Funk Island

Wow...I really liked this reading, especially his style of writing. It was intense, riveting, exciting, and amazingly poetic.

While reading, I kept on thinking of what I was taught in my poetry classes and workshop. Every poetry prof repeats this throughout the semester "show, don't tell". While I read, I kept on thinking of how well Russell was "showing" us the island instead of simply telling us about the island. Of course he told us that it was rock, that there were lots of birds, that it smelled, that there was poop, and dead things, and eggs all over the place,that it was loud, but he shows us all of this and gives it so much more meaning that just saying it.

I appreciate this in writing, especially in writing about the natural world. If you cannot see what they have seen or hear what they hear or smell what they smell, the you must be able to describe it all very well and "show" it to your reader. I believe that Russell did this so well and that this played a major part in making the reading really special and interesting.

Russell...

More than brave, I felt there was so much more to this person who envisioned far more than what met his eyes. The daunting images of smell & life along with death (the cries of agony at the throat of the gannet) was piercing and yet there is something equally intriguing about the describer describing. Anticipating arriving at that kind of "edge", so to speak has to be a transformational experience. I loved the image of the island "suffocating in the original gases of earth".

Russell

After reading the Russell piece I feel as if I've been to Funk Island.  What an appropriate name for the island. Funk! (Sorry Rachel, you're not as stinky).  I think we all agree that this writing captured a lot of our senses.  I could see, smell, and hear this island.  I could feel the sense of adventure.  Isn't it interesting that Russell was living in Manhattan before he made a new life for himself.  How many of these writers were living the typical "american" life when they decided to leave it all for adventure.  Is someone trying to tell us something here?  Is it time to pack it up and head out?  I wanted to find out more about Russell, but it's hard to track down info on this guy.  I did find his Twitter account.  A few days he posted this, "Really Terry Francona, U thought putting an aging knuckle baller in the bottom of the 11th was going to turn out well? Really?"  I don't think it's the same guy.  I would love to talk to the real Russell.  I know he would have some more stories to tell.

Funkadilic

I liked this reading, why, because it wasn't all happy and hunkydory.

I like reading the poetic readings of nature and they have a place in the world, but I also like the readings that tell things less dreamy. Hearing about the not so pretty things or the parts of nature that are not so clean.

Canada is a vast and beautiful land and it is hard to imagine that there is a place and has a stench that is so aweful that it can make a man go mad.

IT is also interesting that an island can support a population of birds for such a long time and the birds are weak flyers.

Wow. What a place! After I finished the reading, I immediately researched Funk Island and found out some really interesting things about the place. First, it is now a bird sanctuary with over 1,000,000 birds on the island! That is amazing. You are not allowed to go to the island anymore, unless you have a permit of sorts.

The history of this island is also very sad- humans wiped put the last of the Great Auks, which lived on the island, in the 1800's. They killed the flightless birds for oil, feathers, and meat. They have found "rooms" made by people to direct the Great Auks into so that they would be easier to kill. It is difficult to decide what is more disgusting-the layers of gauno and rotten eggs on the island, or the actions of the people who ruthlessly slaughtered and made extinct an amazing creature. I'll go with the latter.

The depiction of the island was pretty incredible. From the perilous landing to the ungodly stench and the visual decay, it is hard to not look away, as so to speak. This is a very good example of how a writing does not need pictures to illustrate it's point- it transcends any sort of visual example that it could have used, but thankfully didn't. I enjoyed visualizing the rocky coasts with it's manmade handholds, the layers of rotting eggs with the birds falling off the cliffs. It was chaotic, and amazing really. I would like to read more from this author- especially what he wrote during his time that he actually stayed on Funk Island.

Funk Island

Well I must say at first when I read that the narrator was going to an island that was named Funk Island I was excited just because I had the same name as the island, but as read on I was a little disgusted but in a good way. The author wrote in a way that enhanced all the senses, especially smell. While I was reading I felt like I could smell the island. For example, "The smell of Funk Island is the smell of death. It is probably the source of the island's name, which in various languages means 'to steam,' 'to create a great stench,' 'to smoke'; it may also mean 'fear.' The island certainly smells ghastly. No battlefield could ever concentrate such a coalition of dead and dying." Man oh man that island must have smelled something awful if the author had to use the word 'ghastly' and compare the island to a battle that resulted in a bunch of old people. After reading all about Funk Island and how bad it smells, it just made me want to visit. I think it sounds like a very unique experience so it's an experience that needs to happen. I think it would be a good experience for all the senses. Good for the eyes to see all the green muck and bird feces all over; good for the nose with all the inners of the birds projected out all over the island; good for the sense of touch, to feel the squishy surface as one walked. Even though the island sounds like something that no person should venture to I think those places are what get ingrained into one's memory because it is so vivid.

Le Guin/ Wilson...

This primarily emotional affiliation with life is the stuff we're made of. Such a genetic tendency rooted in our species' ancient story of becoming. The emotional bonding that goes beyond people, to the land which we live, to Earth itself is the yelp felt by LeGuin describing our imagination dependent on this contact, feeling the landscape.
Why should she bear any birth that we can recognize?
It may very well take such powerful imploring "births"for our genetic predisposition to awaken -"This is beyond us, and we must take it personally."

No doubt, we bear a personal account to what surrounds us, how often do we speak from what we surround? -it's a living Earth after all. I would like to become familiar with the Papuan ways of knowing, what's their naming for the paradise bird? -emperor of germany- just doesn't tell much, they may very well have insights into the spirit of this incredible bird.

TEALE/WHITE response

Having just visited the dunes and reminded of the Valparaiso moraine, I loved the image of a boy as "small as an atom" among ancient great trees arriving to one discover after another. There are several places for me that echo that very wonderment Teale describes for the places that take us for flights that bring us closer to some knowingness. I felt this piece spoke to the resounding conviction across the "last child in the woods" perspective of the invaluable need for children to all have such experiences.
Even though Walden has been on my list to read, I have yet to do so and after reading White's essay, I'm definitely taking on the invitation. I love how he is so adamant about young college boys being able to "see what kind of chips he leaves before listening to the sound of his own voice.

Teale/E.B. White Response

I started reading the first line to the Teale selection, and immediately after I read "...through a snow-filled landscape and under the sullen gray of a December sky." the first thing that came to mind was Hmmm, sounds like an Indiana winter to me. So funny to read in the next sentence that that was where he was! I really enjoyed this reading - it made me recall a couple of my most vivid memories from the past, most of which have taken place outdoors in nature. The one memory, from when I was 14 and living in Ecuador, is of a trip I took with a groups from school into the Amazon jungle for a week. The moment I play back all the time in my head is that I am sitting at the front of this canoe. There is a motor on that back being driven by an Ecuadorian. We are zipping through the calm warm water of some river far, far away from my reality. I remember the feeling of the wind hitting my face, watching the trees and vines get lost as we flew over the winding waters. I remember thinking to myself - I am the happiest I have ever been in my life, and perhaps will never feel this way again. I recently took a trip back to Ecuador. I thought about getting back on that canoe, flying down that winding river so far from home, and then, i just couldn't! I didn't want that memory to end. To have this new one replace the old, beautiful, one. What if it wasn't as amazing as i had recalled, as a young, confused 9th grade girl? I want to keep that memory safe.

E.B. White is a great writer. And really, how can you not read this selection and want to pick up Walden one last time and give it a try? I sure do.

Teale & White

I loved the piece by Teale...although this seems to be a commonality between the class. When I was home this weekend, we went back to the house where I lived until I was 12. At 12 my parents got divorced and I moved away with my mom. I would visit on weekends, but I just didn't do as much as I had done when I was younger and living there all the time.

I have been very lucky to have grown up in such a great place. We had what I thought to be a HUGE yard with a creek in the back. My childhood memories of that place involve playing in the creek every day that I could. I would sit on the dry rocks along the creek and catch crawdads, fish, play games, swim, anything I could think of just to be close to the water. I remember that spot being the most fascinating place. It had a steep bank, and when I went to my rocks, I felt like I was completely alone in nature.

Well, I went back this weekend when I was home. It is now home to family friends who have an 8 year old and a 17 year old. We walked around the house, which looked so much smaller to me and I showed them my old room and told them about my memories. Then, we went into the back yard. It seemed so much smaller to me. We walked along looking at the old treehouse and shed that provided me with hours of entertainment each day, and then we came to the creek. There was my spot. The same as it always was in my memory. I still thought of it the same way.

I looked at the 8 year old and said, "you have the coolest back yard in the world! This spot is like no other". She looked at me a bit funny when I tried to tell her why.

While reading Teale it reminded me of that. I have not lost that place, I can go back any time that I want. I still have the same feelings and fascination that I did when I was a child. It is amazing how some spots just stay with you throughout your life.

Teale/White

I absolutely loved the piece by Teale. I'm guessing we all has a "lonely spot, some private nook, some glen or steramside-scene [that] impressed us so deeply that even today its memory recalls the mood of lost enchantment." Mine was the woods behind our house in Hartford City, IN. When I first learned our address is was Rural Route#4 Hartford City, In 47348. Soon it became 1406 North Mill Street Hartford City, In 47348. There is a lot of me that wishes it was still RR #4. The woods behind our house was owned by "mean old farmer" Williams. I'm not sure if he wanted kids on his property, but I didn't care. This became my retreat from the world. Like Teale, I would forget the locations of several of my secret hideouts in that woods, but I felt it was my responsibility to learn those woods well. I slowly learned where the Red-tailed hawk was nesting and where the fox's den was located. Immediately after school I would don the green jacket I obtained from the army navy surplus store, and enter my secret world. Surprisingly, my younger brother did not want to join. I'm not sure if I protested his presence, or if just didn't want to come. The woods was my own, and rarely did I encounter another soul. I do believe this place set me on the path that I'm on now.

Every class that is required to read Walden should read White's piece. How can you not love the book even more after reading White's commentary?

Oh such memories

"The Lost Woods" by Edwin Way Teale really made me think of my childhood memories that involved nature or when I first feel in love. I think one that is embedded in my memory is from when I was in 5th grade. My family threw a party for one of our family friends because it was his 50th birthday. We had the party on the piece of land we own in Ramah, NM. Ramah is about an hour from Gallup (my hometown). Our land is comprised of a bunch of pine and pinon trees and many desert plants. We played bocce ball and had a picnic and ended by having cake, which had a icing bocce ball on top. I think I remember this time so much is because it was such a fun time filled with family and good friends. I remember that I didn't wear socks with my shoes and not having socks really bothered me because sand and pine needles were getting all up in my shoes. So my brother gave me one of his socks so each of us were just roaming around with one sock. I can't remember if he did it to be nice or if I made him. I probably made him. I also remember that I was wearing a tweety bird t shirt, I was a big tweety fan. So now when I go back to my families land, through smelling the pines trees and feeling the dry heat I am reminded of my 5th grade memory every time. I really liked how Teale ended his article by saying, "For me, the Lost Woods became a starting point and a symbol. It was a symbol of all the veiled and fascinating secrets of the out-of-doors. It was the starting point of my absorption in the world of Nature."

Teala & white

I am have been eight when I had my nature moment, when you think that it is so wonderful and vast. We were driving home from my grandparents house late one winter night. It was cold I am sure, and my parents stoped the van, turned to us and told us to get our coats on. As we stepped outside we looked up,we saw the most amazing northern lights ever. Starring at the dancing night sky, the cold and the late night didn't bother me. It felt like we were out there for 20 mins starring but who knows. Maybe this is the reason that I love the prairies (also you can bike forever and never have to go up a hill) and I love winter. I feel like it brings its own mysteries for starting the path after it snows, skating on the river and sitting on your front steps with friends watching the snow fall.
I think that experiencing nature as a kid is important. Things feel larger then life, you don't see them everyday and when you grow as an adult nature (or what you
regularlly experience) becuase the norm, things get smaller and less impressive.

About 2 years ago the book club I was apart of read Walden. While discussing the book it was clear that his life style was a dream for many of us (me too but I wouldn't want to live by myself). Away from the hustle and bustle and experimenting with food, nature and taking the time to relax. And most of all being a dream and knowing that it would be hard work but dreams make you happy. I wish that my friends or family would buy a piece of land in Northern Manitoba (not too north) with mostly rocks, trees and water to live on. That would be grand. Only problem is the student loans... Maybe I will have to wait a few years to do that.

Porter and Austin

I enjoyed reading Porter, her language and story telling abilities made it a joy to read. So far I feel that many of the writings we have read discribe nature. Here she nature is much more of an adventure to see it. FInding the moth and seeing it, studying it was a big adventure that she was longing to have and then finally did. Even taking the pictures was an adventure, people were out and about and she was "working as fast as I could make my fingers fly". Not only the hatching moth but the excitment and anticipation made it seem like such an exciting event. I like adventures (though I rarely seek them out), but I would have gotten excited for the Cecropia.

While reading Austin my mind travelled to amazing plants and animals. Here I am in Northern Indiana sweating more then I ever have and reading about plants and animals that have a limited source of water but survive, (without complaining).

One of the comments I like is "Trust Indians not to miss any virtues of the plant world!" How is it that many Native peoples around the world (not all) have been able to live for so long without major damage to the earth and the rest of us who have moved around the world have messed things up. Would this be a reason for our culture (and the many generations before us)to be so disconnected from the world, because we don't have the native vegetation in us? I don't know it was a thought that I had.

Shrub Carr Ecosystem

Eastern Wood Peewee

Order:Passeriformes

Family:Tyrannidae

Genus:Contopus

Species:C. virens

Identifying Characteristics: Adults are grey-olive on upperside and light on underside with olive coloring on breast. Whitish wingbars. Call is a "peee-a-weeee".

Special Adaptations: Very large habitat.

Softleaf Arrowwood

Order:Dipsacales

Family:Caprifoliaceae

Genus:Viburnum

Species:V. molle

Identifying Characteristics:

Special Adaptations:

Question Mark Butterfly

Order:Lepidoptera

Family:Nymphalidae

Genus:Polygonia

Species:P. interrogationis

Identifying Characteristics: The silver mark on underside of hindwing is broken into two parts and looks like a question mark. Upperside of wing is red-orange with black spots. Live in wooded areas with some open spaces.

Porter and Austin

I have to start off by saying that I love female nature writers. It may be because I am a woman myself, but for some reason their writing draws me in and hold me there. It seems as though every female nature writer has a maternal view of nature that they bring to their writing. This makes it so special and so different from the many, many male writers that we read so often. Now I'm not saying that I don't appreciate nature writing from a male perspective, but it is just SO different when it comes from a woman.

Reading Gene Stratton Porter made me giggle and brought me back to a lunch I had with my grandmother and her friends before I came to Merry Lea. They had invited me out for their weekly lunch and during the lunch wanted to hear all about what I would be doing in graduate school. Now these ladies are not your typical 80-90 year old women, they are sharp, smart, and progressive. They loved what I would be studying and wanted to give me every bit of advice to help me. One of my favorites mentioned Gene Stratton Porter. She said that I would have to go visit her house since I would be so close to it and continued talking about how much she enjoyed reading her when she was a child. She talked about how she wanted to be just like the girl of the limberlost and read Porter to her children when they were young.

Anyways, I really enjoyed reading Porter. I remember reading her when I was young, but I didn't have the same experience as I did reading it today. I love her writing. It is so poetic yet down to earth and natural. It is easy to understand, yet beautiful. The way that she was describing the Cecropia moth was fascinating. I loved that she spent so much time focused on this one species of moth and the intense love that she had for it. The way she describes her encounters with the moth makes it seem almost magical and mysterious. If she would not have said so, I would never have thought this moth was a common one.

Reading Austin though brought me back to the type of writing I love. For some reason I love deserts. They fascinate me. I am always amazed by the amount of life that is happening in such a seemingly barren place. In my undergrad I was a Southwestern Studies minor. Basically all of my classes for my minor involved Southwestern nature writing and history. Austin's writing was very similar to all of that and I really loved it because of this. Southwestern writing tend to show this connection to the land and the culture of that land. I saw this while I was reading. She constantly refers to all the physical attributes that make up the land as well as the "Indians" that inhabited it at that time. You can tell from her writing that she really loved everything about the desert. This is true about so many people. While living in Texas I met many people who disliked Texas for many reason, but refused to leave because of the diverse landscape and culture that fills the area. I felt this many times while reading.

I looked up a bit of information about Austin after the reading. She was born in Illinois and did not move to the Southwest until she graduated college. Her family then moved to California. Throughout her life she studied Indian life in the Mojave Desert and became a defender of Native American and Spanish-American rights. This view is shown in much of her writing of all types. I saw it in this reading that we did and it felt very much like the feeling you get when you read other female Southwestern writers.

Hot, Hot, Heat

I have always enjoyed the writings of Gene Stratton Porter and how she draws you into her writings visually- and without pictures too! What I think is most significant for me about this selection is not so much her hunt for the moth, but the realization that she is hauling around a really heavy set of camera equipment to photograph with through the marshes, swamps, and bogs! Here is a good representation of the type of camera she was using- she would have also had a large, wooden tripod to attach it to, a case holding many negative holder (where the film is kept), release cord, large, dark blanket for standing under (in that hot, hot, heat!), and I'm probably not naming everything..... In order to take the actual picture of the moving specimen, she had to stand underneath the blanket, look through the glass (which has everything backwards and upside down, manually focus by moving the bellows back and forth, set the aperture, close the shutter, take the negative holder out of the case, put it in the back of the camera, take the darkslide off carefully, press down on the release cord, take the picture, and then put the darkslide cover back in and remove the negative holder...all awhile, hoping that the specimen hasn't moved! I am in awe of by her diligence and persistence. With all of our digital camera fanciness we have today, we have forgotten so much of our past- and how perhaps there was more appreciation for species, like moths, because of how time consuming it was to actually take that picture! There were no such thing as a snapshot back then. These images would have been indispensable and precious to the one who captured them. Their value, undoubtable, was unmeasurable.

Yay Women Writers!

Let me start this blog response by saying that I really enjoyed reading these articles that were written by women during the 1900s. I thought that was really neat.

The first article by Gene Stratton Porter, "From Moths if the Limberlost," felt like an adventure from Indiana Jones or Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It was like the author was searching for the holy grail but this time it was a butterfly/moth and she didn't have a whip or she wasn't using coconuts as horse hooves. As reading of how the author was on this long search for the Cecropia I couldn't help but feel discomfort. From studying to be a scientist I understand that we need to discover and research things to move on to the next level but I often struggle with feeling the need to discover and name every species out there. And to discover all those species it requires taking them out of their natural habitat so we as humans can fully understand every little piece of that certain species. Now don't get me wrong I love exploring new areas and discovering new things and I love labs, but this is just a constant struggle that I feel. In the realm of science, there has always been that constant struggle, of finding how to find a good balance between humans and nature.

I really connected to Mary Austin's article "The Land of Little Rain" because it was a little taste of familiarity and it actually made me really miss home. Even though Austin was talking about California I couldn't help but think of home. She did a good job of describing the wonder about the desert and how it's so different from other places like Indiana. I really do love the dry weather, blue skies, sunshine, painted rocks. Austin is right, it for sure doesn't rain a lot but when it does it is so spectacular! The clouds get dark blue and purple and the lighting is unbelievable, so clear and dangerous and then when it does rain... it rains! But then after 15 minutes or so the rain stops and the clouds move on and then the sun breaks through. Those are the type of storms I like. Another thing that I really enjoy is that you can look out at a landscape and see for miles to the next horizon, and you can see every crevice and do't get me started on the texture of the rocks! . Austin states, "Very fertile are the desert plants in expedients to prevent evaporation, turning their foliage edgewise toward the sun, growing silky hairs, exuding viscid gum." I think that is just so amazing how plant life adapts to the climate of the desert and how it survives. Those are the type of things that assure me of why I choose to study biology and why I want to be an environmental educator.

Porter/Austin

I love everything about Gene Stratton Porter except her writing. For some reason, I just can’t get used to her style. “Moths of the Limberlost” does contain the perfect description of finding and photographing a Cecropia moth, and I actually liked this except more than some of her other works.

I clearly remember finding my first Cecropia. I couldn’t believe how big it was. The moth seemed otherworldly. Perhaps Porter had a hard time finding the Cecropia because it has a short life span. I got lucky finding mine. It was resting quietly on the side of a building. I know there is some skill in capturing butterflies and moths, but I believe a lot of it is luck. Enter skill. Porter’s placement of the female Cecropia was deliberate. She experienced a moth orgy like no other. I had heard Porter routinely left her windows and doors open to allow butterflies and moths to enter at all times. In this case it seemed to work perfectly.

As I read “The Land of Little Rain” it is pouring outside the Merry Lea Learning Center. A gully has formed next to the construction project. The newly constructed river will eventually find its way to the Elkhart River. I have never read any of Mary Austin’s work. She shares the power of description with Porter, but I find her much easier to follow. I can feel the heat she describes, and know the despair. Is Austin depressed? I think so.

Potter & Austin...

Even in these spaces/places that seemingly appear unhospitable, there is a way to transcend & break on through and live. Austin's telling of how it,"becomes necessary to keep eggs cool rather than warm", was amazing to picture. How the birds shield their young and become a medium of shade, while there is"...no special preponderance of the self-fertilized or wind-fertilized plants, but everywhere the demand for and evidence of insect life."
Austin seemed to connect respect for the deserts' living inhabitants to their belonging landscape -mirroring the tenacity of those plant relatives. "There are hints to be had here of the way in which a land forces new habits on its dwellers...", it's true, we respond to our environment, to a culture of place. "They trick the sense of time, so that once inhabiting there you always mean to go away without quite realizing that you have not done it." Surely, the land is a witness to our sense (or lack of) of belonging. Fragility of life and its' own self-determination spoke to me in Land of Little Rain,"...so much earth must be preempted to extract so much moisture. The real struggle for existence, the real brain of the plant, is underground; above there is room for a rounded perfect growth.

Just picturing an "amaranthus ten ft high and a year later matured at 4 inches" reminds me of the impermanence all sentient beings face.
Yesterday you were in the world alongside your wife of 40+ plus years and today you are telling me about her because she has shape-shifted and you find her presence -out there, in the land dear to you. I stuck around yesterday & got to talking to Larry and had no clue that he had lost his wife 8 months ago.

As a witness, I wonder how the desert receives the bodies of people dying, from the noted perished "coolie" men to those today crossing the border. It's a clenching terrain for how you must persevere in order to not die and when you do, it's the way you go that is most hellish, "Dehydration had reduced all your inner streams to sluggish mudholes. . . . Your sweat runs out. . . . Your temperature redlines -- you hit 105, 106, 108 degrees. . . . Your muscles, lacking water, feed on themselves. They break down and start to rot. . . . The system closes down in a series. Your kidney, your bladder, your heart." - Luis Alberto Urrea, "The Devil's Highway,".

The end of Moths of the Limberlost, made me smile at her highly animated personhood. Potter definitely enjoyed herself and even though I am not about collecting "specimens"in these ways, she conveyed the process of her coming to know, and that's the piece she relished and shaped her. Evidently, she truly lived along side the Cecropia to be in the know of their mating, the intricacies in the laying of eggs, stories of cocoon emergence,"...with Cecropias holding high carnival...from every direction they came floating like birds down the moonbeams.
I imagine the Cecropias came to know a Potterness, that could only come from being gleaned in such close scrutiny.