Shanna Personal Choice 2 Tweeter

It was a dark and stormy April evening when my mother went in the garage only to be perplexed by a quiet tweet-tweetery sound. She glanced around and there, just inside the garage laying pitifully on the concrete was a bitty baby bird. He would soon be named Tweeter. He was just a fur ball no bigger than a chick. It was a windy night so we figure he must have blown out of his nest. His legs were too long for his tiny body which made walking impossible, much less flying. As he grew he developed puffy eyebrows, brown feathers, and a beige, brown-speckled breast. We found out he is a brown Thrasher, non-migratory, has one of the widest repetoirs of music, and is indistinguishable as to sex. He finally taught himself how to fly, first fluttering his wings as he perched on a moving finger. Soon he lost his eyebrows, gained whiskers around his beak, and was flying all around the house. He no longer had to be fed mushy cat food with tweezers, which is ironically the correct way to feed a baby bird. After we'd had him a month or two and he could fly and eat for himself, we decided to let him go. With tears in our eyes we took the cage on the backporch and opened the door. He hopped out, fluttered around the porch for a while, and went back in his cage. We repeated this every day for a week, at the end of which he finally ventured off the porch. All summer we would let Tweeter out in the afternoon, he would fly into the forest or wherever for hours on end, and before nightfall he would be back in his cage. As it goes he has been with us for a year now, and we still have Tweeter. We learned he is afraid of the dark. We still let him outside and he still returns faithfully every time.

Shanna Personal Choice 1

My favorite part about this class was learning so much about the Appalchian Trail. I never knew at least half of what I know now about the AT. I enjoyed the videos, and tough this might seem like a frivolous detail, I was shocked to see the hikers smoking cigarettes! I imagine a long hike would be just the trick for quitting. I didn't think it would even be possible due to the amount of stress on a hiker's lungs. It is encouraging for me because I smoke, and I would love to hike part of the AT one day. It seems like a very liberating and perhaps life changing experience. The bond among those hiking together must be a very close one indeed to spend that much time together in sometimes extreme and challenging circumstances. I wouldd like to hike the trial to reflect on my dream whcih is to be a writer. I know I cannot just be a writer, unfortunately I have to make money somehow... Oh to be independently wealthy! haha Perhaps a professor is the path for me... Anywho, I think a hike on the AT would provide a wonderful opportunity for me to gather my thoughts, material for subject matter, and write some amazing poetry.

Shanna Lion's Bridge & Poetry

I didn't have time to write much while we were at Lion's Bridge, but I liked this line: "Ivy youth in hidden hollow / As fading footprints bend and follow / The shortest story of every leaf, / a daunted poet's green relief." Poetry has been my past time since I was ten or eleven years old. This simple line might not attest to that, but it's true. It is no coincidence that poets have found so much inspiration in nature over the course of history. Men can build incredible things; ships that cross oceans, skyscrapers, damns... But whereas it takes humans so long to invent and create these things, it takes nature only moments to destroy them. A powerful force not be reckoned with. The creations of man can be impressive, but they will only impress me to an extent, and then comes the natural world. Men take lifetimes learning how to draw perfect circles. Nature forms them everyday from whirling eddies engraving stones, to the centers of daisies. Nature doesn't even have to try, it just happens! That is much more than impressive. Humans must hunt for food or grow it, plants create their food. Animals do not kill for sport or cruelty or vengeance... in a word, they're blameless. Of course, nature can be cruel, but all cruelty has an ultimate purpose which reaches far and beyond those frivolous purposes of man.

Shanna The Place, the Region, and the Commons

Snyder says, "few people today can announce themselves as someone from somewhere" (Snyder 25). This is very true and extremely sad. Being a native of Yorktown may not be extraordinary, but it has been my home for twenty years. Many "lifers" as I call myself, are more than ready to escape this smallish town and see the wide world. I certainly desire to travel and explore, but I believe I will always return to the heart of the home, what Snyder calls the hearth. The forest surrounding my house may be an illusion of sorts, since it is only half a mile from a major highway, but it has captured my heart nonetheless. When Lewis spoke of the two loves in his essay "Likings and Loves for the Subhuman," he mentioned Need-pleasures and Pleasures of Appreciation. I dare to claim both to describe my feelings toward Country Lane, my home. Lewis says Need pleasures "are not hated once we have had them, but they certainly 'die on us' with extraordinary abruptness..." (Lewis, 13). I may not have a physical need for the flora and fauna around my home, but it sure feels good to return after being away. Once I am there and sipping tea in my own backyard, I am contented; after a while I begin to take home for granted again, not understanding how I'll miss it so much if I leave. Of Appreciation pleasures Lewis says they have "not merely gratified our senses in fact but claimed our appreciation by right" (Lewis, 13). People do not realize how large Yorktown is compared to how microscopic it use to be. From a rural, country town considered the "boonies" to one of the top ranking places to live in America, Yorktown has grown significantly. Throughout all of this growth and development, Country lane has been left virtually untouched. This is how it claims my appreciation by right. Being surrounded by bustling commerce and every assorted military base has not effected Country Lane at all. It remains private property, unpaved, and shrouded in watershed not fit for building. A snapshot of times gone by when kids could rollerskate on 17, and the only hangout was the 7/11. It is still the home of several endangered species of newt, toad, and the luckless treehugger worried sick about inevitable "progress."

Shanna The Voice of the Wild

Redick says in his essay Wilderness as Axis Mundi, "The land is acknowledged as having intrinsic value and freed from a system that does not permit it voice" (Redick, 11). Though the Appalachian Trail is the topic of discussion in this essay, wilderness has been granted voice throughout history, and on a worldwide scale. Gary Snyder refers to the voice of the wild in his chapter Good, Wild, Sacred. Snyder talks about visiting the back country of Australia. In Australian lore, dreaming places are those which are ideal for the creatures that inhabit them, and are sometimes thought to be the places of origination for those creatures. He mentions the dreaming place of the green parrot. Wilderness is not only permitted a voice, it tells a story. "The stories will tell of the tracks of the ancestors going across the landscape and stopping at that dreaming place" (Snyder, 85). These stories define the course of Australian lore, and protect the land which provided the inspiration for those stories. These sites are considered sacred, not just to the the natives who value them, but to the creatures who call them home. The sacredness of land from a parrot's point of view holds value. The creature need not be endangered for its home to be protected, a notion unheard of to European inhabitants of America.

Shanna The Liminality of Wilderness, Especially When Lost

The natural world is often the baffling focus of science which tries to categorize it, and systematically tame the wild. This is mere amusing irony to a poetry major who laughs at science everytime nature tosses a kink in its attempts of organization. In his essay Wilderness as Axis Mundi, Redick says "Wilderness becomes symbolically active as a liminal place, a place of ambiguity, a bewildering place where nothing is as it seems because there are no points of orientation," (Redick, 5). Anyone who has been lost in the woods knows this feeling all too well. One path looks familiar, but darkness casts uncertainty on the decision of which path is the correct way home. Nothing is as it seems, or seemed to be in the light of day. One wrong turn leads to another, and soon you're tripping down railroad tracks hoping for the least glimpse of civilization. Dillard describes this overwhelming feeling in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. "What I see sets me swaying. Size and distance and the sudden swelling of meanings confuse me, bowl me over," (Dillard, 29). The size of the forrest, when coupled with the distance you have walked cause confusion. Meaning is tantamount as it hangs on every turn taken. Meaning: the cause for walking in the first place. Wilderness as a place of liminality is made painfully clear while traversing unknown territory, feeling tiny and insignificant when compared to the trees which reign in their natural homes. Paths are created in accordance with the trees, but none point to home. The wind may whisper through them, but the language is foreign and unparalled in wonder.

Shanna Imaginary Wilderness

In this post I will compare the hiker to the writer. Each are free, each rely, each know not what lies ahead. In The Writing Life, Dillard says writing a book is "life at its most free" (Dillard, 555). The hiker is also free to hike where he wants, when he wants to, regardless of circumstance. However, the hiker must rely on signs in nature to warn him of possible dangers ahead. The writer must rely on imagination, ink, and whatever they learned as far as style, grammar, etc. In Wilderness as Axis Mundi, Redick says "A wilderness [is] ... an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain" (Redick, 2). The world of imagination is much like the wilderness then. The imagination is somewhere "untrammeled by man, where man is a visitor who does not remain," though many wish they could. Like the wild, the imagination is different upon every encounter. Perilous at times, imagination can lead to fearful places, ones which can be much more frightening than reality. What lies just over that hill, just beyond that forrest, can be as much of a mystery as what will fill the pages of a blank book. What the end of a journey will hold, or the end of a book, must be left entirely to the imagination.

Shanna The Beautifully Authentic in Berry and Lewis

Poets are often characterized as dreamers, unrealistc, or even "Bohemian." This could be true, but poets are also in touch with their surroundings. They attempt to find deeper meaning in the ordinary, and beauty in the natural. It could be said that poets are spiritual people. Wendell Berry in A Continuous Harmony, when describing nature poets, applies "the presence of mystery or divinity in the world, or even to the attitudes of wonder or awe or humility before the works of creation" (Berry, 3). I think it is safe to say that most poets usually love the natural world. From my own perspective, I write poetry, and I enjoy nature. Poets do have a tendency to only use the bright and sunny side of nature, the parts they find beautiful. According to C.S. Lewis in Likings and Loves for the Subhuman, these poets "lose what really matters--the moods of time and season, the spirit of the place" (Lewis, 18). But nature poets, on the other hand, do not have a problem with this distraction. They wish to poeticize all aspects of nature, so to say, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Berry includes the words of Denise Levertov, "a religious devotion to the truth, to the splendor of the authentic..." (Berry, 2). To be authentic, a poet must record the organic, the untampered with, the natural, without regard to what emotion they wish to express, or uncover in their readers. Nature poets, therefore, cannot add or take away, or embellish, or detract. What is seen must be put into words. What is felt must not get in the way of their poetry.

Shanna In Defense of Poetry

To define a poem is not easy, but it is possible. Poetry, however, does not define. It does not attempt to tell the reader, for instance, what an apple is. That is the job of science. The job of poetry is quite the opposite. Truth: "Wilderness is so heavily freighted with meaning of a personal, symbolic, and changing kind as to resist easy definition" (Redick/Nash, 1). The realm of the poet is the personal, symbolic, and changing. The poet attempts to coax the reader into tasting an apple, or biting an apple, or even believing he is an apple; it does not define an apple because that is boring, scientific, and everyone knows what an apple is. Science states the obvious, poetry states the hidden. In A Continuous Harmony, Berry uses the poetry of Wallace Stevens: It was when I said / "There is no such thing as truth," / That the grapes seemed fatter. / The fox ran out of his hole. The only truth Stevens could find was found in nature. That is interesting because most would say science, in all its endeavors, harbors what little truth can be found in this world. Like Stevens, I think much the opposite. The only truth cannot be defined. The only truth is nature and its description, experience, and vibrance.

Shanna Poison Berry

This post must begin with song lyrics. You will surely know the song. In the 60s it was sung by Melanie, and I believe the Counting Crows do the version of it that is popular today. It goes "Don't it always seem to go, you don't know what you've got till it's gone. They paved paradise and put up a parking lot." The line of this song most relavent to my topic is "Farmer, farmer, put away your DDT's, I don't care about spots on my apples, leave me the birds and the bees." Wendell Berry talks about this, in essence. No one wants to be farmers anymore because it is expensive, difficult, time consuming, and uncertain. The bigwigs from big cities are taking over the farming industry and making it alot easier... for themselves. They employ heavy machinery, crop dusters, scientists, and worst of all- Chemicals. You just don't tamper with chemicals around food, it's common sense. But they do it anyway, in the name of progress, production, and business. Berry put it best in The Unsettling of America: "And it is one of the miracles of science and hygiene that the germs that used to be in our food have been replaced by poisons." A greater truth was never spoken. DDT's, hormones, steroids, whatever the hell makes chickens lay more than one egg a day. All of this is severe tampering with something that simply does not need tampering with: nature. And yet, despite the words of Berry, and so many others, nothing will be done. Americans will continue to be "poisoned." From Rationality and Narrative, Socrates tells us why. "Do not be annoyed at my telling the truth; the fact is that no man in the world will come off safe who honestly opposes either you or any other multitude" (Redick & Underwood, 402). The little guy just can't win against corporate America. Or, in the words of Berry, "throwing a rock into a frozen river does not make a ripple."

Shanna Exploitation & Berry

I do not understand how science, in all its glory, could not see that exploitation of the land for agriculture would one day kill the land and render it useless. As Dr. Redick spoke of in class, they (scientists) inject the land with replenishing chemicals so it can continue to be used and used. How could they not predict the destruction of the land? The answer (if there truly is one) can be found in Berry's The Unsettling of America. "The exploiter typically serves an institution or organization... the exploiter thinks in terms of numbers, quantities, hard facts..." (Berry, 8). The scientists serve institutions and are probably paid by those who want to exploit the land. Therefore, the scientists cannot afford to protect the land, they can only make it better and more efficient for the exploiters. In the long run though, we all lose. The exploiters will not be satisfied until they have every slice of the pie (or every plot of farmland) on which to wreak the havoc of machinery and chemicals. In The Likings and Loves of the Subhuman Lewis describes, "the area in which they operate should grow wider still and wider" (Lewis, 27). Contentment has never been a word to characterize the dominating and destructive nature of America. The exploiters can only think in terms of money and product.

Shanna Lion's Bridge

Our class trip to Lion's Bridge was fun, even though I wasn't feeling good that day. My favorite part was probably the ducks (gotta love ducks), especially the fat, white one I called Donald. I have lived in Yorktown for twenty years and that was the first time I had ever been to the park at the Mariner's museum. The paths were well kept but still treacherous due to the joggers whizzzing past, intent on exercize. Me and Ashleigh chatted, keeping our own rather slow pace behind the rest of the class. We pointed out the may apples with their umbrella like appeal, and the lovely bloodroot which deserves a name to match its simplistic beauty. The sun shown brightly as we wondered where Dr. Redick had gotten to. We spied him through the trees, off the trail taking pictures. When we lost him we joked that he probably took a short cut and would beat us all back to the bus! I saw a dark colored crane at one point which did not resemble any of the herrons I usually see around my house. I saw a turtle off the path attempting to hide behind a stump. I was surprised at the lack of mosquitoes, and quite glad they had apparently already eaten that day. Poetry was perilous work because it took my eyes off the road and off the joggers. All in all a fun little trip, though I wish we had more time to gaze across the lake.

Shanna Don Quijote

I enjoyed reading Don Quijote by Miguel de Cervantes because I could relate to his craziness. Quijote was made famous, but also kind of ostracized by his community. That is a familiar feeling to me sometimes. I do not live on campus so I don't know that many people, and I feel estranged from the large portion of CNU students living on campus. When Don Quijote and Dancho meet Marcella she explicit says she does not wish to be hounded by men following her, after which DQ and Sancho follow her into the forest. Marcella left society and took to the woods for reasons of her own. Her independence and fascination with the forest made her an outsider. For some reason men seemed to be drawn to this, all of them wishing they could tame her and win her free heart. It is not an uncommon theme in literature for the estranged or exhiled to take to the wilderness, much like the Israelites fled Egypt to wander in the wilderness of the dessert. DQ and Sancho meet someone crazier than Quijote himself on their journey. Cardenio is raving mad due to the loss of his beloved. Cardenio fits the trend of crazy people being forest dwellers because DQ finds him in the perilous Sierra Moreno mountains. After they meet DQ decides to do penance for Dulcinea in the mountains because they offered perfect seclusion and a harsh environment beffitting one who wishes to punish himself. In this context, wilderness can certainly be seen as a place of liminality, as Dr. Redick would say, because DQ further involves himself in new conquests of madness and ludicrousy. The wilderness surroundings only work to deepen his insanity.

Shanna Twain's Life on the Mississippi

This semester I read an incredible book called Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain. Twain is my favorite author so my opinion might be biased but it's still an amazing book. Twain recounts his boyhood growing up on the Mississippi river, interning for a steamboat pilot, becoming a pilot himself, and finally, taking one last boat ride down the big river to see how it changed, reflect, and write this book. As a boy, interning for steamboat pilots was intimidating and overwhelming at times. He was astounded at the tremendous amount of knowledge steamboat pilots had to store in their minds to chart a safe course down the river. Later on he describes being a steamboat pilot as the freest enterprise in the world, even freer than being a writer. A writer must conform to the editor's pen, revising, and revising. A steamboat pilot however, has the freedom to lay back, put his feet up, and let the crew do all the work. A steamboat pilot is really what we would think of as the captain. The captain is the person who owns the steamboat and he hires a pilot to actually run the boat and haul the shipment. Pilots set their own standards and salaries, and sometimes, when the river froze and they couldn't run the route, the captains would pay them to stay in a hotel near the port and wait until the river thawed. Steamboat pilots created what Twain described as the tightest monopoly the world has ever seen. Their trade was one that took a lifetime to master, and not just anyone could be a pilot. A young person who didn't know the river by heart with all of its bends, depths, and obstacles ran the risk of wrecking the ship and killing everyone on board, which happened often. It was a very risky venture, and the captains wanted experienced pilots who could guarantee the shipment would arrive at its destination. Twain describes the death of the mighty steamboat industry with the invention of trains and the construction of railroads. Steamboats were no longer needed because trains could move more at a faster rate, and for less money. And so the old trade died along with anyone who could navigate the unpredictable river.Throughout the book Twain chases various rabbits, including the story of Murrel's gang. While another popular gang at that time was Jessie James and the Younger gang, it consisted of seven or so members, while Murrel's gang had hundreds. It was a violent gang that would promise slaves money if they ran away from their masters. The gang would resell the slave, give him a cut of the cash, and the slave would do this 3 or 4 times before being sent to the free states with money in his pockets. This was not the outcome for most. The participating slaves would, for the most part, be robbed, murdered, dumped in the big river, and never thought of by Murrel or any of his minions again. I'll stop rambling, but I highly recommend this book. It contains many interesting stories like this one, and recounts the life of, in my opinion, the greatest American author.

Shanna I Tell You Now

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Shanna 5/1/08 I Tell You Now
I Tell You Now is a book of autobiographical stories and poetry by Native American authors. This book is packed full of potential hooks for papers on wilderness, land management, or Native Americans in general. My favorite poem is by David Wishart, a professor of Native American studies at the University of California. I used one of his lines as the hook of my paper:"In a place where / it used to be / always spring / now one tells the seasons / by smog reports." This line spoke loudly to me, poetically depicting the destruction of lands which use to be beautiful homes to so many Native Americans, not to mention sanctuaries for the expression of their religions. Another poems describes the poverty of a Native family. It takes the viewpoint of the author as a child who does not realize then how deprived his family is, and how hard his father worked to find employment so that he could support them. From the mouths of those who have experienced the impact of relocation first hand, this book really hits home. It made me realize the hellish state some Native reservations are in. This is not a history book, or a book written by a white person studying Native Americans. It is their stories written by their own hands. The most impressive part of all is that a good portion of the writers are professors or accomplished writers. The fact that they somehow rose above the treacherous conditions they describe speaks wonders of their resiliency, determination, and work ethic.

The Etiqette of Freedom Shanna Harvell

On page sixteen the author of "The Etiquette of Freedom" makes the claim that we, as humans, are animals. This may be true to some extent, however, the old Native American, Louie, mentioned in the beginning provides a perfect example of what divides humans from animals. The author says there were three people remaining on Earth capable of speaking Louie's native tongue. Louie refuses to meet with this other native because of past family tension, even though his race seems to be on the verge of destruction. Any animal, when faced with extinction, need only to be the same species as a fellow creature in order to repopulate their kind. Louie, making a very human decision, refuses the offer regardless of the scenario (distinction). This is a product of reason, which is inately human. Another example to prove the point that humans are distinctly separate from animals, is Dr. Redick's fun little story he told in class of his dog getting shocked by an electric apple peeler. As he explained, the dog had no clue as to what had happened because the creature does not have a world, a trait distinctly animalistic. My question is this: Where exactly does reason end and instinct begin?
The author also advises against writing too much about the wild because it "embarrasses other animals." Once again, emotions are human characteristics. We like to think dogs and other pets who receive our affection have emotions, and indeed at times they are convincing. But, as Dr. Redick said, animals do not feel, they simply react to stimuli. Another question: If this last paragraph be true, how can we explain the dog whose master dies and, refusing to leave his grave, eventually starves, virtually grieving itself to death?