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Fiction: Changing Vines

May 5, 2022 / / 0 Comments

2011 – England??

It was a lovely summer evening with a warm breeze. The sun was just setting over the horizon, creating a field of deep red and mauve. Deion and his family were sitting on the porch of a local restaurant, taking in the view. It was Charlotte’s sixteenth birthday, an exciting time for any teenager. Deion was excited for other reasons, he finally got to share one of his passions with her. 

The captain’s list of a restaurant is one of those simple pleasures of Deions life. Each a little different, with its own unique selections of wines throughout the world. They give a preview of the style and taste of the sommelier. 

He opened the red backed menu and read down the columns. He scrolled through the selections, red, white, rose, finally to sparkling. Ah, that’s what I was looking for. There is no better way to celebrate than with champagne. Charlotte had had some of his own wine at home, as is pretty usual for kids growing up in France. He remembers from his childhood, his grandfather slipping him sips at the age of seven. But this will be the first time she would be able to try something else, and in a public setting, where high quality products are best enjoyed.

He scanned through the list of usual suspects, Moet, Bollinger, Veuve Clicquot, of course the restaurant also carried his own label, Lavigne Vineyards. Then he saw something that made his heart sink. It was categorized as a champagne, but it shouldn’t have been. The last wine on the champagne list read:

Nyetimber Classic – Sussex, England – € 200

He couldn’t fathom it, he simply could not believe a French restaurant would hold an English sparkling wine in the same category as champagne. He had heard rumors of how the English wine scene was improving because of their changing climate, but he refused to believe that it could be held to the same standards of the legendary labels that came from the chalky terroir as Champagne. What had started as a celebratory night, had quickly turned into one marred with confusion and anger.

2013 – Harvest

The barnyard door creaked open, and the morning sun shone onto Deions face. Out beyond the white framed doors was heaven for him, his vines. They were the source of his livelihood, the source of his family tradition. His whole life, his fathers whole life, and grandfathers and great grandfathers and so on and so forth had been about these grapes. He had gathered his small team of farm hands in the barn for the first harvest of the season. He took pride in the fact that he owned one of the last independent vineyards in all of champagne. Over the years the big names like Moet and Krug had all been bought by multinational corporations. Not Lavigne, he had a few offers but he could not bring himself to sell his farm. What would my father say if he was still around, or his father, is what he thought whenever he got the now familiar visit from a team of well dressed lawyers waving papers with outrageous sums of money on them. No, the Lavigne Vineyard was too special to him. Plus it would put the jobs of his crew at risk. Many on his small farm team of ten had been with the farm for at least a decade. He couldn’t put their jobs in jeopardy.

This was normally a familiar time of year for him, his family, and his crew. The hard labor of harvesting grapes for wine was a family tradition for the Lavigne’s, imbedded with a deep sense of history. Deion himself had been toiling these fields for the last fifty years. This year was different though. He organized his crew almost a week earlier than when they would normally start harvesting. His daughter Charlotte had approached him earlier that month about the start of harvest.

“Papa”, she said in a hushed tone. He had been walking through the vineyard when she approached him. Strolling through his hills of wines and grapes was a habit of his right before the harvest season, much like a captain touring his ship. He hadn’t noticed her until she was right behind him.

“What is it my dear.” 

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about this year’s harvest.” Recently she had grown an interest in the farm, a fact that continues to surprise him. He had always hoped his two sons would take after him and assert themselves on the farm. He briefly looked away from her to see what Noel and Jules were doing. Not seeing them on the quick scan he made of the field, he assumed they were engaged in their normal acts of absurdity. Without waiting for him to answer, she continued.

“Have you thought at all about harvesting the grapes earlier this year?” He looked at her quizzically. 

“I was planning on getting started the third week of September.” The third week of September had always been the start of harvest season, it had been that way for decades. 

“I’ve just been hearing that a lot of vineyards nowadays are harvested earlier because of the temperature.” She was right of course, Deion had heard it too, but he didn’t want to believe that it was an actual issue. Since temperatures had been rising over the past few decades, it changed when the grapes would rippen. If they ripen too early, then the wine will miss its characteristic acidity and freshness that is synonymous with Champagne.

So there he stood with the crew and his daughter, ready to start the harvest, two weeks earlier. Once again Noel and Jules were nowhere to be found. Why don’t they take an interest in the vines like Charo does, don’t they realize I am continuing this for them. 

2018 – Mildew

“Ah merde!” Deion exclaimed as he crouched to his grapes. Another one of his vines had the tell tale pastel yellow markings. Downy mildew. It covered the vines and leaves. His grapes will not grow, stifled by the algae that now infects his land. This had become a common sight. Specks of light yellow and brown appear on the vines like the freckles that appear on his face after he spends too much time in the field.

 “You must start taking it easier on yourself,” his wife Elaine would proclaim when he would spend too much time under the sun. If only this problem could get solved by my wife simply nagging. She had always worried about him, and for good reason. He spent too much time with his vines. But why wouldn’t he? He had been working in this field since he was eight years old. It was all he knew how to do. 

It had not always been like this. For a while, production was good, his grapes were healthy. But it hasn’t been like that for a few years. The good old days felt like a distant memory, fading into obscurity. His mind clinging onto those thoughts, much like someone would cling to life. He desperately wanted to fall to his knees and start crying. He is on the verge of losing what had been his whole life, his whole family’s life. But he did not want his daughter to see him, she was about a dozen vines away. He did not want her to know the danger the family tradition was in. Most likely she already knew, she was more on top of it than he was. His family have tended these fields for generations, one of the most famous and well respected vineyards in all of Champagne. The book on that life is in its last chapter, the region is changing, the world is changing. The leaves and vines had wilted in front of him, dried by the plague that infected his country. How could algae destroy me?

“What’s the matter papa?” said his daughter. She now stood over him.

“Hmm… oh nothing nothing, don’t worry about it.” He realized he must have looked distraught. He did not notice her walking over here. He must be more careful, this was his problem not hers. “Here, help me to my feet” he said, extending an arm. He came to his feet to view his land. The rolling hills dotted with curved vibrant green vines had been his playground since he was a boy. He remembered walking the fields with his father and the family dog, observing the vines, making sure they were healthy. He loved the feeling of the chalky soil beneath his feet. It’s this pale dirt that gave his life meaning. Without it there was no vineyard, no wine, no champagne.  He now walks the field with his daughter, but it wasn’t the same. It did not have the same connection, now that the terroir that gave Champagne its reputation has turned on the farmers who live there. Different dog, different land he thought.

Poetry: West Beach

May 5, 2022 / / 0 Comments

The cawing of seabirds 

And the crashing of waves 

Fill my ears. 

But it is silent. 

The sky is a stroke of a brush. 

Golden, magenta, rose. 

But it is dark. 

It is the same as it was, 

But different now 

I remember a time 

When rust and iron challenged the waves,  

like a matador challenges a bull. 

The state came as a mediator for this challenge. 

Hope was their motto 

Hope for a clean beach 

Hope for clean air 

Hope for the Rhode and all its Islands 

Hope for humanity. 

Where is the hope now? 

Now that the ocean rises 

And does not recede. 

Now that white tails 

Outnumber white heads 

In their hope they forgot 

Why we should be hopeful. 

Hopeful for the sun to fall and the stars to dance. 

Hopeful for the birds to sing 

And the pheasants to croak 

Hopeful for the crabs to scuddle. 

Hopeful for children to see all of it. 

We twist the knife 

And it twists us with it. 

Back and forth we fight 

The earth until we can fight no more. 

We have suffered from our prosperity. 

Was it worth it? 

Was it worth our trial now? 

We stand before a judge 

Guilty of matricide,  

And we face these charges. 

What are we hopeful for? 

We have forgotten what it means. 

Our world did not forget us. 

Hope is the anchor of our soul 

Place your hope in people, 

Place your hope in the world. 

We are one in the same. 

Look out at the canvas 

Look at the sunset, not with superiority, 

But with kinship, 

And hope. 

CNF: The Persistent Mystery

May 5, 2022 / / 0 Comments

To survive, humans require very little. Food to sustain, water to hydrate, and shelter to stay safe from things that could cause harm. In modern day life, it becomes a lot more complicated.  But do humans simply want to survive? Is that what separates us from the rest of the animal world? Is our drive to experience beyond survival what disembroils us from our cousins in the kingdom Animalia? I cannot peer into the mind of that Bluebird perched on my feeder or the clam that comes up in my rake, and neither can you, so we will never truly know the answers to these questions. But it does allow us the ability to explore our own need to experience. Simply surviving on basic necessities is boring. This thrill of living can be achieved in many ways, but the simplest and most accessible is through nature. Many people think you need to search far and wide to find such rousing places, but truth of the matter, it can be found anywhere. I found it in my hometown of Block Island, RI. Quiet, classic New England, with the quirkiest people. But it is not the people who get me excited, no, it is the island itself. The winding trails, the towering trees, the magnificent beaches, with enough ponds for each day of the year.  

I enjoy my time being home on the Island so much during the summer that other parts of the year I feel a sense of deep sorrow and longing for my little slice of paradise. The beauty of the place is hard to recreate, it can be, but it is hard. The part I miss the most is the mystery. That cannot be replicated. There is something about the place that keeps me coming back and asking questions. The way the landscape seems to change from one side of the island to another. The endless trails and possibilities. Dotted with greenways, it almost seems an impossible choice to pick one. But there is one I go to pretty regularly. Right across the street from my house and down a dusty dirt road is The Maze, appropriately named. The place seems unassuming enough to start, but you are almost immediately struck by options. Multiple trails branching out, all enticing you to follow. One option will take you to a field of yellow and amber pastels, daffodils blowing in the wind. Another will have you trekking through mud and vines, eventually reaching the sandy shores of an eastern beach. Other greenways will lead you to an interior forest, a winding path overlooking the clayheads, fields, ponds, and all sorts of landscapes. 

Once I came across a part of The Maze that I had never been to before. It was so different from the rest of the trails. The ground was not the compact soil and grass that my bare feet were so accustomed to. It was as if no one had walked there before. The long blades tickled my ankle, and the sprinkle of gravel pierced my soles. Even the trees were different. They were bent, warped, and scraggly. Their branches reached out like arms, grasping for any passersby. The canopy blocked out much of the light, with only a few beams shining through. It seemed to envelope all the sounds around me. I could no longer hear the methodical crashing of the waves, and birds seemed to tacit their singing. What was this other world I had entered? It all seemed so different. All the hustle and bustle of the busy island was gone. I kept walking to see what was ahead, my mind at ease as I took in this new place. The landscape didn’t seem to change, the same ancient trees followed my journey, silently watching me. All of a sudden, I was out of it. I was back to my recognizable world. A stone wall stood in front of me as a comforting friend, as if it were going to guide me home. Sounds started coming back, the wind whistled through the field that was now in front of me. The waves crashed against the cliffs far in the distance. A host of sparrows flitted through the grass, chirping as they went.  

I hung right and kept walking along the wall. In this recognizable place I could zone out and ponder what I just saw. How had I never been there before? Why did it seem so different from the rest of the maze? While I wasn’t paying attention, an animal bound right up to me. “I know you” I thought. It was Wally, my uncle’s golden lab, staring at me with his dopey grin, gesticulating wildly. I followed him for about thirty seconds, and led me right to his house. I had gone from a place of such mystery and unfamiliarity to a place I visited almost daily. It was still early in the morning, so I decided to see if anyone was awake. I walked in with Wally, to find my aunt and uncle sitting at their dining room table, staring out over their view of the island. I didn’t tell them about the landscape I had just visited. I am not sure why I didn’t, and I am not sure why I didn’t turn back to see it again. At that moment I probably wanted to get home, to rest my feet. I have tried to find that place again, failing each time. I yearn to experience that again. I have so many questions that need to be answered. I will continue to wake up early for my hikes in the maze. I wander as if I have no cares in the world. But I do have a care, I want to learn more about that place I saw, I want to experience it again. I want to obtain the unobtainable. I hope to one day find it, but part of me wonders if I should just let it be. Should I just let it be a memory, my emotions macerating in the mystery of the place? It is the mystery that keeps me going back. 

Creative Projects

May 4, 2022 / / 0 Comments

Contemporary Nature Writing: Creative Works Portfolio

Reflection

Throughout this semester I learned that my motivation for writing comes when I am really interested in the topic. Nature is one of the key aspects and passions in my life, so writing about it has gotten me more into writing than anything else really has. The biggest surprise had to be my interest in poetry. I can remember dreading poetry throughout my education. But this was different, I found nature poetry easier to understand, and I had a greater desire to understand and analyze poetry than I ever had before. If someone told me freshman year that I would get into poetry, I would have told them they were crazy. I have even gone to pursue it in my own time. I bought myself a copy of Turtle Island by Gary Snyder and read it over spring break. 

Fiction

Sam Fuller

Changing Vines

2011 – England??

It was a lovely summer evening with a warm breeze. The sun was just setting over the horizon, creating a field of deep red and mauve. Deion and his family were sitting on the porch of a local restaurant, taking in the view. It was Charlotte’s sixteenth birthday, an exciting time for any teenager. Deion was excited for other reasons, he finally got to share one of his passions with her. 

The captain’s list of a restaurant is one of those simple pleasures of Deions life. Each a little different, with its own unique selections of wines throughout the world. They give a preview of the style and taste of the sommelier. 

He opened the red backed menu and read down the columns. He scrolled through the selections, red, white, rose, finally to sparkling. Ah, that’s what I was looking for. There is no better way to celebrate than with champagne. Charlotte had had some of his own wine at home, as is pretty usual for kids growing up in France. He remembers from his childhood, his grandfather slipping him sips at the age of seven. But this will be the first time she would be able to try something else, and in a public setting, where high quality products are best enjoyed.

He scanned through the list of usual suspects, Moet, Bollinger, Veuve Clicquot, of course the restaurant also carried his own label, Lavigne Vineyards. Then he saw something that made his heart sink. It was categorized as a champagne, but it shouldn’t have been. The last wine on the champagne list read:

Nyetimber Classic – Sussex, England – € 200

He couldn’t fathom it, he simply could not believe a French restaurant would hold an English sparkling wine in the same category as champagne. He had heard rumors of how the English wine scene was improving because of their changing climate, but he refused to believe that it could be held to the same standards of the legendary labels that came from the chalky terroir as Champagne. What had started as a celebratory night, had quickly turned into one marred with confusion and anger.

2013 – Harvest

The barnyard door creaked open, and the morning sun shone onto Deions face. Out beyond the white framed doors was heaven for him, his vines. They were the source of his livelihood, the source of his family tradition. His whole life, his fathers whole life, and grandfathers and great grandfathers and so on and so forth had been about these grapes. He had gathered his small team of farm hands in the barn for the first harvest of the season. He took pride in the fact that he owned one of the last independent vineyards in all of champagne. Over the years the big names like Moet and Krug had all been bought by multinational corporations. Not Lavigne, he had a few offers but he could not bring himself to sell his farm. What would my father say if he was still around, or his father, is what he thought whenever he got the now familiar visit from a team of well dressed lawyers waving papers with outrageous sums of money on them. No, the Lavigne Vineyard was too special to him. Plus it would put the jobs of his crew at risk. Many on his small farm team of ten had been with the farm for at least a decade. He couldn’t put their jobs in jeopardy.

This was normally a familiar time of year for him, his family, and his crew. The hard labor of harvesting grapes for wine was a family tradition for the Lavigne’s, imbedded with a deep sense of history. Deion himself had been toiling these fields for the last fifty years. This year was different though. He organized his crew almost a week earlier than when they would normally start harvesting. His daughter Charlotte had approached him earlier that month about the start of harvest.

“Papa”, she said in a hushed tone. He had been walking through the vineyard when she approached him. Strolling through his hills of wines and grapes was a habit of his right before the harvest season, much like a captain touring his ship. He hadn’t noticed her until she was right behind him.

“What is it my dear.” 

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about this year’s harvest.” Recently she had grown an interest in the farm, a fact that continues to surprise him. He had always hoped his two sons would take after him and assert themselves on the farm. He briefly looked away from her to see what Noel and Jules were doing. Not seeing them on the quick scan he made of the field, he assumed they were engaged in their normal acts of absurdity. Without waiting for him to answer, she continued.

“Have you thought at all about harvesting the grapes earlier this year?” He looked at her quizzically. 

“I was planning on getting started the third week of September.” The third week of September had always been the start of harvest season, it had been that way for decades. 

“I’ve just been hearing that a lot of vineyards nowadays are harvested earlier because of the temperature.” She was right of course, Deion had heard it too, but he didn’t want to believe that it was an actual issue. Since temperatures had been rising over the past few decades, it changed when the grapes would rippen. If they ripen too early, then the wine will miss its characteristic acidity and freshness that is synonymous with Champagne.

So there he stood with the crew and his daughter, ready to start the harvest, two weeks earlier. Once again Noel and Jules were nowhere to be found. Why don’t they take an interest in the vines like Charo does, don’t they realize I am continuing this for them. 

2018 – Mildew

“Ah merde!” Deion exclaimed as he crouched to his grapes. Another one of his vines had the tell tale pastel yellow markings. Downy mildew. It covered the vines and leaves. His grapes will not grow, stifled by the algae that now infects his land. This had become a common sight. Specks of light yellow and brown appear on the vines like the freckles that appear on his face after he spends too much time in the field.

 “You must start taking it easier on yourself,” his wife Elaine would proclaim when he would spend too much time under the sun. If only this problem could get solved by my wife simply nagging. She had always worried about him, and for good reason. He spent too much time with his vines. But why wouldn’t he? He had been working in this field since he was eight years old. It was all he knew how to do. 

It had not always been like this. For a while, production was good, his grapes were healthy. But it hasn’t been like that for a few years. The good old days felt like a distant memory, fading into obscurity. His mind clinging onto those thoughts, much like someone would cling to life. He desperately wanted to fall to his knees and start crying. He is on the verge of losing what had been his whole life, his whole family’s life. But he did not want his daughter to see him, she was about a dozen vines away. He did not want her to know the danger the family tradition was in. Most likely she already knew, she was more on top of it than he was. His family have tended these fields for generations, one of the most famous and well respected vineyards in all of Champagne. The book on that life is in its last chapter, the region is changing, the world is changing. The leaves and vines had wilted in front of him, dried by the plague that infected his country. How could algae destroy me?

“What’s the matter papa?” said his daughter. She now stood over him.

“Hmm… oh nothing nothing, don’t worry about it.” He realized he must have looked distraught. He did not notice her walking over here. He must be more careful, this was his problem not hers. “Here, help me to my feet” he said, extending an arm. 

He came to his feet to view his land. The rolling hills dotted with curved vibrant green vines had been his playground since he was a boy. He remembered walking the fields with his father and the family dog, observing the vines, making sure they were healthy. He loved the feeling of the chalky soil beneath his feet. It’s this pale dirt that gave his life meaning. Without it there was no vineyard, no wine, no champagne.  He now walks the field with his daughter, but it wasn’t the same. It did not have the same connection, now that the terroir that gave Champagne its reputation has turned on the farmers who live there. Different dog, different land he thought. 

Poetry

West Beach 

By Sam Fuller 

The cawing of seabirds 

And the crashing of waves 

Fill my ears. 

But it is silent. 

The sky is a stroke of a brush. 

Golden, magenta, rose. 

But it is dark. 

It is the same as it was, 

But different now 

I remember a time 

When rust and iron challenged the waves,  

like a matador challenges a bull. 

The state came as a mediator for this challenge. 

Hope was their motto 

Hope for a clean beach 

Hope for clean air 

Hope for the Rhode and all its Islands 

Hope for humanity. 

Where is the hope now? 

Now that the ocean rises 

And does not recede. 

Now that white tails 

Outnumber white heads 

In their hope they forgot 

Why we should be hopeful. 

Hopeful for the sun to fall and the stars to dance. 

Hopeful for the birds to sing 

And the pheasants to croak 

Hopeful for the crabs to scuddle. 

Hopeful for children to see all of it. 

We twist the knife 

And it twists us with it. 

Back and forth we fight 

The earth until we can fight no more. 

We have suffered from our prosperity. 

Was it worth it? 

Was it worth our trial now? 

We stand before a judge 

Guilty of matricide,  

And we face these charges. 

What are we hopeful for? 

We have forgotten what it means. 

Our world did not forget us. 

Hope is the anchor of our soul 

Place your hope in people, 

Place your hope in the world. 

We are one in the same. 

Look out at the canvas 

Look at the sunset, not with superiority, 

But with kinship, 

And hope. 

Creative Nonfiction

Sam Fuller 

The Persistent Mystery 

To survive, humans require very little. Food to sustain, water to hydrate, and shelter to stay safe from things that could cause harm. In modern day life, it becomes a lot more complicated.  But do humans simply want to survive? Is that what separates us from the rest of the animal world? Is our drive to experience beyond survival what disembroils us from our cousins in the kingdom Animalia? I cannot peer into the mind of that Bluebird perched on my feeder or the clam that comes up in my rake, and neither can you, so we will never truly know the answers to these questions. But it does allow us the ability to explore our own need to experience. Simply surviving on basic necessities is boring. This thrill of living can be achieved in many ways, but the simplest and most accessible is through nature. Many people think you need to search far and wide to find such rousing places, but truth of the matter, it can be found anywhere. I found it in my hometown of Block Island, RI. Quiet, classic New England, with the quirkiest people. But it is not the people who get me excited, no, it is the island itself. The winding trails, the towering trees, the magnificent beaches, with enough ponds for each day of the year.  

I enjoy my time being home on the Island so much during the summer that other parts of the year I feel a sense of deep sorrow and longing for my little slice of paradise. The beauty of the place is hard to recreate, it can be, but it is hard. The part I miss the most is the mystery. That cannot be replicated. There is something about the place that keeps me coming back and asking questions. The way the landscape seems to change from one side of the island to another. The endless trails and possibilities. Dotted with greenways, it almost seems an impossible choice to pick one. But there is one I go to pretty regularly. Right across the street from my house and down a dusty dirt road is The Maze, appropriately named. The place seems unassuming enough to start, but you are almost immediately struck by options. Multiple trails branching out, all enticing you to follow. One option will take you to a field of yellow and amber pastels, daffodils blowing in the wind. Another will have you trekking through mud and vines, eventually reaching the sandy shores of an eastern beach. Other greenways will lead you to an interior forest, a winding path overlooking the clayheads, fields, ponds, and all sorts of landscapes. 

Once I came across a part of The Maze that I had never been to before. It was so different from the rest of the trails. The ground was not the compact soil and grass that my bare feet were so accustomed to. It was as if no one had walked there before. The long blades tickled my ankle, and the sprinkle of gravel pierced my soles. Even the trees were different. They were bent, warped, and scraggly. Their branches reached out like arms, grasping for any passersby. The canopy blocked out much of the light, with only a few beams shining through. It seemed to envelope all the sounds around me. I could no longer hear the methodical crashing of the waves, and birds seemed to tacit their singing. What was this otherworld I had entered? It all seemed so different. All the hustle and bustle of the busy island was gone. I kept walking to see what was ahead, my mind at ease as I took in this new place. The landscape didn’t seem to change, the same ancient trees followed my journey, silently watching me. All of a sudden, I was out of it. I was back to my recognizable world. A stone wall stood in front of me as a comforting friend, as if it were going to guide me home. Sounds started coming back, the wind whistled through the field that was now in front of me. The waves crashed against the cliffs far in the distance. A host of sparrows flitted through the grass, chirping as they went.  

I hung right and kept walking along the wall. In this recognizable place I could zone out and ponder what I just saw. How had I never been there before? Why did it seem so different from the rest of the maze? While I wasn’t paying attention, an animal bound right up to me. “I know you” I thought. It was Wally, my uncle’s golden lab, staring at me with his dopey grin, gesticulating wildly. I followed him for about thirty seconds, and led me right to his house. I had gone from a place of such mystery and unfamiliarity to a place I visited almost daily. It was still early in the morning, so I decided to see if anyone was awake. I walked in with Wally, to find my aunt and uncle sitting at their dining room table, staring out over their view of the island. I didn’t tell them about the landscape I had just visited. I am not sure why I didn’t, and I am not sure why I didn’t turn back to see it again. At the moment I probably wanted to get home, to rest my feet. I have tried to find that place again, failing each time. I yearn to experience that again. I have so many questions that need to be answered. I will continue to wake up early for my hikes in the maze. I wander as if I have no cares in the world. But I do have a care, I want to learn more about that place I saw, I want to experience it again. I want to obtain the unobtainable. I hope to one day find it, but part of me wonders if I should just let it be. Should I just let it be a memory, my emotions macerating in the mystery of the place? It is the mystery that keeps me going back. 

Final Reflections

March 9, 2022 / / 0 Comments

First Reflections

Relationship w/Nature

When I go out into nature, whether it be a beach, a forest, or any other place, I go for the same reasons. The sense of wonder and curiosity that comes from being in nature is a powerful motivator for me. Living on a small island for much of my life led me to see many of the same places over and over again. Even though I have a strong familiarity with these places, I experience these feelings everytime I go. Every time there is something there for me that I didn’t notice before, something that will bring me back again and again. The freedom of these places allows for me to let go of the rest of the world, I can be mindful of all that is around me, or nothing at all.

On Nature Writing

Much of the nature writing that I have read comes in the form of popular science writing. I have read many books that look at certain topics throughout nature, but written for a general audience. Many of the books had to do with birds, evolution, and harder sciences. However, I have read many different things because of the classes I have taken at UNE. In environmental ethics I got a chance to read many different authors and philosophies such as conservation, deep ecology, eco-feminism. I loved reading different perspectives on our relationship with nature. One piece of nature writing that stands out to me was Silent Spring by Rachel Carson. The very first chapter of that book was one of the most profound chapters I have ever read, I remember after flipping that last page of the chapter, simply putting the book down with my mouth open, contemplating what I just read. She is such a powerful writer, her words were able to convey so much emotion. Writing like this can have such a huge impact on those who read it. It allows people to see the world in different ways, and can change peoples minds, and put them into action to protect nature. 

Reflections on Creative Nonfiction

First Reflection

Because of my educational experience, most of my reading in terms of human relationship with nature have come in the form of scholarly articles. A multitude of classes such as environmental racism, environmental ethics, and environmental policy have led to a wide range of these readings. While they do touch upon the relationship with humans and nature, it is not in the same scope as the writings of this class. They focus more on how human decisions can impact nature, or how the decisions of nature can affect other humans. They deal very much in the physical, medical, and scientific realms of nature. Some of my early environmental classes had me reading classic nature literature from authors such as Thoreau and Leopold. On my own time however, I have done some reading of nature writers. I have read many travel books, about naturalists going to exotic places and writing about what they find. While these were definitely exciting to read and filled the imagination, they do not focus much on the human aspect. One problem with traditional nature literature, like the ones I had to read for class, is they are not accessible to modern readers. From my experience, the average person either has never heard of the authors, or have heard of them, just never read them.

Final Reflection

Looking back on my original reflection of CNF, I don’t think I really knew what I was reflecting on. What I had in my head was different from what we were actually reading and writing about. Now, looking at the work we have read and the stuff we have written, I have a greater appreciation for this form of nature writing. I feel it is a great way to express themes, stories, philosophies, or emotions through the lens of nature. I wish that this form of nature writing was more well read, especially in schools. Growing up, I never read anything like this in school. I feel like it can be a great lens for students to learn how to write and to care about nature.

Reflection on Poetry

First

My only real experience with poetry has come from my education experience. I have never been a fan of poetry, I found it difficult to understand and the teachers at my school always shoved it down our throats whenever they had the chance. The one and only experience with nature poetry I can remember came in my junior year of high school, in my British Literature class. My teacher had us do poetry recitals, standing in front of the class reciting poems from memory (I had a pretty horrific experience with having to recite a 35 line monologue from Julius Caesar). My final poem I read I believe was called Barred Owl, unfortunately I can’t remember who wrote it or find it anywhere. That was the first time I ever enjoyed poetry, and I believe it is what got me into birding in the first place. 

Final

While I enjoyed most of the poems that were assigned to us, and there were definitely plenty that had an impact on me, the one that struck me the most was one that was not assigned to us. It was a poem that I read for the ascento assignment. I started by reading through Gary Snyder’s Turtle Island and found many lines that I liked in it. But the one that stood out the most to me came from Drew Lanhams book Sparrow Envy. Unfortunately I cannot remember the poem’s title, but it had a profound impact on me. One line really struck me, and it was “Entropy comes as the grim reaper to woods”. The poem was about swamps, and when I read that I was struck by its meaning. It uses such powerful language to convey a somewhat simple point. My interpretation of this line is that while humans may see nature as chaotic or random, it isn’t. It is highly organized, and when we introduce entropy, we destroy nature. I believe that Lanham was saying that humans are the unstable element that threatens nature. This poem was really my first experience of poetry as a form of nature writing. It was able to convey a message in a different way than any of the creative nonfiction works. It was more mysterious and harder to understand, but it really made me think. This poem in particular made me question a lot about how humans affect nature, and the fine line we draw that separates us from nature

The thing I appreciated most about these poems is they made me think. It was almost a challenge to figure out what the authors were talking about. Many of them I found myself surprised by lines because of what I perceived to be the meaning of them. I think the poems we read had a more concentrated message compared to the creative nonfiction, but at times were harder to understand. 

While writing my own poem, I used my home as a form of inspiration. My memories of Block Island and how it has changed was what I used to write about. I really wanted to send a message about the attitude of humans and the Rhode Island government towards nature, how our “hope” is misplaced. I think I expressed this message well, but at times I got caught up in my own thoughts. 

Reflections on Fiction

First

I have not read a whole lot of fiction that relates to the environment. I have read Dune by Frank Herbert. I know Herbert wanted the book to be a guide to environmental awareness and many people consider it to be an early example of climate fiction. When I read it I struggled to find those themes in the book, but it was also really confusing and I would probably have to read it again. It was obvious to me the detail that Herbert put into describing the environment of the planet, and he put a lot of consideration into its ecology. It is really interesting reading about ecology in a fictional setting. I think eco-fiction could be a great way to raise people’s environmental awareness. 

Final

I really liked all the fiction pieces that we read. I think they all tell an interesting story and bring up important themes about humans’ relationship with nature. The one that resonated with me the most was The Great Silence by Ted Chiang. It differed greatly from the other things we have read so far in class. We read it as one of the first fiction pieces. Compared to the other things we have read so far, it was totally different. Writing from the point of view of a parrot lends the reader an interesting view on the criticism of humanity that Chiang is writing about. Unlike the other things we had read so far, creative nonfiction and poetry, it took the point of view of nature, rather than the person experiencing nature. Because we get this perspective of nature, it ends up being a somewhat heartbreaking story about the disappearance of parrot species. As I mentioned previously in my journal, this story is a parallel between humans and parrot species, and it shows nature in a very human way of thinking. 

After reading these pieces for class, my ideas of fiction have changed overall. When I think of fiction I tend to lean towards science fiction and fantasy, that have these complex and faraway worlds that are entirely different from our own. Reading the fiction texts for class has shown me how interesting a story about our world is, and how nature writing and themes can easily be portrayed through fiction. When I wrote my first thoughts on fiction, I mentioned that all I had read before was Dune by Frank Herbert, and that I struggled to find the overt environmental themes in that book. Looking back I think it is easier to understand nature writing themes in fiction when it is on a smaller scale, revolving around the environmental problems that plague our world. Overall, I think fiction as a form of nature writing can bring a lot of awareness to people. Fiction has a way of being more accessible to a general audience than creative nonfiction or poetry do. Fiction also has the tools to hook people about an issue, whether by creating a relatable character or playing off familiar themes such as family. 

Reflections on Climate Writing

The climate text that resonated the most with me was Searching for the Sacred on a Planet of Crisis by Megan Mayhew Bergman. The reason I really liked it was because it went beyond just doom and gloom and talking about climate change. It related climate change back to human needs of community, organization, and family. It seeks to find meaning in this era of climate fear and anxiousness. I really appreciated its approach to writing about climate change because it related it back to religion and spirituality, a topic I have always found interesting when talking about nature. It honestly makes me want to start going to church more, especially because the organization that I am a part of focuses heavily on individuals finding spirituality in your own way (i.e. nature for me). When we first read this I mentioned that Begman “highlighted the ideas of human morality, and how it can affect our decisions about climate change,” and I still think this is true. Confronting climate change will not be easy or comfortable, so being able to find connection and meaning with other people will be a driving force to finding solutions.

I think the best way writing will be able to help in the fight against climate change will be by conveying information to people. Even today, there is a lot of misinformation about what causes climate change and the consequences of it. I think the more people write about the intricacies of climate change, the real facts will become more mainstream. And this goes well beyond just the science of climate change. There are so many other aspects of this climate crisis than just what causes it. Human behavior, reactions, sociology, psychology, and many other ways of thinking play into climate information. 

My own climate fiction piece was about a winemaker and his family in Champagne, France. It is from the perspective of the father, but tells the story of his farm and his family starting when his daughter is born. It delves into how he must deal with climate change on his farm and his own expectations about his family and gender roles. His biases and worldview have to change in order for his passion and family history to survive. This comes in the form of accepting climate change as an issue for his farm and accepting his daughter as the person who will ultimately save the vineyard. I think I got a good start on portraying these ideas, as well as showing the effect climate change will have on families and culture. As of right now I think its greatest success is its theme about family and climate change. I want to continue to write this story and really flesh out the characters and story. I think it can make a really interesting way of looking at climate change beyond environmental issues. One thing I learned about nature writing through this piece is that fiction is hard to write. It seems rather simple but I really struggled with conveying ideas about climate change through fiction. But I think the more I work on it and practice, the better I will become as a nature writer. 

Final Reflection

On Nature Writing

There are pieces from every genre that we read this semester that struck me, but the ones that struck me the most were The First Morning by Edward Abbey, Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood, and Tomorrow’s Song by Gary Snyder. Each showed me a different form of nature writing, and each inspired me in my own writing in this form. Each was my favorite in the forms that we read, and have their own unique attributes that I connected to. For example, the imagery conjured by Abbey in The First Morning really struck me. Being one of the first pieces we read for this class, his style of writing has really stayed with me throughout the semester and was a great inspiration to me when we wrote our creative nonfiction pieces. Secondly, Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood was such an interesting story. Her style of writing, especially the format in which she wrote the book, was really captivating for me. It was great exposure to large scale fiction that deals with nature themes. One of the most important themes from the book was humans’ relationship with nature, and how we have veered towards humans dominating nature. One insight I mentioned about this had to deal with Crake’s mindset, “Through genetic manipulation he seeks to create a perfect human that is separate from nature.” He wanted to be above nature, to be perfect. In reality nature is the one that is “perfect”. The natural balance and ecological processes is what keeps nature in a state of harmony. Humans have disrupted that harmony. The last piece, Tomorrow’s Song by Gary Snyder is one of my favorite poetry pieces we read this semester. The philosophy of deep ecology is ever present in it and I think it is a very interesting way to look at the world. 

My perception of nature writing has really evolved this semester. Being exposed to the types of pieces that we read in class provided me with a diverse experience from a wide range of authors, film makers, and songwriters. One of the main things I got from the whole semester was how nature writing can be used to address almost any issue surrounding nature and society. It can be used as a tool to motivate and to teach.

On Myself as a Nature Writer

I have maintained a pretty similar theme and message throughout all my writing this semester. I often relate my family and association with my home back to nature. I find it easiest to write about these kinds of things because my family and my home have been such strong forces in my life and have really made me who I am today. In both my creative nonfiction piece and poetry piece, I wrote about my hometown of Block Island, RI. 

Throughout this semester I learned that my motivation for writing comes when I am really interested in the topic. Nature is one of the key aspects and passions in my life, so writing about it has gotten me more into writing than anything else really has. The biggest surprise had to be my interest in poetry. I can remember dreading poetry throughout my education. But this was different, I found nature poetry easier to understand, and I had a greater desire to understand and analyze poetry than I ever had before. If someone told me freshman year that I would get into poetry, I would have told them they were crazy. I have even gone to pursue it in my own time. I bought myself a copy of Turtle Island by Gary Snyder and read it over spring break. 

The work that I am most proud of is my creative nonfiction piece. Writing about an experience in my hometown, a place I thought I knew so well came so easily to me. It was so natural for me to put my thoughts into the piece and it flowed nicely. I am also proud of my fiction piece, I think it has a lot of work left to go, but I was really proud of the idea and I look forward to exploring it and the characters in greater detail. 

I really hope to continue writing, perhaps in a professional way in the future. One area I would like to explore more is eco fiction, I think it is a really great tool for spreading environmental messages and I just love fiction. However I was really motivated by an interview I conducted with a Rhode Island nature writer, Todd McLeish. He writes nonfiction, following scientists on their studies and writing about the animals he encounters. That kind of writing also interests me. Also, I plan on continuing writing for myself. Over spring break I found myself really uncomfortable with my surroundings, just because it was so unfamiliar to me. The way I helped get over the anxious feeling I had was writing about the natural environment I saw around me. I feel as if it gave me an enhanced understanding of this new place that I would not have gotten if I did not do that. So whenever I am in a new and unfamiliar place I am going to write about what I see.

Final Project Reflection

May 1, 2020 / / 0 Comments

For this final project proposal, I found it very interesting to see the steps taken to actually get a project approved on campus. While a project like the one I proposed would definitely take a lot of work to put in place on campus, it would definitely be interesting to see happen. I think the school would benefit from an herb garden where students are allowed to pick their own plants for culinary purposes. IT would be convenient, but it would also create a great space on campus that the student body could be proud of. A green space such as this would definitely play into the university’s motto of innovation for a healthier planet. It would provide a great educational service to our school community.

Eportfolio Reflection

April 24, 2020 / / 0 Comments

The eportfolio that we used this semester to submit most assignments was something that I still do not totally understand. The program itself is very confusing. There are so many options to the point that it becomes too congested and has too many functions. Even now at the end of the semester, I do not understand all the options and functions presented in the program. It has been painfully complicated to upload assignments, as I had to upload them, then organize them into the right file. Given all of the functions, I do not understand why this isn’t something I could have done all at once. Lastly, I do not understand why we used it in this class. I had used it in one other class and did not understand the purpose of it then, and I still do not. It is an overly complicated way to submit assignments, blackboard would have been a more appropriate way to present our work.

Project Manager Reflection

April 24, 2020 / / 0 Comments

For the project management assignment, my partner and I choose to use Asana as our management software. We picked Asana as our software over other programs because it was the one recommended, and after looking through all of them, we determined it was the easiest to use while still being a helpful management tool. While we didn’t use all the features provided, we used the program to make lists and tasks with due dates. This helped us plan out all that was required of us and when it was due. Asana proved to be useful for our purpose, it allowed us to set tasks, lists, and due dates, which helped us organize appropriately. It did not take us too long to figure out exactly what features Asana had to offer and which ones would best fit our goals for the class. Because of the ease that we had using Asana, there are no features that I wish were added to the program, therefore I would give it a five out of five. It was useful for us for the class and helped us plan out our assignments. That being said, I don’t think I would use this program or any program like it in the future. I have my own way of remembering assignments and it works for me, I do not see a reason why I would need such a program in the future.

Aesthetics

April 3, 2020 / / 0 Comments

2. The response that speaks to me the most was the one written by Kurt Caswell. I specifically liked the part where he said, “By art I mean not only writing, painting and dance, but also beekeeping, gardening, cooking, ‘going green’, even conversation, anything at all that may be practiced and refined and so, highly performed” (199). I really liked this idea of creative sustainability because it spoke to things I really enjoy such as beekeeping, gardening, and cooking. Reading this passage made me realize there is a lot of creativity that goes into each of these practices, and becoming better means becoming creative. Even the idea of going green can be creative. Composting, in my household at least, required a lot of creative steps to make sure we were able to actually start that practice. I think the main message of this passage is to say that sustainable practices need to be creative, in order to improve upon them.

3. Thomashow’s perspective on graffiti art is that it is a mostly positive way of expression and way to send a message. Graffiti is not something I have given much thought to, but the way it was presented by Thomashow, I believe that it can be a particularly good way to portray something, especially sustainability. I feel like it can be a powerful way to show the importance of sustainability. As far as its presence and campus, I think it would be a pretty good way to show the school’s commitment to sustainability, one problem I could see arising from it is location. I cannot think of an appropriate location for a legal canvas to be on campus.

Case Study Reflection

March 13, 2020 / / 0 Comments

I found this case study project very interesting. I loved learning about UC Davis’ edible campus. I really wish we could implement something like this on campus. Having gardens on campus would be such a great opportunity for students to get involved on campus and provide healthy sustainable food for the dining hall. Campus and urban agriculture will be a crucial movement for sustainable food in our country.

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