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I had an amazing time on our trip to Harriton House on Friday. It started out really frustrating, not having the vans to go to Wissahickon, and knowing that we were going to miss out on a beautiful weather day. As it turned out though, I truly believe that our Plan B was exactly what needed to happen. I was recalling so much of what happened a few weeks ago when our trip to Audubon transformed into a bittersweet series of events. We had fought against the weather with a determination that as humans, we have the ability to 'outsmart' Nature and go on as best as possible, limiting our losses caused by the snow. We all agreed afterward that perhaps we should have 'read the weather' and instead should have given in to our limitations set by the environment. I think whomever made the scheduling conflict with the vans (or whatever ended up being the problem) was reading the weather for us on Friday. The sun and warmth, the crispness in the air, was begging us not to spend so much as a second in a van driving through traffic, navigating our way through Philly. We were meant not to vacate our current location, traveling to find a truly 'natural environment'. (Don't get me wrong, I look forward so much to going to Wissahickon this Friday!) We were, however, meant to read the weather and maximize our time spend outside, walking together, greeting animals, welcoming spring, soaking in the beautiful day. It was amazing to stand in a field of freshly opening crocuses and realize that the ground is literally buzzing with life.

I had no idea that Harriton House existed, so I am glad that we were able to walk over and visit. It felt like the perfect spring day. The sun was shining and the flowers were starting to bloom. We all walked about the area a bit and then a majority of the group sat on the grass and took everything in. While I was lying there I was taking in all of the sounds around me. From the sounds of the hammering and construction work to the sounds the sheep made as they were grazing. Harriton House seem like a good get away place where you can just relax and take in the scenery. All of the stress from the week seemed to lift away.

A lot was going through my head on Friday as we went on our walk. Transitions between seasons have always made me emotional. I get utterly homesick and nostalgic, not towards any one home or time in particular; I get homesick and nostalgic for all the places and times in which I've been homesick and nostalgic during seasonal transitions. Change means something is ending, and the next thing is coming, and I dislike endings. Seasons, though - they seem to be telling me that I haven't changed at all and that everything's still okay because I'm still reacting emotionally to the seasons.

And Friday, I felt Spring.

I also felt Nairobi. This naturally luscious and socially wealthy setting with huge, old trees, rich hedges, and walking on asphalt roads with no sidewalks - this was like Muthaiga, an old and wealthy neighbourhood in Nairobi, where I lived for about two years. Of course it wasn’t identical, but I sensed a similar climate.

When we got to Harriton House, I walked around, looked at the house, at the sheep, the horse, the chickens, and then spent a while watching two adolescent-sized cows. Of course, I know nothing about the maturing process of cows, so I don’t know in which stage of life they were, but they seemed like they still had room to grow. I watched them and thought.

Then I sat on the grass with my little notebook and scribbled thoughts. I lay down and scribbled some more. I wrote some flashy phrases and images, but nothing was hitting me in the throat.

Well, at least this time we weren't fighting against the weather!

We seem to be challenged constantly and fighting against all these scenarios, yet as the 360 warriors that we are, we flow loosely through possible adventures. I've never been to the Harrington House and I'm kind of thankful our public safety communications skills were lacking because the weather was working in our favor! Our trip was a reflection of how porous we've become and responsive to our environments- flexible to bendable as a group. And if anything our bond with David grew thicker. Not only was it an opportunity for him to spend with us, but also to get to know us as we danced in the sun. 

I used to think a lot about how I would adapt certain books for the screen, so thinking about how I would make a movie based on All Over Creation by Ozeki is pretty fun. I'm pretty sure Yumi would narrate the movie, mostly for herself and her story but sometimes telling the perspectives of others when they needed introduction. I feel strongly that most of the words she narrates should be direct quotes from the text. Similarly, it would be really important to me that certain conversations be entirely preserved, like Geeks descriptions of GMO's to Frankie.

Obviously, since the book is so long, quite a few things would have to be shortened and/or taken out, and the idea of that sounds stressful. Yumi's past could be shown much more quickly and succinctly, and much of the Seed's time in San Fransisco would probably have to be cut. The part I see most clearly is the image of farms in Idaho, of the irrigation birds and the vast, expansive fields. Of country roads and dingy farm houses. I would be excited to represent a (probably romanticized) vision of rural Idaho. I think this could be a really great movie, the type of movie that people really like nowadays.

What’s at the top of a magic ladder, anyway? (a continuation of this post: /exchange/eco-literacy-2014/private/colonizing-museum-exhibit).

Having this question rise to the forefront of my thoughts all weekend reminded me of a question asked by Holden Caulfield in the Catcher in the Rye. He asks a man driving a taxi: "You know those ducks in that lagoon right near Central Park South… By any chance, do you happen to know where they go, the ducks, when it gets all frozen over?” It is a strange question, and seems to have an obvious answer. The ducks fly south for the winter. But the reader knows that Holden isn’t really asking about ducks at all. He is asking where “it” all ends. “It” supposedly meaning life…

What are we supposed to gain by living our lives the way we do? 

Somebody came up and said, "You talk about your home as if it were part of your own body." And they were right, this landscape is a living, breathing part of me. I consider it something to protect, like I would my own body. That's an idea that's been passed down from generation to generation. - Judy Bonds (found here)

    Much of our ecology and ‘Ecoliteracy’ 360 began with conversations and questions about home, community, and belonging, and that makes sense, doesn’t it? I certainly thought so, until I came across Timothy Morton and his Ecological Thought, at which point I didn’t know what to think; his argument simultaneously illuminated complexities and made them more confusing. Morton argues that "Fixation on place impedes a truly ecological view" (Morton 26), a claim that I find problematic based on personal experience people I know. Morton says that in order to improve the various crises faced by our world and the human species, it is necessary for us humans to stop thinking of ourselves as apart from Nature-with-a-capital-N. What we need, he says, is ‘the ecological thought’, which he defines in many ways: "a virus that infects all other areas of thinking…It has to do with love, loss, despair…compassion…depression and psychosis…capitalism and what might exist after capitalism…race, class, and gender…society…coexistence.” (Morton 2) He goes on to even broader and more abstract descriptions of the ecological thought:

A handful of postings ago, I wrote a short one called “Everybody’s Them & Porous Perspectives” and it was about viewing our self and everyone else’s self as a center point; we are all center points. So, if everyone is their own center point, somehow our centrality or individuality cancels out with everyone else’s exact same position, so we are a bunch of me’s. A bunch of points. Points on a grid, evenly spaced out, spaced into infinity. I wonder if it matters that there is a finite amount of me’s currently on our planet. But then to consider and calculate our vastness over time, our growth, our expansion, and our already finished presences — I think if we cannot count and determine an exact number, than it is incalculable, hence, infinite. Effective infinity. There is a certain peace, a certain relief in infinity. A lessening of burden. If we know we cannot comprehend infinity, we can accept that, and then not try and deal with the whole. We can deal with our immediate range of vision, the section of the grid points we can see, and the spaces we can see.

Unfortunately, I had to miss class yesterday, but reading over the course notes, I am sure there was a very interesting discussion on different stories and perspectives on Camden. I was one of the many people who reacted negatively to Taibbi's article on Camden. What really frustrated me about the piece was that it seemed to provide a very narrow perspective on Camden--solely focusing on the high crime rates and claiming that "in Camden, NJ, pretty much everyone you talk to has just gotten his or her ass kicked". After spending time in Camden, and seeing a much more positive side, I was dissappointed that the story felt so one-sided, so one dimensional--and was written in a very hopeless tone. Going back through to read some of my classmate's comments--jo, Agatha Basia, and Kelsey's in particular--reveals that we also have a single story experience of Camden. Who should tell the story of Camden? Is there one cohesive, accurate picture? Have our experiences in Camden also been one-sided? It's important to keep in mind that individuals' stories and lived experiences in Camden are significiantly classed, racialized, gendered, and sexualized--so there can be many different stories and perspectives. I believe that each place, each city carries many different stories--people can lead very different lives even when living one mile apart. What we have to keep in mind though, is to be careful of letting the assumptions articulated in Taibbi's article shape our interactions with people in Camden.

I’ve grown to be afraid of strong language, strong opinions, and strong, passionate declarations. I’m scared of loud voices, faces tight, sweaty, and red, jaws about to snap off throats bursting with throbbing veins. I am aware of the sensationalist writing style that began the “Apocalypse, New Jersey” article, and I am cautious of it. But I’m also wary of jumping immediately to the reaction of vehemently opposing and dismissing everything this article stated, simply because my very limited, single story of my experience in Camden didn’t reflect what I read here. I can acknowledge the danger of having limited sources of information - my two visits to Camden, the stories and statements made by those at the CFET, the article, and the informative city profile - and that I can never know the full story. But of course, there is never a whole, full story. There are infinite stories that create some sort of poly-sided, multi-dimensional shape object thing. But for now I’ll keep away from my usual everything-is-so-complex-let’s-just-give-up-before-our-brains-fall-out.