Responding to my explorations of the Peace River Watershed websites (and the Carl Hiassen essay and Paul's essay "The Dock at Lake Holloway")
How much did I already know about my own habitat--the Peace River watershed and all the native plants, animals microbes that are district to it? As it turns out, not much. In fact, I was almost overwhelmed with all the new, detailed information, even though I had a head start exploring some of these web sites over the summer. Robby and I had an exchange about this fact yesterday. He said it seemed like we ought to know more of this stuff. I'm not a big fan of the pressure that comes with "ought to know and should know," but I am glad to be learning.
Overall, the web sites assigned for us to explore are wonderful. They are filled with beautiful pictures, valuable information, and good writing. ( I especially enjoyed the exceptional photographs and lovely, descriptive writing used in The Peace River: A Trip through Native Florida.) Today's assigned list is a great reference source, and I've already found myself returning to it. I particularly enjoy lingering over the color pictures of our local birds in the Southwest Florida Water Management District, "Species Guide: Common Species on District Lands" (download PDF). I'm exerting some effort to learn the names of more birds, and it's great fun pointing them out to Rickey when we circle Lake Bonny every morning coming into the university.
Carl Hiaasen's essay (download PDF) was what I expected--fine writing about what has been lost and damaged in Florida's fragile Keys. I was struck that he shared his attachment of the keys with multiple generations of his family--grandfather, father, and then with his son. The sharing started with telling but the personal experience of seeing and exploring the it is what made them all fall in love with the place.
On a side note, Hiaasen wrote about sorrow and anger being need for fighting to save the place. It seems to me that sorrow and anger can motivate folks to struggle, but they are not enough to sustain them for the long haul. I think a deep spiritual connection is what gives anyone the ability to keep going, to face discouragement, to have hope, to keep the faith for any good cause. (And saving the Keys is a good cause.)
Paul's essay, The Dock at Lake Holloway, is amazing! I loved the thoroughness, creativity, and insight he shared. I think the whole project is a terrific example for us to reflect on so that we, like Paul, can become "...skillful and intentional in learning in our lives." Paul wrote about visiting, reading, writing, photographing, sketching, cleaning around the dock at Lake Holloway required "an ordinary amount of effort." Although I like everything about this project, I do think it represents considerable effort.) On a practical note, because Paul had shared this essay with me last year, I was able to imagine helping to clean up Lake Holloway when I read about the invitation to participate in our community lakes clean-up month. (Note: Paul, Alisa, Mariva (Alisa's daughter) and I all worked one morning in June picking up trash along the edge of Lake Hollway.)
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
Post-post week 1--one natural thing
Assignment: Describe one natural thing as thoroughly as I can.
Although the expectation was for me to write a prose description, I like my poem(ish) piece.
Disintegrating oak leaf
The disintegrating oak leaf is so tiny and so weightless
I can't even feel its presence in the palm of my hand.
I'm sure I took it for granted when it was green and
waving to me from the limb of our huge old oak.
And I'm sure I didn't notice it's single decent to my lawn.
But somehow it caught my attention when it landed
on the edge on my front porch
--so small and fragile and missing centimeters of itself.
I hold it gently, turning it slightly.
I linger over the intricate lace pattern
delicate ribs that let the light through.
It makes me smile,
I want to bring it to show you all
so you can smile, too.
Although the expectation was for me to write a prose description, I like my poem(ish) piece.
Disintegrating oak leaf
The disintegrating oak leaf is so tiny and so weightless
I can't even feel its presence in the palm of my hand.
I'm sure I took it for granted when it was green and
waving to me from the limb of our huge old oak.
And I'm sure I didn't notice it's single decent to my lawn.
But somehow it caught my attention when it landed
on the edge on my front porch
--so small and fragile and missing centimeters of itself.
I hold it gently, turning it slightly.
I linger over the intricate lace pattern
delicate ribs that let the light through.
It makes me smile,
I want to bring it to show you all
so you can smile, too.
Anna’s Introduction
I read an article yesterday that emphasized the importance of seeing things as they are not as we project them or try to re-create them. This made me want to rewrite what I had already written to share for this class because I felt I had too rosy a description of why I'm here, why I'm interested in ecology, theology and literature. As is often the case, the whole truth is complex. The categories I chose are the same, but I think I'm doing better now. These responses seem more real and full.
A room with a view--I spent the first 13 years of my life living in an old house on high bluff over the Tennessee River. The view was everything you'd expect it to be--a winding river, a distant island, constant breezes--beautiful! What this sentence doesn't catch is the fact the house was in the city, which meant at that bend in the river the steep bluff was treacherous, the water deep, the current swift, and the air polluted.
Family outings--Long before seatbelts, my mom and dad would regularly pile five kids in the car and go on outings to the country. We explored the mountains and the mountain valleys. We went swimming in muddy lakes and cold, clear mountain streams. We hiked old civil war battlefields and narrow Indian trails. These frequent outings made it easy to fall in love with where I lived, Chattanooga Tennessee. The bad part of living surrounded by mountains had to do with coal dust. Chattanooga burned a lot of coal, and the coal dust was easily trapped by the surrounding mountains. I had asthma as a child. I did everything my family did, but the consequences were often severe breathing problems. I took strong medicine and the family doctor told my dad we needed to move or I wouldn't make it to adulthood.
Florida; haven and heaven--We moved to Niceville, Florida when I was 13. At first, I deeply resented all the sand and hot sun and a huge gulf where the salty water shoved me around and irritated my eyes. But I could breathe easily here, and I quit having asthma attacks. Hurray! And, over time, I was wooed and won by long walks with gentle breezes, gorgeous sunsets, and moving water. And the truth of my deep love for this place hit me when I discovered I was just as happy on gray, drizzly days as I was on sunny ones.
Problems in paradise--When we moved to the panhandle, the sugar white beaches were practically deserted. Seriously, there were only a few hotels for miles and miles, and only one was more than two stories tall. Since the late 60's, the explosive development along the emerald coast has created havoc with the environment—pollution, destruction of native habitat, water shortages, etc. The quality of life has been drastically reduced for the folks who live there. Among other things, there are now almost no free and open beach fronts. In fact, there are relatively few public access walkways—ugh!
Painful facts and the future--I am full of pain for what has been lost and can’t be recovered, not only in Florida but everywhere, all over the world. I am aching to get a handle on integrating my faith with what I know and feel about facing a difficult future. I love reading good writing and making meaningful connections—that’s the literature part. I love spending time in natural places and showing care toward them—that’s the ecology part. I love God and want to understand and be part of holding the pain of the world while strengthening that which remains—that’s the theology part. I’m excited about the fullness of this class experience.
A room with a view--I spent the first 13 years of my life living in an old house on high bluff over the Tennessee River. The view was everything you'd expect it to be--a winding river, a distant island, constant breezes--beautiful! What this sentence doesn't catch is the fact the house was in the city, which meant at that bend in the river the steep bluff was treacherous, the water deep, the current swift, and the air polluted.
Family outings--Long before seatbelts, my mom and dad would regularly pile five kids in the car and go on outings to the country. We explored the mountains and the mountain valleys. We went swimming in muddy lakes and cold, clear mountain streams. We hiked old civil war battlefields and narrow Indian trails. These frequent outings made it easy to fall in love with where I lived, Chattanooga Tennessee. The bad part of living surrounded by mountains had to do with coal dust. Chattanooga burned a lot of coal, and the coal dust was easily trapped by the surrounding mountains. I had asthma as a child. I did everything my family did, but the consequences were often severe breathing problems. I took strong medicine and the family doctor told my dad we needed to move or I wouldn't make it to adulthood.
Florida; haven and heaven--We moved to Niceville, Florida when I was 13. At first, I deeply resented all the sand and hot sun and a huge gulf where the salty water shoved me around and irritated my eyes. But I could breathe easily here, and I quit having asthma attacks. Hurray! And, over time, I was wooed and won by long walks with gentle breezes, gorgeous sunsets, and moving water. And the truth of my deep love for this place hit me when I discovered I was just as happy on gray, drizzly days as I was on sunny ones.
Problems in paradise--When we moved to the panhandle, the sugar white beaches were practically deserted. Seriously, there were only a few hotels for miles and miles, and only one was more than two stories tall. Since the late 60's, the explosive development along the emerald coast has created havoc with the environment—pollution, destruction of native habitat, water shortages, etc. The quality of life has been drastically reduced for the folks who live there. Among other things, there are now almost no free and open beach fronts. In fact, there are relatively few public access walkways—ugh!
Painful facts and the future--I am full of pain for what has been lost and can’t be recovered, not only in Florida but everywhere, all over the world. I am aching to get a handle on integrating my faith with what I know and feel about facing a difficult future. I love reading good writing and making meaningful connections—that’s the literature part. I love spending time in natural places and showing care toward them—that’s the ecology part. I love God and want to understand and be part of holding the pain of the world while strengthening that which remains—that’s the theology part. I’m excited about the fullness of this class experience.
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