My Ecological Identity

 As stated by Goodwin (2016), “an individual’s ecological identity [can] evolve throughout one’s life” (pg. 6). My personal participation as a member of Earth’s ecologic system began at the moment of my conception – when matter became a new life. 

A human being 12 weeks after conception.
Image from https://www.webmd.com/baby/ss/slideshow-fetal-development

I took in oxygen and carbon-based fuel while developing within my mother’s womb. That oxygen originated as a byproduct of plant respiration and the carbon was derived from the sugars that plants produce during photosynthesis. Under the guidance of an unfathomably complex genetic code, my living cells used these inputs (and the other nutrients my mother consumed) to multiply, build, and maintain life. In the process, carbon dioxide was given back to the plants though the breath of my mother. A form of this process continued until the day I was born, when, to some degree, I became a more independent member of this naturally homeostatic system.

My brothers and I (blue shorts) camping in 1993.

Once outside the womb, my ecological identity continued to evolve. Although I cannot significantly alter the automatic aspects of my ecological identity, such as the pumping of my heart and breathing of my lungs, I grew to take more from the natural world than water, oxygen, carbon, and nutrients. I took in the beautiful sights that this world has to offer. 

First I fell in love with the lakes, rivers, woods, and rolling prairies of my home in Northeast Kansas. I have captured the beauty of some of these things in my photographs below.

October at Tuttle Creek Lake

The Kansas River

Farmland in the Kansas river valley

The verdant Flint Hills – The USA's largest never plowed section of tallgrass prairie

Later my wonder was captured by the seemingly more dramatic scenery out west – the mountains, deserts, canyons, and rock formations.

Grand Teton National Park

Wild Horses near Shiprock New Mexico

The Grand Canyon

Great Sand Dunes in Colorado

Medano Creek – Great Sand Dunes National Park

Lone Eagle Peak – Colorado

At this time in my life I would have considered myself to be a nature lover; but this relationship only went one way. I certainly preached recycling and leaving the wild places as they are; but at the same time I treated the natural world like it was an isolated system that I could traverse and enjoy without generating any direct impact. This is where many people are today. They will send off tweets about saving the boundary waters from mining while using the newest model of smartphone. That smartphone (like the ones they have traded up for every year) uses a nickel battery mined halfway across the world, in a process that decimates the local landscape and watersheds. Our phones are just one example. Our kayaks and backpacking supplies were made using petroleum, our clothes are made in Asia, our food is farmed in unsustainable large-scale farms - only to be later shipped thousands of miles using fossil fuels before landing on our table. This is where many people are in their ecologic identities. They love the natural world and aren’t afraid to say so; but that love only reaches as far as our awareness. This is where I was also in the evolution of my ecological identity.

Then, in the August 2015 issue of Backpacker Magazine, I saw a Subaru advertisement similar to (but not exactly like) this one:

Instead of including the picture of one of their newest models in the ad, Subaru used two full pages to dramatically display an image of a landfill, with this statement in plain font: 

“Loving the earth means understanding you can’t throw anything away, because there simply is no ‘away.’” 

With the nation’s focus continually shifting more towards technological advancements, people have flocked to the cities – where fast food restaurants and supermarkets are always placed in such close proximity to each new housing development, that food must be imported and rubbish exported. Once the source of food and the destination of refuse are out of sight and mind, the demand for products that are cheap and convenient increases exponentially. Of course, such products are not usually generated in an earth-friendly manner; and as the Subaru ad pointed out, garbage has to be put somewhere. It is easy for people to dump their refuse on land that no one has emotionally invested themselves in. This is where my ecological identity began to shift closer to where it currently is. Not long after seeing the Subaru ad, I read “On A Scrap of Land in Henry County” – an essay by Carol Polsgrove. This essay is Polsgrove’s recollection of an interview with environmental activist and writer Wendell Berry, who believed that by settling down and dedicating oneself to a specific spot of earth, a person will naturally become environmentally nationalistic enough to fight off any attempt to exploit that land. If every community of the country becomes more dedicated to passionately defending their local environment, then even the cities would have no other option but to start living more sustainably. Just as those caring for their farms would not like to see refuse clogging their once-clear streams, cities would not tolerate garbage piling up in front of their restaurants and shopping centers. The moral of Berry's thoughts were this – if you want to live in an environmentally friendly way, then settle down in one space, appreciate and love the land where you live, grow your own food, and rely as little as possible on far away out-of-sight resources. Essentially, Berry wants us to shop local, eat local, and live local – to plant our own crops, raise our own meat, and reuse or repurpose aging possessions before ordering new ones from Amazon. That lifestyle is difficult to adopt.

Although I have come to believe that the vision of Wendell Berry shows us the most ecologically sustainable way to live, I certainly have not yet fully embraced living local. I would like to; but initially this takes time, money, planning, and sacrifice.

My own opportunities to interact decisively with the biological community and to adopt Berry's vision increased extensively three summers ago, when my family and I moved out of a small downtown loft apartment and onto a 20-acre parcel of land Northeast of Bemidji, Minnesota.

A group of Paper Birch trees beside the still-standing charred remains of a past tree.

The northern lights above my beloved single-wide trailer home

Looking south into the front five acres

My home.

The pond

Other than our house, a garden, and the half-acre pond, the front five acres consisted mostly of open prairie grasses and seasonal wildflowers. The back fifteen acres is wooded, predominantly with deciduous trees such as Birch, Basswood, Maple, Oak, Ironwood, Ash, and Poplar. The very northern tip of this gently rolling woodland touches a large wetland, which beavers use as their base of operation. The greatest beauty of this land is that, aside from a few small patches that were logged in 2009, the land has largely been left untouched for 80 years. This fact is evidenced by 1940 aerial imagery and my own count of tree rings – some of which reveal lifespans that were over 100 years old. My older brother, who has a long resume of working for the National Park Service and the Conservation Core, echoed the advice that Theodore Roosevelt once gave regarding the Grand Canyon, urging citizens with a petition to “[l]eave it as it is. You cannot improve on it; not a bit. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it. What you can do is to keep it for your children and your children’s children and for all who come after you" (Roosevelt, 1903, p. 2). 

The me of five years ago would have agreed with this sentiment; but I now see that reducing one’s negative impact on the earth's ecologic system requires more. I can't just not alter the earth. My food has to come from somewhere. My shelter has to come from somewhere. Even the beavers, gophers, deer, and other animals alter the land upon which I live.

Deforestation by beavers on the north end of my property

I am not sure it is enough to teach our school children how to reduce and recycle the many commodities they will someday acquire. We must show them the natural world where they are, so that they will develop a protective admiration for their local ecosystem. Then we all must demonstrate how to live sustainably within that local system using small scale agriculture to minimize our environmental impact both far and near. So in accordance with my present ecological identity, I am striving to raise my children in a sustainable lifestyle of appreciating the local beauty and eating what you grow or raise. For now we mostly garden and have established orchards. In the future we wish to raise our own livestock also.

Some of our newly established apple trees, with deer and mice protection around them.

Our oldest son playing in the lower garden.

Needing some comfort after tripping on a rake.

As another of my favorite environmental writers put it, "There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace" (Leopold, 1968, pg. 6). My ecological identity is now one of seeking to reduce the impact that I create beyond that which I can see. This means moving towards raising our own livestock and growing more and more of our own food, for the use of my family and others in the community. It means limiting the amount of things I order from far away places. As a teacher, I will also strive to ignite a protective appreciate for the local land in the hearts of my students, as I show them the more sustainable way in which we all could live. Many of these steps are still foreign to me and the way I grew up; but if my ecological identity is to evolve further and become one where I minimize disruptions to the natural system as much as possible, then these are the steps I want to take.

References  

Goodwin, T. (2016). Ecological Identity: Finding Your Place in a Biological World. Bemidji, MN: Riverfeet Press. 

Leopold, A. (1968). A Sand County Almanac, and Sketches Here and There. London: Oxford: UP.

Roosevelt, T. (1903, May 6).  Address of President Roosevelt at Grand Canyon, Arizona, May 6, 1903. Theodore Roosevelt Papers. Library of Congress Manuscript Division.  Retrieved from https://www.theodorerooseveltcenter.org/Research/Digital-Library/Record?libID=o289796

Of Phenology and Field Mice

Lately I have become increasingly interested in Phenology – The study of the naturally reoccurring biological changes related to climate and seasons, such as animal behaviors and the phases of plant growth.

I have long enjoyed this pursuit, by making note of events such as the annual migrations of birds and the first appearance of various flowers and buds each year. (For example, this post on my old blog from several years ago) Despite my long fascination with phenological observations, I have only recently become more purposefully searching for the less often noticed seasonal events. It was my wife who drew my attention to the particular occurrence for which this post is written.

Recently we were blessed with unusually warm weather for the beginning of March in northern Minnesota. After a few days in the 40's and 50's, the snow was disappearing from the ground as its moisture clung to the misty spring air. While embarking on a family outing in our woods, my wife pointed out the recently uncovered winter dwelling of a field mouse (or Vole). The top snows have melted, exposing the the hard-packed habitat below. 

Here, in a closer look, one can see a nesting area on the left (complete with strands of shed hair),  a pantry full of food stores on the right, and what I have lightheartedly interpreted as a primary restroom in the middle (judging upon the increased density of mouse droppings).

Here is a zoomed in view of the pantry.

I was carrying both our baby and my camera, which prevented me from observing any closer; but from that moment of our walk, I was on the look out for further signs of voles. 

I had often stopped throughout the winter to observe their tunnel exits in the snow, such as this one photographed in January:

This was my first time observing the full expansive network of tunnels that had been buried and used under the snow for months.

To both of us, it was fascinating and completely unconcerning to see these freshly uncovered caverns. 

That was, until we saw that they were not limited to our far off forest and fields. This final picture was taken from our front porch, looking straight down.

With what NPR recently reported regarding the correlation between populations of rodents and cases of Lyme disease, we are going to want find a cat come spring.

Literature and The Environment Media Presentation - Benjamin Pope

Literature and the Environment - Media Presentation

All photos by Benjamin Pope

I have been blessed with the opportunity to see many awe-inspiring wonders of creation.

At 14, I hiked from rim to rim of the Grand Canyon.

I have walked the crest of sand dunes,

traversed through seemingly untouched valleys,

watched as wild horses galloped within feet of my hiding spot in the desert rock,

climbed mountains,

stood in the shadows of massive stone arches

peered into red rock canyons,

                                                                                                                   paddled pristine rivers,

admired magnificent waterfalls,

and seen the sun rise over water’s uninterrupted horizon.

Almost any person would consider these locations to be beautiful and worth preserving; but what about the common everyday scenes of nature? In his book, The Sand County Almanac, Aldo Leopold  collected a year's worth of notes on the nature present around his 120 acre farm in central Wisconsin. Leopold's month-by-month thoughts and observances, invite readers into the mind of a man thoroughly aware of, and in love with, nature's beauty. As our society becomes increasingly entrapped by technological advances and urban development, we also becomes less mindful of the natural world around us. While just about everyone still notices mountains and waterfalls, many fail to notice the "less dramatic" features of nature. Leopold's A Sand County Almanac is an important book because it awakens readers to the beauty of many common, yet magnificent, features of nature. By reading Leopold's book, society might gain a fresh perspective for viewing the world.

In order to promote an interest in reading A Sand County Almanac, I have chosen to arrange a few of my own season-by-season observations of nature here in my home of northern Minnesota, along with some quotes from Leopold, with hopes that prospective readers can be assured that they too, can notice spectacular nature in their own back yard.

Winter

Northern Minnesota winters are bitterly cold, yet there is plenty of beauty to be seen by those willing to live here year round.

Hoar frost is most commonly found on January mornings, as are the most perfectly formed snowflakes.

Because the weather fronts are all to the south in January, the days are mostly sunny with few substantial snowfalls. The sun's low arc in the southern sky awards colorful sunsets to anyone wishing to brave the -30° temps.

Of course, anyone wishing to photograph these wonders can only go so long before their hands and cameras freeze up.

February brings cloudier days and increased snow falls; but with an insignificant rise in temperature.

Trudging through deep snow to feed livestock and bring in firewood brings to mind these words of Aldo Leopold:

"There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace" (Leopold, 6).

Of course, the beauty of deep snows and frost covered trees are evident to nearly anybody who doesn't need to work in them. For this reason, let's briefly look at a few of the lesser noticed elements of winter.

In winter, the swamps have all frozen, and the undergrowth becomes dormant and buried, or else picked clean by foraging forest creatures. Even with the cold temperatures, the tidiness of winter makes exploration much easier.

Things that were hidden by leaves are now revealed, making it easy to finally identify the hideouts of last summer's birds, wasps and squirrels.

Wildlife, such as this rare Pileated Woodpecker also become easier to spot.

And nature's beautiful ice art glazes over every lake.

Winter's brush-cleared forests are the best time to view the non-green aspects of nature, such as these branch roots in the crevice of an old dead tree.






One of my most prized observations, is how even in winter's cold, fallen leaves continue to soak up energy from the sun, creating leaf prints in the snow.

I would also like to know how this leaf managed to find its way between this branch and the tree's trunk.

Spring

Though melting trout streams are a good sign of spring, there is a backwoods knowledge which says that the skunk (and not the groundhog) is the best predictor of spring's arrival.

It is an astoundingly accurate observation, that spring weather always begins six weeks after you see or smell the first skunk. This poor fellow was the first skunk of 2013.

 Spring is not as flowery and colorful in Minnesota as it is farther south, since the snow frequently covers the ground through the duration of April. Yet one can find color when they look closely. Colorful lichens adorn the trees year round in northern Minnesota; but buds begin to show themselves more prevalently come spring.

 As the trees come alive, Maple Syrup season begins. The best flows come when the temperatures climb above 50 during the day, but return to below freezing at night.

Two years ago, as we were building benches out of a milled maple tree which had perished in a storm, we were surprised to discover the hole where this maple had once been tapped for sap. Aldo Leopold once contemplated the history that had been witnessed by an old lightning-struck oak tree which was being cut into firewood.

"He who owns a veteran bur oak owns more than a tree. He owns a historical library" (30).  

This maple also has some history to share. Imagine the pancake dinners which were complemented by the sap from this tree.

 As the spring thaw becomes more serious, the roads which had been covered by snow and ice all winter, now become temporary streams of sediment.










After the snow, the ground is first to awaken with evidence of fungi below the earth.

There is also plenty of fungi to be found adorning the tree trunks.








Then the tree buds begin to open...

And finally the hazy green of spring arrives, usually in early May, though it will occasionally wait until nearly June.





Once the ground has warmed enough (and if there has been sufficient rain), a person can enjoy wild mushrooms.

Summer

Summer is often the time when most people visit northern Minnesota, and for good reason. There are over 11,000 lakes, and a large selection of hiking trails found in Minnesota's forests and parks.

What people don't normally think of, is the mountains of Minnesota. Of course, Minnesota, being one of the flattest states, does not contain any permanent mountains; but summer skies are full of the temporary kind. These clouds have a greater vertical rise than any mountain on earth; but one had better keep their eyes open for them, since the same mountain can never be seen twice.

Summer is also a time of color, as green reemerges, complemented by a plethora of wildflowers.

 Some varieties, such as these yellow lady slippers are extremely rare.

The wetlands offer many of the most unique flowers to those who take the time to look closely.

 Bogs can seem like a solid mat of green once June arrives, but if one looks closely, they will find that incredible uniqueness abounds.

One example of such uniqueness is this carnivorous pitcher plant.

                             Bogs are full of beauty.

 So are the fields. If a person would sit in one spot of field for an entire day, they would see much.

"It is fortunate, perhaps, that no matter how intently one studies the hundred little dramas of the woods and meadows, one can never learn all of the salient facts about any one of them" (Leopold, 32-33).   







I have enjoyed looking at things up close in recent years.

These are not the amazing sites that one imagines when they picture Minnesota in the summer, and yet, these things are exceptionally amazing.

Is what one sees in Minnesota on the shores of Lake Superior, any more amazing than what they might find if they turn over a leaf on a corn stalk?

Is a lady bug or small turtle any less beautiful that Minnesota's wolf and moose population?

If a person finds beauty in a field of wildflowers, then they should look closer and discover even more.

 Sometimes, Minnesota summers generate land hurricanes more scientifically known as "Derechos."

One such event 3 summers ago, plowed down whole swaths of forest. Although this destroyed many roofs and fences, it made it easier for a person to find their bearings in a thick forest, as all the fallen trees pointed east.





This event also provided several winter's worth of firewood.

Of course, the older and bigger trees are more desirable for lumber. This mill can cut through the years a lot quicker than Aldo Leopold's hand saws did.

There is both beauty and practicality in the aftermath of Minnesota's summer storms.

Here are some more examples of Minnesota's everyday beauty for those aware of the nature around them.

If a person sees beauty in a dew covered spider web, then let them look closer. These tall grasses are clothed with more beauty than can be provided by any pearl necklace.

Aldo Leopold mentions the plant birthdays that accompany the seasons (44), telling an aware person what time of year it is just as well as any calendar could. Golden rod is always the most precise indicator that summer is on its way out. Usually the first sighting comes in late July, which was at first confusing for a Kansan who was used to seeing it in September.

Autumn

Many people consider Autumn to be the most beautiful season, and for good reason.

I enjoy climbing an old fire tower to see the many colorful leaves; and yet, beauty can also be seen when a person comes down to look more closely.

It is alway interesting to observe a fall leaf up close.

 Though they look smooth and uniformly colorful from far away, there is no "perfect" fall leaf. They all have blemishes.

These bug-derived blemishes, and the unique color patterns make each leaf uniquely beautiful.

One of autumn's most spectacular displays of color comes after all the maple and oak leaves have gone past their peak displays. Tamarack needles turn bright yellow in October.

 I enjoy traveling to the nearest bog to see their brilliant displays, before the yellow needles fall off, to finally rest in the bog's dark waters.

Early fall is a time of harvest, when farmers enjoy the fruits of their care-filled labors.

As the Autumn sun changes position, a person is reminded that there will always be new sights to see, as every tree's shadow changes direction and length. The light that hits a tree one day, will never provide the same scene again, for the forest changes constantly as does the sun's position.

The migration of geese is different in Minnesota than in Kansas. There will always be a few geese who choose to winter in Kansas, but none of them brave the Minnesota winters.

When Aldo Leopold met a fellow professor who, after several years, was first noticing the yearly flight of geese, he contemplated this fact with characteristic wit,

"Is education possibly a process of trading awareness for things of lesser worth? The goose who trades his is soon a pile of feathers" (18).

Another sight that I love to see in fall, is the the forest canopy from below old-growth pines, that are over 300 years old.

 The needles of these rare giants fall down, and are captured by the tiny maples of the understory. How fortunate we are that some of these trees managed to evade the axe during Minnesota's vast deforestation a hundred years ago.

Those needles that miss the maples, are then collected by the now-cinnamon-colored ferns.

Fall won't leave without more great opportunities for viewing wildlife. It is just as difficult to sneak up on wild turkeys as it is to sneak up on a deer. Thankfully, both are fun to watch even from far away.

I try to take as many walks as I can before hunting season makes it too dangerous to venture into the woods.

Fall ends just as quickly as it begins, making way for another bitterly long, and yet also marvelously beautiful, winter. 

I hope that this collection of natural observations can encourage others to delve into the mindfulness of Aldo Leopold - a man who has spent more time and been more keenly aware of nature than I myself have yet become. For if nature can truly be seen, then it shall be loved, and willingly preserved without the need for mandates and harsh words. 

"When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect" (Leopold, viii).

All quotations cited from:

Leopold, Aldo. A Sand County Almanac, and Sketches Here and There. London: Oxford:             UP, 1968. Print.

I encourage questions or comments below.

Thank you!