Geography of the James (Earth Lodge)

In almost all of my blog posts, I have commented on some human failing or on something untouched that is beautiful. I wrote about place-blindness, noting that so many of our species either don’t care or are simply unaware of their surroundings. I wrote about the ways in which Europeans mistreated American Indians and how disturbing I find it. I wrote about pollution, who pollutes, and why they do it. Though my blog posts did not have an overarching negative tone, as I always seemed to find something positive to consider, reading over them I felt as though I was perhaps too hard on us humans. Something David Haskell read from his book got me thinking about the way I view humanity and its place in the nature:

“But to love nature and to hate humanity is illogical. Humanity is part of the whole. To truly love the world is also to love human ingenuity and playfulness. Nature does not need to be cleansed of human artifacts to be beautiful or coherent. Yes, we should be less greedy, untidy, wasteful, and shortsighted. But let us not turn responsibility into self-hatred. Our biggest failing is, after all, lack of compassion for the world. Including ourselves” (Haskell 158).

This passage reminded me of the fact that, though it is important to be environmentally conscious and resist the devastation of our earth, it is also important to have a healthy love of humanity that does not “turn responsibility into self-hatred.” Though I normally don’t think of humans as existing outside of the natural world, I have been torn as to how to reconcile my love for nature with the human destruction and development that I benefit from and take part in every day. I seem to have simply overlooked the many fascinating and positive things about humans that make us an amazing feat of nature. Though I do love the earth and am concerned and ashamed at how we have been treating it, rereading this Haskell quote, I found this flaw in my thinking to be a theme in my posts.

A few weeks ago I took a day trip to Shirley Plantation, in Charles City, Virginia. Though I knew the visit would be a pleasant way to get off campus and learn more about the history in the area, I didn’t anticipate the amazement this history would inspire in me. Though I wrote in my post “Indigenous Identity Theft” about how relatively young the United States is, I was still astounded when I learned that Shirley was established in 1613, such a short time after the first permanent settlement was founded in 1607. Though I was still contemplating the impact that European settlement had upon the natives of the area, I was also astonished at the relative permanency that this family had attained in this single house, spanning eleven generations of Carters. In the United States especially, this kind of legacy is rare. I imagine, or at least hope, that the Carters presently living in that house are aware of what a rarity they are. Whereas I wrote in several blog posts, especially those about my sit spot and my post “Gambles Mill Musings,” about how important it is to have a relationship with the space you inhabit, I have never had any intention of moving to my hometown, much less of living in the same house in which I was raised. Though I do not mean to imply that I or anyone else should be thinking in these terms, as I also believe the mobility we’ve achieved is amazing, it is shocking to me that my mind is so oriented outward. Experiencing Shirley Plantation reminded me that so many people, like the Carters and David Haskell, have already established the relationship to their surroundings about which I so frequently write.

One week after I visited Shirley Plantation, Earth Lodge brought me back to Charles City for a visit to the VCU Rice Center. Though I had no idea what to expect, and didn’t even know it was right down the road from Shirley until we were driving there, I was excited to be so close again to the beauty and historical            significance of the plantation. The Rice Center was yet another place that made me feel as though I’ve been too hard on humanity, and that I have been overlooking the strides and efforts made by my fellow humans to improve the world. The LEED Platinum building on the site is an obvious example of this, but I was even more struck by the mission of the center and its goal to become the premiere expert on eastern rivers. Standing on the dock down by the James and learning about the center’s efforts to bring back the Sturgeon populations, I was reminded of Hans’ post “Nature and the Scientific Mind,” in which he discussed how he has always kept his knowledge of science and love of nature separate in his mind because he thought that knowledge of the science took away from the nature. There was one passage in which he provided specific examples of things he learned in class that were applicable to the world around him—surface density, the vibration of atoms, the photons from sunlight, etc. I was so struck by this post, because, as I have difficulty with the math and technicality of science, have never considered science to be an integral part of understanding nature. Like Hans, however, I have changed my mind over the course of this year, as I now realize that science is simply a way of breaking down and understanding what is so fascinating about nature. The Rice Center perfectly embodied this for me, as it is so focused on sustainability and history, but also on sharing and studying the beauty of science and conservation.

Through excursions to the James River, such as these ventures to Shirley Plantation and the Rice Center, as well as our trip to Pony Pasture with the artist Michael Kolster, I have experienced the positive impact of truly engaging in the local geography. Though I feel as though I frequently returned to the negative impact that humans have on the world, interacting with experts in so many fields has exposed me to not only the problems that they are trying to counteract, but also the positive steps that they are taking to improve upon them. I am so thrilled to have had my perspective so frequently expanded this semester, and to have had the chance to reflect upon the ways in which I have had to rethink the roles and effects of humanity on our environment.

I believe that one of the most important and humanizing endeavors is to look at oneself in the mirror, recognize your faults, and do something to change. Looking back through my last synthesis blog this is exactly what I did, minus the last part about making a change. I focused on my overwhelmingly negative outlook on the human impact on nature. In my previous blogs I seemed to jump to conclusions and fail to see the ways people can repair and restore nature, but in this post I vowed to change. (My 1st Synthesis Post) For this blog I would like to focus on what changes I have made since this critical self-evaluation, consciously and unconsciously, using my most recent posts, as well as those of my classmates, for evidence and helpful insights respectively.

Starting with my first post after the synthesis blog I already began to notice a change in the tone and theme of my writing. This post was about my second visit to my reflection spot, which unfortunately for me was during a rainstorm. (Riffle Reflections Part II) However, I made a point to mention that although these may not have been the most favorable conditions for me, the stream itself, including the organisms that inhabit it, may have felt differently. While reflecting on the importance of rain to a certain habitat or ecosystem I remembered one of my favorite exhibits at the Philadelphia Zoo, where there would be artificial rainstorms pouring down on a Nile crocodile and American alligator. Whether consciously or not, I seemed to hold a tone here that was more positive about the human impact on nature. Specifically, I noted that by putting on such a show the zoo was educating the public about wildlife and nature, which fits into its overall mission to spread awareness and save the lives of endangered animals the world over. In this post I also revisited my question about the purpose of the bamboo lining the banks of the stream, and found that this plant is indeed commonly used to counter erosion. These stalks must have been planted by those involved in the the Community Stream Project of 2006, which again is a great example of how humans can do right by their environment rather than causing a negative impact.

In my next post, which was my third and final blog about my reflection spot (Riffle Reflections Part III) I continued this theme of looking for the positive, perhaps a little more consciously this time. Again I mentioned the Community Stream Project of 2006, this time in relation to how much the banks of the stream seemed to be a classic riparian zone. I reflected on how these banks must have a great beneficial effect on the stream by filtering the water coming from the houses above before it enters the stream, largely due to the efforts made by the 2006 project to plant a buffer of trees, shrubs, and groundcover along the stream. Finally, before leaving I decided to actively make a change in the human influence on the stream, something I vowed to do in my first synthesis post, by picking up trash just as C.J. did at his reflection spot. (C.J.’s post) Regretfully forgetting to bring a bag to collect the trash in I gathered as much of it as I could in my arms. Right before leaving I looked back and noticed a pink ball with the name “Meghan” written on it floating in the stream. Seeing this as a lose-lose situation (Meghan lost her ball and the stream is no place for it) I picked up the ball hoping to find a Meghan on my way back to campus. I did not find a Meghan, but rather a little Camille, which I figured was close enough. Again, this time around I decided that instead of wallowing over the negative impact of man on nature, I would look for the positive side of this relationship, and if there were negatives, to do something about them.

Finally, in my last post following my first synthesis blog, I spoke to my experience in our last community based learning project, for which I went to clean up Pony Pasture with Josh, my fellow Earth Lodger. (CBL Part 2) Although not completely self-motivated this time, this experience picking up trash and my reflections on it also indicate a change in my attitude. Instead of being depressed about all of the trash that we found, Josh and I make an effort to hunt down all of the trash we could and got excited when we found what we called the “jackpot”. We were eager to do our part in helping clean up the river, focusing on what we could do to repair the damage done, instead of on the damage itself. I also made note of the smiles and warm looks we got from fellow river-goers, indicating that there are members of the community that want to clean up their river, that the trash along its banks do not tell the whole story.

After reading back through my old posts, I was curious to see what themes my fellow earth lodgers explored in their synthesis blogs. In particular, I wanted to see if anyone else had found something they wanted to change about themselves and how they went about it. As Adrienne mentions in her first synthesis blog, she previously felt like she had to get off campus or take a break from schoolwork in order to enjoy nature. However, with the help of some Earth Lodge and outside readings, as well as our first community service project, she now feels that she can appreciate and feel connected with nature without having to remove herself from everyday life. By simply making an effort to “feel present and engaged in life” she was able to change her perspective and get more out of the little things that happen every day. I found this approach intriguing as my main strategy to change my attitude was to look inside myself, rather than going to outside sources for inspiration. Adrienne’s use of the readings we did in class, as well as those she found on her own, to give her a broader view of how to appreciate nature make me think that perhaps I could make more of an effort to adopt this strategy in my own mission to change the way I view the human influence on the environment.

Another synthesis post I found particularly intriguing and inspiring was Lucy‘s post about challenging herself mentally. Lucy found that in her academic experiences as well as personal life she tends not to ask questions, but to just “observe, accept, and understand”. I do not know if I fully agree with this statement since I have had several conversations with Lucy when she has been very inquisitive, but nonetheless I found this to be a very interesting topic. As a first step in her efforts to combat this tendency, she decided to write her blog about something that she struggles to understand, instead of that which comes easy to her. She reflected on our visit to Belle Isle and downtown Richmond and raised questions about the motives of the Confederacy during the Civil War. She asks if they fought “purely because they wanted to have slaves”, a question I have often pondered myself and never really understood the answer. Again, although she has a slightly different mission, Lucy’s response to her introspection was inspiring. I can definitely learn from her fearlessness in making an immediate change and digging into issues that she may not find to be the most comfortable.

Finally, in her first synthesis post entitled, “The Benefit of Environmental Consciousness“, Shannon does not focus on pointing out her own flaws, but rather persuades the reader that there is much to gain from becoming more environmentally conscious. I greatly enjoyed her entire post, but one line that resonated with me was when she said, “We must change in order for things to stay the same, but that process of change doesn’t have to be painful.” In fact, I liked this line so much that I stole the second half for my title of this blog. I found this line, as well as the rest of her blog, to be very motivational as it reminds the reader that it is OK to take on challenges and change the way you view the world, as this change does not have to come all at once and does not have to hurt.

Overall, I feel as though I have made a significant change in my perspective since my first synthesis post, and with the help of my fellow classmates and other outside sources, I know that I can continue to do so. I cannot express in words how much I appreciate everything the Earth Lodge and its members have done for me, and I look forward to taking the lessons I’ve learned this year and continuing to grow into the environmentally conscious, yet still optimistic person that  I want to be.

I have neglected my
reflection spot. I should say spots because technically I have two; one
specifically for this class, and one that I have gravitated toward naturally
since the beginning of sophomore year. But I feel the reflection spot I had for
class was one I chose out of opportunity. It has little emotional connection
and thus I feel less guilty about not being there in a while. I feel
differently about the lake.

I have spent hours sitting next to Westhampton
Lake reflecting. I used to go every night before bed to pray and then randomly
throughout the week when I had a few minutes of free time. It helps to focus on
something bigger than yourself when you aren’t under a ceiling where the words
you say bounce right back at you. This place feels like home. I go to the lake
when I want to be lonely. It’s perfect for solitude because no one goes walking
around the lake at night unless they are trying to get somewhere. I go to the
lake when I want to be sad. The people on the path are behind you and the
people on the other side of the lake are too far away to see that you’re upset.
I go to the lake when I want to remember. There is no one there to ask me what
I’m thinking. I go to the lake for something, but I never find what I want. I
go to the lake to be lonely, but I am never alone. I go to the lake to be sad,
but I am peaceful in all things. I go to the lake to remember, but I find
myself forgetting everything when I see all the beauty and all the brokenness
of the world.

But that is how I and my
reflection spot have changed. The cherry and oak trees have blossomed and revealed
their foliage, pulling viewers all by a silken (inch-wormy) strand into a new
season. And with the passing of the season, I feel like I have my own strand
holding me fast to some steady branch hanging faithfully above me. It is funny;
I was observing an inch-worm one day, considering how it reflects our
relationships. When we are trying to help someone grow or move on past their
pain, we can’t do the work for them. All we can do is remain faithful and
strong for them. Our love is the silver strand, and they just have to figure
out what to do with it. When I was thinking about this, I did not think I would
ever be dangling from the end of an almost invisible piece of silk; I would
place myself as the branch. I did not realize till just now that I had been the
inch-worm for a long, long time. Now I am less dependent upon my reflection
spot. I have less of a need to escape from people and more of an appreciation
for those who have been the tree to which I am clinging. There were too many
times when I was angry with the way people were helping me, which is ridiculous.
I would not have them do anything differently because I see that their love
could not have been displayed in any other way than it was.

I realize this sounds
similar to what I said in a previous post. Most of my posts have a general tone
of reconciliation and growth. But this understanding sits a lot deeper than just
realizing I love the people around me. It is a lot more difficult to come to
terms with because of how much I have depended on my friends.

Something else I have grown
to appreciate this year, and particularly this semester, is my education. I
think Celeste is right in saying “Education enriches everything around you” in
her post “Itchy Eyes, beautiful dogwoods”. I have always put education second
to friendships. I see it more important to ensure the contentment of a friend
than to ensure the advancement of my career. Something I hadn’t considered was
how my progress in school affects those relationships that I love the most, specifically
the relationship with my parents. Education is a gift. There is nothing I have done
to merit the obtaining of the information I have access to. We see it as some
sort of right, as though we are entitled to know how to produce an income statement
and how to make sense of short stories by Marquez. We aren’t entitled and it isn’t
a right. Education is a gift and it enriches everything around you. Unlike
Celeste, I wasn’t able to avoid the sophomore slump. I am, in fact, suffering
through a textbook case of the sophomore slump. I just had too many things that
I was trying to be good at. There were seven different classes on my schedule
along with work hours, individual and group meetings, camping trips, friendship
meltdowns, and time playing soccer. In taking on so many responsibilities,
though, I was not showing respect to my parents because I was not taking
seriously their financial commitment to pay for my education. This is why I am
excited to be staying in Richmond next year, because I will have some many
fewer responsibilities. I will be able to apply myself fully to a small number
of things instead of spreading myself thin over a great many number of things. Through
this sophomore slump I have been able to understand the enriching qualities of
education. I have not just learnt how I can better love and respect my parents,
but how knowing the truth changes everything.

Knowing the truth really
does change everything. Even if the knowledge I have obtained about something
means nothing to me when I learn it at first, it will most likely mean
something one day. When I was sitting eating humus after hiking up a mountain
and listening to my mother talk about pinecones, I never thought “This piece of
information about pinecones will one day be something I remember when I
consider God’s faithfulness”. But it has.

My reflection spot has faded
out of my night time routine, but I don’t miss it. I am happy that I no longer
feel the need to escape. I am happy that I no longer need to be convinced into
being happy. I am happy that I have another chance to honor my parents with the
way I work hard at school. I am most happy that I have something, someone, who
holds me steadily whenever I feel like I am swinging in midair.

Coulson and Tchakerian define the domain of place as, “a hierarchy that includes integration in place, interdependencies between places, and interdependencies among places” (85). The second half of the Geography of the James River Watershed course has truly helped me appreciate the gravity of the impact of place on our daily lives, relationships, and identities. From studies of surface water resources, to species’ habitats, to reviving Richmond’s connection to the river, this semester has focused on our natural place. As geographers, we study the intersection of political, geophysical, ecological, and cultural places which, in turn, helps us understand how man and nature have shaped each other. Through the people I met during my community service, and my growing love of the James, my sense of place has been deepened and my perception of human connectivity is renewed.

While in class we learned about the water quality of local rivers such as the James and the Potomac, we were able to experience what a grade “C” truly meant by going on a river trash pickup for our community service. Though discussing environmental stewardship in book club as well as our blogs instilled a feeling of obligation in me, I was not eager to embark on this experience. However, while I was at Belle Isle, several members of the community who were taking advantage of the bike and running trails spontaneously approached us and thanked us for our work. More than any prior service trip, this interaction demonstrated how in love we are with our place. The community goes to the river for recreation, scientists at the VCU Rice Center for research, and Earth Lodge to understand our dependence on nature. These common usages create a local identity which immediately connects visitors to the river. Kelin wrote in his blog “A Bit of Both Worlds,” about meeting an elderly couple in Pony Pasture and forming an immediate connection based on their common love of place. He says, “It started from there and we must have talked for nearly a half an hour. He and his wife have been coming to the river for years. Since retiring (probably in the past 10 years) they have tried to make daily trips to the river.” This couple is a prime example of how place can unite diverse peoples. Despite the river’s history of separation of peoples based on class, the modern James provides an oasis for Richmond citizens to escape the city and enjoy the natural space together. The enthusiastic thanks we received cleaning up the river, I believe, was not primarily due to the fact that we were picking up trash for a few hours. But rather, the undue appreciation that was shown to us stemmed from recognition of their own love for the river in us.

A view from the pedestrian bridge leading to Belle Isle. The island is one of the most popular areas of the James River Park system and is often used by community members for water recreation and leisure activities.

Sense of place and identity as members of the James River watershed is not only provided by building memories in the nearby parks. Identity as Richmond locals is also bolstered by our familiarity with regional plants and animals. Memorizing 26 local trees for our course was one of my favorite parts of the semester because I was able to recognize the trees we studied in my backyard, on the river, and in pictures I’d seen. I only used to be aware of changes in flora when I traveled with my family to tropical locations and we enjoyed the sound of wind in the palms. Now, seeing the checkerboard bark of a dogwood reminds me of my home rather than being a non-descript “tree.” Adrienne writes about this comforting feeling of recognition in her reflection blog, “I have found that since I have become familiar with the personalities of many of the trees on campus—from the majestic beauty of the Dawn Redwood, to the stately and upright Loblolly Pine, to the delicate and cheerful Dogwood—I have become more observant and perceptive of what is around me. Identifying what is familiar has allowed me to recognize what I have yet to learn.” Likewise, my sense of identity with the Richmond area is not limited to distinct, manmade landmarks such as the Mosque, VCU, or even the river. Rather, subtle choice decorations of nature such as the red bud, the sycamore, and the river birch make Richmond a unique and familiar home.

A close-up of the red bud tree—one of my new local favorites. It is easily distinguishable by its small, purplish blossoms on the branches, and small, heart-shaped leaves.

I discovered one of my favorite poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow watching an episode of CSI in the 7^th grade. Then, I thought it to be merely a heart-warming, benign piece about friendship that was cleverly woven into the bizarre plot for that evening. Now, I recognize my naïve interpretation and treasure it still, but I have come to appreciate the poem in a new way. After renewing my sense of the concept “place,” melancholy vignettes of human ignorance and limitations complicate the portrait of human connectedness. The oak tree (water, white, red, or willow I wonder?) provided the means for the narrator to rediscover a part of himself which is reflected in the reconnection with his friend. Nature, our physical place in the world, provides a literal foundation upon which we build our human identity. Whereas my midterm synthesis blog focused on the action of environmental stewardship, why humans must be responsible for the environment, this half of the semester has worked to make tangible the ethereal concept of human-nature identity and connectivity. My experiences of heightening my awareness of place as well as serving our local community have made apparent how many of our perceptions and, by extension, our relationships are influenced by place.

The Arrow and the Song by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.