(I wrote this a few weeks ago but appear not to have published it, oops!)

I thoroughly appreciated President Byerly’s interpretation of the National Parks system as an aesthetic manipulation of the American landscape (as I read it from my sun-baked seat on the quad yesterday afternoon) because I felt she explored it philosophically and with passion. Though I’m sure you’re all feeling beaten over the head with it by this point, this piece clearly reminded me of my trek around some of America’s National Parks in the West/Southwest. As we toured a number of the parks I was often annoyed by the hoards of humans with their selfie sticks and flashing cameras all crowded around the same “scenic view” or “outlook point”. And yet these are the places we feel compelled to go to because it feels as though someone is telling us, “hey- over here, this is what you’re looking for!”

My particular experience with the parks was very naive and unplanned and wholly beautiful. For the majority of the trip I was only with my boyfriend Sacha, who is at least as naive and unplanned as I, so our curiosities about the parks and what they could offer us were usually fulfilled- no matter how that seemed to turn out (many a sore limb and grumbling tummy did result form our choices). I thought it might be interesting to include here some photos that I feel resulted from some of our treks off the beaten path as well as some that are so cliche they merit a cringe or two. I would like to think of these ideas here as I think Byerly’s philosophy might dictate- as either photographs or photocopies.

~photocopies~

a tripod shot of the Colorado Flatirons so touristy my CO-native friend Topher (shown right) laughed and ran away moments after the shot.

the “Titanic pose” at perhaps the most crowded “overlook” we visited, at the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone.

~photographs?~

at Arches National Park, Sacha and I took a detour into what we thought might have been a trail but turned out definitely not to be. I would imagine this isn’t a shot you see on the postcards.

very touristy but striving for a “different” take on the “Sapphire Pool” at Yellowstone National Park.

a shot from the previously blogged-about explorative hike up into what we hoped would be bear country. in this moment the view felt untouched, and I think represented an appreciation for the park (Yellowstone) not tarnished by its economically relevant beauty.

This fall break I made the journey to and from Exeter, NH as I usually do, but I did it with a much shorter interval of time between drives. I drove home Sunday evening and returned to Lafayette Tuesday evening. Both trips took roughly 6 1/2 hours, but on Sunday I was alone, and on Tuesday I had four passengers. Not only was I thrilled to have company, and subsequent entertainment, I was stoked to provide transportation for those who might otherwise utilize their parents or a similarly under-utilized (in terms of capacity) mode of transportation. I thought to myself “this is why I drive an SUV” (though it is difficult to seriously call my ’06 Mercury Mariner and “SUV”).

So we loaded up the cargo space, tossed a roof storage sack on top, and were on our way. Now, my car is not very impressive with gas mileage. It breaks my heart to see how quickly the little arm drops on the fuel gauge, but I always keep track of what my MPG averages seem to be, just so I kind of know. On the way home, I was averaging over 21 MPG, which is not impressive or great by any stretch, but for a 4WD vehicle in Jersey, NYC, and Mass Pike traffic, it wasn’t bad. However, on the way back to school, I started to notice pretty quickly that the little arm was dropping rapidly in comparison to the recent identical drive. By the time we got back to Lafayette, I estimated the MPG for the trip was barely over 17. This was moderately traumatizing to me. 17?!?

So, this got me thinking. In this context- and perhaps in others- where is the sweet-spot of eco-conscious carpooling before it treks into this mileage-reductive realm I seem to have entered last night? I assume it was because with four extra people and all of their belongings (presumably cold weather apparel of the weighty variety) the little engine that could really couldn’t. I definitely felt more resistance when I tried to accelerate, and the car just generally felt a little laggy. But 21 to 17 is a fairly significant decrease. I wonder if this is true for other cars, and if so, what it means about smart carpooling?

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/16/science/gopro-balloon-footage-of-earth.html?WT.mc_id=2015-KWP-AUD_DEV&WT.mc_ev=click&ad-keywords=AUDDEVREMARK&kwp_0=45522&kwp_4=256068&kwp_1=191479&_r=0

I stumbled across this video and accompanying summary this morning and was pretty amazed. I feel skeptical about it’s legitimacy but that may just be me. Regardless, very cool, I hope that more videos like this surface in the future. I would like to see one of certain parts of the ocean or perhaps of the Himalayas or something like that.

This summer I listened to a lot of podcasts, and a lot of my favorite podcasts are the TED radio hour compilations. If you haven’t listened to them, I highly recommend them- each one is a collection of segments from TED talks on the same topic with follow-up conversations with the people who originally gave them. One of the best ones that I listened to this summer had to do with humans and our physical interactions with technology. The most memorable of the talks featured in the podcast was by Hugh Herr, a mountain climber who lost both of his legs from the knees down after he was caught in a storm on Mount Washington in New Hampshire. As he had been an avid and gifted climber prior to his accident, he refused to accept that he would have to surrender a recreational escape that had been so meaningful to him so he worked incessantly to develop prosthetics that would allow him to return to the activity he loved. He jumped off from this point and now works to create comfortable prosthetics for all kinds of people so that amputees no longer feel they are less-than, and are allowed to feel again that they are wholly human, if not more.

Aaron’s comments on hiking and the challenge triggered my memory of this TED talk because I believe Herr says something about how it had always been a challenge to climb and his recovery had been a challenge to return to being able to tackle those cherished challenges again. Definitely worth checking out:

It is possibly hard to imagine why we are all so fascinated with our little Butz Mill river spot without being able to see it for oneself. So here are some photos of our favorite treats so far:

upon arrival of our hillside entry point, we noted a suspicious and alarming needle. we did not find any other needles after the initial sighting but we did notice a number of spoons, leading us to believe more concretely that this is a location frequented by heroin addicts and other drug users.

despite the abundant garbage, this place is so lovely.  

a shot of the whole dam from about halfway across the river (thanks waders).

we were intrigued to note some children’s play things on the far shore once we had crossed the creek.

The Easton Public Works building hides just beyond the trees at the lip of the creek, here is a pile of cigarette butts, nearby was an abandoned can of worms and some footprints. Perhaps our lovely little creek hideout is a popular lunch or fishing spot for the workers.  

We were very interested in this apparent throne constructed from old stone materials. What was the original use for these stones? And who constructed this current structure? This really began to trigger some of our thoughts about infrastructure and its relation to nature. There is a sort of cyclical use of materials that matches the cyclical nature of an aquatic ecosystem. We will continue to explore these ideas with future findings such as this one.

View of the wall from the bottom, above is the road.

One of many funky bricks we stumbled upon. This one was Ginny’s favorite.    

Spotting a ladder beneath the surface.

Some wildflowers reclaiming an old trailer near the Public Works buildings.

Some gems of Easton’s past. Traffic lights, road signs, etc.    

Trekking back down in our stylish ensembles.

Funky little critters on another neat brick.

Ginny moving around some (possible?) building materials. More connection to infrastructure and nature.

My favorite bit of pottery/ceramic from the river. Things like this are scattered everywhere. Some seem old, some seem newer, all seem perplexing in their abundance.

A brick we ultimately took with us for further exploration and hopeful identification. 

Ginny leading the charge to see the other side of the dam.

Ta-da! A pristine view from atop the dam.

I suppose I’m a little slow to the game here but after a much needed 2+ hour phone call with my wonderful mama (broken phone leaves little time or possibility for such extended moments of contact) I have some new thoughts on our meander down the river on Saturday. Much like what a lot of other people, namely Terry, said about the experience being akin to a childhood experience, I found that many of the feelings I recognized physically brought me back to certain moments of my youth. My mom and I spent a good chunk of time today wondering about what children a generation from now will be like and how much different the population’s general activity level is now from how it was in her time or before. We figured in how much time people spend in their cars and offices and homes and how appliances lessen the simple physical tasks of laundry and dishwashing and essentially anything that can be made more efficient with a touch of a button.

She was fortunate enough to grow up in an active family that cherished the outdoors- her father ran a summer camp in his time between teaching high school history, and she and her sisters rode and cared for horses throughout their preteen and teen years. In part because of this, and in part because of my birth occurring riggghhhttt before the technological revolution of the youth, she was able to instill in my sister and me a sense of belonging in nature. She nurtured our interests in snakes and snails and stifled our interests in television. I think it is partly because of this that I so appreciate being able to be alone in the nature that I love.

I think that is part of why I was apprehensive about taking on the Delaware in the company of so many people. To my surprise, I was actually most ruffled up about Ian and Katie being there. It felt like we were all going in on this excursion together and that they weren’t a part of it so somehow their presence would lessen the experience. I was excited to do something I have always loved doing but I was nervous about what it would feel like, with these people, in this setting, in this way. To my pleasant surprise, it was much more freeing than I anticipated. In fact, though I definitely spent the majority of my time pulling forward or to the outsides to be able to kind of do my own thing and see things for myself, some of my favorite parts of the journey were when we were all tethered together and drifting. There was something about that that was at once relaxing and engaging, and it was a new perspective on an encounter with nature for me that I would be interested in repeating.

I know at some point, Joe, Erik and I started to imagine what the camping trip will be like. It was once we had left for the second “half” of the excursion and we were at the front of the group where the water was clear and flat save for the occasional ripples and rocks. The reflection of the trees made it all seem so much fuller, and the frequency of visible housing diminished. With the large hills/small mountains in front of us, it was easy to begin to picture what it might be like out there in the Catskills. I think I will again begin to wonder about the size of the group and the number of the people while we are hiking and such, but I am looking forward to what I now expect to be more pleasant surprises.

When we watched the short litter-prevention ad of the “Crying Indian” I was promptly reminded of an exhibition I once visited that centered on the indigenous people of Canada. Amidst traditional clothing, hunting tools, building tools, and other artifacts and pieces of information, there was a small screening room that featured the short film/long music video I am posting here. It’s dense and historic in content but I have watched and listened to it so many times I’ve lost count. It speaks to the strengths and sorrows of the native people of the North American continent who have historically recognized and respected the natural world far more than their immigrant, namely colonial (and us as descendants) counterparts.

It is a moving piece if you devote the time to it, featuring pleas to remember the importance of the drive to save the buffalo and stand their ground, and lamenting of the loss of life at the hands of those who didn’t care enough to preserve it. I think it would be cheap to offer too much of my own interpretation without opening it first to anyone who wishes to form one of their own, but I find it an important and memorable piece of Native art and music.

<iframe src=”https://www.nfb.ca/film/ballad_of_crowfoot/embed/player” width=”560″ height=”315″ frameborder=”0″></iframe><p style=”width:560px”><a href=”https://www.nfb.ca/film/ballad_of_crowfoot” target=”_blank”><em>The Ballad of Crowfoot</em></a> by <a href=”https://www.nfb.ca/explore-all-directors/willie-dunn/” title=”more films by Willie Dunn” target=”_blank”>Willie Dunn</a>, <a href=”https://www.nfb.ca” target=”_blank”>National Film Board of Canada</a></p>