Thanks y'all for a great and thought-provoking quarter!
Rock
Monday, June 28, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Stealing Home...
The reading community we were all in this quarter did help me better understand the material and helped our discussion. At first, I was uncertain if I would enjoy reading everyone’s post each week. It does take a substantial amount of time, and then to comment on each one seemed like it too even longer. However, I came to look forward to reading many of my classmates blogs. I think everyone came in with a unique and creative perspective—one in which I would not have been able to tap unless we had the blogs. Moreover, each blog did impact me in some way. The best examples I have are Lana and Sam.
Lana’s piece about her place and her father made me feel closer to her and her family and even her culture. I want to meet her father and see his little garden, see his joy, see Lana’s joy in showing it to someone else, and be thankful I was able to see it. Her take on many of the issues we tackled in class also increased my sensitivity to the bigger picture. Although I tend to think of myself as a big picture thinker, Lana’s view widened it more, and I am thankful for it.
Sam is a gifted writer with a flair for humor. Her most recent blog about her apartment and the intruder really bothered me, as I know it did many of us. Place can be such a comforting thing to us; yet, that was challenged by her experience. Beyond that particular post, I was able to see the world through Sam’s eyes. Even with the world about a foot or so shorter (smile), I learned to see the world with a new sense of wonder as I read Sam’s posts. This is hard to explain because there is an impression of relatability to her posts and her insight into the world.
Nevertheless, I could honestly point to at least one post of everyone’s that I learned something from. My point is more to highlight the overall quality of all the posts. SiYang and her sense of place—being distanced—yet, part of, which is exactly what I commented on. John strong impressions of place and how the world should operate—rather, maybe how he operates always gave me a sense of his interaction within our world. Eric’s humble sense of how the world operates. Although he did make some powerful statements in his blog and class, he always approached from the side of logical emotion, which I found commendable. Russ’s constant dance with technology left me silly. The fonts and pics and every other confounded thing he came up with left me smiling and going, “Why didn’t I think of that?” With the answer coming quickly, “Because I would never have thought of that, but Russ would…”
There is little doubt that reading each other’s posts affected my thinking and my writing. I became more cautious about what I was posting because the readers were intelligent and would point out my miscalculations.
However, I never got a solid sense of the commenting assignment. I was not sure if I was supposed to post on everyone’s or not. I often did post to all, but not always.
I thought it best to post if there was something productive to say. Some posts were so very good, there was nothing to say. I just wanted to read it again, and often did.
As to my blog posts, I believe my posts utilized the technology as my ability allowed and were thought provoking for the class. There were one or two posts that I merely wanted to play devil’s advocate and see what would happen. I think at first I enjoyed the blogs and creating them, but, to be honest, they got tiring toward the end. I came to feel like I was just searching for pictures or videos or whatever to make it look interesting. There were times that after reading one hundred or so pages, I didn’t really feel like writing a blog about the topic I had just read about. Since this is a new area for me, I was afraid of jumping into the fray with only having such limited exposure, which accounts for some aspects of my posts.
At the end of the day in today’s society, I think blogs are a useful but dying craft. (Most students now have never written a blog or read one.) And I’m sorry, but I really wanted to have some humor at the end to make you laugh.
Thank you everyone for reading, posting, and commenting throughout the quarter. I'm a better scholar because of all of you... Namaste.
Rock
P.S. For some reason as I was finishing up, the movie Stealing Home came to mind and I found a picture of Jackie Robinson...
Lana’s piece about her place and her father made me feel closer to her and her family and even her culture. I want to meet her father and see his little garden, see his joy, see Lana’s joy in showing it to someone else, and be thankful I was able to see it. Her take on many of the issues we tackled in class also increased my sensitivity to the bigger picture. Although I tend to think of myself as a big picture thinker, Lana’s view widened it more, and I am thankful for it.
Sam is a gifted writer with a flair for humor. Her most recent blog about her apartment and the intruder really bothered me, as I know it did many of us. Place can be such a comforting thing to us; yet, that was challenged by her experience. Beyond that particular post, I was able to see the world through Sam’s eyes. Even with the world about a foot or so shorter (smile), I learned to see the world with a new sense of wonder as I read Sam’s posts. This is hard to explain because there is an impression of relatability to her posts and her insight into the world.
Nevertheless, I could honestly point to at least one post of everyone’s that I learned something from. My point is more to highlight the overall quality of all the posts. SiYang and her sense of place—being distanced—yet, part of, which is exactly what I commented on. John strong impressions of place and how the world should operate—rather, maybe how he operates always gave me a sense of his interaction within our world. Eric’s humble sense of how the world operates. Although he did make some powerful statements in his blog and class, he always approached from the side of logical emotion, which I found commendable. Russ’s constant dance with technology left me silly. The fonts and pics and every other confounded thing he came up with left me smiling and going, “Why didn’t I think of that?” With the answer coming quickly, “Because I would never have thought of that, but Russ would…”
There is little doubt that reading each other’s posts affected my thinking and my writing. I became more cautious about what I was posting because the readers were intelligent and would point out my miscalculations.
However, I never got a solid sense of the commenting assignment. I was not sure if I was supposed to post on everyone’s or not. I often did post to all, but not always.
I thought it best to post if there was something productive to say. Some posts were so very good, there was nothing to say. I just wanted to read it again, and often did.
As to my blog posts, I believe my posts utilized the technology as my ability allowed and were thought provoking for the class. There were one or two posts that I merely wanted to play devil’s advocate and see what would happen. I think at first I enjoyed the blogs and creating them, but, to be honest, they got tiring toward the end. I came to feel like I was just searching for pictures or videos or whatever to make it look interesting. There were times that after reading one hundred or so pages, I didn’t really feel like writing a blog about the topic I had just read about. Since this is a new area for me, I was afraid of jumping into the fray with only having such limited exposure, which accounts for some aspects of my posts.
At the end of the day in today’s society, I think blogs are a useful but dying craft. (Most students now have never written a blog or read one.) And I’m sorry, but I really wanted to have some humor at the end to make you laugh.
Thank you everyone for reading, posting, and commenting throughout the quarter. I'm a better scholar because of all of you... Namaste.
Rock
P.S. For some reason as I was finishing up, the movie Stealing Home came to mind and I found a picture of Jackie Robinson...
Saturday, May 22, 2010
This Little Place of Mine...
After reading Nedra Reynolds's article, "Composition Imagined Geographies: The Politics of Space in the Frontier, City, and Cyberspace," I am more concerned about trying to use "space" as a pedagogical or theoretical tool to teach composition.
The first issue I have with Reynolds is where she suggests, "To control textual space well is to be a good writer; in fact, controlling textual spaces is very much tied to both literacy and power" (15). Although I concede that computers have made available many fonts and constructions of texts, when is the last time you saw a published piece written, designed, laid out, and printed by an author? The control of the space is mostly taken away from the creator of the piece. Do you think Reynolds held the power over her own article? How it would be seen by readers? Did she have control over the space? Of course not.
As someone that works with two publishers, I can assure you that the author does have input, but not override. The house has the final call. If they want ten point font, they get ten point font. The power resides with who foots the bill--typically, authors do not foot the bill.
I realize I'm coming at this from a different perspective than most people, and I understand what Reynolds is trying to do, but I hope I've shown it falls short in at least one area.
However, one area it does not fall short in is the expansion of Geography as a discipline. It is quite true that Geography has taken a giant step forward and, actually, become almost as interdisciplinary as Rhet/Comp. Geography has crossed over from being merely about structures to being about the cultures on those structures. I think there is a lot of scholarship in geo regarding cross cultural theory and research that is ripe for our exploration. Yet, again, although I agree geo is very useful, it is not writing. Geography is, to some degree, a science with humanities tendencies. I fail to see the usefulness of suggesting that a comma equates to a continent or a semicolon to state lines. As Reynolds notes, "A driving force behind geography's renaissance is economics" and "capitalism" (17). I'm not sure if Reynolds wants to argue that writing is driven by a business model, but it seems like it.
As Reynolds moves to Transparent Space, I get another knot in neck because this section is controlled by gender stereotypes, not data. In my view, she sets up women as weaker because of "the threat to women who dare to walk alone at night" (20, my emphasis). Dare? Is Oxford, Ohio some mecca of crime that I'm not aware of? That's not my point though. My point, then, is that Reynolds is setting up space--all space--as some kind of gender biased area that threatens women. Spaces cannot threaten anything or any one.
I'm not suggesting that crime or unsafe environments do not exist; they do. However, the living things in those spaces create those conditions, not the space itself. Moreover, if we consider institutions being unsafe, there is a power structure at play that has allowed that to occur. New York City is a fine example. In the 80s, NYC was a dangerous place at night, and few dared to venture out with the drugs, muggings, and other crime. Yet, when the right people came into power, they had a new focus and changed that space. Now, NYC is a fairly safe city at night and that space has new power structures related to it.
Again, in this section, I agree with Reynolds on the point she makes that where writing takes place matters. Well, of course it matters! I do not think students can learn how to improve writing in unhealthy environments or conditions that are not at least somewhat comfortable (nor can we teach in them).
Page 24, Harris is right.
Using metaphors about place to explain or theorize about composition sure is interesting, but not very practical. Moreover, I'm certain that many more metaphors will be created about writing (and many already have). But when do we say enough? One can make a metaphor for just about anything and connect it to writing. As more and more of these metaphors come about, the overall meaning of writing is getting lost--replaced by metaphors. Is it possible that students' heads are filled with metaphors of place, construction, and cycles that the actuality of writing is being displaced?
Maybe we should focus on teaching writing and how to teach it better than trying to figure out how a city street light presents more of a challenge than a rural crossroad in the writing classroom.
Finally, do we really want "a more paradoxical" aspect to writing? Aren't we confused enough, like him? (Well, maybe not HIM...)
The first issue I have with Reynolds is where she suggests, "To control textual space well is to be a good writer; in fact, controlling textual spaces is very much tied to both literacy and power" (15). Although I concede that computers have made available many fonts and constructions of texts, when is the last time you saw a published piece written, designed, laid out, and printed by an author? The control of the space is mostly taken away from the creator of the piece. Do you think Reynolds held the power over her own article? How it would be seen by readers? Did she have control over the space? Of course not.
As someone that works with two publishers, I can assure you that the author does have input, but not override. The house has the final call. If they want ten point font, they get ten point font. The power resides with who foots the bill--typically, authors do not foot the bill.
I realize I'm coming at this from a different perspective than most people, and I understand what Reynolds is trying to do, but I hope I've shown it falls short in at least one area.
However, one area it does not fall short in is the expansion of Geography as a discipline. It is quite true that Geography has taken a giant step forward and, actually, become almost as interdisciplinary as Rhet/Comp. Geography has crossed over from being merely about structures to being about the cultures on those structures. I think there is a lot of scholarship in geo regarding cross cultural theory and research that is ripe for our exploration. Yet, again, although I agree geo is very useful, it is not writing. Geography is, to some degree, a science with humanities tendencies. I fail to see the usefulness of suggesting that a comma equates to a continent or a semicolon to state lines. As Reynolds notes, "A driving force behind geography's renaissance is economics" and "capitalism" (17). I'm not sure if Reynolds wants to argue that writing is driven by a business model, but it seems like it.
As Reynolds moves to Transparent Space, I get another knot in neck because this section is controlled by gender stereotypes, not data. In my view, she sets up women as weaker because of "the threat to women who dare to walk alone at night" (20, my emphasis). Dare? Is Oxford, Ohio some mecca of crime that I'm not aware of? That's not my point though. My point, then, is that Reynolds is setting up space--all space--as some kind of gender biased area that threatens women. Spaces cannot threaten anything or any one.
I'm not suggesting that crime or unsafe environments do not exist; they do. However, the living things in those spaces create those conditions, not the space itself. Moreover, if we consider institutions being unsafe, there is a power structure at play that has allowed that to occur. New York City is a fine example. In the 80s, NYC was a dangerous place at night, and few dared to venture out with the drugs, muggings, and other crime. Yet, when the right people came into power, they had a new focus and changed that space. Now, NYC is a fairly safe city at night and that space has new power structures related to it.
Again, in this section, I agree with Reynolds on the point she makes that where writing takes place matters. Well, of course it matters! I do not think students can learn how to improve writing in unhealthy environments or conditions that are not at least somewhat comfortable (nor can we teach in them).
Page 24, Harris is right.
Using metaphors about place to explain or theorize about composition sure is interesting, but not very practical. Moreover, I'm certain that many more metaphors will be created about writing (and many already have). But when do we say enough? One can make a metaphor for just about anything and connect it to writing. As more and more of these metaphors come about, the overall meaning of writing is getting lost--replaced by metaphors. Is it possible that students' heads are filled with metaphors of place, construction, and cycles that the actuality of writing is being displaced?
Maybe we should focus on teaching writing and how to teach it better than trying to figure out how a city street light presents more of a challenge than a rural crossroad in the writing classroom.
Finally, do we really want "a more paradoxical" aspect to writing? Aren't we confused enough, like him? (Well, maybe not HIM...)
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
And Here's What I Think...
Define “ecocompositon” based on your synthesis of the readings for today. Discuss the advantages of using ecology as a model for discourse, writing, and rhetoric and as a possible orientation toward composition pedagogy. Speculate on disadvantages, possible downsides.
I started thinking about the definition to "ecocomposition" as soon as I read the e-mail that went out. But at the time, nothing was forthcoming. Then, just before I started the readings, I took a few moments to reflect on the definition and what it might be.
Here is what I came up with:
Now, after I've done all the reading, I think I did pretty good. However, I can add to that definition a bit more and include insight from those readings.
Early on in Ecocomposition, Sidney I. Dobrin defines it as, "an area of study which, at its core, places ecological thinking and composition in dialogue with one another in order to both consider the ecological properties of written discourse and the ways in which ecologies, environments, locations, places, and nature are discursively affected" (2).
I tend to think mine is a bit easier to understand and agree with, since it means basically the same thing.
Yet, Dorbin later makes clear that "Ecocomposition is not a term for definition, but an inquiry for action" (14). Ok. Now that changes things a bit in that although it is related to everything, there is no real definition beyond the one, I think, we create.
And later, Dobrin adds, "ecocomposition looks to engage place as rhetoric" (22).
Then, I thought of this image...
Ahh, now it makes sense. It really does encompass everything and everyplace, well, more or less.
Then I was tasked with the Advantages of this thing called "ecocomposition".
I think ecocomp can be more natural, less constructed, easy to grasp, and efficient. It provides for multiple viewpoints and influences, which deepen our understanding of a number of areas. Through this understanding, we strengthen our connections and recognize how "connected" we really are to the whole (whole what, I'm not sure yet).
Julie Drew provides an excellent way to conceive of ecocomp in the classroom. She suggests that students should be seen as "travelers," which I think is an awesome metaphor, because it allows us to get away from the "sage on the stage" mentality and see students as more complete (Drew 60). Moreover, by seeing them this way, teachers can better accept student experience as valid--much like someone who comes from the Sudan and has completely different experiences and knowledge. I think this is the most important idea I gained from this section of the text....
As for disadvantages, there are enough to prove at least slightly troublesome. With all the "ecocompness" of our class and our readings, I don't think I'm see a fair integration of technology--I know it's there, but I'm not getting a clear picture of it. Further, I see, at times, how ecocomp can be distracted by whatever in the efforts to expand and explore. This, to be fair, is not really a true disadvantage, but it does depend on how one operates. I also see what Derek Owens makes not of on pages 28-29. He mentions how he can't justify all his travel and expenses in our field (Rhet/Comp): the airplane flights, the big hotel expenses, the travel time, and so on. If we are true to the concepts of ecocomp, we cannot really justify these things because of the "footprint" they leave on Earth.
The last point I have regarding disadvantages is the speed of ecocomp. I do NOT get the impression that it moves quickly--it is slow, sloth-like. "In today's society," we move fast--we are on the internet a few times a day, we have cell phone that could have put people on the moon forty years ago, and we don't like to be disconnected. (I couldn't resist the opening phrase, sorry.)
I'll be honest, I was dubious about this "ecocomposition" stuff when we started this class, but now I realize it's not necessary driven by a green movement--it can be, but doesn't have to be. I think I'm more open to it now because it allows for more freedom to explore not only other disciplines but other potentials--whatever that means.
Rock
I started thinking about the definition to "ecocomposition" as soon as I read the e-mail that went out. But at the time, nothing was forthcoming. Then, just before I started the readings, I took a few moments to reflect on the definition and what it might be.
Here is what I came up with:
Ecocomposition is a way of connecting composition to just about everything.Pretty insightful, huh?
Now, after I've done all the reading, I think I did pretty good. However, I can add to that definition a bit more and include insight from those readings.
Early on in Ecocomposition, Sidney I. Dobrin defines it as, "an area of study which, at its core, places ecological thinking and composition in dialogue with one another in order to both consider the ecological properties of written discourse and the ways in which ecologies, environments, locations, places, and nature are discursively affected" (2).
I tend to think mine is a bit easier to understand and agree with, since it means basically the same thing.
Yet, Dorbin later makes clear that "Ecocomposition is not a term for definition, but an inquiry for action" (14). Ok. Now that changes things a bit in that although it is related to everything, there is no real definition beyond the one, I think, we create.
And later, Dobrin adds, "ecocomposition looks to engage place as rhetoric" (22).
Then, I thought of this image...
Then I was tasked with the Advantages of this thing called "ecocomposition".
I think ecocomp can be more natural, less constructed, easy to grasp, and efficient. It provides for multiple viewpoints and influences, which deepen our understanding of a number of areas. Through this understanding, we strengthen our connections and recognize how "connected" we really are to the whole (whole what, I'm not sure yet).
Julie Drew provides an excellent way to conceive of ecocomp in the classroom. She suggests that students should be seen as "travelers," which I think is an awesome metaphor, because it allows us to get away from the "sage on the stage" mentality and see students as more complete (Drew 60). Moreover, by seeing them this way, teachers can better accept student experience as valid--much like someone who comes from the Sudan and has completely different experiences and knowledge. I think this is the most important idea I gained from this section of the text....
As for disadvantages, there are enough to prove at least slightly troublesome. With all the "ecocompness" of our class and our readings, I don't think I'm see a fair integration of technology--I know it's there, but I'm not getting a clear picture of it. Further, I see, at times, how ecocomp can be distracted by whatever in the efforts to expand and explore. This, to be fair, is not really a true disadvantage, but it does depend on how one operates. I also see what Derek Owens makes not of on pages 28-29. He mentions how he can't justify all his travel and expenses in our field (Rhet/Comp): the airplane flights, the big hotel expenses, the travel time, and so on. If we are true to the concepts of ecocomp, we cannot really justify these things because of the "footprint" they leave on Earth.
The last point I have regarding disadvantages is the speed of ecocomp. I do NOT get the impression that it moves quickly--it is slow, sloth-like. "In today's society," we move fast--we are on the internet a few times a day, we have cell phone that could have put people on the moon forty years ago, and we don't like to be disconnected. (I couldn't resist the opening phrase, sorry.)
I'll be honest, I was dubious about this "ecocomposition" stuff when we started this class, but now I realize it's not necessary driven by a green movement--it can be, but doesn't have to be. I think I'm more open to it now because it allows for more freedom to explore not only other disciplines but other potentials--whatever that means.
Rock
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Down in the Place
My class of a dozen other students and one professor were in Costa Rica to study primate behavior for a summer psychology course. The month long adventure created tight friendships and made all of the students at least consider how another culture lived. More importantly, it taught us how another species lived someplace most of us had never been.
We were told the first day in the Curu Wildlife Refuge that we should not wander alone; we should, at least, be with one other person. This seemed to be a protective measure and most times I followed it.
But, never one to follow the rules, I often woke up with the sunrise, because it hit me square in the eyes each morning from my top bunk in the cabin. And each morning, I would grab my mother's camera she had loaned me for the trip and take a picture of the sunrise.
After each picture, I would quietly get up, dress, get my gear, and take off to find the white faced capuchin monkeys--my study subjects.
Part of the thrill of waking up was figuring out where the group might be. Most often, they were held up in a grove of mangoes resting, eating, grooming, or, even on rare occasions, playing.
My experience in the jungle is that a jungle is not much of a jungle. Not the steamy, romanticized one most people think about. More, it was a forest with very different animals: monkeys, cougars (puma or mountain lion, if you prefer), iguanas, red-stripe squirrels, snakes, anteaters, insects of all kinds (most exotic), even crocodiles.
Several times on the first few days in Curu, we were given the basic rules (don't go anywhere by yourself--a rule I broke often and on purpose; be aware of your surroundings (they could change incredibly quickly: weather, animals, etc); treat the animals with respect. Beyond these rules, we were told to enjoy ourselves and what the jungle had to offer.
For many of us, it was our first experience outside the United States and the closest we had come to wild (more or less) animals. In fact, the refuge family (Dona, Adalina, Jose, and Frederico) was careful to remind us of home with their questions about the USA.
On the first day, after we settled into our cabins (we used two of the three available), we gathered by the main house to walk up to the spider monkeys. Spider monkeys, to me, seemed to be the most fascinating primate we studied because of their hands--they have no thumb, but long spider-like fingers. (all pics are mine, except the first of this post and the logo below)
Long and lanky creatures, they have a very strong tail that can acts like a extra hand and can bear their weight. In fact, the inside of their tail (the part that would wrap around something) was so soft, it reminded me of the nose of a horse--velvety and peach fuzzy. I was amazed at how much dexterity they had with their tails and the level of awareness they had of its location in space.
Most of us fed them by tossing it to them (at first), but as our fear died down, we would hand it to them. These spiders were, for the most part, domesticated to humans in the sense that many visitors would feed them and socialize with them, but only for limited times controlled by the staff and Adalina.
Acutely intelligent and playful, the spiders delighted us for a few hours that first day. I thought I might run out of film (I brought 18 roles of 35mm film and used every role during my stay.) This playfulness carried over into their teasing of the largest, and by far the strongest, spider monkey, Bolivar. Bolivar was caged because, well, he was crazy. Although he had mated with several females, the staff was careful to keep him caged because he was known to have fits of rage that frightened the other monkeys and also the staff to such a degree they would dart him just to get him back in the cage. The problem with Bolivar was that he was intelligent enough to occasionally escape from his small cage.
I would think that he was the troop leader and alpha male of the group, even when he was caged. But on occasion, the other, more daring, males in the group would tease him. In fact, here is one part of my favorite pictures that I've ever taken:
After our two or three hours with the spider monkeys, we went along the grove line in search for the white faced capuchins. We found them and, once again, I took dozens of pictures; frightened I might not be able to take this shot ever again, I was liberal with my mother's camera.
Most meals were built around two components: rice and red beans. Anything extra, such as eggs or meat, was a luxury we had maybe every other day.
After that first meal, many of us turned in to rest up and get ready to collect research on our primate activity the next day.
And Away We Go
About half way through the month of our stay, we took a "vacation" to Montezuma. To get there, we had to board a bus and ride for several hours. As we were getting onto the bus, the spider monkeys were curious as to what this large wheeled contraption was that all these similar creatures were getting into was. Our group was in line to get onto the bus, and a spider monkey cut in front of me and was about to get onto the bus. Knowing full well that the locals had some fear of spider monkeys, I, out of instinct, grabbed its tail and yanked it back. As I pulled, it let out a shriek that made me pause, but not enough to let go, and I kept pulling. Then, I stepped onto the bus and took a seat--thinking nothing of it. My colleagues, however, thought I was nuts for grabbing hold of him and even being somewhat aggressive to him. My efforts proved futile though because as soon as I sat down, no one else had the gumption to grab the tail again, and the spider climbed onto the bus. Most of the people on the bus freaked out and exited out the rear door of the bus, running for their lives. I sat quietly and laughed to myself. One of the (armed) guards for the refuge had to finally come corral the rascal before we could be on our way.
Someone asked why I grabbed him. I didn't really think about it until it let out the shriek, then for a moment I thought, "That was a bad idea." Nothing happened to me or anyone else. Perhaps I thought with my 210 pound heavily-muscled frame (I was a Phys Ed major and bodybuilder at the time), the primate would be slightly weaker or my equal in strength. I never tested my strength with one of them, and to be fair, I'm glad.
The Ants
About every week, the ants would come. A colony of black ants would apparently be raided by a smaller group of red ants--the red ants were twice the size of the black. Once the black ants caught onto the raid, they would chase after the reds. The reds always carried away small, white sacs of something as they hightailed it back to the home; I'm not precisely sure what those sacs were; I assume they were egg sacs or food. Nevertheless, the first week this happened, many of us were out in the jungle collecting data; I was not since I had collected for several hours that morning. The ants formed what I would consider a searching line that swept across the entire cabin's surface. The were on and over everything: our shoes, our clothes, our floor, everything.
At first, I thought this was some sort of invasion, but as I watched them they didn't even take anything that one would think they would. They didn't want our processed foods or sweaty clothes, but they did clean the cabin of any dead (or dying) bugs. In fact, the cabin looked cleaner each time they came through and I came to figuring out the day and time to expect them. Nevertheless, they still always chased the red ants who were, in my view, the evil ones--the thieves.
As the black ants began each time, they always arrived on the front porch, like respectful guests. Then would work their way in and out the back. I watched intently as they followed predetermined (and what seemed to be consistent weekly) trails across the cabin floor. One time a fellow student stepped in that trail, and the ants scattered and attacked anything they found--including a nice juicy spot between my toes. The bite was painful and lasted several minutes; needless to say, my colleague was bit too, but she deserved it; I did not.
After a few minutes they realized the threat was gone and resumed their duties of collection. Each passing minute they were "cleaning" the cabin, I became more fascinated by them; how they created the chemical trails, why they chased the red ants, why they didn't mess with "our" stuff, and why were they so consistent are questions I continued to ponder.
The third time they came, however, the relationship between humans and ants changed--horribly. Since each day it was humid, our toilet built up a reasonable about of condensation on the pipe feeding the water tank. The ants concluded they liked a free source of water, and moved in.
The second day, Frederico came to the cabin with some super-ant spray and sprayed the hell out of them. By then, the entire colony must have moved to the toilet area and the pic is only probably a third of the actual size at the end of the ant "brick" as I called it.
With the smell of insecticide and dead ants all over the cabin in what looked like an ant nuclear explosion, I moved to the cabin a few doors down with a heavy heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Snake v. Iguana
One day, I heard someone racing to our cabin telling, "You gotta check this out!" It was Pat, our local biology expert and probably the most excitable person, ever. But Pat was a good guy with a happy heart who energized just about everybody, even me. So I got up and followed him to his find.
A snake had wrapped around an iguana's lower half and a struggle to survive was on.
Solo Adventurer (with a little bit of bravado)
One afternoon I decided to go out on my own, again. I went to my typical and worn entry way into the jungle--a path meandering around to the lagoon and a rope bridge that came back around to the side of the refuge where we ate our meals. There was a well-placed bench about one hundred yards into the path; I sat there on many occasions just listening.
As was custom, I carried my University of Michigan backpack where ever I went. Other common gear included a pair of soccer shorts, a wicking-moisture T-Shirt, my ever-present sunglasses, and, the most important piece of apparel--my Chilly Willy baseball cap.
A small troop of capuchins made their way by me and one came down to about five feet of the ground and just looked at me--and on occasion, he would bear his teeth or shake the branches ferocity. I took this picture and just watched.
I continued to sit and thought about getting up and making my way to the rope bridge and the alleged croc that was recently seen there. Suddenly I heard a rustle of the leaves on the forest floor and a flicker of a palm branch about twenty yards away. I still had my camera ready to shot, but I didn't see anything--I could just hear it.
I waited.
Another rustle of leaves.
I waited.
Whatever it was moved a little closer; I turned on my camera.
The camera's mechanical whirl made enough noise in the now dead silent jungle to make me look down at it in disgust. As I looked back up, I saw it.
A cougar was crouched down about fifteen yards away just watching me.
My instinct screamed, "GET THE PICTURE!" I wanted the picture of a lifetime. I moved the camera up to my eye to get the large cat in the frame; it straightened its back. It glanced to my right, and I took the picture. The shutter noise caused it to bolt to my right, parallel to the trail, and on up onto the mountain. I took off after it in pure joy at this treat of tempting picture stardom. I barreled through the dense jungle snapping shots at what I thought was the cougar. I followed the trail of moving branches, but just as suddenly as it arrived--the cougar, and its trail, were gone.
I stood there huffing and puffing in the hot, humid air. Pausing every other breath in hope I could hear something and race after it. Nothing. Dammit.
Suffice it to say, every last picture was a blur, but that first one has a patch of brown that is not plant based. (I swear it's there.)
After several minutes of waiting and looking around, I gave up and went back to the trail. As I made my way to the rope bridge, my little walk in the jungle became interesting again; the rope bridge was dangling in the lagoon, right where the croc was supposed to be lurking.
I had to decide to turn back or take the shorter route across the bridge--and take my chances. The bridge was a typical rope bridge with a V-shape where the person walked across the lower, center rope and held onto the two higher ropes for balance. Although I never thought to take a picture (oddly enough) of the actual bridge, I was more afraid of the croc than the cougar.
The tide had come in and the marsh area was underwater. That darn bridge bobbed in the water like a lure on a line, waiting for a unlucky fish. I wondered if the sneaky croc waited for me.
I decided to go for it and remembered that if I got into trouble run in zig zags to confuse the large reptile--mind you, I had no idea if this actually worked, but I hoped it would if it came to it.
I stepped onto the rope bridge and carefully scanned every bubble, ripple, and bump along the surface of the lagoon. I scanned quickly, but with precision; no mistakes could be made. I was not taking any chances and my camera was put away. If I had to run, I didn't want to be messing with a picture--but I admit it crossed my mind.
As the bottom of my shoes tickled the water, I increased my pace and continued my scanning, ready to run at any moment. I stopped at one point--smack dab in the middle of the bridge--because I saw bubbles about thirty feet away. Thoughts of taking a picture came into my mind, but I was holding onto the unsteady bridge, dangling in water, and possible bubbles from a croc were coming toward me--I let the thought pass.
Finally, I made it across with not so much as another stray ripple of water, but I walked quickly and glanced back often--then for some reason, I ran like hell in zig zags for about a hundred yards, perhaps just to be sure I could do it.
After a bit more, I felt safe, but I met up with the professor, Michael, and he asked what I'd been doing. I stammered that I went for a walk in the jungle. He looked at me, then behind me, and asked, "Alone?"
"Yes," I said, as I glanced away.
"You better be careful," he said with a fatherly smile.
"I am," I said, as we walked back to the eating area, "don't worry."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My time in our class and in Costa Rica demonstrates to me that I am a "traveler" (Drew 60). This concept, as I've constructed it, allows people to come into situations with nothing against them. We, then, accept ourselves and others as nothing else but equal as fellow human beings. I also believe this can transfer to other lifeforms on our planet--and even our planet itself.
It seems clear, however, that far too often we are consumed by a place and driven to exist in THAT place instead of within ourselves. How we perceive our surroundings is still paramount--there is no other way. Our senses, our thoughts, our constructions all play a role in the existence of place and how we choose to operate within those places.
And for the most part, we've made poor choices. Now, it's time to change...
Placing It
One afternoon I decided to go out on my own, again. I went to my typical and worn entry way into the jungle--a path meandering around to the lagoon and a rope bridge that came back around to the side of the refuge where we ate our meals. There was a well-placed bench about one hundred yards into the path; I sat there on many occasions just listening.
As was custom, I carried my University of Michigan backpack where ever I went. Other common gear included a pair of soccer shorts, a wicking-moisture T-Shirt, my ever-present sunglasses, and, the most important piece of apparel--my Chilly Willy baseball cap.
Other material I always carried included a notebook for field notes, my mom's trusty camera, a pocket knife, a jacket (the temperature could drop incredibly fast), and sun tan lotion. As I sat on the bench, I contemplated my existence and how unique the opportunity to study capuchins in Costa Rica was. I looked up and stared at the sun breaking through the foliage. After a few moments of this quiet reflection, I started to play with a twig and the dirt at my feet. There was a noise off in the distance, but I realized it was coming closer. The capuchins tended to travel this time of day back to there night time hideouts, which no one else knew about because they tended to play cards instead of being in the bush this time of day.
A small troop of capuchins made their way by me and one came down to about five feet of the ground and just looked at me--bearing his teeth to demonstrate his ferocity. I took his picture instead of running away in fear.
After our staring matched lasted about five minutes and I ran through a roll of film, he lost interest and climbed away into the depths of the forest. I noticed, however, he kept looking off to his right (my left), which seemed to speed up his departure. At the time, though, I thought nothing of it.
I continued to sit and thought about getting up and making my way to the rope bridge and the alleged croc that was recently seen there. Suddenly I heard a rustle of the leaves on the forest and a flicker of a palm branch about 20 yards away. I still had my camera ready to shot, but I didn't see anything--I could just hear it.
I waited.
Another rustle of leaves.
I waited.
Whatever it was moved a little closer; I turned on my camera.
The camera's mechanical whirl made enough noise in the now dead silent jungle to make me look down at it in disgust. As I looked back up, I saw it.
A cougar was crouched down about 15 yards away just watching me. Can you guess what my first instinct was?
If you guessed run like hell, you're wrong. I wanted the picture of a lifetime. I moved the camera up to my eye to get the large cat in the frame; it straightened its back. It glanced to my right, and I took the picture. The shutter noise caused it to bolt to my right, parallel to the trail, and on up onto the mountain. I took off after it in pure joy at this treat of tempting picture stardom. I barreled through the dense jungle snapping shots at what I thought was the cougar. I followed the trail of moving branches, but just as suddenly as it arrived--the trail was gone.
I stood there huffing and puffing in the hot, humid air. Pausing every other breath in hopes I could hear something and race after it. Nothing. Dammit.
Suffice it to say, every last picture was a blur, but that first one has a patch of brown that is not plant based. (I swear it's there.)
After several minutes of waiting and looking around, I gave up and went back to the trail. As I made my way to the rope bridge, my little walk in the jungle became interesting again; the rope bridge dangled in the lagoon, right where the croc was supposed to be lurking.
I had to decide to turn back or take the shorter route across the bridge--and take my chance.
Although not the same bridge (and no one I know), this is the closet example of what I could find online. I never thought to take a picture (oddly enough) of the actual bridge. Silly me.
The tide had come in and the marsh area was underwater. That darn bridge bobbed in the water like a lure on a line, waiting for a unlucky fish. I wondered if it waited for me.
I decided to go for it and remembered that if I got into trouble run in zig zags to confuse the large reptile--mind you, I had no idea if this actually worked, but I hoped it would if it came to it.
I stepped onto the rope and carefully scanned every bubble, ripple, and bump along the surface of the lagoon. I was not taking any chances and my camera was put away. If I had to run, I didn't want to be messing with a picture--but I admit it crossed my mind.
As the bottom of my shoes tickled the water, I increased my pace and continued my scanning, ready to run at any moment. Finally, I made it across with not so much as a stray ripple of water, but I walked quickly and glanced back often--then for some reason, I ran like hell in zig zags for about a hundred yards, perhaps just to be sure I could do it.
After a bit more, I felt safe, but I met up with the professor, Michael, and he asked what I'd been doing. I stammered that I went for a walk in the jungle. He looked at me, then behind me, and asked, "Alone?"
"Yes," I said, as I glanced away.
"You better be careful," he said with a fatherly smile.
"I am," I said as we walked to the eating area, "don't worry."
As was custom, I carried my University of Michigan backpack where ever I went. Other common gear included a pair of soccer shorts, a wicking-moisture T-Shirt, my ever-present sunglasses, and, the most important piece of apparel--my Chilly Willy baseball cap.
A small troop of capuchins made their way by me and one came down to about five feet of the ground and just looked at me--bearing his teeth to demonstrate his ferocity. I took his picture instead of running away in fear.
I continued to sit and thought about getting up and making my way to the rope bridge and the alleged croc that was recently seen there. Suddenly I heard a rustle of the leaves on the forest and a flicker of a palm branch about 20 yards away. I still had my camera ready to shot, but I didn't see anything--I could just hear it.
I waited.
Another rustle of leaves.
I waited.
Whatever it was moved a little closer; I turned on my camera.
The camera's mechanical whirl made enough noise in the now dead silent jungle to make me look down at it in disgust. As I looked back up, I saw it.
A cougar was crouched down about 15 yards away just watching me. Can you guess what my first instinct was?
If you guessed run like hell, you're wrong. I wanted the picture of a lifetime. I moved the camera up to my eye to get the large cat in the frame; it straightened its back. It glanced to my right, and I took the picture. The shutter noise caused it to bolt to my right, parallel to the trail, and on up onto the mountain. I took off after it in pure joy at this treat of tempting picture stardom. I barreled through the dense jungle snapping shots at what I thought was the cougar. I followed the trail of moving branches, but just as suddenly as it arrived--the trail was gone.
I stood there huffing and puffing in the hot, humid air. Pausing every other breath in hopes I could hear something and race after it. Nothing. Dammit.
Suffice it to say, every last picture was a blur, but that first one has a patch of brown that is not plant based. (I swear it's there.)
After several minutes of waiting and looking around, I gave up and went back to the trail. As I made my way to the rope bridge, my little walk in the jungle became interesting again; the rope bridge dangled in the lagoon, right where the croc was supposed to be lurking.
I had to decide to turn back or take the shorter route across the bridge--and take my chance.
The tide had come in and the marsh area was underwater. That darn bridge bobbed in the water like a lure on a line, waiting for a unlucky fish. I wondered if it waited for me.
I decided to go for it and remembered that if I got into trouble run in zig zags to confuse the large reptile--mind you, I had no idea if this actually worked, but I hoped it would if it came to it.
I stepped onto the rope and carefully scanned every bubble, ripple, and bump along the surface of the lagoon. I was not taking any chances and my camera was put away. If I had to run, I didn't want to be messing with a picture--but I admit it crossed my mind.
As the bottom of my shoes tickled the water, I increased my pace and continued my scanning, ready to run at any moment. Finally, I made it across with not so much as a stray ripple of water, but I walked quickly and glanced back often--then for some reason, I ran like hell in zig zags for about a hundred yards, perhaps just to be sure I could do it.
After a bit more, I felt safe, but I met up with the professor, Michael, and he asked what I'd been doing. I stammered that I went for a walk in the jungle. He looked at me, then behind me, and asked, "Alone?"
"Yes," I said, as I glanced away.
"You better be careful," he said with a fatherly smile.
"I am," I said as we walked to the eating area, "don't worry."
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Torn...
I'd actually like to write about Michael Pollan piece about his buddy 534. I enjoyed how he entered into the conversation with the material. He began his narrative with the reality of meat production and life in the US.
For some time (OK, nine LONG months), I lived in Garden City, Kansas. Just outside of the main city area was a meat production facility. I lived, I think, about ten miles away from it. Over that ten miles, there was a pervasive and consistent smell of manure--ok, shit.
Moreover, when I left my apartment and the wind was blowing in its usual direction, the smell and the dust was almost unbearable. Even though I got used to it. I never enjoyed it.
As I watched Food Inc., I could not stop thinking about the reality of our food production system. To be frank, I have not ate much since last Thursday (at 3am) when I watched it online at PBS.org.
I understand that society needs to adjust the way it interacts, produces, and consumes food, because it's killing us.
As people's waistlines increase, the world becomes collectively weaker. As a Certified Personal Trainer (still after 15 years), I can tell anyone for a fact that the obesity epidemic is no joke. Shows like the Biggest Loser are the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the reality of, at least, American nutritional intake.
So, in some ways I take to heart (no pun intended) the situation facing American consumers. And it's all produced by us, the consumers. We purchase the cheapest, fastest food possible. This is not the issue; it is, however, the kind of food that is that cheap and fast. In learning more about food production in the States (far beyond our reading and the film), I am frightened by the concerns we face. In fact, one wonders if one can even begin to make a difference.
Seriously, I'm only here a limited time anyway, so why not live it up, die young, enjoy the various options we have?
Well, if I look that stupid, maybe not.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Green Culture, or Not.
Ecological rhetoric proves to be a difficult beast to wrestle if you want to protect nature. From one side, the more difficult side to argue, folks that want to protect the environment create campaigns (as noted in our readings) that put nature into commodified terms that we understand based on our capitalist system, which one would think is a wise course of action. From another side, big business holds the car keys to that luxury car (most) everyone wants to drive in that big business forces commerce based upon cultural standards of comfort and convenience, which, in all honesty, is what most of us seek--a relaxing place to enjoy life while still feeling that we are doing our part
So big business focuses on that easily absorbable discourse--it's not real, there is no science behind it, the environmentalists (a problematic term to be sure) are crazy tree-hugging vegetarians who want to take away your right to eat a nice steak now and again, we (as big business) are careful to protect your needs (think Wal-Mart, all the negative press they have gotten in the past, but their profits keep soaring), and we are creating new ways to protect the Earth--you just don't see them yet--we can drill in Yellowstone and not disturb the delicate balance of nature and get all the resources... trust us!
In short, the resources of getting their rhetoric out there are, well, there! They have the mountains of money to promote themselves not only as an enhanced shopping experience where one can by whatever they may need but also environmentally aware, not overtly stating we are protecting the environment by doing this and this, but suggesting such and such measures are being taken to lower prices (and, oh, btw, protecting the environment, but we are stating that out right, but you understand, yes?).
So as big business (not just Wal-Mart) suggest they are protecting all these wonderful things around us by actually helping us save money--who wouldn't jump on that wagon?
But like Herndl and Brown point out in their first paragraph, we've constructed the term environment (among others) based upon science and what we've been told by others, which is not the problem, of course.
Let me divert to this video:
Early in this video, the speaker tries to convince the audience that e-commerce has helped the environment by saving fuel such as that used by UPS (see this). All this may be well and good, but consider if one makes one trip to a store such as Wal-Mart and purchases a month's supply of "stuff" that they will use, gets some entertainment DVDs, etc. That one trip, let's say in Athens, OH, would cost, what ten miles round trip? Now consider the expense of just Netflix to one address for the month, a four DVD plan (I'm not up on my Netflix plans, so sorry) takes the postal service four trips to one's address, not counting the packaging and electricity used to select the films. I'm not suggesting this meandering of logic doesn't have it's flaws, but it needs to be calculated to be sure which is more cost effective. Although I champion UPS and other providers for the apparent measures to save money and lessen their FOOTPRINT on the Earth, our rhetorical appeals that point the reality of the environment are being cast aside because the constant bombardment from billion dollar businesses is a bit more devastating that the lone sniper.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Issues with Place and Justice
In our society as a whole we conceive of the land in terms of ownership and use. It is a lifeless medium of exchange; it has for most of us, I suspect, no more spirituality than has an automobile, say, or a refrigerator. And our laws confirm us in this view, for we can buy and sell the land, we can exclude each other from it, and in the context of ownership we can use it as we will. Ownership implies use, and use implies consumption. (Momaday 580, my emphasis)
I am not certain how to think of place. One may refer to a place as a place for one's stuff...
Our understanding of place is static. I mean we know a place changes over time, but our memory of it remains somewhat stable and constructed based on how we want to remember it.
The woods I grew up near, similar to Dr. Rouzie's, were always changing, but that change was unnoticeable unless one were very meticulous each time one went to the woods by taking some type of record of it. The overall effect was one of consistency, but, I know, the trees, grass, creek, rocks, etc. were all slightly different each time I went there.
I recall one time I went to the woods down the hill from where I lived after several months of not being there--I noticed the difference immediately. This difference went unnoticed the next day I went because my memory of the woods was consistent with what I saw (or remembered I saw) the day before.
In our hubris (just for you Russ), I think we believe things change solely for and because of us. And when things change outside those confines, we sense some level of displeasure. Let me put it this way, if you owned a home, and someone came to mow your grass without your knowledge and you noticed this once you got home, how might you feel? Let's assume that the job was done expertly, did not do any damage, and actually "looked" better than you had ever done. Yet, you would probably still feel violated because someone changed the landscape. They changed something you were not expecting--your expectation created your displeasure when confronted with reality.
Nevertheless, as Ursula K. Heise and others suggest, we are nomadic--always on the move, "forever on the road" (48). The inclusion of place in this context--the context of our movement--suggests, again, that place is static.
We move within it.
Heise points to numerous examples of American, perhaps Westward, expansion and movement across the land. Some people recognize the romance of moving from place to place and we even envy those that do move from place to place. For Instance: Someone that has lived in Wyoming, Utah, California, New York, Florida, London, and Tokyo garners a certain level of interest, mystery, and intrigue--do they not?
Change.
In reading bell hooks, I simply do not make some of the same connections she does between African Americans and nature. Moreover, I'm at a loss at her comparing (and quite closely) the Native American connection to land to an African American connection to land. Perhaps I'm defensive, but her suggesting that African Americans go back to the South for "spiritual nourishment" has me bewildered (107). Even in her next paragraph (after the quote on 107), she suggests how African American "can restore our relationship to the natural world"--why would one need to restore a relationship (or connection) she's describing them as already having?
Sorry to be critical, but I'm missing something here.
Change.
As I read through Momaday, I realized that I have often heard the phrase, "living off the land," and I realized that living off something also means taking something from it--like a parasite. In fact, humans are a parasite on Earth's body. Momaday writes of his grandfather: "He could not have conceived of living apart from the land" (576). To be sure, it seems he could not leave apart from the land. Deep in Momaday's essay, there is a sense of confusion. Confusion between the "land" and the element of our galaxy: the sun. As we know, the sun is not a part of our planet--yet, it is often portrayed as a part of the landscape, which creates some problems regardless of the fact that we need the sun to survive.
I'm curious what the class thinks of this confusion I perceive. So, post a comment below and let me know!
I don't believe there will ever be, nor can there ever be, environmental justice.
Each one of us has killed millions of lifeforms throughout our lifetime. We continue to do so now. What justice is there in the cessation of another life?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
"After the Flood" Toxicology Report
The belief of connectedness to our places (in our blogs) also is relative to Toxic Discourse in that we see our place as we see it, which may not be how it really is (or was). Buell refers to these "images" as powerful because they (re)connect us with something out of sight (72). Buell and Garrard seem to be thinking in lockstep regarding the image(s) of place, and I believe both are utilizing Garrard's term (and definition of) "ecoporn" for us., which reasserts the romance of said place(s).
Sanders starts his essay, "After the Flood," with a romantic and nostalgic attitude:
It was the power of the place, gathering rain and snowmelt, surging through the valley under sun, under ice, under the bellies of fish, and the curled brown boats of sycamore leaves. You will need a good map of Ohio to find the river I am talking about (3)This beginning sets this place up as majestic and secluded, but also secret to outsiders unless they know Sanders. And he is gracious enough to let us in on "the river" he's referring to. Then Sanders dutifully takes us back in time to his childhood and his mysterious and fascinating little river. That is until he kills it off by evil politicians and other do-gooders.
His space dies and we are taken on a short, digressive pity party with a slight hope of revival, but even Sanders, like me, "felt a fool" (9).
But please cough up some bills to see this....
Thank you for your support.
Yet, Sanders quickly says to himself, "everything I knew had been swept away" (11). As the loss of his childhood memories of his place are bitten by the cold steel reality of that guardrail, we realize, as he does that "no fate could be more ordinary" (12). In the loss of his place, apparently, Sanders losses his childhood, but takes us to a sermon about his loss of Walden.
Loyalty to place arises from sources deeper than narcissism. It arises from our need to be at home on the earth. We marry ourselves to the creation by knowing and cherishing a particular place [. . .]. If the marriage is deep, divorce is painful. (13)
Obviously, Sanders is attached to place, which makes me wonder why and how our fascination with a place has such an impact on us.
I'm interested, however, in his last section because he attempts to empathize with the numerous peoples Europeans have displaced from their lands, their memories, their childhoods, their traditions. In doing so, he appears to understand a fraction of that pain, that toxicity, but I don't think he, or I, could ever understand that kind of pain.
As I consider Buell and Sanders, I'm left with the conclusion,
one can never go home again....
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Curu II, 1st Day Spiders...
The first day at Curu, we were given the basic rules (don't go anywhere by yourself--a rule I broke often and on purpose; be aware of your surroundings (they could change incredibly quickly: weather, animals, etc); treat the animals with respect). Beyond the rules, we were told to enjoy ourselves and what the jungle had to offer.
For many of us, it was our first experience outside the United States and the closest we had come to wild (more or less) animals. In fact, the refuge family (Dona, Adalina, Jose, and Frederico) was careful to remind us of home with their questions about the USA.
After we settled into our cabins (we used two of the three available), we gathered by the main house to walk up to the spider monkeys. Spider monkeys, to me, seemed to be the most fascinating primate we studied because of their hands--they have no thumb, but long spider-like fingers. (all spider monkey pics are mine)
Long and lanky creatures, they have a very strong tail that can acts like a extra hand and can bear their weight. In fact, the inside of their tail (the part that would wrap around something) was so soft, it reminded me of the nose of a horse--velvety and peach fuzzy. I was amazed at how much dexterity they had with their tails and the level of awareness they had of its location in space.
Adalina, the daughter of the Dona and head of the refuge to the outside world, brought along mangos to feed the spider monkeys (pictured at right).
Most of us fed them by tossing it to them (at first), but as our fear died down, we would hand it to them. These spiders were, for the most part, domesticated to humans in the sense that many visitors would feed them and socialize with them, but only for limited times controlled by the staff and Adalina.
Acutely intelligent and playful, the spiders delighted us for a few hours that first day. I thought I might run out of film (I brought 18 roles of 35 mm film and used every role during my entire stay.) This playfulness carried over into their teasing of the largest, and by far the strongest, spider monkey, Bolivar. Bolivar was caged because, well, he was crazy. Although he had mated with several females, the staff was careful to keep him caged because he was known to have fits of rage that frightened the other monkeys and also the staff to such a degree they would dart him just to get him back in the cage. The problem with Bolivar was that he was intelligent enough to occasionally escape from his small cage.
I would think that he was the troop leader and alpha male of the group, even when he was caged. But on occasion, the other, more daring, males in the group would tease him. My favorite picture I've ever taken comes from this type of play:
(Even though Bolivar looks small in his cage (pictured), he was easily a third bigger than any of the other spiders. We can see from the picture, he's fully aware there is nothing he can do except vocalize his disapproval. I just keep saying to myself each time I see this pic, "C'mon! Do something now!")
One story, related to spider monkeys, that I must tell, because I don't think I'll cover it later is that of the beginning of the bus trip to Montezuma. (One aspect of the trip I will cover later, but not this particular part; at least, I don't think.) As we were getting onto the bus, the spider monkeys were curious as to what this large wheeled contraption was that all this similar creatures were getting into was. Our group was in line to get onto the bus, and a spider monkey cut in front of me and was about to get onto the bus. Knowing full well that the locals had some fear of them, I, out of instinct, grabbed its tail and yanked it back. As I pulled, it let out a shriek that made me pause, but not enough to let go and I kept pulling. Then, I stepped onto the bus and took a seat--thinking nothing of it. My colleagues, however, thought I was nuts for grabbing hold of him and even being somewhat aggressive to him. My efforts proved futile though because as soon as I sat down, no one else had the gumption to grab the tail again, and the spider climbed onto the bus. Most of the people on the bus freaked out and exited out the rear door of the bus, running for their lives. I sat quietly and laughed to myself. One of the (armed) guards for the refuge had to finally come corral the rascal before we could be on our way.
Someone asked why I grabbed him. I didn't really think about it until it let out the shriek, then for a moment I thought, "That was a bad idea." Yet, I kept pulling and proceeded onto the bus. Nothing happened to me or anyone else. Perhaps I thought with my 210 pound heavily-muscled frame (I was a Phys Ed major and bodybuilder at the time), the primate would be slightly weaker or my equal in strength. I never tested my strength with one of them, and to be fair, I'm glad.
For many of us, it was our first experience outside the United States and the closest we had come to wild (more or less) animals. In fact, the refuge family (Dona, Adalina, Jose, and Frederico) was careful to remind us of home with their questions about the USA.
After we settled into our cabins (we used two of the three available), we gathered by the main house to walk up to the spider monkeys. Spider monkeys, to me, seemed to be the most fascinating primate we studied because of their hands--they have no thumb, but long spider-like fingers. (all spider monkey pics are mine)
Long and lanky creatures, they have a very strong tail that can acts like a extra hand and can bear their weight. In fact, the inside of their tail (the part that would wrap around something) was so soft, it reminded me of the nose of a horse--velvety and peach fuzzy. I was amazed at how much dexterity they had with their tails and the level of awareness they had of its location in space.
Most of us fed them by tossing it to them (at first), but as our fear died down, we would hand it to them. These spiders were, for the most part, domesticated to humans in the sense that many visitors would feed them and socialize with them, but only for limited times controlled by the staff and Adalina.
Acutely intelligent and playful, the spiders delighted us for a few hours that first day. I thought I might run out of film (I brought 18 roles of 35 mm film and used every role during my entire stay.) This playfulness carried over into their teasing of the largest, and by far the strongest, spider monkey, Bolivar. Bolivar was caged because, well, he was crazy. Although he had mated with several females, the staff was careful to keep him caged because he was known to have fits of rage that frightened the other monkeys and also the staff to such a degree they would dart him just to get him back in the cage. The problem with Bolivar was that he was intelligent enough to occasionally escape from his small cage.
I would think that he was the troop leader and alpha male of the group, even when he was caged. But on occasion, the other, more daring, males in the group would tease him. My favorite picture I've ever taken comes from this type of play:
After our two or three hours with the spider monkeys, we went along the grove line in search for the white faced capuchins. We found them and, once again, I took dozens of pictures, frightened I might not be able to take this shot ever again, I was liberal with my mother's camera.
One story, related to spider monkeys, that I must tell, because I don't think I'll cover it later is that of the beginning of the bus trip to Montezuma. (One aspect of the trip I will cover later, but not this particular part; at least, I don't think.) As we were getting onto the bus, the spider monkeys were curious as to what this large wheeled contraption was that all this similar creatures were getting into was. Our group was in line to get onto the bus, and a spider monkey cut in front of me and was about to get onto the bus. Knowing full well that the locals had some fear of them, I, out of instinct, grabbed its tail and yanked it back. As I pulled, it let out a shriek that made me pause, but not enough to let go and I kept pulling. Then, I stepped onto the bus and took a seat--thinking nothing of it. My colleagues, however, thought I was nuts for grabbing hold of him and even being somewhat aggressive to him. My efforts proved futile though because as soon as I sat down, no one else had the gumption to grab the tail again, and the spider climbed onto the bus. Most of the people on the bus freaked out and exited out the rear door of the bus, running for their lives. I sat quietly and laughed to myself. One of the (armed) guards for the refuge had to finally come corral the rascal before we could be on our way.
Someone asked why I grabbed him. I didn't really think about it until it let out the shriek, then for a moment I thought, "That was a bad idea." Yet, I kept pulling and proceeded onto the bus. Nothing happened to me or anyone else. Perhaps I thought with my 210 pound heavily-muscled frame (I was a Phys Ed major and bodybuilder at the time), the primate would be slightly weaker or my equal in strength. I never tested my strength with one of them, and to be fair, I'm glad.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Oh, Garrard...
My Limb
I reach to the heavens
hoping to grasp
the meaning of my existence
I struggle to comprehend
the haphazardness of
my thoughts
they strain upward
searching for
something
it is elusive
yet,
before me
The puffs threaten
my purpose
my being
my soul
my place
my place...
As I sit here thinking about Greg Garrard "critical approach" in his text, I'm left wondering, does he have one?
As I run down my limited memory of critical approaches (structuralism, reader-response, new historicism, new criticism, etc.), I'm left with thinking that Garrard is speaking as a social critic, green critic, and some post-colonial. That is, a critical stance that takes into account literature (e.g. Silent Spring), cultural indicators of various movements (e.g. the "Green" movement), and some discourse relative to a group that believes its agenda is correct, regardless of whom it affects (e.g. a "Western" mindset and hubris).
After reading the book, I'm left with the impression that Garrard is relying information, making readers think about various ideas from an ecocritical perspective, maybe even consider the bigger picture of our existence. But I don't believe he is really taking a stance--he is cautious, calculated. I think that's fine; yet, I am left thinking, "Ok, now what?"
Nevertheless, I did mark several passages I found useful. The trick, for me, is to figure out what the heck I marked or noted. As you can see, my methods may be a bit dated, but they do work. Kinda.
Certainly, one of Garrard's purposes is to make us, his readers, become more critical of our environment and how our interaction(s) within it affect the present and future (and to some degree, the past). However, I think Garrard does give ecocriticism a mighty big pair of shoes to fill; he writes, "Ecocriticism makes it possible to analyse critically the tropes brought into play in environmental debate, and, more tentatively, to predict which will have a desired effect on a specific audience at a given historical juncture" (14).
Now, I think we can read Garrard in a few different ways. First, the most common I think, is that people should exercise their understanding of the planet and make connections that will better sustain our living sphere. In a (biodegradable) nutshell, be more attentive to what we do to and on Earth and consider the consequences of those actions on the bigger picture.
However, I think a more spartan reading can be made; one that suggests a Marxist or anti-consumerism agenda where population growth decreases, use of nonrenewable resources comes to an end, and we live in the woods and instead of toi--let's just say, use pine cones. I envision Thoreau watching, and taking careful notes about, ants battling it out as he wanders around Walden.
But we are not bad people, we live the life we've been conditioned to live. This romance we tend to have with leaving it all behind and making it on our own out in "da wood" certainly has its appeal, but few of us (beyond Chris McCandless) would dare go out and really LIVE out there. Well, much beyond a weekend; we need our comforts--have we not earned them?
Once we step outside the hubris (a word I've grown rather fond of lately, so forgive me) of our pastoral and/or religious beliefs (and I'm hedging here, I know), then we consider wilderness and the reality of nature. Lions, tigers, and bears, oh my! Garrard uses John Muir to demonstrate that there are many things in nature that can kill us (68). From my view, this observation offers a reality check to how we interact with the globe. Yet, the failing in Muir's assessment and others in the "Wilderness" chapter is that we are part of nature and can do our own tidy bit of damage to other species, even our own. Further, to extend (and flip) this concern, just because we are part of nature does not mean we are not responsible for it. At this point, I see this text's value as helping us build "a more effective rhetoric of transformation" (72).
Because we're all toast anyway in 2012....
Ok, I don't believe that, but lightning, literally, just struck outside my apartment, so I'm a little nervous.
Speaking of apocalyptic discourse, I think it certainly has become common place in our society, most notably, in our politics. But even again, apocalyptic rhetoric (or ecocriticism) forces us to take more responsibility, which is the recurring theme in Garrard's text.
I'm going to digress for a moment and throw a jab or two at Garrard, because I don't like how he's decided to handle Native American (American Indian) cultures or nations. In fact, I think his attempts to include them are naive and ignorant to the reality of that group's experience. Although his attempts may prove fruitful for many readers, the casual and nonchalant nature of his discussion, at times, puts those educated (to some degree) about Native American cultures in an uneasy position. One I find limited.
Nevertheless, Garrard's chapter on "Animals" makes readers consider an animals place in our culture--and ourselves in our own conception of animal. How is this useful? Again, Garrard is pointing to responsibility to each other and fellow dwellers of Earth.
I'm having to come back to this post time and time again because of loss of power or internet access, which is a testament to my (perhaps, our) dependence on technology. I digress. One of the statements Garrard is making is about how humans are the ultimate animals on Earth, and in being such animals, we control other animals. This control sets us up as the group responsible for the Earth's problems.
Many of us know about the island of plastic in the Pacific ocean called the Pacific Gyre (which Google won't show anyone); the same ocean that many animals depend on for food, but because of human trash, they are eating plastic instead of food.
It's a sad scene to be sure.
However, I want to return to the text (odd how I keep digressing from it, no?). Another useful aspect of Garrard's book that we as readers can take away is how we interact (or not) with nature. Consider in recent years (and currently on Discovery Channel) the number of nature shows demonstrating for us (as we sit comfy on our couch) the wonders around us: Blue Planet, Planet Earth, Life. These visual (and auditory) displays set before us, like we are kings, are what Garrard calls "ecoporn" (151). These programs could create a false impression of nature because viewers see what took weeks, or even months, to film compressed, edited, and chopped up (by commercials) in the space of forty-four minutes--the typical time for an hour long episode, minus the wonderful advertisements).
Garrard, I believe, begins to turn his work from an ethos, to logos, and finally to pathos argument, which is where he has been hinting at the entire time and what he has peppered his entire work with. By writing this way, he leads readers to the conclusion that we must look at the reality of our situation, understand how our culture(s) are influencing our global understanding, and gives us some firepower with which to take action. We, as scholars, have the ability to educate others about this balance of nature and culture and how it (among other things) could become a common component of our scholarship. In short, he is giving us another lens to see everything through--the lens of life.
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