Finding My Place

When signing up for Our Place in Nature, I did not expect to get the experience I did throughout the semester. Being a creative writing minor, I was initially hoping for the class to be more geared toward nature poetry. There was some poetry throughout the semester, but the class ended up being an array of different styles of writing mixed with hands on learning. There were so many unique opportunities that presented themselves during our class time, such as field trips and guest speakers, something I have never experienced in a college class.

            My favorite field trip was when the class went to the farmers market and had the opportunity to cook for the class and watch a film on eating local. Besides being a fun and entertaining project, it was also very instrumental in my understanding of locally grown food and the process behind food consumption. In addition, reading Barbara Kingsolver’s novel Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life, really opened my eyes to the separation of the American population and the food production industry. She states, “humans can be fairly ridiculous animals”, and I completely agree. This comparison between the human population and the food they are consuming mirrors the knowledge the population should have about the food they are consuming.

            One of the passages from the anthology I related to most was “The Art of Seeing Things”, by John Burroughs. I believe Burroughs truly encompasses the simple facts that people forget – nature can be seen by everyone, yet, it is up to us to see what it has to offer. The human population is a vast array of different personalities, and “there is nothing in which people differ more than in their powers of observation” (Burroughs 147).  This brilliantly captures the essence of individuality in relation to nature and its interpretation, as well as opening the door for more of the human race to enjoy nature in the way they choose.

            Throughout this class I have truly learned to appreciate the earth around me, and never take what it gives for granted. Writing my current events paper on Barbara Kingsolver’s article about water preservation in National Geographic sparked my first thoughts on becoming more involved in conservation, preservation, and simply an overall awareness of the natural world around me. As Gifford Pinchot said in his journal “Prosperity”, the earth is “ours to use and conserve for ourselves and our descendants, or to destroy” (Pinchot 174). It is up to our generation to preserve the dignity and well being of our nature rich earth, and I am ready to do my part. 

Will There Really be a Morning?

I looked further into nature poetry today to find one that really spoke to me. One of my favorite poets is Emily Dickinson, and finding a poem about nature that I liked of hers did not surprise me. Her poem “Will there really be a morning” is such a wonderful, moving poem. When she questions the morning, she is simultaneously questioning the fact that she waking up to another day. She then she goes on to question the existence of day, attempting to grasp that sense of comprehension of something so magnificent as a day or a morning. The simile that connects a morning or a mountain with an object that has feet and feathers truly makes man a magnificent thing, much like the great “mountains” (v. 3) she mentions.

Not only did this poem move me, but this particular poem is also set to music by many arrangers. My personal favorite is the arrangement by Ricky Ian Gordon. The fact that a certain poem about nature was set to music by so many composers makes the wonder of the poem that much greater. So many individuals strive to catch just the right essence of nature through the chords, the notes, the piano, and the voice. It is amazing how many interpretations can come out of a simple twelve line poem. I think that is why Emily Dickinson is such an amazing poet, for her poetry has been interpreted by many generations, yet, still holds the same marvel to every single one.

Nature: A Sonnet by Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s sonnet ‘Nature’ stands as a superb illustration of the tenderness and gentleness of nature in guiding human souls from this world to whatever comes next. The two metaphors in the first octave, ‘a fond mother’ and ‘her little child’, are harnessed in the seemingly expected arrival of the bed time of the child, which compares itself to death in the last six lines. This split of ideals between the first octave and the last six lines that form two tercets, create the form of a Petrarchan sonnet. I believe that this form is very effective in portraying the abrupt shift from child’s play to inevitable death, as well as differentiate itself from the sonnet form most are used to – the Shakespearean sonnet and its ideals of love.  

Longfellow’s comparison between a child’s bedtime and death is so brilliant, for it makes death seem less harsh. As we age and approach death, nature takes away our “playthings” gradually (v. 10); that is, we slowly lose our physical strength, our energy, our vision and hearing, our abilities to do various things well, etc. We become tired and long for rest, but at the same time, we want to cling to life and its pleasures, just as the child wants to cling to his or her toys before bed. Longfellow never uses harsh phrases, but says that nature “leads us to rest gently” (v. 11). With this allusion to the ideals of the Christian faith and religion, Longfellow uses nature as God’s tool to help to smooth the way to death, lulling us gently toward that blessed future. Longfellow seems to believe, as the Christian faith proclaims, that the unknown existence awaiting us far exceeds the flawed life here on earth, even when we cannot grasp the immensity of the life that awaits our transition.

Sonnets are one of my favorite forms of poetry. The fact that a sonnet is merely fourteen lines and says so much is remarkable. I just recently tried to write a sonnet of my own recently, and it was a very fun and challenging project.

Sonnet II

Unearth the feeling in your blood

‘Twas buried ‘neath the skin of lies,

And never to uncover, would

If not the beauty in her eyes.

Dig into life, reveal the joy

The purpose to awake the day,

Entomb the sly and bitter ploys

That challenge every life this way.

And render in such living, bliss

What’s sought by every heart to find,

For some, a redirected miss

A fairytale of other kind.

Oh, revelation, rise, in lieu

Of what the heart already knew. 

                       

                           -Stephanie Gregoire

STOP!

So, I live in an apartment complex called Campus Court which is located right next to the Lawson Ice Arena. Every day I walk to class on the same route, up the same stairs, through the same parking lot, over the same bridge, and it is always the same – UNTIL recently when I walked by one morning and the Western Landscape Service workers were cutting down tree after tree after tree. I can now see the parking lot that is beyond the ice rink when I am walking home, and that makes me want to cry.

It’s kind of like the Olmsted essay we read for class the other day about Central Park. The sentence where Olmsted states that Central Park in his eyes was created to “secure an antithesis of objects of vision to those of the streets and houses which should act remedially, by impressions on the mind and suggestions to the imagination” (pp. 121-22) really hit home when I thought about the cutting down of the trees. As we discussed this passage in class, I was reluctant to agree to his position, merely because of the place I was raised, which is plentiful in the nature department. Kalamazoo, on the other hand, doesn’t have as much nature to offer in plain view, and that small thicket of trees by my apartment complex served as my antithesis to the hustle and bustle of college life in Kalamazoo. Just as the people of New York can imagine there are mountains beyond the rock structures that line Central Park, I was able (until now) to look at those trees and imagine a forest or waterfall behind them. Instead, I am now forced to look at stumps and a parking lot when I walk home.

Overall, this cutting down of trees and reading Olmsted’s article really made me realize that there are two sides to every issue in nature. Even though I am from a nature-plenty area, I am still able to appreciate small patches of nature, even if they seemingly cannot compare to my home.  Also, I am sure there is a good reason for the workers of Landscape Services to cut down these trees, I just really wish someone would tell me why so I don’t have to wonder why all the beautiful trees are disappearing right before my eyes.

Home

Some people go through life wishing to get out of the small town they grew up in, or get away from the people you saw everyday for the first two decades of your life. Let me tell you, I was one of those people. I knew from the second I started filling out applications for college that I was going to go somewhere a good distance away from my hometown, to get out and experience the world (or so I thought…really I am in a building most days and do not get to see any of the world beyond the walls of the Dalton Center and occasional Brown Hall). Nonetheless, college has been quite an eye opening few years for me.

This past weekend I had to make the drive home to the Upper Peninsula to sing in a wedding. I was truly dreading driving 16 hours in one weekend, but the second I crossed the bridge, I felt a surge of energy and excitement that I had never felt before. In that instant I knew I really did miss my home. Though I am loving the freedom and college life at Western, there are some days I wish I was back home by the lake, playing hockey with my sisters, or sitting outside our cottage with four generations of family. These are the things you don’t learn by traveling the world or experiencing new culture. Though that is an enriching experience, some of the best learning happens in your own backyard.  

Family Dinner

I am beyond thrilled to go to the farmer’s market on Tuesday. I love fresh fruits and vegetables and am really excited to talk to the local farmers and vendors about how the food I am buying was grown. When a meal is made out of fresh, locally grown produce, it feels so much better to prepare and eat. First, you are doing something healthy for your body and second, you are helping local vendors to keep producing food for the community.

I also LOVE to cook, so this project enables me to pursue a passion of mine and learn at the same time. My dad is a phenomenal cook so I have learned a lot from him. He has always stressed the importance of a balanced diet and always prepared balanced meals for my family. Dinner time was kind of hectic when I was in high school because my two sisters and I always had conflicting schedules with sports, music, church, and school.  It was a rare occasion when we all got to sit down as a family and eat a full meal together, but that made it so much more special when it did happen. I truly believe in the theory that families who sit down together to dinner often and engage in conversation are a more close knit family. When I get the chance to go home and eat dinner with my family now that I am in college, I make sure to engage in meaningful conversation and really embrace the family time.

            Barbra Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, really surrounds the concept of organic eating as well as embracing the family aspect of the process of eating healthier. Her accounts give me hope that I can change my lifestyle and overcome the college myths of ‘freshman fifteen’ and cheap, easy food choices. I also enjoy how Kingsolver writes some of the book herself while adding stories from her husband as well as daughter. This shows just how much love she has for her family and how much easier it is to overcome a task when you are participating with the people closest to you. Family gives you the courage to keep trying, even when you feel like a goal is unable to be accomplished.

Sunrise

Every day I have to force myself to get out of bed at 6:30a.m., because I have an 8:00a.m. class Monday through Thursday. Most of the time I am resentful and crabby because I am definitely not a morning person, but the other day I saw something on my walk to class that made my routine of getting up truly worth it. As I walked across the bridge over Howard Street, I looked up to see the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen. The sky was a blend of pink and purple and blue, with soft cotton-like clouds perfectly placed in the mix. I stood and stared for a few minutes (before coming to the realization that I was already running late) and stared into the beauty of the unknown sky.

That is what I love about seeing something new in nature. The first time you see a vast body of water or the sunset on a beautiful summer night, whatever it is brings a sense of wonder. Constantly blooming, budding, sprouting, and growing, nature changes and brings new sights every time we turn around. Nature is all around all the time, but the feeling of quiet bliss sneaks its way into the mind when a beautiful new sight is seen.

It kind of reminds me of John Burroughs’ passage, “The Art of Seeing Things”. This selection spoke to me from the beginning, because it enveloped the notion that everyone can see the many things that nature has to offer if they just look closely. He also describes how everyone sees nature differently, and I love these descriptions because of the truth they hold.  He states “To the scientist Nature is a storehouse of facts, laws, processes; to the artist she is a storehouse of pictures; to the poet she is a storehouse of images, fancies, a source of inspiration; to the moralist she is a storehouse of precepts and parables; to all she may be a source of knowledge and joy” (147). Everyone has their own interpretation of nature and its power, and it only takes a few seconds, or a beautiful sunrise at 7:30a.m., to see it.