Blog Prompt 8/ Place Prompt 8 What I've learned and what my place has teached me real good

The semester's drawing to a close and this is one of those rare occasions when I've been in a shift in perspective prior to returning for the next semester. Normally, it takes me a month or more to actually process and analyze what I've learned in a given course, but I feel that because of the more interactive practice of writing from my place has given me the luxury of jumping to my realizations rather than easing into them.

So I seem to be meandering to the point of learning quickly. I come to appreciate the world around. Not just my backyard place, but I am more cognizant of the impact I'm making on nature with something as simple as driving to work. That's not to say that I was ever really ignorant, however our discussions on moodle and writing on this blog have afforded me the time to slow down and reflect. Especially during my blog, I've been able to see the thaw of ice and snow as well as being able to taking on my own personal thaw in my prejudice or preconceived notions about nature writing.

I still have some opinions that haven't been dislodged. I still don't like Thoreau, but feel the mental change that would have had to taken place would have to be on the same scale of a lobotomy. I still appreciate his role in essentially cementing a genre, even if it was established in such a way that the diversity has until recently been very limited in terms of subject matter. It was refreshing for me to discover a more urban nature writing as well as nature writing that is not so gaggingly reverent. I see beauty in nature, and don't think I need to be told so explicitly in every reading that grass is green and lush and wonderful. Thankfully, Mel showed us that there's more than that. I enjoyed some of the pieces like 'Ecology of a Cracker Childhood' with its gritty comparisons between her family and their environment. I loved seeing the way that the environment is reflected in those who inhabit a particular region.

I still haven't changed in the fact that I'd rather read about people than flowers, but we were able to read some pieces this semester that established human relationships (both good and bad) with the natural world. Edward Abbey was a breath of fresh air as were Joyce Carol Oates' pieces. I liked that we ventured outside of my preconceptions of the genre and I was even exposed to pieces that I didn't realize fit into the genre.

I feel this course has opened me up and enabled me to be more critical of myself and more analytical of the natural world, which brings me to my place. It's not in full blossom just yet but on this lovely morning it is lush with life. The birds have returned along with the dew. My world, the backyard that i know still exists and exists again, but this course really made me take into account that even when it's not a welcoming backyard, it's still there. I discovered a world that until now I'd chosen to only experience on a minute basis, but now I'm able to appreciate the minutia of my backyard. I can now recognize the bend of each blade grass or the nest that's forming on the window ledge on the back of our shed.

My stump has been worn in with my shape just yet, but I'm beginning to feel more welcome in my backyard. Before it was a false comfort, but what I'm developing feels more involved and genuine. I'm still looking forward to being able to cut the grass again. I'm looking forward to re-connecting with that lost part of my backyard and revive from the winter lull. Most of that brown patchiness has disappeared and I'm ready to take the next step into a greener life.

Prompt 7 Grass

For me, grass has always held a mystical power over me. When I was little, I threw a tantrum because I hated the was it felt between my toes. I hated that only in the grass, as I climbed a ladder to get into a pool, I got stung by a bee. Grass is unique. It is at once expansive to the point of being overlooked and at the same time it is minuscule in size and scope. We can see it as a large unit or take into account each individual blade and although I've such a tentative relationship with it, it's something that I can't and no longer want to escape. I am the grass. I am the field. I am the fairway. I am each and every blade of grass. I am every bug, worm and bit of dirt that sustains it.

I like to think of myself this way. I can be a big picture, a stereotype that you can see coming from a mile away or I can be that smallest grain of seen nestled down beneath your freshly mown lawn. I am bold and easily seen, but what's going on beneath the surface is hard to predict.

As I've grow so has my attachment to the grass where I will wiggle my toes and let each tendon grip the ground beneath the grass. I've grown to love the dew that glistens when I'm the first one on the golf course, only the chirping birds to keep me company as the dig for worms and tell each other secrets out loud. I grow to appreciate the clipping glued to my sweaty ankles on a steamy summer afternoon when I have other plans.

It has become so many things to me, so much so that it has even become me. I can't draw the lines between what I am as a person and all that is hidden within the grassy expanses. I can't make out the juxtaposition because it all one world to me. The idiosyncrasies and that which remains to be discovered is what I've become. I'm still discovering myself as I'm still discovering what grass means to me. It is my world and I am unavoidable.

Place Blog #7 (Hello Scotland?)

Okay, so I at least know enough to realize that I'm in my backyard and not Scotland, but it sure feels likes the old country this morning with chilly temperatures and a steady drizzle. I can't even count how many mornings I woke up and had to walk to class in this, but it doesn't seem right after I was squeezing in 9 holes of golf between my two jobs yesterday in shorts and a t-shirt.

The conclusion this leads me to is that I need to do a better job planning when I come out and sit on my stump. First it's cold, then it's cold, and yet cold again, now it's slightly warmer, but still cold and rainy. Blood seems to obstinately refuse to circulate to my fingers and my butt seems to collect moisture through the towel I've laid on the stump and water drips off my golf umbrella. I'm not embracing the weather, but can you blame me. I can still see my backyard and observe the little bit of green that's been tempted into the blades of grass. I can also see the chunks of yard from my short game practice sessions and I know my dad's going to pissed, but in the scheme of things, I'm the one who takes care of the yard, so who cares?

I'm actually looking forward to being able to cut the grass again and being able to repossess or restake my claim on a world that's been lost to me for a winter. I'm looking forward to re-uniting with my backyard as some life finally gets breath back into it by the warm vitality of spring to come. I want to see the birds and hearing the buzz of the wasps that build their paper combs (minus the honey) underneath the deck railings. I want so much from my yard that's been missing, but more than anything I want to enjoy sitting out here again. For so long it's been laborious and mostly unpleasant to my human weakness to spend time on this stump already greening up with it's Statue of Liberty hued lichens. I know I don't own or control the back yard but I feel as though I've relinquished something comparable between the time I mulched the last of the fallen leaves and a day that still hasn't come yet.

The world is about to open itself up to me and all I can do is sit and wait.