John B. Denton's Grave

Jami McQueen
History Major - University of North Texas

Day 1: October 7, 2013

I chose the space to create my mandala carefully. I wanted to move away from campus life, and instead took my search to the Denton Square. The spot I decided on is the area around John B. Denton’s grave near the Courthouse. This area included the grave itself, the surrounding monkey grass, a tree, and a small area under said tree that held some grass, and a patch of dirt. The first thing I noticed at this mandala is that there was evidence of humans everywhere. The grave itself, of course, was human-made, with its wrought iron fencing surrounding the concrete that covered the body. Snuggly up against the tree there was a metal pole, which, under further investigation, held the fuse box for the Christmas lights that were wrapped around the trunk and branches of the tree. Traffic was fierce that day on the square, and honks and general car noises polluted the air. Also in the air was the sound of children laughing and families chilling on the grass around the Courthouse, taking advantage of the beautiful day. Musicians played nearby, both across the street near business-door fronts as a man played guitar softly on the bench 10 yards away. And, as with all contact with humanity, there was the inevitable litter, like a small piece of Styrofoam, a crushed plastic serving cup near the grave, and dirty cigarette butts from previous occupants. But no worries―nature’s presence was not lost in the space. Birds had left evidence of their occupation in the tress above in the form of small white feathers caught in the grass. Ants, few at first, and then more, began to emerge from the dry, cracked dirt to search for food. And a cricket also popped out next to my foot to see what was going on.

Day 2: October 9, 2013

Not much has changed today from my first observation. I came around 2 PM today, and the people traffic on the square is fairly minimal. A few college age kids strolled around the courthouse, but there were no musicians near the mandala, and everything was fairly peaceful. Not as many ants were out today, though occasionally one did pop out of the dirt to climb a blade of grass. There are many more sticks on the ground today, evidence that last night was fairly windy, enough to break branches and pull off loose bark (or was it a creature who caused such damage?). There is no sign of the cricket, and I do not know if it has become a victim of something in nature, or if it has simply moved on to another location. I notice that “nature” has begun to take over some of the human-made features of the mandala. Through the concrete that covers Denton’s grave, a small “tree” has begun to grow through a crack in the concrete. It stands about 6 inches high, and seems fairly healthy. It is not yet big enough to cause any damage to the grave, but I fear the groundskeepers may have no choice but to pull it when it begins to get too big. Another example of nature winning out is the Christmas lights on the tree. When I was looking to see if there were any bugs on said tree, I noticed that on the lowest strand, a light bulb was missing. All the rest of the lights were fine, so I wonder if an animal (perhaps a squirrel) had gotten to this one. I know I read several years back that they were having trouble with the squirrels eating the bulbs.

Day 3: October 11, 2013

Today I visited the mandala a little later, this time around 5:30 PM. Things were much quieter around the square in general. There was still traffic noise pollution, but on a much smaller scale, and there was only one other person on this side of the square that I could see, and he was sitting 20 yards away on a bench, reading a book. There were no musicians on the square at this point, so mostly the air was filled with cars and nature noises. The Styrofoam piece was still there, in exactly the same spot as before, only maybe slightly dirtier, as was the crushed plastic serving cup. It’s possible there were more cigarette butts on the ground today, but it is hard to be sure. There is now an addition of a clear plastic bottle cap from a water bottle that is inside the fencing of the grave. Nature was slightly more prominent today, as I could hear birds chirping from up in the trees and there were more ants out and about. There are apparently 2 different types of ants living under the ground in the mandala, as the first ones I saw crawling around were small and red (though not fire ant red and small), and a few minutes later, another ant crawled on my foot, and it was slightly bigger and more of a brown-orange color. They were also on the tree today, forming a line from a hole in the tree and marching all the way down.

Day 4: October 12, 2012

Due to the brief rain, the mandala was a different place than it had been the day before. The dirt was no longer dry; instead it was rather muddy, and there was no sight of any bugs at this point (I went right after the rain had passed, so they may have still been in their shelter). There were a few birds who had begun to come out, and their chirping could be heard clearly. The car and foot traffic on the Square was much slower than the other days I had gone to the mandala, so the atmosphere was slightly calmer. More branches were on the ground, probably due to the rain falling through the trees, but very little else was disturbed, surprisingly. There were still the same old feathers caught in the grass, and the usual trash was still there. I did find a leaf on the ground near where I was sitting that was riddled with holes, making me think of a caterpillar. Another small tree has popped through the concrete of the grave, so I imagine it won’t be much longer before humans have to reclaim the grave from nature’s grip. I can tell that the mandala had been at least breeched in the past 24 hours, because a small pile of dirt that had been undisturbed previously now was flattened, as if someone had run over it with a bike or wagon wheel.

Day 5: October 13, 2013

Similar to yesterday’s observations, the rain had disturbed the mandala, but only slightly. The Styrofoam piece is gone, possibly due to the winds caused by the front moving through. More small twigs and pieces of bark were on the ground, and there were a few ants crawling over them on a path heading back into the cracked earth (it seemed to be an easier path than having to wade through grass to get there). Some people are out and about, but I think the majority of the population may be watching football games instead of enjoying nature. There were no ants on the tree today, maybe due to the wetness of the bark, or maybe because they had already gathered their food for the day. Or maybe they just found a different route to follow today, since their smell trail had probably been washed away by the rain. It doesn’t seem like there is any more trash on the site today.

Turner and Berkes (2006:498) define ecological knowledge as “a cumulative body of knowledge, practice and belief, evolving by adaptive processes and handed down through generations by cultural transmission.” When I read this definition of ecological understanding, what I take away from it is this: that the best knowledge that can be gained from observing nature in any form, whether that be hiking on a nature trail, setting up a mandala to observe, or just sitting on your porch swing while enjoying the pretty weather, is the knowledge that humans and nature can coexist peacefully, if we are willing to do our part. Observing nature, taking in its beauty, allows us to understand it better than we can imagine when we are passing it by due to our busy lifestyles. Once one studies nature―and I mean really study it- taking the time to just take it all in and realize everything at play in the ecosystem, and how it all interconnects―the things that we do that we don’t really think about become glaringly obvious and may become horrifying. For example, from observing the mandala this last week, it kills me to think of people who just leave their litter around. Yes, it may only be a piece of Styrofoam, but as I saw this week, that Styrofoam doesn’t break down (at least not fast or easily), and that disturbs the balance of that ecosystem. And the cigarette butts are what really get to me. First of all, you never should leave cigarette butts in the grass- that’s just not safe. But also, that nicotine then seeps into the soil, and those chemicals are now affecting all of those insects who live there, and there is no telling what havoc it is wreaking on them. But at the same time, Haskell does have a point, which he pointed in one of the previous entries in his book (the one with the golf balls). We can’t always keep human-made things contained; it just is not a realistic expectation. But as he states in that entry―just because it is human-made doesn’t mean that it is bad. What we have to do instead is to find a balance that allows us all (humans and nature alike) to coexist peacefully, with as minimal damage as possible to both parties. I think that is the main take away from Turner and Berkes and Haskell. If we all just take the time to acknowledge the rest of the world around us, not just what is right in front of our face, then we could make the world a better place for all living things.

References
Haskell, David George. 2013. A Forest Unseen: A Year's Watch in Nature. Penguin Books.

Turner, Nancy J. and Fikret Berkes. 2006. Coming to Understanding: Developing Conservation through Incremental Learning in the Pacific Northwest. In Human Ecology, 34(4):495-513.

Flora and Fauna: Forgotten Friends

Allyn Neal
Anthropology Major - University of North Texas

Nature hidden in plain sight, Eureka Park is a popular outing for many people in and around Denton, TX. Although these people are taking the time to be outside, one has to ponder if they are really enjoying nature for what it is or enjoying the manmade playscape and running path. I frequent the running path, and there I sought an area with which I feel a strong connection to establish my mandala. My first day began on October 5th, 2013 around 11 am and I chose a mandala that lies over the hill adjacent to the finish line at the end of my runs, a place that I am in tune with where I continue to improve my physical and mental health. It was extremely important to select a location that was home to a wide variety of species, plant and animals alike. Nature, as a whole, is about the mixing and mingling of species and their relationships whether those are symbiotic, commensal, parasitic, competitive, predatory, etc. To further this focus, my mandala also includes the edge of a pond as a window into the relationship between species of the flight, land, and water. The land meets with the pond, where many people come to fish, in a gradual slope, and large reeds extending from beneath the surface stand proud with enough give for the wind to sway the tall, grasslike plant to and fro. My selection of the mandala was not random, every aspect of the prospective vicinity required a large variety of species, experiences, and visuals to create an analysis that truly encompassed what ethnobiology inspires.

 

October 6, 2013 -- 5pm: Little touches of humankind interwoven in nature are apparent all around this mandala; the groomed grass has the beginnings of unkempt charm due to rain showers the day before, and small white flowers, freshly bloomed, patiently wait to be joined by the surrounding buds prepared to blossom. Through extensive research through wildflower databases and on amateur flower photography, the conclusive species of the flowers appear to be Aphanostephus ramosissimus – plains dozedaisy. These little flowers sprinkle the growing grass in the America Southwest year round, and in Eureka Park the plains dozedaisies soak in the sun for as long as possible before the lawnmowers come to cut them down. After the first day, I never saw those little white flowers again during my other visits. The dozedaisies had barely begun to develop before their time was, literally, cut short and an inner struggle emerged within me. Nature is relished when it is convenient, I recall the itchy fifteen minutes as I sat in my mandala's scraggly grass and flowers. The second time I returned, the recently cut grass was smooth on my skin and my comfort level increased; the flowers were gone, but it is easy to dismiss the loss to value the new, soft ground. Very few people when asked will state that they dislike nature, but most people will attempt to eradicate a bug or rat infestation in their home; such “pests” are inconvenient. One then must argue if that truly is denying nature. Very similar to David George Haskell's assertion in The Forest Unseen, people cannot deny humanity's place in nature; our propensity for creating comfortable living situations can be traced back to our archaic ancestors. Humankind's survival depends on its cultural adaptation, we do not have claws, sharp teeth, fur, or tough skin; we use culture and tradition to complete these necessities. Cannot one argue that all of what humankind has developed was stemmed from our earliest ancestors and the beginning of cultural adaptation? Through our greed we seek to control and subdue nature, how much is left after the leveling, mowing, cutting, building, and maintaining? I mourn my white flowers and hope to meet again after the next big rain.

 

Similar to humans other parts of nature adapt, whether it be on the scale of evolution or of day to day events. The University of North Texas campus is heavily populated by squirrels, but these critters possess different day to day lives and habits than most scurrying, skittish squirrels. Hundreds of students across the campus feed the squirrels, which has created a population that comes in contact with humans frequently and have little fear―coming close for food. Eureka Park's population of creatures have similar experiences. The constant connection with humans at public parks has created a relationship between our species and the animals, which is expressed by the close distance and placid demeanor the animals portray around what used to be typical predators, humans. Although far less abundant than the North Texas squirrels, the ducks at Eureka Park are immensely friendly to the park visitors. I have been adopted by a flock of ducks and greeted in hopes of food whenever I return to the mandala. On October 9, 2013, the visit from the ducks was cut short at the beginning of my third trip to the mandala thanks to some friendly puppies. Public school had recently released, and Eureka Park was teeming with people, a large portion of the horde was families, children, and pets. The closest people to my location were there with a puppy, and although they attempted to remain a fair distance due to my obvious studious manner, the little pup wanted nothing more than to play with the ducks that swam a few yards from the edge. The ducks, of course, paddled away from the audacious puppy; there was nothing to gain or benefit from the dog, they knew the little guy did not have food. Urban ecological relationships date back thousands of years, it is believed humans' relationship with birds began in the Middle East perhaps ten thousand years ago and some species are “hypothesized to have become… obligate commensal species with humans because of year-round access to stored grain, and has also changed from a migratory to a sedentary lifestyle” (Niemelä 2011). Other animals often encountered by urban people, such as squirrels and sometimes deer, must have similar historical ecological mingling. Obtaining food and other necessities becomes much easier when it is provided readily by other species, whether through feeders, from yard plants, or even from domestic relationships. Relationships between humans and other species are beneficial; we co-inhabit urban and rural areas and share, on many occasions, symbiotic or commensal relationships.

 

The large positive impact other species have on humans is often unrecognized, even in parks. Aforementioned, upkeep of the park is managed to support its appeal at a healthy, populated basis, but nature also conducts maintenance within its own biota. Every visit, including October 12 and 13—my final days to my mandala, was filled with dragonfly-like creatures that zoomed about, completely disregarding my presence. Further investigation pointed me towards damselflies, more specifically the familiar bluet – Enallagma civile. These fascinating creatures are electric blue and look convincingly like dragonflies. Unlike dragonflies, whose eyes meet at the top of their head, damselflies are much smaller, their eyes are separated, and their wings are held together on their back when they land. Although slightly unknown, damselflies prove extremely beneficial to most people's sentiments towards certain bugs. Their diet is largely gnats and mosquitos, something most people would be grateful for if they were knowledgeable of the impact damselflies make on our comfortable lives. The mandala contained a swarm of hundreds of damselflies and one can only appreciate the park maintenance these creatures provide for our comfort by controlling mosquitos and gnats. It's obvious that this is a small example within thousands of beneficial services creatures, small and large offer, which coincidentally provide a more desired living situation for humans. Efforts towards sustainability and preservation of creatures should be infused into the social systems of humankind. Turner and Berkes (2006) assert an emphasis on cultural and social practices defining the importance of conservation in humanity, instead of the widely believed notion that conservation stems from a reaction against “catastrophic consequences.” The depth of conservation versus the depletion of resources can also be traced back to belief systems and “establishing a competency over a period of time.” Potential of traditional ecological knowledge regarding resource management and conservation is important to recognize and incorporate into Western society. Looking at the world from a holistic approach would create an opportunity to witness the importance of these factors. Flora and fauna contribute many positive functions for that are not being properly sustained for the benefit of both humans and other species in large areas of the world. Ecological understanding, as explained by Turner and Berkes, offers theories and notions that would spread “attributes embodied within traditional ecological knowledge” for the betterment of sustainability and conservation. These ideas run parallel with Haskell's approach in The Forest Unseen, Haskell seeks to create a relationship between nature and humankind rather than to reinforce our habit of living outside of and extracting from nature. Spreading these ideas into the households of Western societies would encourage everyday people to consider these goals, which are relevant within their daily lives.

 

The natural world is a well-functioning, self-sufficient system that adapts and develops to preserve itself, while humankind pushes the boundaries and tests the earth's own sustainability. Many argue humans' greed is pushing too hard and that sooner rather than later the damage will prove irreversible. The focus of conservation and sustainability should be on incorporating traditional societies' resource management and share the progress with other species in a symbiotically beneficial process. Embodying these practices and goals has the potential to kick start a new order and allow species to flourish in their ecosystem, supporting the natural benefits flora and fauna provide. The damselflies in the mandala offer an important example in which our species can appreciate their biological function of eating undesirable insects. On the other hand, a damselfly sneaking its way into a home of a person, for shelter, food, etc., would probably end up killed by the homeowner; nature is well-liked until it closes its distance to us. Animals are adapting to our modification of the world, for instance the ducks and squirrels utilizing urban areas; it is important for humans to consider adapting to the other species' needs as well. It would behoove members of western societies to take a step back and examine the potential of traditional societal practices and to accept other species as cohabitants on this planet rather than resources or disturbances.

 

References:
"Aphanostephus Ramosissimus DC." USDA PLANTS. N.p., n.d. Web. 13 Oct. 2013.

Drees, Bastiaan M., and John A. Jt. Jackman. "Damselfly." A Field Guide to Texas Insects. Houston, TX: Gulf, 1998. N. pag. Web. 11 Oct. 2013. https://insects.tamu.edu.

Haskell, David George. The Forest Unseen: A Year's Watch in Nature. New York: Viking, 2012. 158-59. Print.

Niemelä, Jari. "Coupled Relationships between Humans and Other Organisms in Urban Areas." Urban Ecology: Patterns, Processes, and Applications. Oxford [England: Oxford UP, 2011. N. pag. Books.google.com. 3 Feb. 2011. Web. 11 Oct. 2013.

Turner, Nancy J., and Fikret Berkes. "Coming to Understanding: Developing Conservation through Incremental Learning in the Pacific Northwest." Human Ecology 34.4 (2006):495-513. Web. 11 Oct. 2013.

Suburban Forest: Oasis in the Midst of Human Chaos

Andrea Cloutier
Anthropology Major - University of North Texas

In a little “hamlet,” about a hundred feet from the front of my house, is a partially burned tree stump. It is the remnant of a pine tree that once stood over twenty feet tall. The stump has been there since 2003, when the tree to which it had once belonged died due to drought and had to be cut down. Steadily rotting ever since, it had recently caught fire on a hot summer day and was extinguished with water. Now it is charred on one side, the decomposition process accelerated by the fire. A thin layer of ash clings to burned side, atop the blackened flesh which remains, the only evidence that the fire had occurred. Directly in front of this stump is one of its living brethren, a mighty pine tree standing over twenty feet. On either side are two oak trees, their low, full branches shading the young saplings and brush that form two small copses. If I stand facing my house, ignoring what is behind me, I can almost pretend that I’m out in the forest somewhere far away. But this stump sits in a residential neighborhood, one block from a heavily trafficked road and three blocks from an elementary school. Less than fifteen feet in front of it is a sidewalk, which is frequented by walkers and joggers, cyclists and dogs. It is less than twenty feet from the intersection of two streets, where cars often idle waiting for their moment to turn onto the main road. Their wait is evidenced by the empty bottles, cigarette packets and spent butts that litter the ground not far way. It is impossible to ignore the fact that humans frequent this area, for the sound of children laughing echoes through the air. 

There is other life here, however, in the midst of human chaos. Insects hum all around; grasshoppers spring from their hiding places at the sound of movement; ants lace themselves through the crumbling remnants of bark; beetles scuttle between the ants and dive into the crevices. At least three gray squirrels chase each other up and down the bark of the oak trees on either side. Unseen birds chatter to each other, passing between the oak branches that form the base of the copses. Pine needles litter the dry grass, with a few green blades managing to peek through. The ground is soft; my feet sink slightly when I walk, but the needles are so thick, it’s impossible to see what type of soil exists here without disturbing the scene. There have been some recent changes to the landscape by my father, who owns the property. He began clearing the young saplings and bushes on one side of the stump, exposing the interior. This was directly due to the fire, which, if it had reached the little copse, would have immediately ignited the young saplings and shrubs, causing untold damage. There is very little grass here, a thick carpet of pine needles standing in place of greenery. A few lonely ferns are withering now, having been exposed to the light for the first time in at least twenty years. The other copse still remains untouched, wildlife shaking the leaves of the bushes but remaining out of sight. Our cat, who is old and unwilling to challenge most living residents of the area, often rests nearby, stalking grasshoppers until they jump out of sight and lose her attention. This little haven, a few steps from the street, has become my experiment.

It was an interesting time for me to observe this space, because it came as the seasons were just beginning to change. I tried to vary the time of day I visited the spot, but, not being a morning person, I found it difficult to greet the early part of the day. I managed it one day, the first day, and it happened to be just as a school bus idled directly across the street from my mandala. The bus was picking up a special needs student, which was taking some time. The morning was still warm, the grass dry and brown except for a few green sprouts. The sun shone directly on the stump, highlighting the busy morning for the insects who used the stump as their playground. Meanwhile, cars lined up in front of and behind the school bus, impatiently waiting for the stop sign to be tucked back into the side of the bus. Plumes of exhaust filled the air, as the sound of chugging engines intermingled with the shouts of distant students. Small children skipped past me, chattering on their way to school, some of them giving me strange looks as I sat there, watching. The din of the cars and the idling bus drowned out the scurrying squirrels, who darted back and forth across the upper branches of the oak trees, despite the noise. Birds fluttered about in the copse to my left, shaking the leaves of the branches. It was a Monday, so my father had cleaned up the garbage that had been thrown there the week before and the ground was free from litter. No one seemed inclined to throw trash with me sitting there, and the mandala was quite clean of human debris. The next time I came was mid-week in the afternoon, and there were an empty cigarette packet, a few beer bottles and a fast food wrapper lying next to one of the dried-up ferns. School had long since let out, but there were still stragglers from the middle school not far away who were making their way home while I sat there. The usual suspects lingered about; my ant companions still crept across the bark and the squirrels could be heard, but not seen, chasing each other through the canopy above. My next visit occurred after a rainstorm had soaked the entire yard. My feet squished when I walked through the pine needles toward the stump, sinking lower than usual. There were more green spikes peeking through the pine needles this time; my insect friends had retreated for a short while until the water had dried out. But the faithful squirrels were still there, chattering and climbing up the bark of the oak trees, and their bird companions called to each other in the distance. My last two observations took place over the weekend, where there was a marked change in human traffic. Almost no cars drove by either day, the only human sounds coming from people walking their dogs past the spot. On those occasions, nature’s song took center stage, with the birds calling out to each other and flying down to hunt for the insects that were abundant around the stump. The squirrels chased each other on the ground, rather than up the trees. Even the presence of our old cat didn’t seem to perturb them much, since she mostly lounged in the sunbeam that filtered through the upper branches of the pine trees. These days, when no humans were around, except for me, is when I saw the most activity in the mandala.  

It was most interesting to me that the animals who frequent my little spot are what most humans would consider to be pests. In fact, I know that people spend thousands of dollars to rid their homes and yards of most of these creatures who call this area home. Those squirrels who dance with each other up and down the trees would most likely have been poisoned or trapped if they were anywhere else. The ants traveling in and around the deteriorating bark of the stump would most certainly have been removed post haste. Even my little bird friends, whom I assume are either starlings or mockingbirds, since I’ve seen them on the ground, drive the humans crazy with their songs and their poorly placed nests. Yes, my little haven is no more than a breeding ground of human annoyances. And yet, it is the humans here who are annoying me more than the animals. Between Monday and Saturday, trash has piled up in my little area; everything from beer bottles to soda bottles, plastic bags to cigarette butts. The animals take their activities up into the trees when the humans are at work; they don’t stop what they do so much as the move it out of the way of those who hate them. The humans have no such regard for my friends. This is evidenced by the squirrel carcass that sits in the middle of the road, a casualty of a human who did not care about a single squirrel. Questions swirl through my head as I sit, pensive, staring at my suburban oasis. What does a single squirrel matter? Isn’t it just one of dozens? Isn’t it just a stupid animal who can’t stay out of the road? Not really, when I consider how my mandala formed. It’s most likely that the copses that formed here are the result of the squirrels and birds, who assisted in distributing the seeds necessary for them to grow. What would my mandala look like if there were no squirrels or birds? Would there even be a stump here for the insects to frolic upon? Would I be able to sit amongst any trees? Would the ground here be as soft if it didn’t have its pine needle carpet, which helps keep the moisture locked into the soil? The birds and the squirrels have adapted their activities to the intrusive humans, yet the humans intrude upon nature with little to no regard for the value present in my piece of the world. The only litter left by my squirrel and bird friends are seed shells, which will eventually turn into saplings and ensure the future of the green space. What have we humans contributed to the salvation of this place?

These questions, which have been stirred up in my mind, are the exact reason that exercises such as this, and those done by Haskell, are important. It is not that I came up with the “correct” questions that needed to be answered. It is that I came up with a question at all. Today’s world is so unfocused on the natural element that we depend upon, that we often forget that it is there. But by walking out our own front doors and looking at the nature that exists even in our human-centric cities, we can begin to think about and understand the natural world in a context that makes sense to us. Most people would never think of spending one hour and fifteen minutes, let alone a year, staring at a small area in their front yard. But by doing so, the natural world unveils itself, causing stirrings and questions to arise. We understand why trash piles up in the corner of our area; why the animals escape to the canopy during the workweek and frolic on the ground on the weekends; why the copses form where they do and the systems by which these various organisms live together in harmony, and what happens when our work disrupts these systems. We can see nature’s resiliency and its ability to adapt, which in turn will allow us to make changes that will benefit the system as a whole. Like the golf ball in Haskell’s forest, nature does not necessarily mean “non-human made.” Humans are part of the natural world, just as any other creature, as are the products we insert into nature. What we need to learn is how to manage our needs against the needs of the earth and how we can live in harmony with all other beings. The Native Americans had a vision of conservation which would last long into the future, and they came to these practices by watching the world and interpreting what they saw. Through activities like mandala observations, humans can begin to open their eyes and envision a future that will last for all time, just as our native brothers did before us.

Reference Cited:
Haskell, David George. 2013. A Forest Unseen: A Year's Watch in Nature. Penguin Books.

Musings on “Respect before Knowledge”

Steve Wolverton
University of North Texas - Department of Geography

During the last week I have edited and posted five essays by my students on local ethnobiology. Their essays are based on observations of a small tract of space that they delineated and visited several times. You can find the details of the assignment here; I must confess that David Haskell has been assigning similar exercises in his ecology class, thus the idea to have students do this is not fully mine nor is it original. I have a couple of observations based on my several readings of the essays. First, I want to comment on the benefits of the exercise that seem to be shared across the experiences students had. The main benefit for students has been to simply spend time outdoors away from the inundating stuff of contemporary society. This is not a full escape, but each student experienced something at a local scale that they had not before because they had read about other people doing it (e.g., David Haskell or Gary Paul Nabhan) or they had heard about other people studying aspects of nature and life outdoors (e.g., Jessica Beckham’s work on bumblebees), or they had recently had conversations with ethnographers studying ecological anthropology (e.g., Jim Veteto). But they also did it for another reason, they were asked to (in the form of an exam). As usual, the only real difference between “experts” and “students” is level of experience.

 

There are smaller benefits, such as some gain in biological knowledge, consideration of insects, plants (especially those students recognize as weeds), turtles, snakes, and so forth. Some impressions recorded by students are more correct than others—in the proximate sense of Western science, Linnaean taxonomy, and so forth—but mastering detailed taxonomy or systematic ecology or even ethnobiology was not the point of the exercise. The point was to slow down, to record one’s own ethnobiology of a place for a time. That is, the greatest benefit of this process was not the production of new knowledge. Rather is was what environmental philosopher Albert Borgmann terms “disclosure,” or the revealing of something intricate that dwells beyond the scene of contemporary experience. My friend and colleague, Porter Swentzell calls this “having respect before knowledge.” I am totally committed to this inductive approach in my ethnobiology class. My father and I talked about it this weekend as we prepared smoked salmon and steelhead trout in my backyard, agreeing that education is standardized enough and that information-based approaches, though necessary in many cases, become stale when applied universally.

 

During the next week, I will finish posting the midterm essays, and students are invested in the next round. Their final exam assignment is to observe their mandalas for longer visits stretched over a lengthier period. Make no mistake; what I have asked them to do is work. From what I’ve read, students have had to break down barriers (emotional, psychological, even physical) to do this. They have had to answer questions such as, “why am I doing this?” They have had to confront the emotions of feeling that slowing down and observing is a decline in productivity. That is, they have had to exercise patience to listen, look, feel, and smell. And, for a small amount of time, they have had to unplug from the addictive trappings of society. I identify with them; my walks in the woods behind my house represent the same experiences. Even if their experiences extend for only a small period beyond the end of the course, their observations have been inspiring.

References Cited:
Borgmann, A. 2000. The Transparency and Contingency of the Earth. In Earth Matters: The Earth Sciences, Philosophy, and the Claims of Community, edited by R. Frodeman, pp. 99–106. Prentice Hall, Upper Saddle River, NJ.

Haskell, David George. 2013. A Forest Unseen: A Year's Watch in Nature. Penguin Books.

Patches of Moss & Serpentine Bravery

Erin King

Master's in Applied Geography Student - University of North Texas

Location and Description:
The location I have chosen is on a steep bank of an unnamed tributary of White Rock Creek that runs through North Dallas, just south of Addison. The tributary runs between two condo complexes that have been built up steeply along the banks of the drainage. The creek is lined with oak trees that produce a thick cover of shade. I have selected a spot along this creek, approximately 20 feet up the bank behind my condo apartment's pool area. The spot is about 10 feet outside of where the landscapers prune and manicure our park. The lawn in front of my condo apartment abruptly stops beneath the reaches of the tree canopy. The ground is mostly bare beneath the trees, and it is noticeably damper than the sun-beaten and landscaped lawn. The ground is compact sandy clay, mottled with many stones and has evidence of disturbance from previous development. Although landscaping is not maintained this far away from the main lawn, a single exposed sprinkler head sticks out like a sore thumb across the bare surface of the ground.

 

Observations:
On my first visit I looked around and saw a few patches of moss growing on the otherwise bare earth. The soft feathery moss patches were the only swatches of green across the ground, with the exception of the occasional scrawny weed that managed to push through the compact dirt. Looking below me toward the bank, a litter of oak leaves and acorns have begun to accumulate from the season change. The creek is at its usual slow, quiet pace and the water appears clear. The quiet trickle of the creek is occasionally interrupted by the sound of road noise along the nearby residential street crossing over the river farther south. I was pleasantly surprised to find a ladybug crawling on some fresh leaf litter a few feet below me. I leaned in for a closer look of the bug's body shape and color. My husband will tell you that I get unusually excited when I see ladybugs. I am from Southern Ontario, Canada, and during my adolescence there was a catastrophic change in our native ladybug population. An invasive species of ladybug from Asia has almost completely replaced the native ladybug. These invaders are orange, oval instead of round, have little-to-no spots, they bite, they stink, and they can infest houses while trying to keep warm over the winter. These invasive pests effectively ruined my adolescent memories of ladybugs. However, since moving to Texas, I've noticed that ladybugs here appear to still be dominantly native populations. The ladybug crawling through my designated mandala greenspace was bright red with many spots and shaped like a perfect half-sphere. This was the ladybug of my childhood! I curiously watched it crawl around for a while. Their color is so much more vibrant than their invasive Asian counterparts. I watched it wander across the leaves before it spread out its wings, took flight, and buzzed off.

 

I stopped by one evening while walking my dog Whiskey, an Australian shepherd. A cold front had come in the day before, so it was a damp cool night. The mosquitoes were starting to come out – I was glad to be wearing a hoodie. I expected the creek to be running a little higher from the recent rain, but it was still trickling at its usual slow and steady pace. I noticed a few fresh disturbances in the leaf litter; animal footprints perhaps? Unfortunately it was too dark to identify them, and I did not bring a flashlight. The area sounded unusually still. I can usually hear ambient bird chirps and rustling leaves from light breezes. This time it was past dusk and rather quiet. Although my vision was impaired by the dark, my dog's senses were on high alert. I noticed him looking attentively across the creek bank. We were both seated quietly in the greenspace when his stare began to develop into a low growl. His thick collar of hair began to stand straight on end, giving the illusion that he's much larger than he really is. I looked across the creek to try to identify what he saw. Whiskey lets out a few defensive barks, and all of a sudden I can see a gray cat slowly slinking backwards up the creek bank towards the condos on the other side. At first I regretted bringing my dog along for a visit to my greenspace. I felt that his disruption of the peaceful quiet was a mistake. However, given how dark it was outside, I likely would have been unaware of the cat's existence if Whiskey had not come along. Even within the man-made urban jungle, my canine companion's natural senses still had the advantage over mine. I also got to witness what is probably a pretty typical altercation between domesticated animals in an urban environment – a lot of noise and not a lot of actual contact or violence between the subjects.

 

As I approached my greenspace one morning, about 30 feet from my destination just before the grass begins to fade away, I came across a small snake. I was in flip flops, so my instant reaction was to take a few steps back until I could identify it. Since moving south, I've had to learn to be much more careful about where I step. Snakes were never a scary animal to me, in fact I've kept snakes as pets before. However, regardless of my personal serpentine bravery, I must still respect that Texas has a lot of venomous creatures underfoot that I have never had to worry about before. Snakes, spiders, and fire ants are a few examples. After closer inspection I was able to identify the serpent as a small racer. I remembered to take my camera with me today, so I took a quick snapshot and left him on his way. However, encountering the snake on the mowed lawn was a quick reminder that even in what appear to be controlled, manicured environments, nature is still lurking and you need to keep your eye out. When I arrived at my spot, I noticed an unusual amount of chatter in the trees. A couple of brown squirrels had decided that they did not like my presence and wanted to have a big conversation about it. They were chattering loudly at each other, staring at me, flicking their tail, and hopping from one branch to the other, clearly agitated. I sat still and quiet for a few minutes watching them. Eventually, they decided I wasn't interesting enough and went on their way. They are very active right now because of the acorns all over the ground, and I suppose when they realized I wasn't a threat to their food gathering they went back to their own business. Apart from mosquitoes in the dusk, this area does not appear to host a lot of insects during the day. There is the occasional dragonfly that buzzes by, but they seem to prefer being out in the sun closer to the lawn. I also do not see any ants, perhaps because the disturbed clay ground is too compact to be a preferable hill site.

 

On my last visit, I noticed that there had been some disturbances in the area. About 15 feet down towards the creek was a small area that had been deliberately cleared of leaves and acorns down to the dirt. The spot looked too big to have been disturbed by an urban animal, so I assume it was cleared by people. I also noticed there was some litter trapped in the creek below the same spot. Did the visitors leave it there? It had rained two days before, so it was possible that the creek washed the debris in from somewhere else. There was no garbage around the clearing itself, so it was difficult to discern if the increased litter and the recent disturbances were related.

 

My greenspace had another visitor that day. A familiar squawk from a nearby bluejay caught my attention, and I managed to catch a few glimpses of him as he made his way down the creek. Sadly he was too quick to get a picture of. Blue jays are a very familiar sight to me. They are quite common in southern parts of Canada and widespread across the US. My husband from deep east Texas simply calls them “blue birds”, and similarly calls cardinals “red birds”. It always felt funny to see a familiar bird that I can identify, and still hear it called by a name I've never used before. To me, it will always be a blue jay. I sat quietly for a while hoping that the blue jay, or perhaps other birds might fly by my greenspace. I decided to call it quits when a low flying airplane disturbed the quiet day as the vessel made its way towards the nearby airport. It is a strange illusion in this location. Visually, it is easy to forget that I am in a tightly enclosed greenspace within downtown urban Dallas. However, in terms of sound, it is very hard to forget the city. Brief nature sounds are regularly interrupted by fast moving cars, horns, sirens, planes, and neighbors yelling at their pets.

 

Ecological Understanding:

Turner and Berkes (2006) describe ecological understanding as the knowledge obtained by observing, interacting with, and communicating about the environment and its many dynamics. This matrix of natural knowledge is something that every individual is constantly building upon, and can help shape how individuals make future decisions about resource management. As my own personal example from this exercise, I learned that the invasive Asian ladybug that has obliterated native species in southern Ontario has not impacted the Texas populations the same way (at least not yet). Similarly, the small scale observations described by Haskell (2013) help paint a broader picture as to how closely intertwined ecological processes can be. These types of observations are often lost on individuals in our modern age because our survival does not immediately and directly depend on them. However, no matter how superficially removed we have come from nature, it is impossible to deny that we are still dependent on the natural environment, and will likely always be. Paying close attention to the environment you rely on is crucial to knowing your own place within it, and how your role can help sustain equilibrium with all participants.

 

References:
Haskell, David George. 2013. A Forest Unseen: A Year's Watch in Nature. Penguin Books.

Turner, Nancy J. and Fikret Berkes. 2006. Coming to Understanding: Developing Conservation through Incremental Learning in the Pacific Northwest. In Human Ecology, 34(4):495-513.

18X My Length: The Easement by My House

Lydia Agenbag
Art History Major - University of North Texas

Day 1

I have placed my Mandala in a house-sized patch of grass, called an easement, between my two neighbors’ houses across from my home. It doesn’t receive regular maintenance so it is mainly covered with weeds and wildflowers. Although it has rained recently, the ground is still pretty dry and the grass isn’t very green, more brown and crispy. I’m actually not sure if there is anything but weeds here. I’m not seeing much insect activity, even though it’s about 6:46 in the evening when I presume that many insects start to become active. This neighborhood is newly built within the last two three years. Before, it was mostly grassland used for cattle grazing. Now it’s a busy thriving neighborhood. Currently on my street, alongside the easement are a couple of young girls riding their motorized toy car, and another young girl following them on her scooter. Their parents are congregating in their driveway a couple of houses down, most likely wondering what I am doing. It seems to me that there is more activity in my neighborhood than in my mandala.

 

Day 2

I just saw a grasshopper tonight. I wasn’t able to see much detail, but it did have black stripes on its hind legs, and it blended well within the weeds and dead grass with its tan and brown coloring. He is jumping in and out of my mandala, and I keep hoping he won’t jump onto me. It is pretty impressive how far and high he can jump. The hopper went from the center of the mandala to about ten inches out from the ridge. I estimate its jump was a foot and a half long, which is remarkable considering its body is about two inches long and a half inch wide. Other than the new intruder, I don’t see any notable difference in my mandala. It will likely rain tomorrow, so I am expecting to encounter more insects other than the grasshopper and mosquitoes. What is nice about coming out in the dark, like I am tonight, is the lack of direct human interaction; just the hums of air conditioners and the random annoying barks of dogs. What is inconvenient is the attraction of mosquitoes to my flashlight. I am very curious to why insects are attracted to light, especially moths and mosquitoes. As I shine my light on my paper while I write, mosquitoes are constantly pestering me. 

Day 3

Today it rained a bit. I was hoping it would have caused some drastic change within my mandala. Maybe it would make the ground moist, exposing more insect life. Unfortunately the ground is still dry, and hard, which I can especially perceive since I decided to sit on the ground today to look closer into my mandala. I did notice that some of the leaves of one of the weeds have been munched on slightly. I wonder if each piece of grass or leaf has a distinct taste to an insect. Do insects even have taste buds? What if a caterpillar had a craving for a leaf of an oak tree instead of a mesquite tree or elm tree? Do they select their homes on types of trees that taste the best? I’ve also heard theories that mosquitoes have preference for healthy skinnier people, because unhealthy and overweight people have less appealing and bad tasting blood. I wonder if you can actually test the preferences of insect tastes for certain things. I haven’t mentioned yet that I am using a bright pink hula- hoop to delineate my mandala. I hope that the color of my hula-hoop doesn’t deter living things away, and that no one steals it. It didn’t seem to bother the grasshopper much yesterday, but that was the only insect I’ve really seen. Another thing I am curious about if bugs can see color. We know from studies that dogs are color blind, but are insects too? 

Day 4

Again I am visiting the mandala late at night. Surprisingly enough, tonight there are some people out and about, especially since it is a Sunday. The weeds do seem to be a bit greener than the last few days because of the rain we are having. I have tried to identify some of the weeds, some I already automatically know from maintaining our yard, like crabgrass. Now after doing some research on the different types of weeds, I see my mandala in a new light. I actually see all the different types of weeds within the small space of the circle. I’ve counted maybe five or six different kinds all fighting for this area. I find it funny that these different weeds can survive together but other grasses cannot compete alongside them. Why can some grasses (weeds) thrive but not others? I kind of feel bad for weeds; they receive such a negative response because they are unattractive. Most people will go out of their way to kill weeds, even using harmful chemicals, just to make their lawn aesthetically pleasing. In fact such chemicals harmed my dog when it was younger. When he was younger he had a tendency to chew things, mostly anything he saw. About the time we got the dog, my parents had planted some rose bushes in the backyard of our home. They had covered the bottom of the rose bushes with woodchips that were treated in pesticides and weed-killing chemicals. When we as a family were gone, our dog had chewed and may have swallowed some of those treated woodchips. When we came back we found him deathly sick with blood in his feces. My parents had to rush him to the hospital for emergency care, which cost them a lot of money. Every since then my dog has had a very sensitive stomach and we have had to take him a couple of times to the vet to treat his stomach. All this time and money my parents spent on our dog could have been prevented if they had taken the time to check the ingredients the mulch or have not even used it. The most interesting thing is the root of the problem was caused by the need to make a yard aesthetically pleasing. Perhaps sometimes letting nature be can really be beneficial and perhaps more appeasing than if it was manipulated. 

Day 5

I have learned a number of things recently about the grasshopper I encountered, due to much research. I’ve learned that there are many grasshopper species, more than I ever expected. Most seem to be a major pest in many areas causing a lot of destruction to plants wherever they go. I have been able to narrow the species of the grasshopper in the mandala down to one of two kinds. It could be a Carolina grasshopper, Dissosteira carolina, or a migratory grasshopper, Melanoplus sanguinipes. The generation of a grasshopper tends to be one a year, living as eggs during the winter. They spend most of spring and early summer in six stages of molting; finally develop into adults by mid to late summer, and finishing out their lives after 40 to 60 more days. It makes sense why I haven’t seen many grasshoppers within my mandala and outside of it. The one I did see must have been a late bloomer, or may have been lucky and had a longer lifespan than others. I have also learned that they are a menace to farms, eating away at crops such as corn, soybeans, and rice. Also different types of grasses are a major target as well, thus explaining why grass is so lacking in my mandala. Ways to reduce grasshopper populations is by using them as fishing bait or as food for animals such as frogs and lizards.

Until I read Nancy Turner and Fikret Berkes article “Coming to Understand: Developing Conservation through Incremental learning in the Pacific Northwest”, I didn’t realize how important my observations and connections to the living things in my mandala were. Within their article Turner and Berkes emphasize how these relationship can affect how we treat ecology, “Perceived kinship with other life forms, even trees and other plants, lead to a different way of treating those beings”(7). I completely agree with this, because before I started this project I didn’t really give much thought to things such as weeds, or grasshoppers. Now as I’m interacting with these things and really turn my attention on them I will definitely react to them in a different way than I have done before. I notice even today when I found a grasshopper at work, I wasn’t frightened by it nor did I try to kill it, but instead I tried to see its distinctive markings and identify its species. Now I am not sure if it will really matter if I can identify different types of grasshoppers, but I do know that my being more self aware of nature surrounding me will be beneficial.  

One of the key ideas that I can relate to in Turner and Berkes article is the definition of “ecological understanding”. “Incremental learning of individuals and groups and elaboration of environmental knowledge as a result of detailed observation and experience of variations in nature and leading to a sophisticated understanding of the ecosystem in which they dwell”(3). Through reading of David Haskell book “The Forest Unseen: A years watch in Nature” I have gained a more “sophisticated understanding” as Turner and Barker describe it, especially for ticks. Before, I had a huge aversion to ticks, especially due to a close family friend being seriously ill from a tick bite, but as I read Haskell’s quick lesson and grail comparison, I gained a new respect for the tick. Haskell helps the reader understand the tick’s “quest behavior” of seeking blood, by comparing it to the Knights of the round table “giving the animals a measure of Arthurian nobility, tempering our disgust at their bloodsucking habits”(118). The reason why it is beneficial to understand a tick’s habits is because it helps prevent tick bites and the spread of diseases they carry. Haskell continues throughout his book to teach his readers a better understanding of the natural world he encounters in his own mandala, showing that just taking a few minutes to look and observe helps change one’s worldly perspective.

At first the idea of having to sit five different times for fifteen minutes staring at a piece of grass seemed like a daunting, boring task. Even the first day of my observation really felt like a hassle. By the second day of my observation, I began to open my mind and truly give all my effort into this project and I am grateful that I did. I mainly found myself comparing insects and plants to humanistic characteristics to try and understand them, which is how I gain the respect I did for them. As I watched that grasshopper jump 18x longer than his body length, I tried to imagine myself jumping 18x my body length, which would be equivalent to a football field. The idea of me being able to jump across an entire football field is incredible and completely impossible. Overall this project was a great learning experience for me, widening my outside idea of life and teaching me to be more observant and understanding than I was before.

References

Haskell, D. G. 2012. The Forest Unseen. Penguin Books, New York.

 

Turner, N. J. & F. Berkes . 2006. Coming to Understanding: Developing Conservation through Incremental Learning in the Pacific Northwest. Human Ecology 34:495-513.

The Benefits of Backyard Exploration

Katrina Williams

Anthropology Major - University of North Texas

David Haskell, in The Forest Unseen, explains that a mandala is a lens through which ecological stories are revealed. Haskell describes his mandala as a “small contemplative window of leaves, rocks, and water” where the truth of the forest may be revealed (pg.12). My mandala occupies a small area in my mom’s backyard, which encompasses clusters of leafy plants, a large woody shrub, three towering mature trees, two large bird baths, and a large pile of firewood. Soft, loamy soil at the base of one of the trees is covered by leaf litter and wood chips. I had a very good view of my neighbor’s yard to the right of my house, and with a little climbing I could see the yards of my neighbors to the left and behind me. While my own mandala is not as grand as Haskell’s and has less historical significance, it is important to the animals, plants, and people that use it. The bit of green space is perhaps not as botanically diverse as Haskell’s section of Tennessee forest, nor does it have many of the animal species he describes, but it is a reflection, in miniature, of the ecosystem that I live in. In this post I describe my experiences with and observations of the mandala, some of the human-nature interactions that occurred, and ways in which my own and Haskell’s mandala observations, within the framework of ecological understanding, are beneficial. 
 

On my first visit to my mandala I tried to familiarize myself with my surroundings. I took pictures of ant hills, rocks, tree trunks, tree limbs, leaves and berries and everything else. A few things became apparent after that first visit: 1) I could not identify any of the plants I was seeing, 2) the weather was ideal for mosquitos, gnats and midges, and 3) it is difficult to make detailed observations when there are dogs demanding attention. While kneeling down to look at the base of a tree both of my dogs would rush over, upsetting the dirt, stepping on ants, beetles, and snail shells, and generally making nuisances of themselves. My intention on my first visit was to take pictures of the many different types of leafy plants, note any evidence of insects on leaves and on the ground, and write about any animals seen and their behaviors. My first visit occurred around 6:30 pm, just before sunset. A cloud of gnats swarmed around my porch light and I had to wave off a few persistent mosquitos. Of interest were a number of snail shells that lay in almost pristine condition at the edge of the mandala and right underneath a dense web of tree limbs. I also noted a few fallen leaves that appeared to have abnormal growths on them that I initially thought might be a peculiar looking fungus or even evidence of disease. 

 

On my second visit, and armed with a little more knowledge than before, I recognized the strange growths for what they were: galls. Galls are defined on the University of Minnesota’s website as “abnormal plant growths caused by various organisms (insects, mites, nematodes, fungi, bacteria, and viruses).” These particular galls were identified as nipple galls, which are often caused by psyllids and are found on the surface of leaves. I also noticed a brown papery ball very close to these leaves and almost completely obscured by the leaf litter. Warily, I approached it and took a picture. I noticed a rather large opening and, after finding a small twig, decided to tip it to get a look inside. Inside was a dried mass of what looked like hair or spider webs. This too was a type of gall, an oak apple gall caused by wasps as they feed and lay their eggs. Having seen a few wasps on more than one occasion on previous visits this was not surprising. The snail shells I had observed before were still there and none of them had been cracked or smashed, which is what I would expect if birds had gotten hold of them. 

 

My third and fourth visits were very similar in that they both occurred on a slightly chilly, cloudy day. The trees, though it is fall, were still green and full, even though the ground was covered with brown leaves. There were fewer mosquitos and gnats to bother me and I noticed that I was not the only one happy about this. Though my yard is surrounded by trees and bushes that obscure my view of my neighbor’s yards, it also lies on a gentle incline which means the closer I go to my backdoor the more visible the back and sides of my house become. My neighbor to the right of me, an older man in his early 70s was doing work in his garage on my third visit and my mom came out of the house to appreciate the cool weather and smoke. People walked their dogs up and down the street on my fourth visit to the mandala and I can hear owners clicking their tongues and whistling to call their dogs. From my position just outside of my mandala and close to my backdoor, there was a small bench where I usually sat during my visits. From this vantage I could see well-attended lawns, buckets, workbenches, and various miscellaneous items that indicated outside activity. In my neighbor’s yard to the right I saw that he had cut down a tree recently and was, on my fourth visit to my mandala, sawing off thick branches and sorting them into piles to use as kindling. I noticed on my final visit that my neighbor had added still more wood to his wood pile in preparation for winter. On my fourth visit to the mandala I heard my neighbor to the back of me talking loudly with a few friends while his dog, a large husky, barked and ran animatedly from tree to tree, chasing squirrels and birds no doubt. My mom came out every now and again to observe me observing and to call out helpful hints for finding what she called bugs and weeds. My mom told me how she once saw a rabbit near her shrub roses and how, back in August, hummingbirds and woodpeckers would fly around the largest tree in the yard, the center of my mandala. Perhaps it was the weather, but all I saw during my visits (the fifth and last visit) was one dragonfly zooming back and forth along the upper branches. Maybe this winter I will note more drastic changes, as mild fall weather becomes colder and more severe. 

Nancy Turner and Fikret Berkes state in their article “Coming to Understanding: Developing Conservation through Incremental Learning in the Pacific Northwest” that ecological understanding is a term used to refer to a set of attributes “embodied within traditional ecological knowledge systems” that include 1) the process of learning about an environment by individuals and groups through experience and observation which leads to a deep and detailed understanding of an ecosystem; 2) the development of a belief system that supports resource conservation strategies; 3) the creation of ways to communicate and transmit knowledge associated with the environment and the belief systems and ideologies that are associated with it; 4) regulation and rules that govern how individuals within a society manage their environment and resources (Turner and Berkes, pg. 497). The significance of all of these attributes of traditional knowledge systems is that all societies, and the individuals within them, can adopt them and use them, not only to conserve resources, but to gain a deeper understanding of their own role in the ecosystem in which they live.

Haskell’s mandala observations share many of the attributes of traditional ecological knowledge systems. In order to gain ecological understanding Haskell learns about his environment through observation and experience, explains how different people have developed belief systems that support resource conservation, communicates through his writings “practical aspects of incremental learning and adaptive response” (Turner and Berke, pg. 497). Together all of these things have the potential to inform the development of institutions and of laws that govern how people use their environment and resources. Haskell’s observations are more than the ramblings of a bored biologist, he strives to connect the world we live in with our technology and media preoccupations with the “natural” world that exists outside of our neighborhoods and cities. Haskell reminds people that this perceived dichotomy between humans and nature is a false one that leads to misunderstandings and misconceptions about the roles we play in the larger ecosystem. 

People that read Haskell’s book will have gained a measure of ecological understanding simply from reading about the different plants and animals that he describes. This is part of the process of learning about an environment. After reading The Forest Unseen it is very likely that someone might develop an interest in their own backyard, park, or some other green space or perhaps only an interest in learning about a specific plant or animal that might live nearby. This is beneficial for a number of reasons. One reason is that learning about the plants and animals that you live with can change the way you see them. I know that when I first ventured out into my backyard that I was impressed by how many plants I saw, but I never really stopped to look at them or note any differences among them. Observing plants, taking pictures of them, learning to identify them and sharing that knowledge, while common features in TEK systems, are not common in our own. Before this project I felt that information on plants was specialized knowledge that only gardeners, botanists and the like had or needed. And so another reason that Haskell’s observations are so important is because they (his observations) move this knowledge into the public realm where it can be used and useful to everyone. 

The interrelationships of animals, plants, and people are often overlooked and understated in our technology-and popular-culture-dominated world, but in reality humans are always acting within an ecosystem, whether they are aware of it or not, and it can only be advantageous to be aware of these interactions, especially within the context of conservation where knowledge can lead to the expansion and preservation of endangered biota and increased biodiversity. Knowing what animal and plant species you live with can lead to the application of that knowledge through conservation or it can even lead to the reduction of invasive and destructive species. Understanding the interrelationships between plants, insects and other animals, and the environment, along with a myriad of other actors, including pesticides, herbicides, and the small, seemingly inconsequential actions of people, have effects that radiate outward like ripples in a pond. This is vital for the long-term sustainability of our planet, and by extension, our species and culture.

 

References

Haskell, D. G. 2012. The Forest Unseen. Penguin Books, New York.

"Insect and Mite Galls." Insects. Regents of the University of Minnesota, n.d. Web. 10 Oct. 2013. <http://www1.extension.umn.edu/garden/insects/find/insect-and-mite-galls/#leaf>.

Turner, N. J. & F. Berkes . 2006. Coming to Understanding: Developing Conservation through Incremental Learning in the Pacific Northwest. Human Ecology 34:495-513.

Suburban Cattails on Big Fossil Creek

Brandi Morales
Anthropology Major - University of North Texas

At the end of my small, fairly new neighborhood, there is a long and narrow, nice-sized, low-lying area of land with a pond and a small playground. It is actually the beginning of a branch which flows into Big Fossil Creek and where our neighborhood's, and adjacent neighborhood's, run-off water collects. Only part of this area is maintained, equipped with water sprinklers; the part of the field around the playground area, and a little bit around the pond. However, the pond, which is on the far left of the field, is not maintained. Around the pond there is a border of about three feet to fifteen feet or so of unmaintained grass and weeds. Other areas around the pond are full of tall grasses, flowers, plants, and trees. It is like a mini thicket and a nice "nature reserve" for insects, birds, plants, and small animals to thrive. On one end of the pond, by a cul-de-sac, is a maintained area with crape myrtles and a sidewalk that follows along the houses that are about thirty or so feet away from the pond. This is the area I chose for my mandala observations.

 

Day 1: There is about a three to four foot area of tall grass and plants between the pond and I. The cattails (Typha latifolia) in and around the whole pond are about six feet tall and block my view of the water, but I get a glimpse in-between the cattails, especially when the wind sways them. This area is very lush with rich, dark grey, almost black soil, which either means a high organic content or a lack of oxygen, due to the soil being submersed in water for long periods of time. The plants seem to love this area because the trees are tall as well as the flowers and grasses. One tree I see is the bois d'arc (Maclura pomifera), the tree the Caddo Indians used to make their bows and arrows, which also offers a type of fruit for animals to eat. This beauty, however, was not the first thing I noticed. The grasses up against the pond rim were full of litter including Styrofoam cups, grocery bags, plastic bottles, papers, and even a soccer ball. The trash, apparently blowing around in the wind from the nearby homes, was caught by the thick grass, like a fly in a spider's web, before it could blow into the pond, at least. However, some of this litter was probably cut up by a lawnmower because there were tiny pieces everywhere. It just rained and there is a cool breeze in the air. There is not much activity except the very loud and busy blackbirds, which I presume to be Brewer's Blackbirds (Euphagus cyanocephalus). They are small, and by the hundreds, flying in flocks in-and-out of the pond's cattails, into the trees nearby, one being a weeping willow tree (Salix babylonica). The blackbirds migrate in the spring and the fall, so with it being October, they are on the move. Every time a car goes by or I walk close to the pond they fly up and around, landing on the trees or roofs of houses. And did I mention how noisy they were? I do not know exactly what they are saying to each other, or to me, but they are all speaking at the same time. What strikes me is when they get startled they quiet down, and then when they settle down somewhere they start chirping again. Other sounds I hear are a loud dog barking, a person in a nearby house banging on something outside, an airplane flying overhead, and crickets and/or grasshoppers. I also see and hear another type of bird with a distinct call, but I can't see it closely. As I walk around I hear a small splashing into the pond but I did not see what it was that made the sound. I see dragonflies, a spider web but no spider, mosquitoes, ants, and pill bugs (Armadillidium vulgare) under a tree limb I turned over. There are two different kinds of yellow flowers, sunflowers, and some purple morning glory that apparently escaped from someone's garden. One thing that is very noticeable is it looks to be that a beaver lives in the pond. On the side of the pond and up onto the grass is a large pile of logs, sticks, grasses and packed mud. I am not sure why it would be here, halfway on land. Maybe a human did this, but that would be odd, and why would they?  

 

Day 2: It is overcast and a cool sixty-six degrees out. It is pretty quiet at the pond with only a few birds chirping, and nowhere are there any Brewer's Blackbirds. The level of the pond is higher, due to overnight rain. The tall grasses around the pond look to have been pushed down in some areas. It looks like there has been more trash accumulated in the grass. Looking closely at the litter, I noticed one piece was actually useful. It was a ten dollar bill! An airplane flies over again, and a truck makes a loud noise in the distance. I hear the sounds of the crickets and/or grasshoppers again, but this time I actually saw them. As I walk through the grass they take their turns jumping out of my way, some small and some very large. A large, grey and white bird suddenly flies out of the grass a few feet away from me and startles me. There are dragonflies (Anisoptera) and damselflies (Zygoptera) flying around, as well as small and large yellow and brown butterflies. I see one dragonfly chasing after another. I come across two dead Monarch butterflies, torn apart and am puzzled. There are bees pollinating in the yellow flowers. A pill bug climbs up a stalk of grass. I see a small cactus plant and make sure I do not step on it. I find a big pile of cat food, and I wonder if there are stray cats here or if it is for some other small animal. There is more activity going on now than last time. More insects are out and about. I hear the splashing sound again I heard last time, but still do not see any animal.

 

Day 3: I cannot help but get disgusted every time I see the litter all along the pond in the grass. If it does not get picked up it will be there forever because many of the items do not disintegrate. I noticed some children playing on the playground by hearing their voices in the distance. A car came by where I was and turned around in the cul-de-sac. A child in a nearby house is jumping on a pogo stick, laughing and talking loudly. There seems to be more human activity today. Today I tried to get closer to the water and see inside. I heard a noise and noticed a small turtle, who quickly splashed into the water. I realized this is the splashing sound I keep hearing. (It reminded me of a time when I had a large turtle scratching at my front door.) I noticed a small grey bird hopping around inside the cattails. There were some small, light-grey snails by the water and I could see minnows swimming around. I see another dam structure, this time in the water blocking a slight drop-off. There must be a beaver in this pond, but there is no sight of him. I see a fishing bob on the ground and realize people come here to fish sometimes. I see the same insects flying around and hear many crickets and grasshoppers making their sounds. I noticed that I can tell where the water starts and ends by where the cattails are, being that they love the wetlands, and where the trees, yellow flowers, and grasses start, where it is dry but still moist.

 

Day 4: I can already hear the Brewer's Blackbirds chirping as I walk towards the pond. They must love the evening time. It is slightly sprinkling out and a bit chilly. The blackbirds are all in the cattails, and not in the willow tree. I am beginning to think they are finding insects to eat in the cattails. Still, as a car goes by, they fly off in flocks, with half of them splitting off into a group, and then again splitting into another group. They almost look like synchronized swimmers. There are power lines close by, and there are hundreds of blackbirds on them and also on the roofs of nearby houses, as well as in the cattails. They are extremely loud and I wonder if the noise bothers those who live right next to the field. For laughs, I almost wish I had a shotgun to shoot into the air just to see all of the birds fly up and away. Another plane goes by and makes a loud sound. There are two children in the street behind me throwing a ball back and forth, talking and laughing. A mosquito was trying to bite me until I shooed him off. I also saw my first frog, and it was the smallest black frog I have ever seen. I realized today the neighborhood, or the city, did a good job blocking off this green area for insects and wild animals and plants to grow and be left alone. Us humans are able to have our spaces, but we need to leave space for biota to thrive and a nice place for us to visit. I feel at peace when I come here.

 

Day 5: This is my last trip to the pond, however I will be back, even if it is to pick up this trash. These beautiful insects, animals, and plants should not have this artificial plastic and chemicals to chew on and possibly kill themselves. There is much car noise in the distance. There are butterflies and dragonflies flying around again, and I noticed gnats or some type of tiny insect that flies in groups. Not much has changed from the last time. I hear some birds in the distance but do not see any. I notice slight ripples in the water on the surface of the pond, either from minnows or turtles, or something else. There is a slight breeze and it feels wonderful out here. This must be an area where people from the neighborhood dump their yard trimmings. I noticed a large pile of dead leaves, a pile of cut and compacted grass, and some dead plants that still had the dirt connected to their dead roots from being in pots. These items are degradable trash and I am fine with them being dumped here, but this is something a human is contributing to this area. As I was walking around in my flip-flops, I must have brushed up against a type of burning grass because my ankle is stinging somewhat.

 

It is important for humans to have a ecological understanding of the environment. Humans need to learn and understand how and what they do, or do not do, affects the biota around them. We can learn from ecology, observing nature, how alike we are to the plants, insects, and animals around us. We all have life, reproduce, and need food and water to survive. The difference between us humans in my culture and biota are that we have evolved to need more stimulation because most Western humans are passed the problem of starvation. We have time to want and need to do other things that interest us. Every action taken by humans affects the world around us. The littering, cutting down grasses and trees, and building of neighborhoods and roads all affected the plants and animals in the mandala. The car and people noises and presence also make a huge difference and affect the biota. A turtle was scratching at my door a few years ago when my house is ten to fifteen houses away from the pond, but this seemed to me like the turtle's habitat, the pond, was not large enough for it and was travelling away to find food or maybe protection. Observation of insects and animals in nature can help us understand about populations and migrations, and can show us problems associated with humans if or when we have issues with populations and migrations and how to handle it. If we do not study the effects humans have on nature then we could destroy what is left of it. We also can benefit from studying nature because we came from it ourselves and have much in common with everything in it. However, humans, being a part of nature, also have a right to use nature as a place of relaxation and recreation like fishing, swimming, or playing games. Humans also use natural resources for survival and medicinal purposes. It is important though that we do not deliberately disturb the ecology or if we have to disturb it, do so with minimally negative effects. We should have a give-and-take relationship with the biota around us.