Walking Journal #7

PROMPT: Our course theme is essentially an environmental theme, yet we've read about and are researching diverse subjects that may appear to have nothing to do with environmental issues. Nonetheless, each of your research projects is in some way local, and so your issue has everything to do with local environments. As you give yourself a break from writing this weekend, take a walk through your neighborhood with an eye toward the natural world. How is "nature," however you conceive of it, represented in your neighborhood? Can you trace the observable features of the natural world to some aspect of your own research? How? Think about our "habits of mind" when you respond to this prompt.

Today, my walk leads me to Manzanita Lake. When I think of “nature” on campus, it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Of course, Manzanita Lake is a merely a man-made pond on the University campus, but it’s the closest thing to nature I can imagine here. (Keep in mind, I’ve only really seen the University here in Reno – my neighborhood doesn’t extend far past the University’s borders). The ducks and geese that inhabit the lake are a reminder of nature, almost like a memory that doesn’t have quite all the details right. The lake is noisy: the squabbling of geese and the roar of the fountain isn’t quite right in my opinion of nature. To me, nature is peaceful; the babbling of a creek or the whistling of birds: not the harsh, urbanized roar of the fountain or endless quacking of ducks.

The nature that I’ve come across on campus is a memory of the true nature of the world: untouched, untainted by human hands. From Manzanita Lake to the little mock-river that runs down the steps to the Palmer Engineering building, there are echoes of nature left and right, just not the real thing.

For as long as I can remember, my family has spent the summers at our cabin: a small, humble cabin in the mountains of a small, humble town called Cobb. The town itself is about a fifteen minute drive from our cabin, and consists of about five stores total. The population? Maybe 1,000. Being at the cabin is my definition of nature: out on the deck you merely have to raise your head and be instantly enchanted by the soft swaying of trees that surround the cabin. The calls of birds and chattering of chipmunks is peaceful: not harsh. And a short walk from the cabin: a creek that leads into a magnificent waterfall. Now, there are signs of human involvement: there are man-made paths and other cabins in sight; but honestly, where can you find 100% uninterrupted nature in these times? It seems that everywhere you look is to some degree urban. But, nonetheless, this is my definition of nature.

The magnificent waterfall at the cabin.

One of the chipmunks, affectionately called Chip and Dale by my family, that inhabits the trees near the cabin.

The University makes an attempt at nature, and it’s comforting: sitting by the lake and listening to the geese argue is a reminder of nature in a vastly urbanized area. But it’s not what I think of when I think nature. Nature, in my mind, will always be the little cabin in the mountains.