ibuckley – The Nature of Nature 2019

Great Blue Heron

This chapter is located towards the end of the book. Terry’s mother Diane has just passed away and she is spending a lot of time her grandmother Mimi who has now been diagnosed with cancer. She begins the section by describing the character of a great blue heron, anthropomorphizing the bird, and telling us of herresiliency. Herability to stay at home as the water levels rise and retreat. This alludes to Terry’s own “generational stance, the legacy of her lineage.”

Upon further investigation, it seems that blue herons are symbols of balance and illustrate what it is to evolve through changing environments. Whenever I see these birds at home, they are almost always wading, walking, and observing at the shallow edges of ponds or lakes. Sometimes I spot one flying overhead, with neck outstretched, but this is a rare occurrence. Like many other water birds, they exist in the worlds both above and below the water line, reliant on their long legs to carry them deeper into the shallows, but never venturing too far. Overall, Terry uses this bird in order to discuss her own need for balance in her life and her ability to weather this tide of familial loss.

The Trouble with Milk

As we congregated in the depths of his barn, I tried to hear David Kline’s voice over the sound of his cows who were busy seeking attention, pawing in the mud and exclaiming in a low guttural m-o-o-o. I remember he talked about the milk industry a couple of times throughout our visit and described the difficulties that small dairies have been facing for quite a while now. One of the big problems that small family farms face is finding a market to sell their products, and making enough money off of it to sustain that way of live. In David’s case the farm is organic, allowing them to sell the milk at a premium price. In fact Organic Valley, one of the largest cooperative organic brands, buys their milk and sells it for them. I knew that this type of relationship between farmer and large company existed, but it was very cool to see the whole operation in person.

Edinburgh

My flat was on Ratcliffe Terrace; located in a largely residential neighborhood just south of the city center, about twenty minutes walk from the university. From our kitchen window on the fifth floor, I could see out over the rooflines of the adjacent buildings. Each featured a fine row of chimneystacks, in formation, and long out of use. With antennas raised and skylights additions built in, these homes adapted to the times. Beyond these rows of shops and apartments are the houses of Morningside and the Braid, some of which are of fine stone exteriors and others of pebbledash. Their likeness is just visible from this distance. The rest of the skyline, even further away, is formed by Blackford Hill. One of Edinburgh’s seven hills, this local nature preserve was a perfect place for walking and reflecting. If I concentrated hard enough I could make out the Royal Observatory near its summit. Finally, along the horizon towards the southwest are the Pentland hills. Extending twenty miles in length, these rolling geologic forms mark the furthest reaches of the city.

Learning to see

My parents tell me that since I was young, I had a “good eye.” Around age two or three my dad would push me in the stroller while walking our dog and I would point out aluminum cans discarded off the side of the street. I guess it’s turned into something of a nickname or a family phrase, “good eye Ingrid.” Come to think of it, I’ve usually been the one to first spot wildlife while going on hikes or simply driving with my family. I remember when we went to visit my aunt a long time ago, we were driving through the everglades and I spotted an alligator off the side of the road, quite near to us. I don’t think my parents believed me until they saw it for themselves.

In middle school I was gifted a camera from my aunt, and I took great pleasure in using it however I liked. By high school I received a nicer digital camera from my parents and continued to take photos pretty consistently (something I need to get back into the habit of). I became very interested in street photography. I read all about Henri Cartier-Bresson and looked at countless photography book by him, Robert Frank, Vivian Maier, and David Plowden. I was really fascinated by Cartier-Bresson and Maier because they truly mastered the candid photograph. They were able to take photographs at just the right time, often of complete strangers, and composed them in such an emotive and thought out way that they appear to be perfect little masterpieces. Cartier-Bresson pioneered this idea of the Decisive Moment: to wait, observe a scene, and take the photo at just the right moment where all of the desired elements of the photograph combine within the composition to create the photo.

Since having a camera myself, I feel a duty to myself to see and record everything around me that I deem significant. Through this, I feel like I have become a more diligent and detail oriented observer. I believe Dillard says something similar to this in chapter two. The camera has trained me, even more so, to take in the details, to pay attention to what others might not see (an interesting shadow or reflection). For instance my favorite moments are when I ignore the obvious attraction (the teams at a sporting event) and instead focus on the background (the kids running under the stands, the faces of those in the crowd, even the moths flying under the stadium lights). Essentially, anything in the “background” fascinates me and in my opinion, usually tells a more interesting story.

Flowers for Fall

I am always so impressed with the grounds crew at this school, and the work that they put into making our campus beautiful. For the past week or so I have notices these vibrantly colorful flowers outside of the library and so I took this writing opportunity to snoop around and figure out what they were. Frankly enough, I used the power of the internet and my googling abilities to search, “colorful fuzzy flowers,” and was able to identify them through pictures online. I found out that this species is called Celosia, Plumed. They are annuals meaning that they are only alive for one growing season, and what makes them unique is their feathery and plumelike flowerheads which come in colors ranging from pink and red, to yellow or violet. Overall, they seem to be a nice bright addition to this constantly changing fall weather.

http://www.gardening.cornell.edu/homegardening/scene445b.html

Ah Romanticism…

“When I think of acquiring for myself one of our luxurious dwellings, I am deterred, for, so to speak, the country is not yet adapted to humanculture, and we are still forced to cut our spiritualbread far thinner than our forefathers did their wheaten. Not that all architectural ornament is to be neglected even in the rudest periods; but let our houses first be lined with beauty, where they come in contact with our lives, like the tenement of the shellfish, and not overlaid with it…[describes natural materials]…With a little more wit we might use these materials so as to become richer than the richest now are, and make our civilization a blessing. The civilized man is a more experienced and wiser savage. But to make haste to my own experiment.” 142

This passage peaked my interest and also caused slight frustration the first time I read it. It is a snippet from Economy, nearing the end of Thoreau’s discussion of western style houses/shelters. In this section, he argues against the building style of his neighbors saying that it is too ornamental and that the expenses associated with the style are too great. As an alternative, he turns to the buildings of Native American peoples (he is very general about who he is addressing) and seems to praise them for their use of natural building materials and the structure’s functionality. This distinction he makes between the two styles makes it clear that he values frugality, functionality, and authenticity when it comes to architecture (or really anything).

The way that he talks about this subject also highlights his positionality as a white, male, middle class, American. Throughout the discussion he refers a lot to ideas of progress, especially where it concerns notions of modernity, as though some people have “progressed” and others have stayed stagnant. He of course praises this more “simple life” (actually just romanticizing and generalizing a whole diverse and dynamic ethnic group and their culture) and then to make matters more complicated, he states, “the civilized man is a more experienced and wiser savage.” Hence he seems be trying to understand and appreciate a culture that is not his own, but is unable to fully comprehend his own ethnocentrism and the impact it has on this analysis. In total, this whole section says a lot about the times that he was living in, his worldviews, the values that he upheld in his life, and his ideals for a better society.

The Island

What really struck me about Johnson’s woods was its location, its sense of place within the wider environment. For most of our drive, I stared out the window, in particular I noticed when the bike path just outside of town started and then abruptly stopped a mile or so later. Helpful. Passing though Smithville and the other neighborhoods that line the highway, it was clear that we were going into the more rural expanses of northeast Ohio. These fields are flat, agricultural land, producing great quantities of corn and soy. They dominate their prospective fields and are sometimes graced with a proud chemical sign alluding to the their genetic make up.

Once we could see the great expanse of foliage ahead of us, I was quite astonished. Not to say it was a new sight to my eyes, but the view itself, the contrast of the woods with its surroundings, really struck me. The great Hickories and Oaks of enormous height towered over us as we passed through the green tunnel. And then we reached the other side. I realized why this felt so strange. Here was a forest “untouched” through the ages, a survivor, now isolated and trapped within this feat of progress, modern agriculture. What kind of forest is this anyway?

“Treehouse Cafe”

One of the first places that I thought of, which concerns our imitation of nature on campus, was Knowlton cafe and the “trees.” In many ways these sculptural fixtures are quite beautiful. They rise out of circular benches with trunks that resemble those of aspens, with felted leaves and hidden bulbs that illuminate. Yes these trees are not living, but as far as architecture goes, they are natural elements that reflect the towering oak trees just outside on the green.