While watching Koyaanisqatsi I was reminded of Alex DeLarge being brainwashed in Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange. The scene in Burgess’ book that I am referring to is when Alex, a dystopian, ultraviolent thug, is being brutally trained to feel ill at the sight or thought of violence – eyes held open looking at a screen with violent images flashing. He is injected with a substance that triggers the reaction of illness. Of course this is a dramatic reference, but I think Koyaanisqatsi attempts to have a similar effect. Instead of aiming to make viewers disgusted by acts of violence, Koyaanisqatsi aims to make viewers repulsed by the American military-industrial complex.

I felt overwhelmed with imagery and music. While I was angered by the images of destruction (particularly exploding mountains and bombs dropping), I was also angered by the film itself, having scenes that lasted too long (such as the Saturn 5 rocket explosion). Of course, this is what makes Koyaanisqatsi so unique and effectively disturbing. I also was saddened by the dark image of humanity that is painted by this film. The film began with beautiful images of undeveloped, pure nature – river cutting through a rocky desert landscape and clouds rolling over lush green mountains. Clouds are shown to be moving as water moves in the ocean. A desert scene then becomes infiltrated by human impact – some kind of industry appears with wastewater pools and bombs are shown detonating in this landscape.

Koyaanisqatsi intentionally makes viewers extremely uncomfortable with images that linger for unconventionally long periods of time. Images of people (i.e. such as a fighter pilot, gogo-girl-esque casino workers, people on city streets) starring into the camera for more than several seconds left me feeling uneasy and even somewhat violated by the film. I felt that the film was targeting me personally. After all the people on the screen were starring right into my eyes as if they were saying “Are you getting it? Do you see what is happening here? Are you feeling guilty yet?” After all we, the viewers, are all feeding into this fast-paced, industrialized, crowded, machine-like world. We are the processed meat on the conveyor belt.

Koyaanisqatsi aims to show how our American lifestyle will fulfill the Hopi prophecy of the destruction of our world. The film aims to showing the disturbing consequences of our imbalanced, crazy lives. Our bombs and rockets will create the “ashes..thrown from the sky,” our power lines will comprise the “cobwebs spun” in the sky, and our extensive resource extraction and land use will ‘invite disaster” as foreseen by the prophecies. The film aims to disturb us and prompt a change in our aggressive and disastrous military-industrial cycle and congested, unhappy cities. It is a call to slow down because moving quickly is sickening (as shown by the whirlwind of lights of our complex highway systems). This message is strongly conveyed through the association of human action with industrial images. The highway system aglow is paired a circuit board. Humans are associated with meat on a conveyor belt. Rows of duplicate cars turn into rows of tanks. One of the first images of humans in the film is hell-like with fire and red lighting. We are creatures of destruction stuck on the conveyor belt of our ways – cogs in a machine. We are clockwork oranges – explosive ones!

It is clear that viewers are meant to walk away feeling ill at the thought of industry and our fast-paced, destructive lives. However, I wonder how effective a film like this is in prompting change. Who would sit down to watch it? It is a cult film for a reason. A very specific audience would watch it willingly. I suppose when you have a truly captive audience – an Alex DeLarge situation – like in a classroom, people who would not ordinarily watch the film may watch and be impacted. Perhaps anyone who watches it fully can realize that they don’t want to be a cog in the machine. They want to break free and create change. The style of Koyaanisqatsi makes it more fit for forced viewership or cult viewership, not widespread dissemination of information for the masses. For this reason, I would not recommend the film as a catalyst for change. However, I would recommend the film for it’s artistic novelty and aggressively disturbing tactics. Nonetheless, I am a strong believer that art in many forms can be utilized to prompt collective action and change in our world.

This past weekend, our class was immersed in two starkly contrasting cultures of nature. Conservation and the role of humans in nature are defined in opposing ways at Hawk Mountain and Cabela’s. While Hawk Mountain has a rich history of conservation, even attracting the likes of Rachel Carson, Cabela’s marketing strategy of protecting the environment in which we hunt is flawed. Because Hawk Mountain prohibited hunting since the early 1930s and began to collect data on migrating raptor populations, Carson was able to see trends of decline in the number of immature eagles. Carson linked this decline to the use of DDT; eggs were not hatching and newborn eagles were dying rapidly. Being a unique sanctuary along a raptor migration path, Hawk Mountain became a case study for Carson’s Silent Spring. In opposition with these concepts of conservation, Cabela’s conflates a respect of nature and conservation with the ability to take from nature what you can and rise as a victor, taxidermy trophy and all.

According to the Hawk Mountain Visitor Center, “nature” is “The world outside our window.” This is phrase was written above the windows located in the back of the visitor center where guests can sit and watch birds gravitate to the feeders placed outside. To the Hawk Mountain Visitor Center, nature is to be viewed and conserved. It is picturesque – worthy of a calendar, puzzle, or picture book. This concept of nature as a picture was also evident in the Golden Eagle presentation when the eagle was held in front a large crowd and the bird handler assured viewers that they would have the opportunity to take photos.

At the Hawk Mountain Visitor Center, the aftermath of mass hunting of raptors was shown in a dramatic black and white photograph – an image that prompted Rosalie Edge into action in founding the Hawk Mountain Sanctuary. This starkly contrasts with Cabela’s promotion of hunting. In the store, a photograph placed beneath a large elephant mounting shows a member of the Cabela family smiling proudly with his kill behind him. Though admired in the form of a picture, nature at Hawk Mountain is respected in its living state as something to be watched and cared for. The regulations to protect raptors in the sanctuary, birdwatchers stationed with binoculars, and HMS staff tracking population counts demonstrates this respect.

Cabela’s provides customers with opportunities to interact with dead, constructed forms of nature. In this way, Cabela’s becomes a destination. Nature in this constructed and conquered form becomes a museum of interactive entertainment. Not only are guns sold, but you and your family can pay a visit to the Gun Library. Patrons can play at the Wilderness Creek Shooting Gallery or shoot some bucks in a video game at the entrance to Deer Country. Our group was lucky enough to catch the afternoon Diver Dan show in the Aquarium. During the show, Diver Dan scooped of the largest catfish in the tank and jostled it around, opening its mouth for the viewers to see inside. The shooting games, the mounts and glorified hunting stories presented in Deer Country, the photo of Cabela and his elephant, and Diver Dan clearly demonstrate Cabela’s overarching theme of man dominion over nature, the “sportsmanship” that is promoted is a competition of man versus nature.

At Cabela’s nature is respected as a challenging arena of sportsmanship – a place to conquer. Animals are hunted for “bragging rights” as one sign at the front of the store bluntly states. Cabela’s true narrative of conquering nature clearly overrides the companies attempt to come across as an environmental steward. When leaving Deer Country, visitors are confronted with a sign stating, “Ensure the beauty of the outdoors. Support wildlife conservation. Meanwhile, trophies for conquering nature – in the form of taxidermy – are displayed in their still, lifeless form posing the recreated scenes of the nature from which they were “taken” (i.e. in Deer Country and on the central-store mountain of miscellaneous game). These posed animal figures give “silent spring” a whole new meaning. Why, after all, would we “take” animals out of nature to have them pose in a plastic recreation of the environment in which they once lived? The store uses the word “taken” in the labels of where and how each animal was hunted and killed. Using “taken” over “killed” further emphasizes the concept of nature as something to be conquered and attempts to avoid the negative association of hunting with purposeless killing.

This narrative is set up from the time one first approaches the store and into the depths of Deer Country. The statue in front of the store, entitled “A Leaf On a Stream,” presents the image of the American frontier with a pioneer and a Native American together on a canoe. The plaque explains that both cultures sought ways to survive and overcome the challenges of nature. Woodsmen such as Daniel Boone “made the woods, mountains, ad rivers ours,” according to the plaque. Paired with this narrative, the most emblematic image of the Cabela’s experience can be found in Deer Country. I saw children experiencing the museum of constructed nature. They reached the point in the exhibit where there was a model cabin with an artificial human sitting outside by a fire pit. A young boy pressed a button and the human figure became animated and stated, “Took some mighty fine woodsmanship to get them with a bow and arrow. Those bucks were smart. They don’t get that way [large and strong] by being stupid.” It was startling to see that the only animated portion of the museum was the human. Everything else was silent and posed.

These images of Cabela’s contrast with scenes at Hawk Mountain, where humans still relatively still to take in the action of raptors around them. The predominant image of Hawk Mountain is the visitors perched on the peak binoculars in hand, sitting on rocks, announcing the arrival of new groups on birds that are gliding along their migratory path. People sit for hours with a supply of snacks and a thermos holding a hot beverage. In terms of similar images, however, captive animals become a spectacle for visitors. This is seen in the case of the wounded Golden Eagle and the catfish displayed at the Diver Dan show. In both of these cases, the animal, when taken out of its natural setting became a form of entertainment, used by humans as an attraction. Viewing animals as play things can cause people to develop a problematic mentality of our dominion over other creatures.

At Hawk Mountain, birds of prey are viewed through binoculars and in photographs as majestic and powerful creatures. This is a reverence similar to that which is conveyed in Abbey’s “Watching the Birds.” This is a stance that is not often taken in other parts of society where raptors are fear evoking or somewhat repulsive. When taken out of the distanced bird watching context and placed in the context of being seen up close, attacking prey or feasting on dead animals, raptors may evoke a feeling of disgust. Mary Oliver discusses a more complex yet dark feeling toward vultures when she states, “Locked into the blaze of our own bodies/ we watch them/ wheeling and drifting, we/ honor them and we loathe them/…however ultimately sweet/ the huddle of death to fuel/ those powerful wings” (1983). Eagles, however, evoke a feeling of patriotism and pride in our landscape since they are a national symbol. While fostered and protected by Hawk Mountain, certain birds of prey would be fair game to hunt in the eyes of Cabela’s, just as an elephant would be, despite the many efforts to protect such animals.

It is clear that Cabela’s is marketing heavily toward a “masculine,” anti-gun control demographic of white men in a higher socio-economic status. Whole families do go to enjoy the Cabela’s experience so there are items to appeal to children (hunting toys, stuffed animals, and shooting games), young girls (pink camouflage attire and pink toy guns), and women (jackets and home goods). The signs around the store depict white men hunting, fishing, and earning their “bragging rights.” Miscellaneous items around the store tout the second amendment and the masculinity associated with guns – mainly in the form of wall hangings and t-shirts. Cabela’s attracts a higher socio-economic class that A) has the means to spend experiencing the store and spending leisure time hunting and B) the money to afford the high-end, pricy gear and décor available in the store. The store even provides people with the opportunity to purchase home butcher shop equipment such as meat grinders and dehydrators. There is a fee to enter or become a member of Hawk Mountain, which may deter some families from going, however this fee is certainly not comparable to what one would spend during a trip to Cabela’s.

The contrast between Hawk Mountain and Cabela’s relationship with and definition of nature is certainly apparent. These places represent opposing narratives of how humans interact with nature – as picturesque and necessary to protect versus being conquered through sport. This trip presented to extremes of the American human relationship with nature though there are certainly other cultures and relationships that are part of the spectrum of interaction.

“What if all ponds were shallow? Would it not react on the minds of men? I  am thankful that this pond was made deep and pure for a symbol. While men believe in the infinite some ponds will be thought to be bottomless” (Thoreau, 310)

“The idea that beavers could become a scourge didn’t arise, and the potential seriousness of conflicts between people and beavers were largely unforeseen. Remember, beavers were gone from the landscape before colonists settled it. Europeans and beavers never lived together. Settlers found lush beaver-engineered lowlands but no beavers. During the nineteenth and twentieth centuries there was no reason to think about beavers either but every reason to think about building the nation’s infrastructure efficiently and cost-effectively” (Sterba, 74)

“It came as a shock when I finally realized what the grapes were trying to tell me: ‘We were here first.’ The trees were the newcomers. The grapes were a remnant of a very different civilization that had existed not that long ago. They were like a hand reaching out of a grave in a last, desperate signal of an old way of life about to be snuffed out by the new forest” (Sterba, 8). 

I thought this was beautifully written. The imagery itself was as shocking as the message it delivered. The forest we see today in the eastern U.S. is not remnant wilderness. It is regrowth after generations of alteration to our landscape. I had never considered this before. Especially not in the following terms:

“Concord had been a relatively civilized place for thousands of years – a great expanse of forest shaped and improved by Indians alongside a meadow left in the wake of a retreating glacier and occupied and fashioned by beavers. The Indians called it Musketaquid (Grass-Ground River). This landscape had fallen into disrepair relatively recently, after epidemics of European diseases in 1616 and 1633 killed off most of the Indians” (Sterba, 20).

I find Sterba’s account of the impact of Indians and beavers to be fascinating. He discusses how “meadows and fields [were] created by ‘wilde beasts and wilde men,’ namely beavers and Indians” (19). I certainly never really thought of beavers as key shapers of the environment prior to European settlement. However, this makes me think back to a previous blog post in which I discussed Tallamy’s statement, “We feel completely justified in sending those plants and animals that depend on those habitats off to make due someplace else…partly because, until recently, there always has been somewhere else for nature to thrive” (No Place to Hide, 23). I actually discussed an example of beavers altering the environment and causing trouble for the Great Smoky Mountain landowner with dam creation and flooding. Sterba discusses the “comeback of beavers, an animal once virtually extinct in the Northeast, and the mounting conflicts between beavers and people” because “‘the habitat is back and now full of people'” (Sterba, 2). In the case of the beaver you can see the layers of wilderness, development, and regrowth.

Sterba calls for readers to imagine the contiguous United States before development and regrowth:

“Kellogg estimated that in what became the contiguous United States, 71.7 percent of the nation’s forested lands in the year 1630 were in the East. That is, they extended from the Atlantic Ocean  westward, petering out in the prairie, or Great Plains. By Kellogg’s estimate, the twelve states along the Atlantic coast out to and including the Appalachian Moutains were, on average, 93 percent forest covered in 1630” (Sterba, 25). 

By 1907, the US lost 43% of its forest “with anywhere from 40 to 70 percent stripped away in the Northeast and Midwest, depending on the state” (31). Then came the era of regrowth. It is absolutely mind-boggling to think of the transformation of the American environment.

This Sunday, my roommate and I decided to go pumpkin picking. I was in favor of finding a small, organic farm for our outing we opted to join the Lafayette Hillel group to go to Grim’s Orchard & Family Farms. As we pulled up to the farm, I realized this was like no other apple and pumpkin farm I had been to as a child. This was massive, crowded, and much more commercial. Though the farms in New Jersey (such as Alstede Farms in Chester) were quainter, they certainly drew a large crowd on autumn weekends. The large-scale of Grim’s was overwhelming. The shop for kettle corn, ice cream, and cider donuts was long and there was a large barn-like structure where jams, butter spreads, cider donuts, and fall decorations were sold.

rows of cars in the parking lot

how to harvest your apples!

wagons for your bounty

I find it interesting that autumn is the time when people (particularly in the Northeast) are most connected to harvest – autumn conjures images of corn, pumpkins, and apples – mainly taking the form of mazes, jack-o-lanterns, and lattes, donuts, pies or cider, respectively. How did it come to be that the the apple and the pumpkin became the iconic harvest of fall? We use a great deal of land for the production of these goods, yet we do not celebrate nutritious, organically grown produce to the same extent.

Take a look at the difference in the Grim’s website versus the Alstede website. Alstede also advertises organic diary products,  a commitment to “quality of life,” and a variety of vegetables in the today’s harvest section, while grim’s is dedicated to it’s maze, fall festivities and pumpkins. What if celebrating good, nutritious, diverse foods became the norm? How can Americans become more perceptive to seasonal foods instead of the commercial concept of seasons?

http://grimsgreenhouse.com/

http://alstedefarms.com/

The day began with me rushing around as usual. I can never be on time, without needing to run to wherever it is I’m going. I do not enjoy being early because I see being early as wasting time that could otherwise be spent doing something necessary. Being early is unnecessary. But often this leads to me cutting it close in terms of punctuality.

When I am hiking, I typically keep a slower pace. I’m in shape, I love running, and could certainly hike at a faster pace if I found that enjoyable, but I do not. I feel that I get the most out of hiking when I take my time, wander, talk with the people I’m with, and take in all that surrounds me. I enjoy hiking because it is just me, the mountain or trail, and no other commitments. Needing no watch and having no commitments, I can finally be alone with my thoughts or the people I am with. I believe that’s why I have become closest with the people in Outdoors Society. We commitment to hikes and leave everything else behind. You can focus on yourself, the people you are with, and all the sights, sounds, textures, systems, and histories of your surroundings. All too often on a college campus, there is a great lack of community despite our proximity to one another. People constantly surround us but our assignments and extracurricular activities pull us in different directions. Everyone is constantly rushing. It is exhausting for someone like me who struggles to maintain a fast pace is daily activities. I am thankful that we were able to come together as a class to make a conscious effort for connection in the Catskills. More classes should be focused on connecting to place and to one another as a community. How could we possibly neglect such connections in a learning environment? Networking is not the only form of connection we need!

My past experiences with hiking have only been limited by darkness and even in those cases our headlamp accessories reassured us. This experience was different because there was a greater time pressure due to the three-hour drive commitment. Camping in the Catskills certainly would have added to the experience!

Still, as I walked along the trail, I listened to the stories of classmates and professors. I tuned into the sounds and smells of the trail. Ginny pointed out the rhythmic chirp of a squirrel and Professor Brandes spotted a Blue Jay. I was intrigued by fellow students as they applied their lessons in Biology and Conservation bio to our surroundings. I felt truly connected to our group and to our place when we sat for lunch, sharing food, stories, and the view. I enjoy my moments of solitude and they are certainly necessary, but the feeling of connection is beautiful and a feeling for which I yearn.

I am thankful for opportunities that pull my friends and I away from this tangled conveyor belt of activity. We get caught up in work and forget about forming connections. I thank the mountains for the community they provide, for the connections I feel. I know that this feeling of connectedness shouldn’t only be felt in places of wilderness. I strive to have this feeling elsewhere and I know that we must all find ways to make deeper connections a priority (whether it is a connection to one’s self, surroundings, or other people). People must commit even when there is not a trail set for them. Wake up, you sleepers! I feel that I connect with Thoreau with this sentiment.

“It is a surprising and memorable, as well as valuable experience, to be lost in the woods any time…In our most trivial walks, we are constantly, though unconsciously, steering like pilots by certain well-known beacons and headlands, and if we go beyond our usual course we still carry in our minds the bearing of some neighboring cape; and not till we are completely lost, or turned round — for a man needs only to be turned round once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost — do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness of nature. Every man has to learn the points of compass again as often as he awakes, whether from sleep or any abstraction. Not till we are lost, in other words not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations” (Walden, The Village, p. ##).

 “Individuals, like nations, must have suitable broad and natural boundaries, even a considerable neutral ground, between them. I have found it a singular luxury to talk across the pond to a companion on the opposite side. In my house we were so near that we could not begin to hear…but if we speak reservedly and thoughtfully, we want to be farther apart, that all animal heat and moisture may have a chance to evaporate. If we would enjoy the most intimate society with that in each of us which is without, or above, being spoken to, we must not only be silent, but commonly so far apart bodily that we cannot possibly hear each other’s voice in any case” (Walden, Vistors, p. ##)

“I had more visitors while I lived in the woods than at any other period in my life; I mean that I had some. I met several there under more favorable circumstances than I could anywhere else. But fewer came to see me on trivial business. In this respect, my company was winnowed by my mere distance from town. I had withdrawn so far within the great ocean of solitude, into which the rivers of society empty, that for the most part, so far as my needs were concerned, only the finest sediment was deposited around me. Beside, there were wafted to me evidences of unexplored and uncultivated continents on the other side” (Walden, Vistors, p. ##)

I spent a majority of the descent speaking with Ginny about the need to connect and not fall asleep on the conveyor belt (just not using those words at the time). We talked about committing a limited amount of activities on campus and setting aside the necessary personal time and time for friendship. I think of Dillard and her ability to connect with her surroundings as she describes in “Seeing” and “Living Like Weasels,” I hope I can apply this not only when I hike, but in my daily life. I had a similar discussion in my last paper on Nature as Self and Nature as Cathedral. I used Cronon’s ideas of extending spiritual connections and the cathedral concept beyond wilderness to where we live. Where is this feeling of congregation and connection at Lafayette?

By Ginnny, Jackie, Lori, Nicole, Alexa

After our class discussion on native and ornamental plant species, we emBARKed on a mission to identify campus tree species and observe insect relations with different species. Our group headed over to Kirby Hall to utilize Leaf Snap. We mainly found ornamental species and noticed that the ornamental leaves (of the Japanese Zelkova, Katsura, Oriental Cherry, and Japanese Snowbell) and were not eaten nearly as much as the natives. One leaf of a linden was severely infested by parasites – gall mites.

The natives we found were Littleleaf Linden, Sugar Maple, and Oak. The oak leaf particularly had been eaten by more insects. This insect-plant relationship is essential for ecosystem health, as Tallamy discusses, because insect health means more diversity in larger fauna populations. Trees that support insect populations would support other animal life on campus such as bats and birds.

“We have become accustomed to meeting our needs without compromise. If we need space to live, we take it – all of it – and if that means filling in a pollywog pond or cutting down a woodlot, then so be it. We feel completely justified in sending those plants and animals that depend on those habitats off to make due someplace else…partly because, until recently, there always has been somewhere else for nature to thrive” (No Place to Hide, 23). 

Our ways of replacing nature or what is natural is clearly problematic due to the issues of biodiversity and ecosystem structure discussed by Tallamy. This passage reminded me of an experience on an ASB trip to Maryville, TN. We spent a day volunteering in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The task at hand was to help push the local beaver population out of the park’s border where a resident owned property. The dams created by the beavers were causing flooding in the resident’s yard and home. The park rangers had been working to destroy the dams and even insert a pipe at the bottom of the dam to allow the water to flow out and prevent flooding for the beaver’s habitat. The beavers where able to quickly rebuild there dam and even clogged the pipes that were draining water. The beaver family remained in the area and refused to leave their den behind. I was amazed by the intelligence of the beavers and naturally I was rooting for the beavers to prevail. Unfortunately, the property owner would not accept any payment from the park to leave his wetland property. The owner wanted the beavers out. No compromise.

I also thought the phrase “accustomed to meeting our needs” was an interesting choice on Tallamy’s part. Our society does not function on the basis of need. We have a culture of manifest destiny and desire. We are not Living Like Weasels, living lives based in necessity. Our relationship with nature is marked my greed and exploitation. This reminds me of a paper my EVST 400 class read – Joshua Yates’ “Abundance on Trial: The Cultural Significance of ‘Sustainability.'” This article outlined the history of the term sustainability and the culture prior to this term that focussed on “thriving” and living out of necessity. an idea of progress that is based on nature’s abundance. The concept of progress developed as a shifting response to the question of “what does it mean and take to thrive?” (2012, p. 16). Yates chronicles the change in response to this question over time – from the Puritanical focus on spiritual and community wealth, to the individualistic Victorian approach, to the emergence of mass production and consumption (p. 16 – 17). With the emergence of large-scale consumption came the Malthusian concept of scarcity and the Keynesian counter-argument of abundance (2012, p. 17). With the environmental movements of the 1970s came the influence of the term “sustainability” to question our methods of pursuing “progress” (2012, p. 19). What is really necessary for humans to thrive?

Yates, J. J. (2012). Abundance on Trial: The Cultural Significance of “Sustainability.” The

Hedgehog Review, Summer 2012.

“All too often the first step of suburbanization of an area is to bulldoze the plant assemblages native to our neighborhoods and then to replace them with large manicured lawns bordered by a relatively few species of popular ornamentals from other continents” (Role of Suburban Garden, 21). 

This quote paired with the strikingly eerie picture of a suburban lawn on pg. 20, made me think of how much environmental history and progress was wiped away with the creation of lawns. Why does such pristinely manicured lawn seem so appealing compared to an environment rich in native biodiversity? Perhaps it is a matter of security and community to control your property and see your neighbors. We wipe out the necessary “food, shelter, and nest sites” for species’ survival (21) to create an environment that has been deemed more appealing for us (but not for the insects, birds, and other fauna, according to Tallamy). I think of my father’s anguish with the trees on our front lawn in the burbs of NJ. He is infuriated by the amount of pollen they drop in the spring, like stringy yellow confetti. My mother and I have had to talk him out of removing the tree several times. My dad is a lover of parks and the outdoors, but he is also very particular about his lawn. Suburbia appears to be no place for nature.

“The removal of Indians to create an ‘uninhabited wilderness’ – uninhabited as never before in the human history of the place – reminds us just how invented, just how constructed, the American wilderness really is…there is nothing natural about the concept of wilderness. It is entirely a creation of the culture that holds it dear” (Cronon, 79).

“As I drew still fresher soil about the rows with my hoe, I disturbed the ashes of unchronicled nation who in primeval years lived under these heavens, and their small implements of war and hunting were brought to the light of this modern day. They lay mingled with other natural stones, some of which bore the marks of having been burned by Indian fires, and some by the sun, and also bits of pottery and glass brought hither by the the recent cultivators of the soil. When my hoe tinked against the stones, that music echoed to the woods and the sky, and was an accompaniment to my labor which yielded an instant and immeasurable crop” (Thoreau, 172).