Geography of the James (Earth Lodge)

Richmond in the wintertime is like none I have ever seen before. Mid January the sun is shining, 70 degrees outside and not a cloud in site! At first glance only twisted and gnarled seem to tangle and twist on either side of the path as the bushes and trees lay barren of their leaves. Where is the white of snow, the fresh pine smell from glistening evergreen trees and the sparkle and shine from icicles on each room or branch?

My first stroll down Gambles Mill Corridor unfortunately left me disappointed, as everything seemed dead, overgrown and dirty. A gust of wind brushed passed me as I turned around to go back to class and off in the distance the rustic red brick of Boatwright Tower stood perfectly silhouetted by the tall grey barren trees. If you have ever seen the original “Tricks are for Kids” commercial you will know what I am talking about when I say the world was painted with the colors of the wind (stolen from Pocahontas)Colors of the Wind. Red shoes skirt the murky brown puddles, red crested woodpeckers soar up into their homes nestled deep into the woods, red berries lie buried in bushes along the path and red clothed Mark Massaro sets off on through the wilderness in search of adventure. Green sprouts emerge from the gnarled branches; green grass clashes against the brown as life emerges next to the spring.< Orange, yellow and brown still remain primary amongst the foliage but they have taken on a a new sense of beauty.

“ The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim

But I know every rock and tree and creature

Has a life, has a spirit, has a name”

– Pocahontas

-Kelly

As echoed thus far, I found the paradox of the wild and the human-manufactured fascinating. From my perch on a rustic wooden bench on top of an abandoned cement circular installation in the ground, the evidence of this juxtaposition was everywhere. Nature has been subtly working on a telephone pole beside me for many years now, as is apparent by the branches of some ground plant that have made their way, twisting and turning around the cords on the pole, almost trying to imitate them and disguise themselves as man-made.
Beyond the telephone pole, as I’m sure has already been described, there lie this interesting contrast of a pristinely maintained golf course and this wild underbrush that has taken over the majority of the passage way, cut through by only a narrow swath of cement that is fighting a losing battle against the natural tendency the land wants to take.
Another battle that caught my eye was the one taking place in the community garden. Someone planted this otherwise lovely green grass in the garden, and I was a little surprised by my aversion to it. It was so blindingly…green that it jarred the senses against the backdrop of other plants in their own version of hibernation. It seemed almost like that Hollywood Stepford wife who, in efforts to fight the process of aging, freezes her face with plastic surgery. Which, instead of supplementing her natural beauty, is jarring to the eye and unsettling next to the deep smile and worry lines of other women who refrain from altering their natural state. That is the green grass next to the wild beauty of the rest of Gambles Mill.
Another fascinating facet to this experience for me was this suppressed life in death in the plants and trees around me. Washington state is dominated by various breeds of evergreens, so this cycle of death, rebirth, life, and dying that occurs annually in the flora and fauna here was very foreign and kind of refreshing. Instead of living in a constant season of…fall? The variation is really wonderful.

I didn’t get far
down the Gambles Mill Trail when we were traversing there during our Geography
class last Thursday. Once I made it past the initial area that appears to be
“The Road Less Traveled By” from Frost’s poem, I stumbled across something I
had been wondering about for almost a year, The University of Richmond’s
Community Garden. Naturally I was rather pleased at spontaneously finding such
a treasure and immediately my thoughts turned to all the delicious
possibilities that were now open to me and the rest of the world because of
this discovery. A community garden, being a garden for the community, promotes
friendship and general neighborliness between members of a community by
providing them with a common activity, gardening. This idea is common all over
the world from the suburbs of Richmond to rural Nigeria to urban Boston. Food,
flowers, and friends all being things that I love, naturally this sits high in
my admiration.

But
I realize now, as I did in the moment, that the benefits of said Community
Garden were not meant to be the sole focus of Earth Lodge’s journey into the
wilderness between our facilities center and the golf course belonging to the
Country Club of Richmond.

After exploring the garden for a
bit I sat down in the path to take in the contrast around me. I had behind me
an expansive field of golden grass kept in (almost)perfect condition so that
people in Richmond could come and play golf. To my right was another stretch of
grass, this time brilliantly green, that is meant to be torn up so people in
the Richmond community can sew new seeds where old seeds once were. On my left
were two huge mounds of mulch, which have a specific reason for being there, I
just don’t know what that is yet. But everywhere else, surrounding the path, pushing
through cracks and over fences, was nature undisturbed serving as a natural
boundary between the different purposes of man. We use nature for what we want,
it is an obstruction, it needs to be tamed, it needs to be controlled and
manipulated. Even when this “wilderness” becomes a destination, an escape, or
an object of worship we are still using it for what we want, forgetting that
wilderness cannot be completely controlled. I am reminded of how the characters
in The Lion, The Witch, and The
Wardrobedescribe Aslan as being neither safe nor tame, but
being good. Chris McCandless may or may not have understood that nature is
neither safe nor tame, but I do think he understood that it was good, and I do
think it is important for everyone to understand these things.

           Last Thursday was the first official class of Earth Lodge. I was very confused about what we were going to do in class at first since we don’t have a textbook for this course. But I quickly forgot about my doubts once Dr. Lookingbill announced a field trip to the Gambles Mill Trail.

            The Gambles Mill Trail is probably one of the most neglected parts of the University of Richmond. It connects the University of Richmond to the intersection of Huguenot and River Road, the River and many restaurants and fancy stores close the University of Richmond. That was pretty much all I knew about the trail before I set my foot on it. I was very excited to be out of the classroom after a stressful day of 4 classes and filling out nerve racking finance internship applications. I hurried down the trail to see how long it would take to get to the intersection, hoping to watch the cars pass me by and maybe grab some Starbucks coffee. However, when I finally made it to end of the trail, I realized all the earth lodgers are no longer behind me and I’m standing at a busy intersection alone. I remembered our assignment was to observe the nature of the trail. I stood there, amazed at how I did not notice the nature around me at all. A few years ago, I was obsessed with nature and would spend hours outside. I was proud that I wanted to be environmental engineer and list my assistant park ranger job at the very top of my resume. Now all I have on my resume is a highlighted number that doesn’t really mean anything; and I can think about is the reasons I want to intern for Goldman Sachs and random math equations that I would probably never use the after I graduate college. I decided to turn around, but this time I wanted to leave all my stress behind and explore nature with the lovely earth lodgers. Nature was beautiful: I noticed the fresh smell of the grass after rain, the steam flowing beneath the layer of branches, and the birds singing in the tress on the top of their lungs. I walked into a cage-shaped space made up of tree branches and enjoyed the sunlight peeking through the branches. I did not want to leave the trail at the end of class. I remember why I loved nature so much; it helps me forget about my stress and every once in a while, it reminds me of what I’m missing in my life.

Mark getting out of the tree cage. 🙂

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Sitting on the fence at the end of the trail, it seems that all I can hear is the white noise that comes from the road. Although this commotion seems to be overpowering my initial feeling of being on a secluded path, when I listen closely I can hear the chirping of a bird. I listen more closely and hear the tweet of another, then the hoot of a morning dove, and eventually the white noise from the road fades into the background as I listen to their songs.

It is interesting how we tend to block out the beautiful sounds of nature and instead give our attention to the noise of the man-made world, when it is perfectly easy to focus on the simple songs of birds in a tree. When I am finally able to focus on the sounds I have grown to block out or not notice, I realize what I have been ignoring, and what I’ve been missing. Obviously the sounds of the birds are more pleasant than those of the road, but we forget to seek out these sounds. Imagine the way your day could perk up if you simply stopped for only five minutes to block out the bustle of man’s world and meditate on the sound of the Earth and animals around you. I know that my day would definitely improve tenfold.

The overwhelming noise that comes from the road represents how the pressure for us to remain in constant motion can drown out the simple pleasures that we often forget to stop for. So if you hear the twitter of a bird, try to pause your busy day and listen in for only a minute: you will realize what beauty the Earth has to offer as an alternative to the noisy lives we feel the need to take part of.

Already this class has led me to stop and think about my surroundings. From taking the in-class quiz to exploring a trail on campus that I had no idea about, I have learned so much about the environment: not only its physical characteristics but its context with the rest of the world, both past and present. What better education is there than that?

“Catch it if you can. The present is an invisible electron; its lightning path traced faintly on a blackened screen is fleet, and fleeing, and gone.” –Annie Dillard

This quote is a snippet from page 80 of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. I have been thinking a lot about the present and what it means to be present since reading chapter six in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek before the holiday break. It is a good ambition to want to feel more present in life more often, but what does it even mean to be present? According to Annie Dillard, “Experiencing the present purely is being emptied and hollow; you catch grace as a man fills his cup under a waterfall” (p 82). To me, being present is not about forgetting the past or ignoring the future. Rather, I think part of being present is to be actively aware of where you stand in relationship with the past and future. At the same time, being present requires a certain amount of stillness. It is finding the appropriate balance between active and calm, alert and peaceful. I find that my fondest memories are of when I am being an active observer and participant in my life. This is not because those times were any better than normal, but because I made a conscious effort to be aware of myself and my surroundings and reflect on them. So here I am, sitting on a log off the Gambles Mill Trail, actively in the present. I feel the branches of my brambly hut brush against my back and cheek. I am watching the sun filter through the low canopy, highlighting patches of crumbled leaves left over from fall. I am listening to the birds banter a few yards away. Thinking about our conversation in class, I wonder if the trees and birds around me are native to the area. As I watch the stream filtering past, I wonder what journey the water has taken to reach this spot, and where it will eventually arrive. I am thoroughly enjoying this small journey through the present. I hope that with more active participation in my life, I can continue to enjoy and learn about places like the Gambles Mill Trail and the rest of the world around me.

Beautiful World

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Late last semester I went to a presentation that focused on how the University can better use the Gambles Mill Corridor. Turns out, it’s a fairly underutilized strip of pavement that the higher-ups want to turn into a notable campus feature. And truth be told, I honestly wasn’t at all surprised that the trail is largely ignored by the campus writ at large. When I saw the opening to the walkway, my initial thought was that the place looked like one of those creepy roads in horror films that protagonist’s feel the incessant need meander down. Don’t we always scream, “Don’t go down that path, fool!” and they always do and end up worse because of it? Yeah, it’s kind of like that. Besides, why would anyone want to take a gamble on Gambles Mill when there’s a beautiful golf course (okay so the grass hates winter; we’ll let that slide) right next door? Fortunately, us brave adventurous Earth Lodger’s aren’t afraid of no scary trees! Together, we boldly venture where few Richmond students have gone before.

Inside the corridor there’s one feature that unites everything in sight, and that is the color grey. Everything is grey! Grey grass; grey trees; grey pathways; grey sky; grey rocks; grey. In fact the only vibrant colors on the trail are the luscious green of the community garden and the red and white stripes of an iron post making itself known against a sea of deciduous detritus. (And of course the sycamore log that I rescued). Now, most of this grey color I attribute to the time of day, or perhaps a cloud eclipsing the sun, but none the less the simple pervasiveness of it was remarkable. It kind of opened my eyes something I had always known but never fully realized; you can’t control nature. Sometimes it can be vibrant and beautiful, others, grey and overgrown. This past Thursday was a grey-day.

Looking off the Gambles Mill trail we’re able to glimpse a small peek at nature left to her own devices, and it is overwhelming. Trees rest fallen on their barky brethren and bushes compete for their spot on the narrow strip of land flanked by the golf course and campus. Vines stretch to reclaim valuable retail space on erected telephone poles. Everything seen here is in a constant struggle for survival and the result is a chaotic and tangled brown web of life. Exploratory plants branch further and further outward in attempts to escape the twisted web behind them, but are stopped abruptly upon reaching the fence that separates and signifies a curious dichotomy between what belongs to man and nature.

If left unkempt, the Gambles Mill Corridor will remain on the fringe of Richmond campus and only a place of mystique to those who can appreciate Mother Nature’s alluring touch. But would we be overstepping our boundaries if we spruce it up a little bit? Build some bridges and new walkways? Try and encourage some color and interest from choice students? Would it be promoting nature? Or perhaps, it would simply be a finely groomed diversion, a golf course of a different color.

I had heard about the Gambrill Mills Trail last year but never had a chance to find out where it was on campus, let alone explore it.  Fortunately, on a recent beautiful Thursday afternoon I got lucky and got to finally walk over and experience the trail.  Once on the trail I found myself in a peaceful state but also a little shocked.

I grew up exploring the outdoors as much as possible, particularly walking on trails.  I have seen all types of trails and wilderness and plan on seeing much more in the years to come.  When I think of a trail, I think of trees, wild plants, tons of greenery and wild life.  When I took my first step into the Gambrill Mills trail I did not get to experience much of these wonderful things.

There was a lovely greenery area gated off, I am guessing either for a garden or for plants to grow.  There was plenty of fresh green grass with no footsteps to be seen.  It was a gorgeous day out and I was excited to continue to walk and see what else this trail had to offer.  Only a few more steps away was a little creek.  Even though it was very tiny, it was quaint and fit the scenery. I had thought about sitting down and taking the scenery in but decided to keep on walking.  As you walk down the Gambrill Mills trail you start to hear and see things you would not usually think of.  Once you pass the little creek you no longer just hear a bird every once in a while.  Instead, you also hear noises from the apartments on campus.  This was a little distracting while trying to take in the surroundings but I continued on.  To my surprise, after walking just a little further I came upon construction marks all over the ground.  There is no longer the green grass I saw as I began this journey.  In fact, there is no grass to be seen.  It had rained earlier before I set about to walk on the trail and it appeared to me that construction trucks had driven in right after the rain and left deep tire marks in the ground.  This caused significant damage to the ground because it was so wet. There were also broken branches and plants all throughout the trail.  At this point I was a bit saddened after seeing and hearing everything so far, but just as I reached near the end of the trail I decided to look back at what I had just walked through.  To my delightful surprise I was able to see the bell tower on campus and some beautiful red berries in a bush I had missed.  The bell tower looked elegant and the red berries added a burst of color to the scene.  Even though the trail had not been what I expected, especially in its lack of eco-friendliness, I still was able to enjoy a wonderful day in the outdoors.  It just reminded me that even if you are in an area where plant devastation or human population has take over, if you look hard enough you should still be able to see how breathtaking nature can be, even if it is a couple of red berries in a bush.

I realized as we left class on Thursday that I hadn’t had the opportunity to take a hike in class since eighth grade. Though I understand how beneficial classroom learning is, I think we’ve come to define it too rigidly. I am not always aware of how limited I feel when constantly confined to a classroom, or buildings in general, but walking to the Gambles Mill Trail with my classmates, I felt that I was already gaining a new perspective on my own education and environment. So often in classes, I find myself trying to decipher exactly what a professor is looking for rather than considering the subject matter in a more holistic manner. Leaving class on an absurdly warm January day to simply observe and explore? What a refreshing way to take stock of our surroundings as we head into a class that is bound to influence us personally and as a community of Earth lovers.

As I walked down the trail, and then ventured a little ways down a creek, I began thinking about my dog, Folly, who died of a mysterious illness the day we came back from Christmas break. Straying off of a trail always reminds me of her and the way that she would disappear for long stretches of time as we made our way to Sky Meadows (a short hike on the AT from my house). I always had the feeling that she was darting off to check on something that was hugely important in her canine world. As I pondered this on Thursday, sitting on a rock by the creek, I wondered what I considered important enough in my own world that would make me stray from the beaten path with such speed and purpose? And what natural space do I know as thoroughly as Folly knows the mountain on which we co-habited? Though I’ve roamed the mountain a fair bit, I’ve never come close to knowing the secrets that Folly knew. I suppose I know more about the area around The Pinery, the cabin in Northwestern PA where my family spends our summers, but what does that show about my relationship to my environment when I’m busy with school and other commitments?

Now, I may not be giving myself enough credit, comparing my own knowledge of my surroundings to that of a dog, but sitting upon that rock in the creek by the Gambles Mill Trail, I began to feel that I was mourning not only my dog, but also the leading expert on the twenty-some acres surrounding my home. This is not to say that I was not enjoying or appreciating my surroundings—I simply felt that I had a newfound appreciation for Folly’s exploratory and intrepid character, and that my exploration of that creek bed was all the more urgent and inspired. Needless to say, that short venture to the Gambles Mill Trail was highly therapeutic, and provided me with some much-needed time to evaluate my complicated relationship to my surroundings.