As may now be painfully apparent, the warm months are over. While the odd lack of snow for this time of year paired with the as of yet non-Arctic temperatures might seem to imply an eternal autumn, it isn't to be. Already, the trees reach from the earth like frostbitten hands, clawing at the overcast sky. Students move from class to class to the library, doing everything they can to forage what points are left to ensure their grades survive. Similarly, the occasional squirrel or bird can be seen gathering what little extra food there is left, their finals week fast approaching in the form of snow cover. It's this time of year, this period of anticipation, that is one of my favorite. I love the snow and the cold, it's fun to go out into, but when I decide that I would rather stay inside, nobody tells me I need to get out more. The beauty of the snow covered landscape is always a privilege to behold, but we aren't there yet. We're collectively waiting, appreciating what time with the grass we have left before it disappears underneath the snow. This brief window of time when 40 degrees on the thermometer is simultaneously enthralling and disappointing ("at least it isn't 20 degrees like it was last year!" Vs. "it was 60 out only a month ago "). It's a unique experience, or as unique as a climate can be. Further north, snow and freezing temperatures are a guarantee at this time of the year, anything else is a fluke. Far enough south, snow is as much a myth as a productive congress of the tooth fairy. It's only on our latitude (as far as I have experienced) that this waiting game, a staring match with winter, occurs.
I love it, even if we always blink first.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Along The Scars
For years, my family has been making the 10 hour drive to Charlotte, North Carolina to visit my aunt. We'd go for various reasons, like thanksgiving, birthdays, a lazy weekend in the summer, anything really. The route we take hasn't changed over the years, though every time we drive it I feel as though I see something new. In years past, all I saw on this drive were the insides of my eyelids and the screen of whatever handheld video game console I brought with me that trip. As I grew to be old enough to actually help mom make the drive, I learned about differing parts of the country. Early on, when mom was scared to let me drive at all, she didn't let me drive the portion of the trip that cut through the Appalachians. So I became familiar with the vast stretches of farmland in northern Ohio, and how the strip malls and rest stops began to disappear; the ground rising into rolling hills and sheer walls as if the weight of all that consumption and cement had been holding it down. A little older, a few more years of driving experience, and I finally got to drive through the Appalachians, sometimes literally when we passed through some of the tunnels in West Virginia. Driving through the mountains can be a very dangerous thing and for more reasons than just the difficulties of driving at such slopes. The raw beauty of the mountain range (especially this year, having read A Walk in The Woods and being able to better appreciate what a geographic marvel I was in) strikes me every time I get the privilege of driving through that stretch of the Virginias, and it's easy to forget about the other cars on the road at times because of it. What stays with me just as much as this sens of wonder, is one of melancholy. Seeing the abandoned houses on the cliffsides, the billboards asking if you or your loved ones have been diagnosed with a rare form of lung cancer from working in the coal mines, the warning signs for rock slides, it strikes me how truly alien and inhospitable these beautiful places really are. Sure, the things I mentioned are brought about from different sources, but it all lends to a general feeling of unease. In these areas in the mountains, we have cut into the world and are still trying to live at the site of the wound.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
The Elf King
Der Erlkönig is a poem written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe in 1782. Goethe is arguably the most famous poet Germany has ever produced, and is widely renowned as one of the greatest romantic poets. Below is a translated version of Der Erlkönig, The Elf King, as translated by Edwin Zeydel in 1955.
"Who's riding so late where winds blow wild
It is the father grasping his child;
He holds the boy embraced in his arm,
He clasps him snugly, he keeps him warm.
"My son, why cover your face in such fear?"
"You see the elf-king, father?
He's near! The king of the elves with crown and train!"
"My son, the mist is on the plain."
'Sweet lad, o come and join me, do!
Such pretty games I will play with you;
On the shore gay flowers their color unfold,
My mother has many garments of gold.'
"My father, my father, and can you not hear
The promise the elf-king breathes in my ear?"
"Be calm, stay calm, my child, lie low:
In withered leaves the night-winds blow."
'Will you, sweet lad, come along with me?
My daughters shall care for you tenderly;
In the night my daughters their revelry keep,
They'll rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep.'
"My father, my father, o can you not trace
The elf-king's daughters in that gloomy place?"
"My son, my son, I see it clear
How grey the ancient willows appear."
'I love you, your comeliness charms me, my boy!
And if you're not willing, my force I'll employ.'
"Now father, now father, he's seizing my arm.
Elf-king has done me a cruel harm."
The father shudders, his ride is wild,
In his arms he's holding the groaning child,
Reaches the court with toil and dread. -
The child he held in his arms was dead."
Originally I had planned to use this poem as the subject for my explication paper, but a better candidate presented itself. This poem still strikes me on a personal level. Upon first glance, it seems a simple enough horror story or perhaps a metaphor for illness. However, when taken in context with the time it was written, the very early industrial revolution, it can be read as a bastard cousin to an environmental poem, complete with agenda and all. I say it has an estranged relationship to the environmental poem because it is not necessarily calling out for action on a tangible front, rather on a much less tangible front, though one that is just as recognizable today as it was to Goethe upon writing this poem. The statement here is not that mankind is ruining the environment, instead losing touch with it. The child, not having grown old and wise as the father, still sees the mysticism in nature and the world, whereas the father sees only the trees and the fog. Goethe argues that those in power losing sight of the mysticism in nature is dangerous to us all, a statement that many people mirror today. While Goethe's worries stemmed from the very beginning of the industrial revolution and his understanding that intense damage would follow the behaviors that came with such technological progress, the concerns voiced by modern writers stem not from anticipation of that damage, but from seeing it happen. We have watched the deforestation of the Amazon rain forest, and are in the middle of what some scientists are calling a mass extinction event. Though grim, it seems as though Goethe was a prognostic of our fate should we continue to ignore the widening gap between humanity and the natural world.
"Who's riding so late where winds blow wild
It is the father grasping his child;
He holds the boy embraced in his arm,
He clasps him snugly, he keeps him warm.
"My son, why cover your face in such fear?"
"You see the elf-king, father?
He's near! The king of the elves with crown and train!"
"My son, the mist is on the plain."
'Sweet lad, o come and join me, do!
Such pretty games I will play with you;
On the shore gay flowers their color unfold,
My mother has many garments of gold.'
"My father, my father, and can you not hear
The promise the elf-king breathes in my ear?"
"Be calm, stay calm, my child, lie low:
In withered leaves the night-winds blow."
'Will you, sweet lad, come along with me?
My daughters shall care for you tenderly;
In the night my daughters their revelry keep,
They'll rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep.'
"My father, my father, o can you not trace
The elf-king's daughters in that gloomy place?"
"My son, my son, I see it clear
How grey the ancient willows appear."
'I love you, your comeliness charms me, my boy!
And if you're not willing, my force I'll employ.'
"Now father, now father, he's seizing my arm.
Elf-king has done me a cruel harm."
The father shudders, his ride is wild,
In his arms he's holding the groaning child,
Reaches the court with toil and dread. -
The child he held in his arms was dead."
Originally I had planned to use this poem as the subject for my explication paper, but a better candidate presented itself. This poem still strikes me on a personal level. Upon first glance, it seems a simple enough horror story or perhaps a metaphor for illness. However, when taken in context with the time it was written, the very early industrial revolution, it can be read as a bastard cousin to an environmental poem, complete with agenda and all. I say it has an estranged relationship to the environmental poem because it is not necessarily calling out for action on a tangible front, rather on a much less tangible front, though one that is just as recognizable today as it was to Goethe upon writing this poem. The statement here is not that mankind is ruining the environment, instead losing touch with it. The child, not having grown old and wise as the father, still sees the mysticism in nature and the world, whereas the father sees only the trees and the fog. Goethe argues that those in power losing sight of the mysticism in nature is dangerous to us all, a statement that many people mirror today. While Goethe's worries stemmed from the very beginning of the industrial revolution and his understanding that intense damage would follow the behaviors that came with such technological progress, the concerns voiced by modern writers stem not from anticipation of that damage, but from seeing it happen. We have watched the deforestation of the Amazon rain forest, and are in the middle of what some scientists are calling a mass extinction event. Though grim, it seems as though Goethe was a prognostic of our fate should we continue to ignore the widening gap between humanity and the natural world.
Waters of Life
One might assume that growing up in a state renowned as "The Great Lakes State" would mean that a lot of that time would be spent at one of those lakes. I honestly feel rather guilty that more of my childhood and young adult years were not spent on freshwater beaches, whose aquatic counterparts stretched out to the horizon; they could be called freshwater seas. While there isn't a Great Lake I owe many memories to, there is a much smaller body of water that has seen me and my family through many events.
Once every year, my fathers side of the family takes a week-long sojourn to a small resort (for lack of a better term) about a 45 minute drive into the upper peninsula. Pictured above is the view from right in front of the cabin where my family stayed in 2011. The body of water is the Snows Channel: a small yet charming capillary in the heart of the Les Chaneaux area around Cedarville and Hessel. From that dock I and any combination of my 15 cousins leapt into the channel and would either swim out of the frame or immediately jump out, lamenting the cold water before we jumped in again. The channel served as a mode of transportation: ice cream, shopping, leisure trips via pontoon boat, tubing via speed boat, tests of endurance via kayak. Only by means of the channel could one go explore the many islands in the area. The channel was a backdrop to bonfires, twilit games of beach soccer and capture the flag, and small banquets cooked by the family.
It was here that I learned that my baby brother had been born back home.
It was here that the ashes of my father were spread.
It is here that I have been every year of my life that I can remember.
It is here, to this channel and all of it's memories that I will return as long as I am able.
It was here that I learned that my baby brother had been born back home.
It was here that the ashes of my father were spread.
It is here that I have been every year of my life that I can remember.
It is here, to this channel and all of it's memories that I will return as long as I am able.
Sunday, September 27, 2015
What Little We Can
Apparently, the human physiology is the best adapted of all animals for long distance movement. Running, walking, etc. The s-shaped bend in our spines distributes the pressure of holding up our bodies...or something along those lines. I am not an anatomy student, so take that factoid with a grain of salt. Why I find this worth mentioning is because the juxtaposition of our supposed evolutionary advantage (as far as physicality goes, lets not get into thumbs or all the things that are awesome about our brains that I am certainly not well educated enough to explain) and what most of us actually do with our time (sitting/laying, mostly) is comical. When once our species was not yet evolved enough to be able to order groceries delivered to our houses, all without leaving the comfort of our pajamas, going for a walk may never have been considered a leisurely activity. As we have grown more advanced, so too have we grown away from nature. We spend less time outdoors, and when we do go out in to the wild, it's usually with as many conveniences as we can pack along (mobile hotspots, handheld games, whatever the latest e-reader is, etc.). So even an afternoon stroll through the woods has come to be somewhat of an event for the average American.
That all being said, I recently took one such walk.
For the past few courses before we left to go to the Blandford Nature Center, our class had been discussing tree-bathing, and how studies are coming out showing that being in the presence of the forest can actually reduce stress levels and be a healthy thing to to with some regularity. While I have always believed that forests have something of a calming effect, I wasn't (and honestly still am not) sure of their ability to help soften the symptoms of stress and anxiety. I was (and still am) however, charmed with BNC as a whole, and deeply appreciative of the work that it does in the name of education and preservation in the Grand Rapids area. Not only do they maintain a (mostly) natural space, but they also help animals that would otherwise die in the wild.
Both the bobcat and the red tailed hawk in the pictures above are being raised in captivity at BNC for their own safety. Not only does this ensure that these animals can live out their life, but it also helps visitors to learn about their species.
Though I got to walk for only an hour or so, it was a pleasure to do so at BNC. Constantly people are looking for ways to protect the environment,or educate the people about conservation. While there is no one overarching program that I think can work to save the world, it's little places like the BNC doing little things that can help the most.
Both the bobcat and the red tailed hawk in the pictures above are being raised in captivity at BNC for their own safety. Not only does this ensure that these animals can live out their life, but it also helps visitors to learn about their species.
Though I got to walk for only an hour or so, it was a pleasure to do so at BNC. Constantly people are looking for ways to protect the environment,or educate the people about conservation. While there is no one overarching program that I think can work to save the world, it's little places like the BNC doing little things that can help the most.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
A Contradiction
I enjoy driving. Whether it’s a multi state trek or just a 15 minute cruise, I have always been excited to be behind the wheel of a car. As taxing as it can be (especially in the winter months), there is something to be said for the feeling of being in control of a pile of chrome, steel, and electronics as it flies across the countryside, or through small suburban neighborhoods.
Although the feeling of control over my finely crafted, gently used chariot can be sublime, the real treat is the scenery. The plains and forests that blur into a wall of color and space are backdrops to the general idea of exploring. It even harkens to the early scenes of Tolkien’s famous Fellowship of The Ring, with fresh faced adventurers plodding off through woodland and farmland alike.
Living in Allendale, there is an ever present miasma of manure, especially in the warming months of summer and spring. The smell itself is almost enough of a deterrent to wandering too far off the path between my front door and my car. Pair that with the apparent emptiness of the land, as saturated as it is with farmland and apartment complexes, and the motivation to wander disappears entirely to me. Such criticism can be made of many communities across Michigan, with proper substitutions for the local obstacles to outdoor inquiry.
Whenever I pull up to my apartment, one of the last thoughts that cross my mind before I leave my car is how nice it is to live in a heavily wooded area (my apartments are surrounded by forest). I'll even fantasize about sneaking off into the woods and starting a secret garden, or finding a nook in a tree to disappear to and read whenever I'm stressed. But as I open my door and actually achieve my minimal interaction with nature for the day, the desire fades.
That this behavior is a pattern in me is frustrating. I once did thoroughly enjoy short nature hikes, exploring backyards and the woods. When did that part of me die? Perhaps the better question is whether or not it died at all. Perhaps it waits for me in the forest, hoping I will come to find it soon.
Although the feeling of control over my finely crafted, gently used chariot can be sublime, the real treat is the scenery. The plains and forests that blur into a wall of color and space are backdrops to the general idea of exploring. It even harkens to the early scenes of Tolkien’s famous Fellowship of The Ring, with fresh faced adventurers plodding off through woodland and farmland alike.
Living in Allendale, there is an ever present miasma of manure, especially in the warming months of summer and spring. The smell itself is almost enough of a deterrent to wandering too far off the path between my front door and my car. Pair that with the apparent emptiness of the land, as saturated as it is with farmland and apartment complexes, and the motivation to wander disappears entirely to me. Such criticism can be made of many communities across Michigan, with proper substitutions for the local obstacles to outdoor inquiry.
Whenever I pull up to my apartment, one of the last thoughts that cross my mind before I leave my car is how nice it is to live in a heavily wooded area (my apartments are surrounded by forest). I'll even fantasize about sneaking off into the woods and starting a secret garden, or finding a nook in a tree to disappear to and read whenever I'm stressed. But as I open my door and actually achieve my minimal interaction with nature for the day, the desire fades.
That this behavior is a pattern in me is frustrating. I once did thoroughly enjoy short nature hikes, exploring backyards and the woods. When did that part of me die? Perhaps the better question is whether or not it died at all. Perhaps it waits for me in the forest, hoping I will come to find it soon.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Woher?
I'll save you the trouble of switching tabs and going to Google translate (if you were going to do that anyway, maybe you know German, maybe you don't care). "Woher?" means "from where?". I was born in Germany, though on an American military base thus rendering me an American citizen. This begins to explain not only my decision to study the language, but also the urge I felt to lead with this factoid about myself and to tell an obnoxious amount of stories that all begin with "while I was in Germany...".
That all being said and as much as I love saying it, I only spent the first nine months of my life in Germany. Shortly thereafter my family moved back to the states, eventually settling down in southeast Michigan when I was about 5. While it is interesting and exciting to say that I hail from somewhere so unfamiliar to many, the more honest answer is one that my readers are likely far more familiar with. I am from the suburbs. I am from a family that inhabits the ever diminishing zone we collectively refer to as the middle class. I am from a good childhood and a good public school. I am from privilege, though not from excess. It is only due to this origin of plenty, with occasional glimpses into the lives of those on either side of the social strata of me that I was able to decide where my heart lies with comparative ease. Where my heart lies is back in the Bavarian City of Würzburg in the shadow of the Marienburg fortress, and in the Hamburg Christmas markets with it's myriad of snow covered stalls. As my heart rests there, so too do these places compel me to return. Such compulsion drives me through all that I do. Where my work comes from and therefore where I come from is the desire to return. Return not only to familiar places but also to a familiar feeling, a feeling of home and of wonder.
Woher kommt ihr?
That all being said and as much as I love saying it, I only spent the first nine months of my life in Germany. Shortly thereafter my family moved back to the states, eventually settling down in southeast Michigan when I was about 5. While it is interesting and exciting to say that I hail from somewhere so unfamiliar to many, the more honest answer is one that my readers are likely far more familiar with. I am from the suburbs. I am from a family that inhabits the ever diminishing zone we collectively refer to as the middle class. I am from a good childhood and a good public school. I am from privilege, though not from excess. It is only due to this origin of plenty, with occasional glimpses into the lives of those on either side of the social strata of me that I was able to decide where my heart lies with comparative ease. Where my heart lies is back in the Bavarian City of Würzburg in the shadow of the Marienburg fortress, and in the Hamburg Christmas markets with it's myriad of snow covered stalls. As my heart rests there, so too do these places compel me to return. Such compulsion drives me through all that I do. Where my work comes from and therefore where I come from is the desire to return. Return not only to familiar places but also to a familiar feeling, a feeling of home and of wonder.
Woher kommt ihr?
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