It was the place I saw you last, Granny. No real place can spark such somber emotive as it is when I am here, looking at your gravestone. It is always so quiet. I remember when you were buried here, it was just as quiet as it is now. It was toward the end of December when I last saw you over 5 years ago, snow blanketed the ground and the wind was so harsh. I buried my face in Pap's chest as protection. I thought for sure the pallbearers would fall carrying you to the plot, your final resting place. When you were alive and we used to come here together to look at your family members passed, I never felt the way I do now when I come here. I come here for you, even though I know you are with me always, everywhere. Five years later and my sadness turns my mind and body mute when I look at your gravestone and think of your meaningful, former existence on the earth. I still think of how proud you would be of me now, I wish you could have lived longer to see the woman I have become. Pap is awful lonely since you left us. Sometimes I think he wished it was him that went and not you. Still, your memory lives with us. We all miss your laugh most. You were the one who introduced me to nature, and to God. Of course, I imagine at how disappointed you would be, or are, if you knew how much I fight my own beliefs, constantly questioning, never accepting. I am sorry for my continued doubts.
Now when I sit on the log in front of your gravestone, in a fight with my beliefs, fighting both what I want to believe and don't want to believe, I think about how much I do hope there is another world where our souls go, and that your soul can see me and be with me, be proud of me. After all, what is the point of this world if there is nothing better to go to? I hope this isn't the be all end all, because this world has so much pain and sorrow in it, that when I sit here next to your final resting place, I think, there must be something better, a world untouched by wicked men, where our souls live on. I sit here and think about what our next meeting will be like. It is here where I imagine what life would be like now, five years later, with you still alive. A constant flow of thought and regret and love and resentment. This is certainly not a place for meditation, but contemplation, of this world and the next.
The point of a graveyard seems absurd. Only created for those who feel as if their loved one is not only literally buried there, but truly buried there, soul and all. For those who believe that going to the graveyard is the only way to feel close to that loved on. But I know that that decaying body in the coffin six feet below is only your shell. Your lively, beautiful soul must be somewhere else. Far from here, but still in my own heart. And yet, I always feel a sense of depression and betrayal turning my back to your gravestone and leaving. But I know you are still with me, and Mom, and Pap, and Burlin. Please don't ever leave.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Place Entry #6 - Song of the Stream
The melting snow and subsequent rising water levels means that ponds, lakes, and streams get to fill their brims and welcome their supporting wild creatures. So here I am, next to a stream, furiously flowing over rocks and moss. Transcending down its trench, a trench that has been carved out by its flow for some time now. Although the trench was dry this time last month, it is overflowing. Even at it's driest times it retains its little meanders and form, waiting for the quench of snowmelt or rainfall to fill the void. It is warm, beautifully warm, so warm that sitting directly in the sun makes my brow sweat a little, forcing me to take my coat off, my shoes. I dip my feet in...waaayy too cold still. But refreshing nonetheless. The birds are yet again singing and basking in the sun and stream, the waitfor springtime is finally over, and the wait was worth it. Soon will be the time to return to the same nesting sites, procreate, and hurry the fledglings on their way to create new generations of birds: starlings, robins, blue jays, juncos, geese.
In the spring, birds are given the luxury of time and leisure. The competition for food is a little less vicious, because the fresh bloom of new plants gives an offering of abundance to all. Of course, the plants have their own plans in mind with their consumption by the birds: the promise of their spreading seeds to create their own new generations.
In the springtime, the competition for food is less, but the competition for a mate is crucial. It is here in the belly and bellow of the stream that I see male cardinals chasing each other, sometimes a few at a time. Other birds chase each other, but with cardinals it is much easier to discern gender than the others. Their flight is so quick and planned. Their instinctive flight is impeccable: they fly through the thickets and branches and never crash into anything. So graceful in their speed as to almost be unreal.
This type of day, warm and sunny, every little thing in seeming sustenance and satiation, can pull anyone from their winter blues. I find myself personally feeling overwhelmed with comfort and happiness on such days.
In the spring, birds are given the luxury of time and leisure. The competition for food is a little less vicious, because the fresh bloom of new plants gives an offering of abundance to all. Of course, the plants have their own plans in mind with their consumption by the birds: the promise of their spreading seeds to create their own new generations.
In the springtime, the competition for food is less, but the competition for a mate is crucial. It is here in the belly and bellow of the stream that I see male cardinals chasing each other, sometimes a few at a time. Other birds chase each other, but with cardinals it is much easier to discern gender than the others. Their flight is so quick and planned. Their instinctive flight is impeccable: they fly through the thickets and branches and never crash into anything. So graceful in their speed as to almost be unreal.
This type of day, warm and sunny, every little thing in seeming sustenance and satiation, can pull anyone from their winter blues. I find myself personally feeling overwhelmed with comfort and happiness on such days.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Prompt Entry #5: Columbiana, OH
I spend 99% of my time with my boyfriend, in our house in Columbiana, OH.
Columbiana County and many of its surrounding counties in Ohio are predominately Amish built and run. Consequentially, there is much farm land, where the first example of environmental detriment finds its place in the form of corn and soybean, all corn and soybean. One summer I saw a field of sunflowers growing, I don't know what the use of them was, but it was a fun sight: going by in the morning and all the flowerheads were facing east, go by in the evening, the flowerheads were facing west, true sunflower behavior. I haven't seen the field filled with them since.
The environmental implications of the dichotomy of soybeans/corn and sunflowers are quite different. Corn and soybeans, when planted in annual consistency, leach the soil, require a great deal of farm equipment use, need tons of pesticides and fertilizers, and use water like it's going out of style. Sunflowers on the other hand, are commonly used for phytoremediation in pulling degrading compounds from both soil and water. These compounds can be radioactive, petroleum-based, or sewage. They are very innovative in that way, and are becoming recognized as more efficient than any technology when it comes to their remediation capabilities.
I imagine the existence of these 2 dialectic plants (I'm grouping corn and soybean together) present two different environmental ramifications to local residents. The scrupulous requirements of corn/soybeans no doubt negatively effect the population, while sunflowers may positively effect it, both aesthetically and environmentally.
To see another local environmental issue, all one has to do is download google earth, zoom into the border of OH and PA. From space, one can see that a good majority of western PA is green, how a good majority of the entire state of OH is brown, representing a great deal of mining that has taken place over the last century or so. The mining does not take place on the same scale as it did, probably because it has been stripped, or at least seems so while viewing it through Google earth.
Lastly, the history of the town of Columbiana is settle in affluent founding families. One of the families was the Firestone family, yes, as in Firestone tires. Harvey Firestone, the innovator for the tire company, was born in Columbiana. There is one testing plant in Columbiana. Here are two links about the testing site: http://www.firestoneag.com/producttesting.asp
http://www.firestoneag.com/news_article.asp?article=1537
It is short but sheds light on exactly what it does.
Also, here is a news article from a Youngstown newspaper about the Plant:
http://www.vindy.com/news/2001/aug/05/testing-torturing-tractor-tires/
Several months ago I recall reading in article in the paper at a local cafe about the testing plant incurring fines for some reason. I can't seem to find the article online, and for the life of me I cannot remember what the fines were for. Or it may have been increasing their taxes. Something. Anyway, I am not sure if the plant pollutes in any way, but testing rubber tires must make some type of undesirable outcome to local residents, but I cannot say this with complete certainty.
In an attempt to make these environmental issues lyrical, I've put together this short story.
Vast flat land, the land of the Midwest. This topography is perfect for agriculture. The Amish take advantage of this, they must self-sustain, and they do, they pillage the farm land with their tractors and their foods: potatoes, corn, blueberries, raspberries, asparagus, gourds, and others. I go to their markets, I support their agriculture. Is that good or bad? Giving them money means they will continue to pillage their land, and unsustainably: every year when I go through their fields on the highway the same plots of land consist of the same crop as the year before. A monoculture. The Amish support a monoculture. However, what qualms should I have with supporting local agriculture? I see bumper stickers that tell me to buy local, so I oblige.
Driving on that same highway the stench of their cows fill the air. The Amish: slave drivers. Although, I shouldn't be so cynical, after all, driving on that highway right through their fields, you can see that the cows have free roam of their pasture, a freedom that many farms do not offer their cattle. I also should not be so cynical towards the Amish in general. Other than the fact that they do not have to pay taxes, they are applaudible. They lead simple lives, I sometimes see women in their simple cotton dresses with their simple bonnets, in the grocery store or the post office. I never see men, though. The women are quiet. They are not a plague on the local society, far from it. They own resturants, and supply the community with local foods. No, I should be more supportive of the local Amish community, and even their monoculture. The Amish keep to themsevles, they are self-sustaining, and who can't respect that?
Columbiana County and many of its surrounding counties in Ohio are predominately Amish built and run. Consequentially, there is much farm land, where the first example of environmental detriment finds its place in the form of corn and soybean, all corn and soybean. One summer I saw a field of sunflowers growing, I don't know what the use of them was, but it was a fun sight: going by in the morning and all the flowerheads were facing east, go by in the evening, the flowerheads were facing west, true sunflower behavior. I haven't seen the field filled with them since.
The environmental implications of the dichotomy of soybeans/corn and sunflowers are quite different. Corn and soybeans, when planted in annual consistency, leach the soil, require a great deal of farm equipment use, need tons of pesticides and fertilizers, and use water like it's going out of style. Sunflowers on the other hand, are commonly used for phytoremediation in pulling degrading compounds from both soil and water. These compounds can be radioactive, petroleum-based, or sewage. They are very innovative in that way, and are becoming recognized as more efficient than any technology when it comes to their remediation capabilities.
I imagine the existence of these 2 dialectic plants (I'm grouping corn and soybean together) present two different environmental ramifications to local residents. The scrupulous requirements of corn/soybeans no doubt negatively effect the population, while sunflowers may positively effect it, both aesthetically and environmentally.
To see another local environmental issue, all one has to do is download google earth, zoom into the border of OH and PA. From space, one can see that a good majority of western PA is green, how a good majority of the entire state of OH is brown, representing a great deal of mining that has taken place over the last century or so. The mining does not take place on the same scale as it did, probably because it has been stripped, or at least seems so while viewing it through Google earth.
Lastly, the history of the town of Columbiana is settle in affluent founding families. One of the families was the Firestone family, yes, as in Firestone tires. Harvey Firestone, the innovator for the tire company, was born in Columbiana. There is one testing plant in Columbiana. Here are two links about the testing site: http://www.firestoneag.com/producttesting.asp
http://www.firestoneag.com/news_article.asp?article=1537
It is short but sheds light on exactly what it does.
Also, here is a news article from a Youngstown newspaper about the Plant:
http://www.vindy.com/news/2001/aug/05/testing-torturing-tractor-tires/
Several months ago I recall reading in article in the paper at a local cafe about the testing plant incurring fines for some reason. I can't seem to find the article online, and for the life of me I cannot remember what the fines were for. Or it may have been increasing their taxes. Something. Anyway, I am not sure if the plant pollutes in any way, but testing rubber tires must make some type of undesirable outcome to local residents, but I cannot say this with complete certainty.
In an attempt to make these environmental issues lyrical, I've put together this short story.
Vast flat land, the land of the Midwest. This topography is perfect for agriculture. The Amish take advantage of this, they must self-sustain, and they do, they pillage the farm land with their tractors and their foods: potatoes, corn, blueberries, raspberries, asparagus, gourds, and others. I go to their markets, I support their agriculture. Is that good or bad? Giving them money means they will continue to pillage their land, and unsustainably: every year when I go through their fields on the highway the same plots of land consist of the same crop as the year before. A monoculture. The Amish support a monoculture. However, what qualms should I have with supporting local agriculture? I see bumper stickers that tell me to buy local, so I oblige.
Driving on that same highway the stench of their cows fill the air. The Amish: slave drivers. Although, I shouldn't be so cynical, after all, driving on that highway right through their fields, you can see that the cows have free roam of their pasture, a freedom that many farms do not offer their cattle. I also should not be so cynical towards the Amish in general. Other than the fact that they do not have to pay taxes, they are applaudible. They lead simple lives, I sometimes see women in their simple cotton dresses with their simple bonnets, in the grocery store or the post office. I never see men, though. The women are quiet. They are not a plague on the local society, far from it. They own resturants, and supply the community with local foods. No, I should be more supportive of the local Amish community, and even their monoculture. The Amish keep to themsevles, they are self-sustaining, and who can't respect that?
Place Entry #5 - Birds, predator and prey
In an effort to stay on topic and keep my entries interconnected, I chose a place where I knew I could find more firsthand interactions with birds and I didn't have to go far the woods at my house are home to dozens of bird species. I sat and I listened, and I observed, and I touched. I was happy to see the robins are back. I've noticed that they're virtually nonexistent during winter months, especially when there is snow on the ground. After all, how can ground birds get worms with layers of snow on the ground? Anyway, the robins are back, in my yard at least. Although I'm viewing them through the foliage and branches of the woods, I sometimes see them scavenging the ground, although I hear them more clearly than I see them. I love their song: melodic, calming, short and sweet. The robins I am seeing are participating in their usual behavior, jumping to each patch of grass, cocking their head to listen to the ground.
But inside the woods, there's so much life. Chickadees, cardinals, blue jays, titmice, woodpeckers, all have their own song. I know them all, too. After I sit long enough, the birds begin coming back after the initial disturbance of my entry into the woods. Crunch, crunch, go the skeletal leaves as I stepped on them, over them, slowly.
I sit on a log, stretching across a few feet, as if placed there by human hands, not the blows of a windstorm long ago. These skeleton leaves blow around with the breeze as I realize how green everything is, green is so much better than white. And white is what I have been used to for several months now. The green of the foliage on the ground, with slight hues of brown, but mostly green. This is because my woods are filled with a very evasive, shade-loving, evergreen vine, it covers the ground, and many feet up the tree trunks. Some trees seem choked out, others seem just fine, as if the vines were simply a protective jacket. Sitting here in the woods, I notice that the birds, especially the chickadees and cardinals, eat the berries that these vines produce. Sustenance in an otherwise merciless season when it comes to food supply. And these vines only produce the berries in the fall through winter. A smart move: the birds become dependent on these berries during the barren winter season, and the birds spread the seeds around. Spreading them around in the woods, no doubt, because they are covered with this vine. Nature always makes smart moves, only smart moves.
Many of the robins, satiated with worms in their bellies, perch on the branches above me. I am covered in song, blanketed in different voices. Their songs are unrecognizable by me, but they are beautiful. Even the blue jays. I continue to sit.... 15 minutes...and sit.... 35 minutes... and sit.... 45 minutes....
Then I hear a different call: a red-tailed hawk (what luck!!). A somber, yet magnificent song, perhaps my favorite of all bird calls. It is so different from the others, it is the voice of a predator. Followed by it are the calls of crows. Around here they are often chasing the red-tailed hawk, whether for food scraps, or to scare the hawk into not eating any of them. I sometimes wish they would just leave her alone.
What greater luck! The hawk landed on a branch far above me, but not too distantly in front of me. I enjoy these moments, I could spend hours viewing a raptor, they are my favorite animal, after wolves. And they are so patient, while all these little birds are hopelessly skittish in flight and dance and head movement, the hawk is patient, and still. Perhaps that is the luxury of being a predator, the ability to be sedentary, not having anything to avoid.
I envy the hawk for its flight, its graceful glide. Sometimes when I see it fly over my head, it's touching the sun. And then I envy how warm it must be, touching the sun. But then, I feel fortunate to view an animal, once a threatened species, now slowly re-emerging as a top predatory raptor, one that takes fairly well to human development. I do not get to see the local red-tail hawk nearly as often as I wish.
As I sit in the woods, the crows come back and annoy the hawk. The hawk spreads open its huge, beastly wings and begins undulating them, so graceful, so careful. I wonder if I could hear them if I were close enough. The sun has finally come out today, and she takes off into the sun, touching it. The crows yelling at her as she glides. Stupid crows.
But inside the woods, there's so much life. Chickadees, cardinals, blue jays, titmice, woodpeckers, all have their own song. I know them all, too. After I sit long enough, the birds begin coming back after the initial disturbance of my entry into the woods. Crunch, crunch, go the skeletal leaves as I stepped on them, over them, slowly.
I sit on a log, stretching across a few feet, as if placed there by human hands, not the blows of a windstorm long ago. These skeleton leaves blow around with the breeze as I realize how green everything is, green is so much better than white. And white is what I have been used to for several months now. The green of the foliage on the ground, with slight hues of brown, but mostly green. This is because my woods are filled with a very evasive, shade-loving, evergreen vine, it covers the ground, and many feet up the tree trunks. Some trees seem choked out, others seem just fine, as if the vines were simply a protective jacket. Sitting here in the woods, I notice that the birds, especially the chickadees and cardinals, eat the berries that these vines produce. Sustenance in an otherwise merciless season when it comes to food supply. And these vines only produce the berries in the fall through winter. A smart move: the birds become dependent on these berries during the barren winter season, and the birds spread the seeds around. Spreading them around in the woods, no doubt, because they are covered with this vine. Nature always makes smart moves, only smart moves.
Many of the robins, satiated with worms in their bellies, perch on the branches above me. I am covered in song, blanketed in different voices. Their songs are unrecognizable by me, but they are beautiful. Even the blue jays. I continue to sit.... 15 minutes...and sit.... 35 minutes... and sit.... 45 minutes....
Then I hear a different call: a red-tailed hawk (what luck!!). A somber, yet magnificent song, perhaps my favorite of all bird calls. It is so different from the others, it is the voice of a predator. Followed by it are the calls of crows. Around here they are often chasing the red-tailed hawk, whether for food scraps, or to scare the hawk into not eating any of them. I sometimes wish they would just leave her alone.
What greater luck! The hawk landed on a branch far above me, but not too distantly in front of me. I enjoy these moments, I could spend hours viewing a raptor, they are my favorite animal, after wolves. And they are so patient, while all these little birds are hopelessly skittish in flight and dance and head movement, the hawk is patient, and still. Perhaps that is the luxury of being a predator, the ability to be sedentary, not having anything to avoid.
I envy the hawk for its flight, its graceful glide. Sometimes when I see it fly over my head, it's touching the sun. And then I envy how warm it must be, touching the sun. But then, I feel fortunate to view an animal, once a threatened species, now slowly re-emerging as a top predatory raptor, one that takes fairly well to human development. I do not get to see the local red-tail hawk nearly as often as I wish.
As I sit in the woods, the crows come back and annoy the hawk. The hawk spreads open its huge, beastly wings and begins undulating them, so graceful, so careful. I wonder if I could hear them if I were close enough. The sun has finally come out today, and she takes off into the sun, touching it. The crows yelling at her as she glides. Stupid crows.
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