A first attempt at an hour’s observation brings only awkwardness.  In the night I venture forth determined to find a blissful solitude in the darkness.  I reason that the night is for indoor activities, not natural, and I will defeat the crowds by having my hour out in the night.  I walk up the hill to the labyrinth.  I see a couple gazing at the stars.  I walk quickly away. 

The next afternoon, I try again.  I go out when the weather is beautiful, when I figure everyone would be outside.  I reach the labyrinth and I am the only one there.  I take one hour letting the warm sun and the cool breezes soak into my skin.  No one comes.  I am with nature while the rest of the world is stuck in their dorm missing this glorious feast of the senses.

Original: Leaves – I don’t remember much from my HS biology class. But I remember learning about leaves and pigment and autumn – the trees withdraw their support, close/sever ties with the leaves… lack of the connection means gradual death, going out (for some) in a fiery blaze of color – colors that were there under the surface all along, only waiting for enough chloroplasts to die so they could shine through. Something like that.

Comments: prefaced with my memory – my incomplete memory of scientific fact as a lens (can you take this seriously?). Personification of the trees, the colors…

Re-vision: Seeing the leaving is forcing re-levating/re-calling studying biology and the changing of seasons in high school. Leaving is withdrawing support, severing ties. Leaving is lacking connection, moving towards death, going out blazing and firing color. Leaving is dying. Leaving is making space for waiting colors. Now, coloring is happening, shining though.

Original:

As I was looking out at the pond again, I had in mind Gary Snyder's suggestions, to see the wild, the unspoken parts of nature. To concentrate on the grit and the hunger and the survival rather than the peaceful. This was really hard still, but the closest I got was to notice the continuous ripples in the pond. They came very often, and I remember hearing somewhere that if there was a ripple, that meant something in the pond had just been hunted or eaten. Thinking about this, I saw the ripples differently, and started wondering what exactly was going on under those waters. There was a sports game going on to my right (probably soccer judging by the sound the ball was making, I didn't actually go and check to confirm) and the players were cheering on eachother loudly, and in general communicating with eachother about maneuvers in the game. I wondered then vaguely, if they were under water, how their loud voices might make the sound ripple. Then that lead me to imagine the organisms in the water. Were they also 'shouting,' 'yelling,'did they make enough noise to make the water ripple? What did it sound like under there. I took this pic of the water ripples, and also a video, but I couldn't manage to post the video, as the software wasn't compatible :(

Bohm and Snyder:

A major part of this project was collecting oral histories of the past and visions of the future from residents of the Millcreek. Through this, not only were we able to use individuals' ideas of beauty, nature, and community to create a garden that fostered those visions, but we were also able to film a documentary that captured these stories for a larger audience. 

Sitting. Feeling the wind on my skin. I am cold. Chills shake my being. Focusing on the shivvering trees and branches. My attention sticks to the wind. How can you capture the essence of the wind. Something real, something lifelike. Something that thrives on movement. A picture cannot capture the wind. A video barely can. The freedom the wind brings, not confining it to the pages of a book. The touch of the wind is something bechdel does not capture. One aspect that is untouchable is the physical feel of nature against your skin. Bechdel does not particularly highlight the aspects of nature that people feel on a daily basis when they walk outside. As I sat outside I enjoyed the feel of the wind blowing against my face and the sushine beating down at my back. There is no way to describe the wind and sun other than to experience it.

Original First Paragraph

I’ve never been very good at wandering or walking without any sort of plan.  Hence the reason a planned to circle the campus out edges and then explore its inner parts.  Of course, like with any sort of plan, it inevitably changed. I began my walk after brunch, around noontime, heading down Erdman Driveway.  In this part of campus, the boundaries were very clear, usually marked by sidewalks or beautifully trimmed bushes.  After deciding that these boundaries were easily identified, I turned my attention toward my surroundings, marveling at the clear sky with perfect clouds and reading license plates.  Eventually my gaze fell upon this little white house right beside the Admissions parking lot.  Here began my true saunter and my plan began to fade away.  I was able to identify the building as the site of Human Resources and continued through the parking lot to take a look at the next never-before-seen sight.  After learning that the gate to Admissions was adorned with lanterns given to the college by the Alumnae Association to celebrate past, present and future Mawrters, I turned the corner onto Yarrow Street and was met with a yet another gateway that presented me with a little bit of a conundrum.

Rheomode

but I think this might still be coping out.  Our assigned reading for tuesday directly plays into the paper I'm writing for Jody's class and I'd like to have the two of them "play together" here.  Unfortauntely, that means I won't be able to turn this in on time.  I'll share my paper online and then respond to it with the lens of the "Advetencia/Warning" reading.

Promisies.  Promisies.

Original:

It’s been a while since I’ve heard such words used to describe my interior and exteriors. Most visitors on this side are silent, reflective; these are analytical and there are lots of them. I do not resent visitation, even if only because doing so is futile. But I am a development in and of myself, only an abstraction of human will with the tools of nature at their disposal. I act, I react, I will myself into a tame type of exhibit for their primordial senses. I exist as an example to this tiny collection, but my essence comes from clouds and oceans. I know what salt water tastes like; I know what it is like to rush down a cliff with all the force of physics behind me. I know chemicals; I am not unsoiled. I know it in collection; I know it as every raindrop knows the endless cycle of repetition that water follows. 

Nomilazation, a la Andrew Goatley:

Descriptions of interiors and exteriors are created.

Silence descends from past visitors;

analysis ascends from current ones.

No resentment of visitation from me, as resistance is futile.

Existence is a development of nature’s tools and human will.

Action, Reaction, I do.

For human primordial senses, willing action occurs in me.

Existence of me as example for them;

Existence of me for me originates in clouds and oceans.

Sat water tastes are known.

Chemicals are known, unsoiledness is not.

Knowledge exists in collection; knowledge exists in water’s endless cycle. 

This is my post that was due on Thursday.  I sprained my ankle this week and end up on crutches at the end of the week, so walking to my spot by Perry House became impossible.  Or, not impossible, but suddenly it involved a lot more energy on my part.  It became so much farther away even though the garden is still the exact same measured distance from my dorm. 

I live in Merion a very centrally located dorm which is a good part of its appeal to me.  But, when relegated to crutches, it seems a lot less appealing.  I remember walking from the health center back to Merion after being given the crutches and thinking that I would never make it back to my room.  That slightly inclined driveway by cartref became a mountain.  I was panting by the time I got to the road by Dalton.  My underarms were beginning to feel battered and bruised...later I would look to see deep red marks and splatters where I assume some of my veins had burst.  My good leg, my left leg, was burning and my arms were startng to shake from bearing so muc weight.  I had to pause and rest three or four times on my way back to my room.  This experience replicated itself everytime I had to go out that day...and all I kept thinking about was getting myself to Perry House to do this post.  I didn't get there, although I suppose I could have asked the Lantern van to take me there at night.  However, I'm not a fan of being in secluded out door spaces by myself at night.  I decided to cross that bridge when I have two good ankles on w

When I visited the pond behind Rhodes for the second time, I decided to bring along some company. My teammate Georgia and I had just finished a run and were waiting for a friend, so I thought it would be an appropriate time to visit my "spot". I explained my assignment to her, and why I had chosen this spot out of every other place on campus. "I think it's so beautiful", I told her when she asked. 

She replied with,"It's messy, but it's beautiful". I asked her what she meant by that, and she told me that, to her at least, the pond seemed a little out of place on campus. It was fenced off, and not maintained like the rest of the grounds, which is why she had called it messy. I thought about that for a moment, and then asked her what her hometown looked like in comparison to Bryn Mawr. She lives in the suburbs of Alabama, and explained that everything there was perfectly maintained; a place for everything, and everything in its place. I realized that where she was raised may have affected the way she perceieved my spot behind Rhodes. My hometown in Vermont is nothing like she had described hers to be, and I wondered if that was the reason why I had seen the pond from a different window of perspective. To me, there was beautiful organization in the reeds, the overgrown shrubs lining the fence, and the looming shadows of trees that hung over the water. I would have never have thought to classify it as a "mess".