Blogs

When we took our geological tour of Bryn Mawr on Thursday, we learned a lot about rocks. Like our trip to Harriton House, we also learned about how humans manipulate their surroundings. I have, in my past observations of my on-campus site, been very tentative about harming that environment. I hesitate before I bounce a little on the branches that I sit on and tentatively brush the vine-like branches aside when I walk to the tree trunk. I try not to impose myself upon the tree.

But, today, I did something that I’ve never done before while sitting under my tree. I used an umbrella. Harriton House leases apartments to sustain itself and Bryn Mawr College diverts runoff for the township to compensate for its own. Today, I, too, added a man-made object into the equation to make myself more comfortable. As much as I like to think that the willow I observe protects me, it still manages to let a not insignificant amount of rain through. So, despite planning on letting the rain drops fall down peacefully on me, I opened my umbrella back up.

I didn’t harm the tree. I might have hurt my chances of observing nature a bit, but I also improved my overall experience. Because I used the umbrella, I don’t resent the tree for not protecting me. And the tree doesn’t resent me. Sometimes, it’s okay to supplement nature a little bit to make ourselves more comfortable. It’s really alright.

Today I changed my sit spot. My new place for musings is now behind Goodhart, at the recommendation of Zoe. (Thanks, Zoe!) I realized that I needed to freshen things up a bit, and venture to a place I have not been yet. The cloisters, while beautiful in their own mysterious way, do not offer the natural diversity that the nature behind GH affords, only green grass and gray walls. I was pleasantly surprised when I happened upon the tall arches and hights of GH, which displayed a saturated polychromatic view of dying plants.

Recently, after doing some sleuthing into BMC's earlier history, I happened upon a tumblr blog dedicated to old Bryn mawr photos. Here is the link: http://vintagebrynmawr.tumblr.com 

This website is humorous, but it also gives easy access into the lives of Mawrters past. Please enjoy this while on your hurrication from classes! The photos really made me think about how much has changed, while also how much has remained the same. For instance, aside from a few new buildings on campus, the scenery is almost identical. I think I saw one or two photos that could have easily been taken where I sat today. The timeless and uniform qualities of the architecture really struck me, especially as I sat today comparing my spot at the cloisters to my new one at GH. 

For anyone who has/will look at these photos, what sticks out at you as the biggest difference/similarity? 

Today it is cold, it is dark, but it does not seem like there is a catastrophic storm coming.  When I leave the dorm, all I hear is rumors about how classes might be canceled.  I sit outside, on my bench near the labrynth, and all I see is a gray day.  It is interesting thinking about how this place will look in about twelve hours.  The slight breezes that push the leaves today will morph into monumental gales that will make the trees look like they are on roller coasters.  I've heard that no trees will most likely fall down, but I wonder if the landscape at the labrynth will change by the next time I come here.  I guess I'll just have to enjoy the view I have for now, before all of the brightly colored leaves are blown away.  

So a Shadow, a Farmgirl, a Pilgrim, and a dark Alice in Wonderland visited the cloisters late last night. With the Halloween spirit hanging heavily in the air, creepy, scary, and downright ridiculous were the words of the night.

Visiting the cloisters with other people as well made me feel safer, since I visited them during nighttime once before, but it was still too quiet and eerie. There was inexplicable creeking of the castle, and the darkness of the grassy area of the cloisters was gloomy. But even with all that gloom, the cloisters became a place full of laughter and joy once my friends arrived and we played music and did silly dances and took funny photos. So I guess that the perception of a place really changes when surrounded by people - I usually associate places with the people that are there, and thus infuse the places with the energy the people bring with them.

On a side note: I noticed that Thomas Hall's facade included what looked like Baltimore gneiss (it was dark - that's what I could tell from the limited amount of light there was), which tells me that it was one of the older buildings on campus, since the other 2 older buildings, Merion and Taylor, also have Baltimore gneiss, but the rest of the buildings on campus have Wissahickon schist.

When Professor Crawford was telling us about how she always walks looking at the ground because she wanted to look at the rocks I thought about all the other things that one could look at on the ground as well. Maybe an ant here or a flower there, but these things do not necessarily carry the history behind Bryn Mawr as well as the rocks do. I feel that next time I am staring at the ground I am going to look at the rocks like Professor Crawford to see if I actually notice anything, maybe if the rocks are shiny or if they resemble wistihicken (spellcheck needed). I feel that since we spend all the time looking around us when we walk that we miss a lot of different aspects of nature that are on the ground. Professor Crawford's different aspect has made me realize the importance of all the things that we do not think to do, like looking at the rocks on the ground instead of the trees. Our different frame of references of nature allow us to better understand each aspect of the environment.

Change is good. Society seems to be perpetually changing our politics and regulations to save itself from regression, or being left behind in a world that is constantly modernizing. Most of the time, our adaptations to the changing times  are advantageous, and have rendered the United States one of the superpowers of the world. On the news, we brag about technological innovations, advancements in our education system, and refreshed activism in social issues that reflect the benefits of change, and our positive relationship with it. Therefore, today I decided to walk around and choose a new spot where I would journal for the remainder of the semester. Surprisingly, I found great difficulty locating a new spot. I wasn't afraid to step outside of my comfort zone; I even tried writing in the garden next to Haffner. However, nothing I tried felt "right". I missed the familiarity of my old spot next to the pond behind Rhodes, and I was frustrated at myself for it. I convinced myself that if I changed up my old routine, I would see the results in my writing. I found myself forcing a change that didn't need to happen at all. In the end, I returned to the pond, and tried writing again. Watching the pond in the rain allowed me to clear my head of all my frustration, and the writing soon flowed in after. I realized that, while change is good, you shouldn't force it--so for now, you can still find me at Rhodes every Sunday, writing behind the pond. 

So, obviously a lot of us are scrambling to prepare ourselves for the hurricane and adjusting our plans to fit its needs. I think this is relevant to our recent conversations and that unpacking this might be interesting.

I experienced this less when I lived in a tropical climate prone to hurricanes, but people around here are either extremely apprehensive or extremely excited about the idea of the hurricane hitting Bryn Mawr. Either way, we are reacting to something that we do not understand in very typical and very human ways. That is absolutely acceptable, but sometimes it looks like we are trying to comfort ourselves by turning the storms into something campy, familiar, and non-threatening, even though a lot of times they are a lot more damaging than the way they are portrayed. For instance, we give hurricanes names. This potentially dangerous and uncontrollable storm has been given the name "Sandy." 

Naming hurricanes has always bothered me. Giving something a gendered name to familiarize us with something we don't understand and to potentially decrease the feeling of a threat is unsettling. Does a hurricane need a name? Does a hurricane need a gender? Weather forecasters refer to hurricanes as "she" or "he" depending on their given name, and I have previously seen yet-unnamed tropical storms or depressions referred to as "she" as a default (I'm not even sure what this implies).

Because of injury-related problems I experienced at the end of the week, I haven't been able to post my weekly observation yet. To avoid this in the future, I have decided to change my location. Other factors contributed to this decision, like the fact that the large green electrical box in my previous spot disrupts the feeling of being hidden and removed that first attracted me to the tree.

My new spot is conveniently next to Erdman, where I live. I'm not sure what it's known as, but it has a sign that says "Erdman Lookout" and it is a stone circle on top of a little hill. I will be sitting on the steps on the hill that face a lot of interesting plant life and, in the background, the wildflower garden.

Currently, this area is completely covered with what seems like orange leaves. The tree that these leaves used to belong to still has plenty of leaves of its own, but it's let go of a sea of leaves that now completely hide the grass underneath. 
 When I looked closer, I found that the leaves were not just orange, but a spectrum of yellow and orange and red and brown. I just perceived them to be orange. 
This reminded me of art classes from when I was little, in which my teacher told me to look at a cloud and tell her all the colors I saw in it and I was not allowed to say "white."

In terms of topics we could talk about in class for the rest of the semester I think we should try having conversations about how all the topics and readings might overlap with one another. A specific example of this would be Pollan’s article about weeds and Silent Spring’s talk of pesticide use. Both discuss a similar subject matter, plant life that is unwanted/undesired by humans, and the possible implications to dealing with them (ignoring them/letting them grow in specialized plots according to Pollan and drenching them in pesticide as Carson puts it). Seeing how both pieces address a similar topic, I think it would be useful to look at the overlap between Carson and Pollan and discuss/compare it with one another. From there class conversations could also look other similarities we can find among the other readings as well. It would also be nice to see how previous readings we have looked at might have some implications on the subject matters we are currently examining, as well as contemporary environmental and gender issues (since Silent Spring has started to make us talk about such issues in greater depth already). Revising the course to have more conversations like these would be helpful because it would let us put many of the readings in context with one another and also look at the much broader scope that each reading’s subject matter might hold on relevant issues.    

Image retrieved from: http://www.educationnews.org/technology/raygunreports-com-aims-to-save-students-money-on-textbooks/

In chapter two of Reading is my Window, Sweeney states: “In Ohio Prisons, the general libraries are funded entirely by revenue from each prison’s vending machines and commissary...” (57). The lack of funding for prison libraries is extremely outrageous, but what is even more outrageous is how much of the funding, going into prison programs that help alleviate recidivism. is “entirely” dependent on the prisoners themselves who have little to no resources and/or opportunities to earn wages. How can we expect  prison libraries to have good reading material, or any at all, if the monetary resources are not available?