Reflection on Literature and the Environment

Over the past several months while enrolled in Literature and the Environment, I have profoundly grown from both the knowledge gained in this class and the experiences outside of it. First, I want to address the literature that I read in the class. I was very split in terms of whether or not I liked or disliked the books. For example, A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson was by far my favorite book. Somehow, Bryson found a way to marry an amazing story and environmental facts. Other authors and books that we read throughout the semester that similarly tried to marry facts and stories, in my opinion, fell short in comparison to Bill Bryson. Furthermore, I felt the same way about the movie version of his novel. I thought the film fell short when it came to environmental messages, which I thought was one of the highlights of reading Bryson’s book. In a way, reading A Walk in the Woods reminded me of my favorite childhood novel, Hatchet by Gary Paulsen. Just the thought of being isolated in a distant forest, relying on my wits and instincts for survival seemed so thrilling as a child and I have carried this fascination for survivalist literature through my early adult life.

In addition, another way in which I grew from taking this course was that my attitude towards nature and the environment was changed. Although I already had a deep appreciation for nature and an eye for beauty in the environment, I became much more aware of the impact eating locally-grown, homemade family meals has not only on the community itself but also individuals within that family. So many people never eat meals together as a family and grow apart, so I have made an effort to eat almost every dinner sitting down with my boyfriend so we can bond over the organic or locally-purchased dinner we made.

Furthermore, another way in which this class impacted me was that my writing improved. While I originally thought that I had apt writing skills, I quickly discovered there was room for much improvement. I often used the same word four to five times within three sentences or I used a lot of fragments. Now that I have completed the course, I feel that the quality and professionalism of my writing has improved greatly now that I am aware this. It’s sort of like when you snore really loudly and annoy other people but it’s not until someone is brave enough to tell you that you snore that you actually do something about it.

The biggest challenge while enrolled in this course was the blogging. I really struggled, not with expressing myself or sharing my inner thoughts with the class, but rather with trying to not come across as someone who has never blogged before. Sometimes even trying to think of a topic to write about was difficult as I really tried to make my life sound more interesting than it probably is. I will own up: I never travel anywhere, the exception being Chicago to visit my boyfriend’s family. Since Chicago isn’t known for their vast expanse of wilderness, I was left with writing about small everyday little things like the autumn leaves or how terrifying a dark forest can be. However, as a whole, I thought the experience of creating my own blog was good for me and allowed me a creative way to share my life with other people. In conclusion, I thought that I gained a lot of knowledge about the environment for this class as well as more insight into myself and my abilities as a writer.

Haven in Glenview

As Adam and I dined on Steak and Shake burgers Tuesday night in an attempt to put off our three and a half hour drive to his parents’ house in Chicago, I couldn’t help but think about how much I was going to miss all the trees. We loaded up Ella and hit the road.

Ella and Adam ready to go!

After the first hour or so, I started to deeply regret our decision to not only bring Ella but also our decision to not keep her contained and rely on me holding her the full duration of the trip. It was almost as bad as having an infant shrieking for three and a half full hours. When we stopped briefly in Michigan City, our only stop, I leaned over to Adam and whispered, “never again…” then hastily made a break for the Speedway bathroom. An hour away from Adam’s house, Ella managed to break free and maneuvered her way into the back seat of the car. This only further escalated her anxiety as the screeching cat pounced up to the back window of the car. Ella then proceeded to scutter down the side of the seat and pee on my ratty old boot. When we arrived, we quickly moved her into the basement where she would be staying and unloaded the car.

The next several days were not nearly as eventful. The following day, we decided to take a break from all the traffic and noise to get away to a little forest preserve called The Grove. This nature haven in the middle of the busy suburb of Glenview brought me back to the forests of Michigan.

I risked life and limb venturing out on an icy old bridge to get this picture!

Aside from a few stray visitors, the secluded area was empty. The snow gave the forest a new disposition. We walked along the side of the mucky dirt path, following the muddy footprints left behind by other guests. We kept the conversation flowing, in order to avoid the complete silence of the woods. After a few minutes of walking along the trail, Adam started telling me about the deer. He told me that it was very common to see deer in this area and to watch out for one. Whether it was my imagination or not, but the way he referred to seeing a deer sounded not dissimilar to the way I imagine a safari guide might refer to seeing a zebra. His reaction was unsettling to say the least.

Deer tracks are spotted!

Then, we saw it. Not far from where we were standing, something started moving in the thick, dense underbrush. As it pushed it's way through the barren bushes, a deer slowly emerged from behind the trees. However, this deer looked different from the deer I've seen in Michigan. His disposition was different. He was a small buck, completely alone, and unafraid of humans. One antler pointed upward, while the other pointed downward. While I was initially filled with joy at the first sight of him, the joy was quickly defused by the pity and sadness I felt for this animal as he slowly trotted off back into the woods.

Young deer is soon spotted!

Since the Grove closes at around dusk, promptly after seeing the deer, we turned to head out. This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that we Grand Rapidians have more than small reserves to retreat back to whenever we get stressed out and need to get away from civilization. It makes me love the state of Michigan that much more!

Heading back home!

November is Upon Us

It’s that time of year again. I knew it had to be as I stood shivering in the freezing cold weather of 52 degrees, waiting for bus 50 to roll around the corner to pick up passengers at Kirkhof. As I hustled to get to Kirkhof, after briefly stopping in at work, I came to realize that I was the only person who looked underprepared for the weather.

As a 50 rolled up and the other students, eager to get a heated seat in the rear, jabbed and forced their way to the back I managed to snag a rear seat in the far right corner. And it was, of course, not heated and covered with God knows what. As I leaned slightly forward on my nasty seat, trying to avoid sitting on the substance, the bus started to roll out of Grand Valley and onto M-45. As all the other students on the bus sat quietly, iphone and smartphone screens inches from their faces, I put my phone away. Not a fancy iphone with dozens of apps, but a clunky little black verizon phone that has been dropped and thrown at least a hundred times.

Turning away from the bright, blinding lights of the iphones and unwelcoming faces, I turned to look out the window. Earlier in the Fall, starring out the window on the bus 50 route was one of my favorite things to do. Unfortunately, so many students are so absorbed in their technology they don’t even realize how beautiful and scenic the route actually is. The most beautiful part of the drive is when we first leave Grand Valley in Allendale. The trees in early autumn are heartwarmingly beautiful and tinted with shades of gold, orange, and scarlet red.

However, this only really applies to the first two months school is in session. As I stared out the window as we drove on, all the trees stood barren, scarcely a leave to be found. Whenever we passed by a tree that did have leaves on it, they were a crisp, ugly brown. Even the birds’ nests built precariously in the tops of the trees seemed barren and empty. All the trees we passed had the same melancholy disposition. They stood in the lonely, barren frigidness that is November as we drove on. And no one saw their loneliness but me.

Running with the herd

This past weekend, while my boyfriend’s family was up visiting, we went to Robinette’s Sunday afternoon to run the Dirty Herd 5k. I had been scouring the internet the week before, searching desperately for a 5k that I could afford. When I came across the Dirty Herd 5k, I paused. Not only was the event completely free, they were also having runners test out trail shoes and they were giving away donuts and cider afterwards. I was immediately sold and registered Adam and myself for the run.

We arrived five minutes before the race started on Sunday and unfortunately, as hard as I tried, I could not find a single pair of trail shoes in my size. I guess 8.5 is a common girls’ foot size. Adam was able to successfully secure a pair, as I stood grumbling in the cold. I had not had time to meticulously pick out the perfect running outfit, rather I had just grabbed whatever I could find in the short amount of time I had. Unfortunately, what I had grabbed were a pair of black shorts and a long-sleeved tech shirt. I had at least enough sense to grab a sweatshirt before I left.

As the race horn blared, everyone proceed to run towards us in the opposite direction in which we were running. Hastily readjusting ourselves, we were back on track with the unified mass of runners. It started off well, running through a crowded parking lot full of cars. As we took our first turn, we were met by a massive bottleneck. The entire trail run was to take place on a trail that was no more than a foot wide. The race had come to a standstill as people took their turns entering the trail. We waited at least five minutes before we were even able to get started on the trail. Once we were inside, I was in awe. 

We went from being out in the vast openness of the farm into a dense, untouched wilderness. The small path wound through thick underbrush, where often times you had to slow down to climb over large decaying logs and branches. The sunlight filtered down through the thick array of orange and red autumn leaves. The pushing and shoving of the racers behind me kept bringing me back to the reality that this was not a pleasure run. I frequently stopped, stepping aside to let other runners pass me, just so I could look up at the beauty I was engulfed in. I had difficulty keeping track of Adam; there were several times during the run that I turned around to check on him only to discover that he’d been swallowed by the sea of runners. 

My favorite part of the 5k, excluding the donuts and cider, was when we ran through a section of the wooded trail that reminded me of my home in the woods. The tall pines were evenly paced out on either side of the trail like soldiers. The trail itself had widened to about 2 feet, which allowed for Adam and I to run side-by-side. When we started to reach the end of the run, as we exited the forest, we took a turn down an aisle of apple trees. We ran past groups of people eager to get the last apples on the nearly naked apple trees. 

When we got to the end, completely out of breath from running the trail, we were informed we had actually ran the 2.5k instead of the 5k. We gave up and treated ourselves to some well-deserved apples and cider. I’m hoping to go back out to the same trail again this weekend, to more fully immerse myself in the natural beauty of the old trail and to show it more appreciation than it saw last weekend.

The Empty Forest

Tuesday night, I tagged along with my boyfriend to his intermural softball game. He wanted to arrive twenty minutes before the game started to get in some additional practice, so I hesitantly agreed to leave early. Even though I’ve been to his games dozens of times, and honestly once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all, I went along for moral support. We drove to a nearby park and the sun was already low in the sky. As I stepped out into the darkness, I shuffled slowly behind him as he tread hastily to join his teammates.

For the longest time, I stood in silence, quivering with each bone-chilly gust of wind. The teams practiced for the game, chucking balls across the vacant field at each other, quite a few of them missing me by mere inches. My eyes weren’t on the lit baseball field, nor on the stands where older men half-drunkenly catcalled the young female players with Miller Lite in their hands. Rather, my eyes laid on the forest. I’d been to Riverside Park several times before, for picnics and games, but never before at night. Let alone on a late October night such as this one.

No crickets chirped happily as they did in the late summer nights. No birds cheeped or screeched at each in the branches of the trees as they did in the early months of spring. No owls stood watch over the field as they had in the earlier months of fall. No deer explored the twilight wonderland as they did in the spring with newborn fawns at their side. Nothing but silence and darkness. Vast darkness, expanding and engulfing the trees, swallowing them. Lonely darkness without life. The kind of lonely, empty darkness that only the haunting month of October can brew.

The darkness was haunting, but it gave the familiar forest a fresh personality. The adventurer in me told me to venture out into the darkness. Whenever I would feel the urge to stray away from the blindingly brilliant bright light of the stadium, a little voice would always whisper in my ear, “but, what if….”. There were so many if’s and why’s to explain my reasons from straying. Rapists, murderers, raccoons, getting lost, the list went on. Something about the daringness of the trees to stand as solemnly and strongly as they did in the darkness made me want to join.

Meanwhile, in the background I heard the elder men in their camouflage jackets catcalling, bringing me back to reality. The empty forest was still there, watching the game as it always did, enduring and witnessing man’s undertakings. Calling out to those readily and willingly seeking comfort in the dense forest’s embrace. As I turned away, I felt as though I was turning my back on an old friend, and slowly walked away.

My Wanderings along the River

Throughout my life (or at least the part of my life that I have lived in Michigan), I have always had a close tie with large bodies of water. I enjoyed chilly fall afternoons as a child canoeing down the river in Rockford with my family. Fall is the best time to go canoeing, late September and earlier October in particular. The leaves have just started to change but the weather is still relatively warm. The sound of the paddle gently caressing the water, releasing resounding ripples that bounce off nearby stones. The cozy houses nestled along the riverside seem lifeless as they fade into the scenery. Every so often, a dog will come bounding down from one of the houses to greet us.

I have never found anything more peaceful, or exciting, than canoeing or kayaking. The unexpectedness, the unknown, the unpredictability of the ebbing and flowing of the current is what makes the adventure. When I would happen across a fork in the current, I would always chose the course with more rocks and rapids. I love a good challenge.

My abilities as a kayaker were put to the test when I went white water rafting in West Virginia during my senior year of high school. I went with a small group of people, no more than eight including myself. The cliffs, like skyscrapers, towered above me as I paddled along the winding river. Without any cover, the intense heat of the sun beat down on our small band continuously throughout the day. At one point during our voyage, I carelessly dipped my hand into the cooling water, submerging myself within the refreshing coolness. However, my peaceful state was quickly disrupted when I glanced over the side to see what I thought was a large log drifting past me. As I looked closer, I came to realize that this immense log had a head with beady little eyes. My paddle suddenly became a weapon.

 I began frantically swinging and smashing my paddle into the water in self-defense. The other members of my time inquired what had happened. Frantically, in short desperate gasps, I cried, “snake, there was definitely a very large snake in the water”. They dismissed my experience and decided it was a good idea to take a swim. I refused to leave my kayak the remainder of the voyage.

These experiences with water have brought me even closer to nature. I couldn’t even imagine living in a city that didn’t have a lake or river nearby. That’s what I love about Grand Rapids. Could you live somewhere that didn’t have nature nearby?

My Own Walk in the Woods

This past Wednesday, I went out on a field trip with my SWS class to Blanford Nature Center. Even though I’ve visited it several times before, it was my first time going to relax and take in the scenery. I carpooled over with several other people from class and as we started to pull into the parking lot, I got immediately nervous.

The first time I ever went to Blanford, I went on a day-long field trip with my fourth grade class. It started well, as the large group on children shuffled down the path in a disorganized line. I was one of those kids who disappeared for no reason, keeping the whole group waiting, until they found me near the creek attempting to catch frogs. As the group trudged down the pathway, the guide leading us was talking about snakes and how we shouldn’t be afraid of them. Ironically, moments later, a large garden snake emerged from under one the small wooden bridges. It hastily slithered in our direction and latched onto a nearby girl’s leg. She started shrieking, frantically trying to shake the snake from her leg. All the other children started shrieking in unison, fleeing in opposite directions.

I can safely say I was very scarred. So as we pulled up into the parking lot and approached the welcome center, I became overwhelmed with a sense of dread. I kept my eyes constantly on the ground, searching for anything that moved. As we branched off, I started to let my guard down. The calming rustle of the leaves overhead, like the mellifluous waves on an ocean shore, put my anxiety to rest. As our small group continued along the trail, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small black tail moving under the fallen leaves. I instinctually shrieked, inching toward the opposite side of the path and prepared myself for the worse.

However, the snake merely continued on it’s way, paying no notice to our small group. After that, I just tried to keep my mind focused on donuts and cider as we wandered through the woods. I was fairly disappointed that the creeks and streams were pretty dried up. There was nothing more than mere trickling. The frogs were the highlight of the trip for me. While we were strolling past the welcome center, I noticed a small pond not more than a few yards adjacent to the building. The pond was not more than maybe a yard itself, but it was filled with dozens of frogs. I observed them for a few minutes, before continuing on my way. As the trip concluded, I came to the conclusion that I would do a poor job if I had to hike the Appalachian Trail. Mainly because of the snakes. One hundred percent because of the snakes.

As I close this, what is something that would keep you from hiking the Appalachian Trail? Or, what is a mistake you would likely make if you did choose to hike it?