(Disclaimer: I’m tired, I want to go home, I found a yellow jacket nest attached to the building I sleep in a few days ago, and my work ethic up and left a week ago. So, please forgive me if I am in less than ideal writing frame of mind and thus write somewhat less than usual.)
After our spring break trip to New Orleans, each Bonner was supposed to write a reflection about the trip. My reflection was to tell a story about one of the people whose house we had worked on. I got an email a few days latter telling me I hadn’t written a “reflection” but had instead produced a “recollection.”
My mistake was in thinking that relating a thought provoking experience could be considered a reflection in and of itself. Although part of me wants to say that telling the story should provoke reflection on the part of the reader, I understand that Bonner wants me to take a step back and do some thinking about my experiences. The complication, however, comes in the fact that some experiences are easier to reflect about than others. For example, the man in New Orleans who had had his windows boarded up with a nail gun is easier to reflect on than seemingly endless hours of weed eating. Even more complicating is the fact that I tend to reflect on things that I think about, and weed eating and putting out coffee grounds and puttying windows and most of the other work I do here puts me into at kind of Zen state (which leads to a whole other set of interesting questions, is not thinking spiritually beneficial if you’re not thinking about not thinking?).
So, to answer Jessica’s question in response to my first blog post, I think it may be possible to reflect on demand, but it would require more attention than I’ve been paying, or having a different set of exciting circumstances. Finding yellow jacket nests is exciting and memorable, but doesn’t lend itself to reflection.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Would the World be a Better Place if we all Played Guitar and Ultimate Frisbee?
When I was about to leave home to come back to Long Branch, my mom commented on the fact that I drive a Volvo, wear Birkenstocks, play Ultimate, and am working on an organic farm. I’m conscious that I fit a certain stereotype, whether it’s “granola” or “hippie” or “college student,” but I didn’t realize how much the environmental movement is embodied by people who look, think, and act like me. Including me, there have been six interns here at Long Branch in the past month, and, assuming that we’re reasonably representative of environmentally conscious people, certain similarities pop up. All the interns are white, two thirds play guitar, half play ultimate Frisbee, and half are college students.
I do admit, I think my statistics teacher would be mad at me if I made any generalizations with a sample size that small, but there’s some truth to the fact that a significant number of the people who care about the well being of the planet fall under the label of “hippie” to some degree, and it seems to me that being pigeonholed as such gives people an easy excuse not to listen. I’ve been reading a good bit of Daniel Quinn recently, and I think he put forth the problem in a slightly different way. In one of his books, he differentiates between “programs” and “vision.” Recycling is a program, but the industrial revolution was the product of vision. If people have to be persuaded to change the world, then no matter how many times the Sam Cooke song is covered, no change is going to come.
I’m slightly misusing Quinn’s term here, but I feel that the same is true if only a stereotyped segment of the population shares the “vision.” I enjoy listening to Paul, the director of Long Branch, talk about homeopathy and sustainability and the coming transition from the fourth age to the fifth age, but ultimately he’s preaching to the choir when he’s talking to me. I had the experience of hearing descriptions of Paul before I came out to Long Branch, and he was at least once brushed off as “weird,” and therefore inconsequential, because he ate poison ivy in homeopathic dosages to stop his allergic reactions.
So, to go back and pose the title question, would the world be a better place if everyone suddenly became a hippie? If we shared the peripherals, would the core message of treating the planet better be more likely to come through? Would an environmental message dressed up in a suit and tie ultimately lose something? I wish I knew.
I do admit, I think my statistics teacher would be mad at me if I made any generalizations with a sample size that small, but there’s some truth to the fact that a significant number of the people who care about the well being of the planet fall under the label of “hippie” to some degree, and it seems to me that being pigeonholed as such gives people an easy excuse not to listen. I’ve been reading a good bit of Daniel Quinn recently, and I think he put forth the problem in a slightly different way. In one of his books, he differentiates between “programs” and “vision.” Recycling is a program, but the industrial revolution was the product of vision. If people have to be persuaded to change the world, then no matter how many times the Sam Cooke song is covered, no change is going to come.
I’m slightly misusing Quinn’s term here, but I feel that the same is true if only a stereotyped segment of the population shares the “vision.” I enjoy listening to Paul, the director of Long Branch, talk about homeopathy and sustainability and the coming transition from the fourth age to the fifth age, but ultimately he’s preaching to the choir when he’s talking to me. I had the experience of hearing descriptions of Paul before I came out to Long Branch, and he was at least once brushed off as “weird,” and therefore inconsequential, because he ate poison ivy in homeopathic dosages to stop his allergic reactions.
So, to go back and pose the title question, would the world be a better place if everyone suddenly became a hippie? If we shared the peripherals, would the core message of treating the planet better be more likely to come through? Would an environmental message dressed up in a suit and tie ultimately lose something? I wish I knew.
Monday, June 9, 2008
The Learning Curve
I came to the realization today that a goat would be a more effective weed remover than I am (assuming it could be trained not to eat the blueberries). It wouldn’t get poison ivy or take so many breaks, and it would be cheaper to feed. So why am I out here dripping sweat onto the blueberries when a hairy horned herbivore could do my job, and probably do it better?
Well, for one thing, I do have opposable thumbs, and while weeding might be easier for a goat, fertilizing and putting tree shelters on baby blueberries might be a bit harder. But, in all seriousness, or at least more seriousness, why am I here? Am I actually doing service to the blueberry plants, on the smallest scale, and to the planet, on the largest scale? Well, I hope so, in part because there is a fair bit of money riding on me completing my “summer of service,” and if I conclude in my reflection that I haven’t done any service, then it’s a little harder to justify giving me that money.
In part, my frustration stems from the fact that I don’t have a great understanding of what I’m doing. I understand that weeds compete with blueberries, and need to be pulled. I understand that blueberries need water, so they should be provided with water. However, I don’t understand enough to act independently, which stops me from feeling like I’m truly being of service. If I have to ask for direction every half hour (the longest I can generally operate without running into some complication I haven’t run into before) then I’m not doing anyone any good, am I.
However, I am learning. I can now differentiate apple trees from other trees. I can identify baby blueberries, even if I don’t always spot them all. I know to try and pull up morning glory by the roots, as it comes back with a vengeance. Hopefully through learning these things, and more things, I can be of real service. I’ve served some blueberry plants (but I may have killed some others). Maybe someday I’ll be able to serve Momma Earth.
Well, for one thing, I do have opposable thumbs, and while weeding might be easier for a goat, fertilizing and putting tree shelters on baby blueberries might be a bit harder. But, in all seriousness, or at least more seriousness, why am I here? Am I actually doing service to the blueberry plants, on the smallest scale, and to the planet, on the largest scale? Well, I hope so, in part because there is a fair bit of money riding on me completing my “summer of service,” and if I conclude in my reflection that I haven’t done any service, then it’s a little harder to justify giving me that money.
In part, my frustration stems from the fact that I don’t have a great understanding of what I’m doing. I understand that weeds compete with blueberries, and need to be pulled. I understand that blueberries need water, so they should be provided with water. However, I don’t understand enough to act independently, which stops me from feeling like I’m truly being of service. If I have to ask for direction every half hour (the longest I can generally operate without running into some complication I haven’t run into before) then I’m not doing anyone any good, am I.
However, I am learning. I can now differentiate apple trees from other trees. I can identify baby blueberries, even if I don’t always spot them all. I know to try and pull up morning glory by the roots, as it comes back with a vengeance. Hopefully through learning these things, and more things, I can be of real service. I’ve served some blueberry plants (but I may have killed some others). Maybe someday I’ll be able to serve Momma Earth.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Long Branch: Animal, Vegetable, Architectural
Having been at Long Branch only five days, four of work and one of hiking, reading Salman Rushdie, and writing a blog entry, I don’t think I’m quite prepared to say anything about profound about saving the planet, organic farming, or my own place in the scheme of either of the prior two subjects (weed whacking, however, is another story). So in lieu of reflecting at the personal level, or thinking about institutional or global levels, I will opt for a description of my place of residence and work.
Animal
Long Branch is, at the moment, home to six human animals, although this number is subject to frequent change. There are the Gallimores, Pat and Paul, who own Long Branch. Then there are Ben and July (whose last name I don’t know), a couple who came here from Florida and rent a house. And finally, there are me and my fellow intern, Rosara, a rising senior at UNC-Asheville. There are also three dogs, one who belongs to the Gallimores, two who belong to Ben and Judy. In addition, Long Branch is also home to numerous other animals not human and that no human can lay claim to. Putting aside the bugs, as hard as that is, in the past 5 days I have seen a black snake, a turtle, a rabbit, and heard numerous birds, including at least one owl.
Vegetable
Long Branch is mostly a farm, but as a farm, it’s interesting in that crops blend in to each other. In one place, chestnuts become blueberries become chestnuts again. In other places, apples become blueberries and raspberries. Blackberries with and without thorns permeate everything else. And the bamboo stands alone. In addition to the things that we try to grow are the things that want to grow, but are unwelcome. In a word, weeds. Paul has stretched my definition of weeds to include trees, and I’ve had the disconcerting experience of cutting down a tree in the middle of a tree nursery. Paul has also taught me that mugwort has a “tremendous life-force,” which is probably why I keep seeing it underneath my weed whacker. To add to my confusion, Paul keeps giving me weeds to eat and smell, and so I can't understand why something that tastes good should be whacked.
Architectural
There were two buildings on the property when the Gallimores arrived, the farmhouse and the barn. Both are still standing, but I’m uncertain what purpose it serves at the moment. The barn serves as a sleeping and storage space. Apart from these two buildings, the rest of Long Branch, down to an outhouse, has a distinct architectural style. No roofs come to peaks. Instead of the classic pentagon, there are instead quadrilaterals with one side, the roof, . Sometimes there will be two or of these basic shapes together. In the case of the community center, the two tall ends are together, but one is higher than the other, and in the case of the Gallimore residence and workshops, there are three side by side quadrilaterals. This architecture gives a kind of feeling of modernity and progress to the place by undercutting ones expectations for Appalachian building.
Animal
Long Branch is, at the moment, home to six human animals, although this number is subject to frequent change. There are the Gallimores, Pat and Paul, who own Long Branch. Then there are Ben and July (whose last name I don’t know), a couple who came here from Florida and rent a house. And finally, there are me and my fellow intern, Rosara, a rising senior at UNC-Asheville. There are also three dogs, one who belongs to the Gallimores, two who belong to Ben and Judy. In addition, Long Branch is also home to numerous other animals not human and that no human can lay claim to. Putting aside the bugs, as hard as that is, in the past 5 days I have seen a black snake, a turtle, a rabbit, and heard numerous birds, including at least one owl.
Vegetable
Long Branch is mostly a farm, but as a farm, it’s interesting in that crops blend in to each other. In one place, chestnuts become blueberries become chestnuts again. In other places, apples become blueberries and raspberries. Blackberries with and without thorns permeate everything else. And the bamboo stands alone. In addition to the things that we try to grow are the things that want to grow, but are unwelcome. In a word, weeds. Paul has stretched my definition of weeds to include trees, and I’ve had the disconcerting experience of cutting down a tree in the middle of a tree nursery. Paul has also taught me that mugwort has a “tremendous life-force,” which is probably why I keep seeing it underneath my weed whacker. To add to my confusion, Paul keeps giving me weeds to eat and smell, and so I can't understand why something that tastes good should be whacked.
Architectural
There were two buildings on the property when the Gallimores arrived, the farmhouse and the barn. Both are still standing, but I’m uncertain what purpose it serves at the moment. The barn serves as a sleeping and storage space. Apart from these two buildings, the rest of Long Branch, down to an outhouse, has a distinct architectural style. No roofs come to peaks. Instead of the classic pentagon, there are instead quadrilaterals with one side, the roof, . Sometimes there will be two or of these basic shapes together. In the case of the community center, the two tall ends are together, but one is higher than the other, and in the case of the Gallimore residence and workshops, there are three side by side quadrilaterals. This architecture gives a kind of feeling of modernity and progress to the place by undercutting ones expectations for Appalachian building.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Packing and Unpacking
Part 1: Packing
So, I’m a kind of packing pro. I’ve thrown clothing into bags for weekend trips on a regular basis for something like seven years now, and can do it in record time. However, when packing expands from weekend trip to new place of residence, especially one where ones living conditions and rhythms of life are unknown, it’s a more daunting task, and one that leads to reflection. Packing of this sort begs questions like “What do I really need to live?” “What makes me happy, and will it fit in my bag?” and “So, what can I actually cook for myself, and will the ingredients keep in the car for the three hour drive?” I haven’t finished packing yet, so I have no answers, but expect updates.
Part 2: Unpacking
In addition to ruminating about packing, I figured I’d take a little time and space to unpack some of my reasons for writing a blog. I’m required to do some form of reflection about the summer service I do as a Bonner Scholar, and, as a word-oriented person, I figured some form of writing would best capture the summer for me. However, I also have the problem of finding myself unable or unwilling to write without an audience and a deadline. Therefore, a blog. So, readers (I hope I actually end up having readers), thank you for your time and attention, and please keep me honest. If I haven’t posted by Sunday night, hit me over the head if I’m physically near you, or send me an angry email or Facebook post or text message, and tell me to write my entry for the week. Furthermore, I hope this writing thing will continue in a way that is constructive for my own writing skills and is a decent use of you hypothetical readers’ time.
Peace and Love,
James
So, I’m a kind of packing pro. I’ve thrown clothing into bags for weekend trips on a regular basis for something like seven years now, and can do it in record time. However, when packing expands from weekend trip to new place of residence, especially one where ones living conditions and rhythms of life are unknown, it’s a more daunting task, and one that leads to reflection. Packing of this sort begs questions like “What do I really need to live?” “What makes me happy, and will it fit in my bag?” and “So, what can I actually cook for myself, and will the ingredients keep in the car for the three hour drive?” I haven’t finished packing yet, so I have no answers, but expect updates.
Part 2: Unpacking
In addition to ruminating about packing, I figured I’d take a little time and space to unpack some of my reasons for writing a blog. I’m required to do some form of reflection about the summer service I do as a Bonner Scholar, and, as a word-oriented person, I figured some form of writing would best capture the summer for me. However, I also have the problem of finding myself unable or unwilling to write without an audience and a deadline. Therefore, a blog. So, readers (I hope I actually end up having readers), thank you for your time and attention, and please keep me honest. If I haven’t posted by Sunday night, hit me over the head if I’m physically near you, or send me an angry email or Facebook post or text message, and tell me to write my entry for the week. Furthermore, I hope this writing thing will continue in a way that is constructive for my own writing skills and is a decent use of you hypothetical readers’ time.
Peace and Love,
James
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