material floating on the surface. The trees lack leaves, but this allows me to see farther into the woods. Fortunately, the frequent baseball games are currently silent. I do still feel like I am in nature. I think the fact that I am so close to the water instead of far away, sitting on a rock instead of a bench, able to feel the ground, smell the dirt, and hear the rustling leaves and the water makes me feel like I am in nature. Last time I was here, the feeling was more intense, but the feeling is still here this time. As the sky grows darker, I my thoughts become reality as the raindrops begin to fall. Seeing the raindrops fall onto the calm surface of the water was a relaxing view. Although rain can be a pain, whenever I am outside in the rain, it makes the experience feel all that more wild. Although this site was less beautiful than last time, it brings a new perspective on the same site.

PS I cannot upload some of the picture I took because it says the file sizes are limited.

Returning once again to my reflection spot was very relieving, this time.  It was really the only downtime I had this week, and getting the chance to just be out in the woods across the lake, taking in sights and sounds and smells, was much needed relaxation.  As I came to my reflection spot, just to the right of where you get off the bridge across from Lakeview, I decided to walk a little further up the path, down to where the stream feeds into the lake.  I chose not to go to this place for my first reflection, but something compelled me this time to spend more time next to the stream (the soothing sound of running water, perhaps?).  Or, maybe I wanted to further explore this area simply because I couldn’t remember the last time I did.

Things had certainly changed from when I first reflected from this area.  The snow is all gone now.  As I look across the lake I see that the thin sheets of ice that used to stretch across its surface are no longer there.  And that reminds me, the trash can that used to be stuck in that sheet of ice under the bridge has been long gone.  I wonder when and how and who fished that out for a moment before moving on.  I notice how everything seems to still be clinging to winter; the trees are still bare, grass is still dried out and stiff, and the air retains its crispiness.  Spring isn’t quite here yet, but I suppose I’ll start to see changes very soon.  I saw a few colorful mallards floating lazily on the lake; in fact, everything seemed to be moving very slowly, and it was very calm and quiet.  This was a huge contrast to my life at the moment, hectic and stressful.  Hopefully, after this week I can try to be more like those mallards during break.

The week before break is always busy. Everyone knows this, yet every year it comes as a shock. Somehow, as I’m faced by more exams, projects, and presentations than ever, I’m also booked morning to evening with meetings. At meditation on Sunday, Kevin recommended sitting for just 5 minutes when we find ourselves with the least amount of time. Even if we have 200 things to do, he said, those five minutes will make them all feel a lot easier, more worthwhile. Not knowing when I’d have time to make it to my reflection spot today, I decided to go last night around midnight. I was looking at a late night, and was starting to feel the fatigue and stress affect my work. On a whim, I borrowed Lauren’s headlamp and headed down to my reflection spot, camera in hand.

Walking through K-lot with a headlamp, notebook and camera was a self-conscious experience. The few students rushing by gave me confused looks, especially as I passed the last cars and trespassed into the woods. I found the path unrecognizable by the dim patch of light floating before me. I chased the patch of coherence through brambles and over shrubs; the path eventually opening before me. Around the corner I found the Little Westham, whose quiet babble I’d heard from the parking lot. I sat by her edge, placing my camera on an outcrop of rock; the lens set to half-minute exposures, capable of piercing the darkness as I could not. As I waited for the lens to snap shut, my mind drifted out of focus. The darkness around me rippled with the reflection of a street lamp across the road. I only came back to the present as a shuttle pulled out of X-lot. I was worried the headlights would ruin the exposure, but upon its completion I saw the image only illustrated my view more accurately: the roads and parking lots were illuminated, navigable; but as soon as one steps off the path they are lost, tripping in unfamiliar darkness. It’s interesting how we rely on ubiquitous light, penetrating each vein in our imperviously flat surfaces, in order to navigate our daily life. The spaces between paths become holes; almost nonexistent. Of course, it is precisely this lack of human familiarly that protects them; yet their shroud of darkness keeps them mystified, and sometimes, ignored.

Within this ignored space I felt a sense of solitude; I felt that my time in my hole was decontextualized from my midterms, projects, proposals, and summer plans. After some fifteen minutes, however, the cars began to feel dangerous. My little triangle of nature felt claustrophobic, my work pressing in. The more I tried to meditate the more I realized how surrounded I was. I stood up and wound my way back to Lakeview; this time, my eyes adjusted and the path clear. Sometime it’s necessary to isolate myself, but it’s impossible to forget that I’m still connected to campus and the responsibilities which that entails.