Geography of the James (Earth Lodge)

Honestly, it is very hard for me to simply reflect at my reflection spot today.  With midterms, projects, spring break plans, and study abroad stress, it’s difficult to clear my mind at all really.  Last time I was here in the gazebo, I was thinking about the seasons and how they can change the look of the lake from where I was sitting, and also how there were different seasons in my own life and how I had changed.  The lake was half frozen, it was cold outside, and there was still snow on the ground.  Now the lake isn’t frozen, but it’s still chilly and cloudy, and it’s supposed to snow tomorrow apparently.  I’m kind of unimpressed with my surroundings.  It’s March now, but it feels as though no time has passed with the weather so similar to what it was in January.  Where is the spring?  Where is the green grass, the warmer weather, the liveliness in the air?  I can’t seem to drag myself away from the current chaos in my mind, so that is also putting a damper on my reflecting process.

I think my problem lies in my expectations.  I want it to be spring.  I want to be past the stress of exams.  I want to know exactly how things will work out with study abroad.  It’s hard to slow down and appreciate the present.  While I want to be studying right now and my mind is telling me to think about other things, I need to just appreciate the lake and the beauty of the nature around me.  The water and the clouds move at their own pace and the trees aren’t in a rush to grow.  Being in touch with nature allows me to shift the focus from my stress to seeing the beauty and simplicity of life.  When we went to the heron rookery with Ralph White, I saw that those birds also weren’t trying to rush things.  The females come back and meet with their mate and they build their nest and have babies.  The males probably weren’t worrying about whether the females would come back and weren’t in a rush to make their nest faster and better than their neighbors’.  Our problems seem kind of silly when I can see how well this worry-free system works for the herons.

My reflection spot was much desired today after this week’s particularly hectic Monday and Tuesday.  I’m not even going to go there.  Stress.  We all have it.  Yeah.

It warmed up a little bit this afternoon, pushing 50 degrees, which was nice.  I’m not shivering uncontrollably which is a very new feeling.  I can somewhat relax and be outside without a parka.  The Canada geese are even swimming around the lake rather energetically.  In general, the birds are less angry.  🙂

Too bad they’re in for a rude awakening…SNOW? Really…..(Okay I won’t go there either.)  Virginia Weather.  lol I said it.

I’m really excited for this week to be over.  Being home is just a very pleasant experience for me, especially when it feels like a reward.  At home, I reflect often.  We live on a big river, and I’m pretending that I’m there right now.

Looking at the heron nests last Wednesday on the James reminded me of home. At my house, we have an osprey nest that has been inhabited for over 20 years.  It rests on a tall pylon sticking out of the shallow river water behind my house.  In the summer, there are usually one or two baby osprey in the nest.  People kayak by and the mother tries to kill them.  Other than that, watching the osprey swoop around with twigs, straw, and fish to feed their young is very serene.

I’m really looking forward to Spring Break, and spring as a seasonal change.  This winter has been so long.  I may go into hibernation.

It has been quite a while, about a month in fact, since I last came to my reflection spot. When I first came across this place to sit and reflect, I told myself that I would come back here regularly, even during times that I wasn’t writing my reflection blog post. It’s not even that far off the beaten path, and every time I cross the lake by way of the bridge, the opportunity arises to take a mere 20 to 30 steps to the right to reach my spot, but I have failed to do so even once since my last post. There was no specific reason why I chose this spot as my reflection point, other than the fact that I simply wanted to stop searching for the most perfect point on campus to sit and reflect, and rather find the beauty and experience the nature of a spot that I would not have expected myself to choose.

I remember thinking back to my first reflection post, and how I was so excited to see the many changes in my environment around me as time passed. I was hoping for more intense sunlight breaking through the trees, I hoped for warmer weather, for more vibrant colors springing from the ground and from the forest around me. Mostly, I wished for the environment around me to be livelier than it was during the fist week of February. On my walk over to my reflection spot today, it was hard to find inspiration and much excitement on this dull and dreary day. My mind is plagued and stressed with thoughts of schoolwork and midterms, and I feel as though I am simply going through the motions; closing my eyes and hoping when I open them this week will already be over. The sky is gray above me, the blustery cold air swirling, and the clouds are spitting rain down at me every few moments. When I sat down in my spot, I thought to myself that this was not the peaceful and relaxing experience that I was hoping to find here today. But I quickly removed most of the negative thoughts from my head and started to realize some of the changes that had occurred near me since my last visit.

Even though the weather has remained fairly cold, the ground is beginning to soften under my feet. My first visit to this spot was after a light snowstorm and the icy ground was tough and impenetrable. I also noticed a change in the lake, as today the lake was flowing steadily away from me, where during my last visit, the lake was partially covered over in a thin sheet of ice and the water remained relatively still. I opened my ears and heard birds chirping and listened to squirrels rummaging around in the leaves, and I even saw a rabbit jumping around on the opposite side of the lake! These little signs of added life allowed me to see that spring is looming and that more and more changes are on their way, I just have to be a little more patient.

This morning I did something extremely rare of me: I woke up before 8. I got up and went to breakfast. Then I did a bit of work in the lounge while I waited for it to warm up a bit outside so I could reflect on more than how cold my toes were. I finally made my way over to my reflection spot, already feeling more awake and alive than I do by noon on most days. It was still a bit chilly, and a lot gray outside but overall it was a nice day to sit for a bit. I eased myself down into my little tree nook and stared up at the gray sky, waiting for inspiration to strike.

Of course, inspiration did not come so quickly. I mostly kept thinking about the meeting we had last night for about our Earth Lodge final project. Lauren, Bill, Kenta, and I are the “tree group”. However, we decided that we would branch out of our assigned role and also create signs about the fauna and geography of the area surrounding Westhampton Lake and forest. When we came up with the idea of including a sign about the geography of the Westhampton Lake I felt like I had been struck with a bag of bricks. I and several other people have been writing these posts about how we are gaining new insight into the place that we live in, seeing spots for the first time that we had always overlooked. Why not lift our realizations and reflections off the blog post and into the real world? That was the underlying theme of the project wasn’t it? To take what we have learned and communicate it in a constructive way through education or implementation to the rest of the campus community.

However, haven’t we also found beauty in the overlooked places because they provided a space away from it all for us to escape to, even if it was only 500 feet from my bed? I don’t want this spot to become overrun with people, disrupting the serenity that can be achieved once the cars are tuned out. But is it my place to hide it away? Or should I try to let others see the beauty? Or should they discover it for themselves?

Of course I should not rob others of the excitement of discovering a place for the first time, even if it has been discovered countless times by others. Each person’s experience is their own. Our signs will hopefully not only educate people about the ecology and geography of our more natural areas of campus, but they will inspire people to realize “hey, if I didn’t know this before, what else do I not know about the forest?” And that my friends, is where the adventure begins.

I can’t find my cinderblock. The whole walk over, I was looking forward to catching up with the cinder block who defied its’ surroundings. Maybe my claim last observation post that the woods by the lake aren’t quite as manicured as the rest of campus turns out to be false. Either way, my observation log (fallen down tree) is still here. It’s nice coming to sit to take a moment to breath outside the frame of academia and its’, at times, hyper-stressful atmosphere.

The same leaves to my left are still holding on to their branches awaiting the warm weather spring will bring. How they’ve managed to tough through the wind and rain that has hit Richmond is beyond me.

When we met with Ralph White, he talked about how important it is for a park to be a get-a-way from the structured lives people set up for themselves wherever it is they live.  This Frisbee golf course achieves just that. Yes, you can still hear the cars driving by, and yes, it is not a very remote location, but its’ location is important in reassuring the person there that there are available areas to distress. Ralph also elaborated on his philosophy that a park should not be made so that everyone can use it. A park should be made to tailor to specific activities or very specific people. In the same way that the beach we stood on with him was there for mothers with children or those who enjoyed watercolors, this area/ get-a-way is designed solely for those who get joy from throwing a Frisbee towards a metal stand. Other than that, you may see some joggers or late-night weekend hooligans, but in all, this place looks to make this patch of woods a sanctuary for those disc-hurling lovers.

It seems like very little time has passed, yet simultaneously feels as if it has been forever since I have sat here and reflected. It has been about one month. The wind feels frigid against my exposed hands, and it smells like winter. Yet, the lake is no longer frozen, it is fluid. Wind propelled ripples dance across its surface, and flocks of geese, mallards, and ringed necked ducks (the lake’s newest addition) float idly on their way.  I sit for a moment, but nothing seems to jump out at me. Compared to the intricate layers of ice I saw last time, the lake seems almost nondescript. However, soon bright yellow daffodils jump out at me from the opposite bank. Then I turn to examine the loblolly I’m leaning against. At the base of the trunk vibrant green moss is hidden against layers of brown and grays. The bark folds and furrows in an impossible maze. I look up, the overcast sky is perforated by deep blue; and brown branches dotted with small buds contrast this soft backdrop.

It was easy to fall into the pattern of writing, to return to the same spot, and to sit against the same tree. Yet, though the location is the same, it is undeniable that the spot is different, both physically, and how I interpret it. Not only has the ice given way to water, and some of the first signs of springs are present, I have also changed. I have gained a month’s worth of experiences, and whether obviously or discretely, they have shaped me.

Pondering falling into familiar routines got me thinking about returning home after school. It seems so strange at first. I no longer go to high school, no longer have to wake up early, walk to school, complete classes, go to track practice, and walk home. I no longer follow a “normal” routine. My mom and sister have their set routines, yet I am no longer a part of that cycle. I belong to a new and different routine at Richmond, yet one that involves a similar basic schedule.

In a larger sense we are all active participants in this cycle. Simply by completing high school and attending college, we follow a plan that was laid out for us. Not to say that this was not my choice, or something I didn’t want to do. (I’ve always wanted to go college / absolutely love Richmond!) But, there really didn’t seem to be any other options. This is simply the way our world is organized.

Our whole world operates in cycles, water cycles, nitrogen cycles, seasons, etc. Everything undergoes an eternal rotation. Constantly moving away, yet forever returning. Products became reactants, and reactants become products.  Spring becomes summer, summer goes to fall, fall turns to winter, and winter eases into spring. Cycles do, and forever will categorize our world.

More about ring necked ducks below!!!

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Ring-necked_Duck/id

It’s a crisp, bright Sunday, and I can’t imagine a more ideal morning than a quiet one spent perched on my bridge. It’s in moments like these that I’m most keenly aware that my emotions and the general atmosphere I perceive are inextricably tied to my natural surroundings. When I walk across the bridge after a trying day, turning my gaze to the sunset is all it takes to smooth out some of those crinkles. Every time I look at a daffodil, I feel myself grinning (they were an embarrassingly significant factor in my decision after I visited campus in high daffodil season). It feels important to set the midterm bustle aside for a few minutes and acknowledge my gratitude for the little moments of color that this familiar but constantly shifting scene never fails to provide for me. We’re only just beginning to discover how deeply our physical place impacts every facet of our lives.

I’m also appreciating the opportunity to revisit and reflect on our time with Ralph White this week. No Style Weekly profile could have prepared me for his captivating enthusiasm and the raw power of his presence to the environment we were exploring. I was struck especially by his hands, weathered and dusty, a story in every crease. But one part of his tour that has stayed with me is his attention not only to the nature he has come to know so well, but to its human counterparts’ relationship with it. His observations of the fisherman his stories about sharing the James with young students were compelling and probably an often-overlooked element of the watershed’s story from an ecological perspective. I particularly loved when he pointed out the graffiti under the bridge that was “truly a work of art, something to be preserved”—his perspective on human interaction with the river is balanced, compassionate, and well-thought out. We’re incredibly fortunate to have spent a few hours in his company.

Even though the landscape really hasn’t changed since the last time I was here, it was hard to find my way to my spot the second time around. Buds and small leaves have begun to appear on the underbrush and the pale green blur all around me is a definite change from last time. The other most noticeable difference from last time is the color of the small pool adjacent to the stream. The stream is still its usual muddy brown, but the pool has a blue-ish green tinge. The color is localized to the pool, suggesting that whatever is adding the color is coming out of the pipe that runs underneath the facilities parking lot. Speaking of the pipe, I managed to answer my earlier question about the water’s source. I saw on a map of our campus’s watershed, a small blue line that indicates a stream running south to north on our campus and in the direction of the facilities building. I still have not looked for the stream itself, but that will be an adventure for a warmer time in the future.

Signs of life, other than the little leaves on the myriad of plants, are still as sparse as last time, because the primary noises are coming from the stream and the water falling from the pipe. The occasional bird does flutter across my vision as it flits between different branches in the tangled underbrush, and I sometimes hear one call out in the distance.

Since our recent meeting with Ralph White, I have been thinking a fair amount about the individual connection to nature and how we can achieve this without compromising nature for everyone. Having my own little secluded reflection spot, even though it is technically open to everyone, is a much more intense experience now, than it was before this past Wednesday’s class because I have chosen to come here, whereas others have not bothered to venture off the pavement. Ralph White’s passion for the outside world and for the Richmond community in general is inspiring and has made me look for connections to nature wherever I happen to be walking or standing.

Very little of the actual landscape has changed since my last visit to this spot, but my attitude certainly has. Spring is definitely coming soon, but it is not quite here yet. I am looking forward to visiting this spot again in the late spring before I leave for the summer and trying to piece together what has changed and what has stayed the same since my first visit early this semester.