Wednesday poem - Pause

This poem is part of a series titled 'Huron Days' I wrote in 1995 during a week's stay at  Pinery Provincial Park, located on the eastern shores of Lake Huron, Ontario, Canada.

the wind pauses

the lake calms to a lull

inner voices once muted

now echo loudly the

deceptions of fake aromas

exposed and left stranded

upon this shore

 

I no longer crave

remorseful landscapes

of carpeted lies and

pulsate as the wondering

contours of these dunes

in the quavering of leaves

that though fallen and

withered can offer still

intimate fires of rebirth

 

 

 

Reflections upon Visiting Effigy Mounds Preserve in Whitewater, WI

Recently my wife Susanne and I spent a few days in Whitewater, Wisconsin. I was looking forward to visiting the largest group of Native People’s effigy mounds this side of the Mississippi. I was taken aback when we arrived at the entrance of Effigy Mounds Preserve. We found ourselves in the middle of a newly built upper middle class and upper class suburb. A large area of lawn surrounds the signage, a wood post and wire fence demarcates the boundaries of the preserve, a wide mowed path constitutes the trail system around the mounds and small information signs placed at appropriate locations describe each one. The first leg of the trail was incredibly weedy and the first set of mounds could not be distinguished from the surrounding growth, my expectations vanished. As we made our way into the preserve we noticed that some mounds had been herbicided and exhibited a brown desiccated look to them.  The landscape looked better now with large patches of prairie plants; obviously there has  been restoration of the savanna within the open oak canopy at some point in the past. A healthy group of young oaks promises to replace the older ones in the future. My landscape architectural training makes its presence in my mind. What if low-growing native sedges covered the mounds?  They would offer a good distinction from the surrounding savanna and afford a better visualization of the mound shapes; perhaps extending slightly beyond the mounds’ contours so that the effigies could be clearly experienced. I could not help wonder if Native People had been consulted on the maintenance; it seems the site is under major neglect. The presence of mansion homes along the periphery, clearly seen from within the site, constitutes a terrible contrast to the sublime and small scale of the mounds themselves. Anger at this outrage burned inside me. Some of these mounds date back to 900 AD and whoever allowed this subdivision to be built showed much disrespect to this sacred site and the native culture.  There must have been an alternative solution that could have been worked out with the developer such as establishing a native species buffer between the development and the preserve. I also wondered if the site could be given to the native people for upkeep, I bet it would be treated with deserved respect. It seems to me that some remnant perverse values of Manifest Destiny are still at work here. This was my last thought upon exiting the preserve.

On the drive back towards Chicago another perspective popped in my mind, what did I know about the native outlook on this? I am not part of that culture, what if the mounds are a last burial ceremonial act and then the complex is left to natural occurrences? Is the need to exhibit, a western cultural phenomenon? The native people came back to the site periodically shown in the different age and style of the mounds and must have had some maintenance protocol. Someone must know or would they, given the forced dispersion and intentional dismemberment of this culture by European settlers. If we are to maintain a physical connection to this history, we should do it in the best way possible and the general condition of this monument does not represent our best effort.

Wednesday poem - Dawn horizon

This poem is part of a series titled 'Huron Days' I wrote in 1995 during a week's stay at  Pinery Provincial Park, located on the eastern shores of Lake Huron, Ontario, Canada.

 

I submerge myself

eyes shut in

silent abandonment

as fingers trace the

contours of my face

while on the surface

biorhythmic residues

float towards a

dawn horizon

 

 

 

 

Sunday nature journal - Mayday

This post marks the end of this cycle of nature journals, I will be posting more sporadically as I create them.

A Conversation with D.

A Conversation with D.

As I prepare for my presentation to Chicago Wilderness Sustainability Committee, a recent conversation comes to mind. A few weeks ago I attended an event and met a friend and colleague, the conversation led to what each of us was up to and he expressed genuine concern on my professional state. I told him I was no longer a member of the American Association of Landscape Architects or a member of many of the previous professional associations I belonged to.  He was stunned at my purposeful exit from these groups: “many people want to belong to as many professional associations as possible and here you are negating yourself doors that may open for you! “What doors?” I replied, “I was a member of the ASLA for decades, paid my yearly dues, attended conferences and subscribed to their magazine from which I learned precious little. I was constantly told that the society was there to help its members get their voice heard. In the last decade I submitted numerous abstracts of my research and work, all denied, while during the same period I presented numerous times including at the Society for Ecological Restoration conferences, at the Future Cities conferences, at Cities Alive conference and a number of International Ecology conferences.  The only time I received a note from the ASLA was after my decision to leave the group expressing their disappointment in seeing me go. It is not I that left the association rather the association was never there for me, all they were interested in was the yearly fee. If you accept my money and not my voice then it would be stupid of me to continue the relationship, don’t you think?” He looked at me with a frown that transmitted disbelief. “Now you won’t be able to use any of the anagrams after your name and you won’t look as professional as others who do”. I had to admit that was the case, we have a certain regard for accumulating professional badges, each one a symbol of accomplishment and here I was negating my own. The paper chase has been part of our educational system since the very beginning and a measure of professionalism. “Who would you consider the right professional person to tackle today’s problems?” I blurted out in self-defense.  He brought the glass of beer to his lips and took a longer than normal sip, I could see that he was giving the question some serious thought. “Well you know, all the professions are struggling to come to terms with this, we need to think outside the box; Nico, I know your work is a little before its time.”  “What does that mean?!” I said in a louder voice than intended. “How could it be before its time when I am proposing it in the present?” I could see he was taken aback by my tone so I recomposed myself “I mean, to meet the challenges we face there must be an open dialogue, this means open to all not only those with badges, or those in position of power, and no one is ‘THE PROFESSIONAL’ any more, not with climate change and the uncertainty it brings, and besides looking back it doesn’t seem that the professionals have led us to a good place. Yet I see the ASLA promoting municipalities should only consult with ASLA professionals, and this turf war is being carried out by all the professional fields.” “Well you can’t have any John Doe come in and be part of a professional solution!” he said with a snap to his voice. “What about all the value we place on community involvement?” I replied. “Yes you need community feedback, but then we need to leave the rest to the professionals” he seemed very pleased with what he perceived as the conclusion to the discussion. “We are back at the same question then, what constitutes a professional? Or better who is more suited to resolve the issues?” I said in a forced calm low voice. His expression begged for clarification to what I just said. Now it was I that took a longer sip than normal and thought that my framing was wrong. He interrupted my thought, “you know, your problem is that you practice your work as art”, he got my attention, “you can’t treat it as a personal goal, it must be done in collaboration”. I interjected “I believe I am collaborating, I am working with others to realize the work”. “No, I mean that there is a pace that things evolve and your work is not recognizing that pace”. “But isn’t that what we call breakthroughs?” “Well you can breakthrough your way to poverty, my advice to you is to try and fit in more, you don’t have to negate your work but you should really try to be part of the same scene”.  “I think the pace of the profession is too slow, we are not solving the problems and just keep fooling ourselves by always striving for the lowest hanging fruit. We have surpassed the 350 threshold for CO2 in the atmosphere and the occasion had hardly any ripple effect, we continue to talk ourselves into a state of inertia, in fact we are prepared to drill and frack for more of the poison to spill into the atmosphere. Doesn’t that bother you?” “And you have the answer!?” “At least I am trying to do something alternative!” “So are many people, much smarter than the both of us.” “So what are you saying, that we should not participate and let the ‘smarter people’ do their job?”  “Hey, do you see anyone sacrifice their future? They operate within a structure, in universities, in organizations, they don’t go ‘lone ranger’. Don’t you know of any firm you could work in and still be able to participate?” “There are a few I respect, companies like Rana, for example.”  “Then why don’t you approach them?” “I did, they were not interested. And before you ask, I also tried to teach again, it seems I am out of the loop in both counts.” “That’s what I mean, your demeanor and attitude bothers people. Why don’t you try fitting in first and then work your way into a position where you can address the issue your way?” “What do you think I was doing the last twenty five years? There comes a time when you realize that your ideas won’t be fulfilled by anybody else.” “OK, so where are you at now?” “I am at the cusp of building a pilot project at ICA in Chicago.” “How is that going?’ “Painfully slow, we are depended on getting some grant money and perhaps raising some funds through the social networks.” “Good luck with that! What you need is some serious doe and with the economic times the way they are you may be looking at a long wait.” “We have somewhat of a strategy, maybe it will work.” “Look I know you are passionate about your work and I wish you the best, but you also need to face up to reality and be prepared to fail.” “Thanks D! That’s encouraging!” “No. But it’s reality!” He had enough of the conversation, pretended to see someone and excused himself. As he stepped into the crowd he looked back and in a loud voice said " China, that's where things are being done these days, give it some thought." I sat staring at the half pint of Guinness in my hand “shit! I hate these conversations that make you think twice about what you do.”

I am presenting my work at the Chicago Wilderness Sustainability meeting on July 11 at the CMAP offices, Willis Tower, 8^th floor, hoping to get others interested in the work and elicit support. If you are interested in attending please contact Chris.mulvaney@chicagowilderness.org so as to be placed on the list of attendees for the security screening.

 

 

 

 

Sunday nature journal - Family Outing

Wednesday poem - I sow footprints

This poem is part of a series titled 'Huron Days' I wrote in 1995 during a week's stay at  Pinery Provincial Park, located on the eastern shores of Lake Huron, Ontario, Canada.

 

 

I sow footprints

transient fossils

on this layer of sand

searching for solace

my pace not burdened by hunger

nor legs striding to escape death

nor arms embracing osseous children

nor lips parched against a naked land

 

there are others beyond these shores

with eyes fixed on approaching borders

while mine cowardly beckon for shade

as the rustle of aspens translate

alien cries that resonate

under the open sky

 

my mind flooded by lessons

 

of an economic creed interprets

the lacerations of humanity

as the burrowed cavities on the

face of these dunes that await

emergent flights of swallows

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday nature journal - A Hole in the Ground